Oman and The Legion of the Wanderers

A man once said that a forest is always a good place for the workings of magic. To those trained in occult arts, perhaps a forest is merely the disguise worn by magic in a physical world. In one such forest, a small group of red-clad people bowed before their leaders, the man sitting on a throne of flesh and tissue, material stripped from the bodies of the skeletons that made the woman's throne. Though both wore hard, cruel expressions on their faces, the woman looked fatigued. Cradled in her arms was the reason for her condition - the baby she had brought into the world mere hours ago.
The group had been waiting for half the night for a sign. At one hour past the boundary between two days, the sign came. The moon's pale light reflected at a certain angle, and the stone alter was seen to glow in response. The man stood.
"My followers, you see the sign. It is time to proceed. A year ago this very night, we prayed to our master for this. We prayed for the power to conquer a world. We prayed for the favour of Tyryft! And in a dream I was given our answer. For the power we need, we would make the ultimate sacrifice. A soul as pure as the water from the rivers that flow from the ice to the north. The soul of the child born to myself and my beloved Cradle."
Cradle stood to join her husband, laying her baby down on the alter. She smiled, though there was the smallest trace of sadness in her eyes.
"No one will ever know how much it grieves me to take the life of my child. But take it I must, for our greater cause." Cradle drew a knife from her belt. "And when the child lies dead, it's body will host Tyryft himself. We will raise the one who..." The knife in her hand exploded. The glowing silver arrow that had destroyed it embedded itself in the soft throne of flesh. The shocked crowd quickly turned to see who had committed this act of blasphemy.
"Oman." Growled the man.
Oman smiled coldly. "Surprised to see me, Deveronne?"
"You should have stayed in the canyon." Deveronne snarled.
"Even from here I can see that you're in no condition to fight us."
Oman jumped forward, but Deveronne was right - previous injuries, including a still-broken ankle slowed him down. The cult beat him from every direction until he found himself in a death-grip at the hands of his nemesis.
"Pathetic. You never had a chance. Why did you even try?" Deveronne sneered. To his surprise, Oman laughed, coughing up a little blood.
"Tell me, Deveronne..do you know where your children are?" Deveronne whirled around. The baby that Cradle had placed on the alter had disappeared. He span back to face Oman. "Damn you!" He squeezed, crushing bones and muscle in Oman's neck.
"Too late..." gasped Oman. "I've...won..." His body slumped.

Two days later, a young man finally stopped his fearful running and rested in a small cave. He looked wearily on the child he had snatched while his brother distracted the cult at the cost of his life.
"Poor child..." he whispered. "They never even named you." He paused. "My brother sacrificed his life for you.." The man scooped a handful of water from a small puddle in the rocks and splashed it over the baby's head. "I name you in honour of the one who died saving you. I name you in honour of my older brother."
"I name you Oman."

"Oman...come here..."
The twelve year old boy knelt down next to Pine. Pine's shaking hand grasped the boy's in his own.
"Oman....it's been twelve years since I took you in and raised you." Pine coughed weakly. "I've often told you that there was much to tell you...things you should know. I wanted to wait until your sixteenth birthday, when you became a man. But I don't have any time left. I won't last the day."
"Father..." Oman whispered.
"Please, listen to me. In the chest in my room...the chest with a silver lock, there is a letter from Oman...I mean my brother Oman.." Pine's vision was fading fast. He had to get this out while he could. "It'll tell you all you have to know."
"Father, please..."
"I'm sorry...I've run out of time..." Pine struggled to draw in one final breath. "The letter...terrible, but you must read.." Pine's arm went limp.

Oman mourned his adopted father for many days. Pine was buried and missed by Oman, and by the friends they had in the local town. So upset was Oman that it was almost a month after the funeral that he remembered the chest in Pine's old room. The chest was unlocked - perhaps Pine had unlocked it before his death. In any case, the letter Pine had mentioned was the chest's only content. Oman sighed and opened it.

To the child, it read.

If you are reading this, then I must assume that my dear brother Pine has passed on before he deemed you old enough to know how you came to be. I write this letter knowing that I will probably be dead within hours, having laid down my life to redeem yours.
I will start from the beginning. Knowing my brother, you probably know that he is not your blood-father already. Your blood-parents are a couple named Deveronne and Cradle. I pray that they do not find you and Pine before you are prepared for them. A year before I write this, a small cult developed just outside the town in which I was born. I was asked by the town mayor to investigate the cult and evaluate any threat it posed. At first it seemed no more than a simple coven of the type that often appears, only to fade away a month later. As I pressed further, though, I discovered that it was much more than this.
Your parents were the self-proclaimed monarchs of the cult, and had prayed to a demon to grant them the power to dominate this entire world. I was watching as they prayed, and I saw their prayers answered. The cult believes that a demon from the pits of Pandemonium has favoured them. I do not know what this "Tyryft" is, but I do know one thing - it is no more an agent of Pandemonium than a plague rat. Soon after Cradle found herself with child. Tyryft declared that he would grant them their power in exchange for the life of their baby. It sorrows me to tell you that the child is you. From conception, your parents intended to use you as a key to summon Tyryft.
But I believe that you have power within you. I know that magic was poured into you every day you were in the womb, but magic is not evil or good. That burden is placed on the shoulders of one who wields it. Maybe fortune will smile on us, and your parent's cult will evaporate before you ever know about it. But I ask you to visit a friend of mine, the Seer Deacia. If she still lives when you read this, she will help you find your destiny. I wish you well, and pray for your success.
Oman

Oman stared at the letter aghast. He could barely believe that his true parents had intended to kill him almost as soon as he'd left the womb. Soon, though, his shock turned to rage. 'How dare they..? How dare they think they can just cut me apart like I was some animal ready for the slaughter?' Oman stood up sharply. He went about the house preparing for a journey. He gathered food and clothing, and stuffed them roughly in a large backpack. 'First thing tomorrow, I'll set out to find the Seer.'

That night, as Oman slept in his own bed for the final time, he had a dream. He was standing on a tall rocky cliff, right in the middle of a raging ocean. A few metres in front of him was another cliff. Standing on this cliff was a woman with long flowing red robes, and glittering green hair. She regarded Oman curiously. "You are the child Oman set out to save?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Child, I am Deacia. You intend to find me. I admit, I never expected you to begin your journey at such a young age."
"I have to speak with you!" Deacia shook her head.
"Not yet. I've seen a little of your future. Not much, but I have seen you approach my home. You were at least three years older than you are, and you carried Crystarr."
"I carried what?"
"In the ice of the north, there exists a shrine made entirely of ice and crystal. Millennia ago, a sorceress built it to protect her weapon. This weapon was known as the Golden Spear, when in fact the golden aura was mere illusion. The spear was a core of an iron-silver metal encased in crystal magic. It was infused with a familiar spirit, and was given the name Crystarr. It is said that the wielder of the spear holds the ability to control the five elements of reality, but the spear can not be held by just anyone. Oman believed that one bathed in magic as you were before your birth can retrieve it. If this is true, then you must quest for it as a matter of urgency. Once you have it, find me. As you say, we must talk." Oman's eyes opened. He was sitting up in his bed.
'Was it a dream?' he wondered as he ate and prepared to leave. As he left his house. He pondered on which direction to go. He chose north.

It had taken Oman almost two years to work his way to the Ice Temple. He was older and far more experienced. He wore a thin black cloth outfit that was adorned with silver runes, a gift from a strange man who's life he had saved less than a week before - the cloth would protect him from the natural cold of the ice and the unnatural cold of the Temple, the man had said. As Oman stepped through the huge cavern he thought he heard a whisper from a chamber some distance in front of him, inviting him to enter. The chamber was empty save for a small ice alter with the spear resting on it. Eagerly, Oman reached for the weapon. Hold.
"Wha..? Who's there?"
I am Crystarr, the Golden Spear. Five thousand years ago, I was forged and wielded by one I called Mistress. Since her final day in this life, I have seen many who would take me in their hands. Not one of them could wield me. My cold flame froze them in body and soul, and they became part of this sanctuary. Will you join them? Oman swallowed.
"No. Others have said that I have the power to wield you." Then grasp my hilt and offer your blood to me. Oman took hold of one end of the spear. Immediately his hand was almost numb with cold, and tiny streams of blood streamed from his hand to be absorbed by the clear crystal of the spear, eventually sinking into the metal core. Yet, as his wrist started to shake, he felt a warmth spring up from inside of him, dispelling the numbing cold. As his arm settled down, he heard the spear's voice once more. You have no blood in your veins, but red liquid magic. Remove me from this sanctuary and I will serve you in combat. You now are the Master of the Golden Spear. Oman looked at the crystal spear in awe. As he raised his head he noticed his reflection in the ice. In the reflection his spear was not crystal, but a shining gold. 'This must be the reflection Deacia mentioned. I wonder if anyone other than myself will see through it?' Oman pondered. 'It's time to find the Seer.'

Another two years passed. Now Oman, sixteen years of age, stood before the Seer Deacia. He had shown her Crystarr and said that, while a fine weapon, it didn't seem like a weapon that could control the flow of reality.
"It seems to be dormant still." Deacia had said after examining it. "Perhaps it is triggered by age - it may judge you as still immature to wield it fully."
"What age must I be?" Oman had asked.
"The spell varies. Sixteen, eighteen and twenty-one are often popular. But I may be wrong. Perhaps the trigger lies elsewhere."
"Where?"
"Destiny. Circumstance. Even it's own spirit. The legend says that its core was created at the same forge where the Goddess created the blade that cut through the eternal night and released the Dawn of Existence."
"You believe that?"
"Who knows? It is said, though, that the weapons made at that forge have a purpose of their own. Some even claim that they wield warriors rather than the other way round..."
"Oman." Oman's recollection was broken as Deacia called to him.
"I'm ready if you are." Deacia was preparing a seance, contacting four entities from the ethereal plane of her world. She had chosen four spirits that she not only trusted but called friends. Who invokes the four Wandering Souls?
"I am Deacia, Seer and Priestess of the Mother of our World." Deacia indicated to Oman.
"And this is Oman, wielder of the Golden Spear." Merry Meet, Deacia. And welcome, Oman. We are the Wanderers. In life we were four warrior brothers dedicated to the protection of the king we served. Now, as spirits, we wander the ethereal plane assisting those who seek our help for the good of all. I was Ark, one who connected the four to the world through emotion. I was Chion, one who fought with the beauty of chaotic order. I was Sharve, one who foresoke all but my warrior art. I was Extrial, one who embraced the light and darkness of our soul and kept balance. Oman took a step forward. "I need to know of my destiny. I've been shown repeatedly that I have a task in front of me, but I don't know what it is." You are the child borne of the woman named Cradle, are you not?, asked Extrial.
"Yes." If the evil force of Tyryft is held back by a door, then you are the key. Perhaps you will unlock the door and let loose the evil. Or perhaps you will fasten the lock completely, forever sealing the evil from your world.
"Will I succeed in stopping him?"
Destiny is like a book, one which you write every moment of your life. Now it was Sharve speaking. There is no power in existence that can see how it will turn out until the moment the last chapter is completed. The best we... BEWARE! Chion's bestial voice echoed throughout the room, startling Oman and Deacia. Something approaches uninvited...
"One such as I needs no invitation, Wanderer." If a voice could decay over centuries as a physical body could, then the new voice could have been buried beneath the soil since the beginning of recorded time.
"I don't know who you are, but no one enters my invocation unpermitted." Deacia snapped. She drew a glowing pentagram in the air with one finger. Before it was completed though, there was a flash of violet light and the Seer went flying into a wall.
"I enter where I wish, little girl." The newcomer mocked.
"On your knees, thief." Oman frowned.
"Thief?"
"Heh heh...of course, you don't recognise me....you were but a babe when you stole that body that was rightfully offered to me." Oman's eyes widened, and he felt terror clamp around his heart. "Tyryft..."
"Believe it, boy. It has been sixteen years in the making, but finally I will have a physical presence once more...and a weapon that may even wreak my revenge on the cursed Eternity's Dawnrazor..." Never, Gothim. Chion's voice howled Malekai is already causing too much harm. We will not permit you to increase the damage caused.
"Ha! As if you could stop me!" Oman's body suddenly exploded with pain. He arched his spine and twisted as Tyryft violated his very soul. Stop!Hold, Gothim!
Oman felt another grip on his soul. The four souls had taken a hold on him, and were trying to pull him from Tyryft's grip. The pain was greater than Oman had ever imagined he could feel and still live. But he could feel himself slip towards the intruder.
Damn you, Tyryft!
"Temper, Temper."
Release him!
"And give up such a precious victory? You are fighting a losing...WHAT THE?!" Tyryft had felt Oman's pain, indeed had revelled in it. But Oman had suddenly seemed to pass out, and something else had taken the place of his soul. "What's happening..?" It is you who fights the losing battle. "Who the hell are you?" It is this boy's destiny to one day wield me against evil. But that day is far in the future, and I will not allow you to jeopardise it. No matter the sacrifices that must be made. Wanderers, I apologise. I have no choice…

Several hours later, Oman awoke. Something was wrong. He felt different somehow. Depression weighed on him heavily, and he couldn't help but feel…detached somehow.
'What's happened?'
'WHO'S THERE?'
"Wha..? What was that?" Oman gasped. The voice sounded more like telepathy than any voice from Deacia's séance. As he started to get up, he felt…something try and take control of his body.
"Tyryft...damn you!"
'Damning yourself, bastard?'
'Cease!'
"Oman.." The last voice wasn't in Oman's head, but came from a battered-looking Deacia.
"Deacia! There's something..."
"I know. I don't know how, but somehow the four spirits I called up were used to repel the intruder that assaulted you. They got mixed up with your own soul, and split up your own self into four. It's kind of like possession by multiple demons, except each of the four is you, Oman…or at least an aspect of you." Something in Oman's eyes changed. Confusion was replaced by rage, and he grabbed Deacia by the throat. "Damn it! Get us back to normal right now or…" The anger faded and was replaced by a calm, quiet look. "I apologise." Deacia grinned. "Quite alright, Sharve."
"Sharve?"
"Well, in some respects, each of you four aspects will be similar to one of the four spirits. You are calm and professional, so I would assume that you came from Sharve. The first one of you seemed almost overwhelmed by emotion, like Ark. The second was animal like, driven by instinct and anger, much as Chion tended to act. I have not seen your fourth aspect, but the process of elimination leaves Extrial, who was the darker and most magically inclined of the four." Deacia paused. "Perhaps from this point on, the four of you should go by these four names rather than your given name. Otherwise, things would get confusing." Sharve nodded. Then he cocked his head slightly, as if he were listening to a voice Deacia couldn't hear…which he probably was.
"Yes, you are correct. Miss Deacia.." Sharve ignored Deacia's giggle at his choice of address. "Chion has pointed out that Extrial has yet to make himself known. In fact, he can sense him in conversation with an external force."
"Does he know what?"
"I'm not sure that would be...I have your promise? Very well." Sharve's face frowned and his eyes grew darker.
"Chion?" Deacia asked. Chion nodded. He looked around the room, sniffing the air. "Something close. It's...THIS!" Chion thrust forward Crystarr. "He's talking to this spear!"
"Hmmm..." Deacia considered. "Crystarr communicated with Oman normally, because Oman had an unusually magical nature. If Extrial represents the part of him that is magical…then maybe he's the only one of you capable of hearing Crystarr." Chion's frown softened into an expression Deacia was unsure of. Was that a sneer or a grin?
"You are right, Seer. I apologise, Chion, but I have some information that we all should hear."
'What says the spear, brother?' asked Sharve in Extrial's head, ignoring some unflattering comments from the animal-like Chion.
"Deacia was correct - it is I who represents the most magical part of the boy Oman, and I who am the only one of us capable of hearing, or even wielding it. The spear apologises for our situation. It's goal was to prevent Tyryft from destroying us totally. It has come up with a...partial solution." There was a short pause.
"If you'll be silent, Chion, then maybe I can finish." snapped Extrial. "There is no way for our shattered soul to be returned to normal like this. Crystarr suggests that we proceed in the opposite way."
"Opposite way?" asked Deacia.
"Rather than attempt to meld the four aspects together, the spear suggests separating ourselves completely - in soul and body."
'Wait a second, Extrial.' Ark whispered from a corner of Oman's mind. 'You're not saying....we've been split into four different personalities…and you want to make it WORSE?!'
"Consider it, Ark. Which would really be worse? Four brothers of the same age, or four people trapped in a mind and body meant only for one?"
'Brother....' Sharve said coolly. 'You are attempting to sell us this idea, but you have yet to reveal how you intend to achieve it.'
"Crystarr has knowledge of spells, worlds and other information it is willing to share with us. It has already shown me how to execute the Starsling spell."
'OK, now you've lost me.' Chion's voice betrayed a growing impatience. 'Tell us what the hell you're talking about or shut the hell up!'
"Will you be silent?!" Extrial yelled.
"A-hem!" Deacia interrupted. "Chion, think of it this way. If Extrial's plan works, you won't have to share bodies with the others for too long.
"Thank you, Seer." Extrial smiled after a pause. "Chion has backed down. Now, as I was saying, Starsling is essentially a teleportation spell. Crystarr's original Mistress used it to travel between worlds. She was able to navigate by using the energy of her own soul. Once this energy had reached its destination, it would reconstruct the body. Now, the energy of each aspect of Oman's soul is a little different, so.....yes, Ark, that is correct. Using this spell, we would begin the journey as one, yet end it as four." Deacia nodded. "When do you wish to begin?" Extrial winced. "As soon as possible. If our head was a room, Chion would be climbing the walls."

Three hours later, Extrial was standing just outside Deacia's hut. Deacia had provided several sets of clothes and weapons for each of the four to use once they had their own bodies. Extrial was already wearing his - a flowing black cloth robe with silver sigils and runes adorning each visible surface.
He had opted to continue wielding Crystarr, as it was he who represented most of Oman's magical nature, but had instructed the spear to appear as a simple wooden staff, as less attention would be drawn to it. The supplies of the other Wanderers (as Ark insisted on referring to them in honour of the original four Wandering Souls) were contained in a huge bag on Extrial's shoulders. Ark had chosen a robe of thick blue material and a simple, though flat broadsword. Sharve had chosen light green robes and an elegant scimitar. Chion had chosen a costume of thick red cloth, as well as an unusual set of clawed weapons.
Modelled after the claws of a cat, they were to be concealed within the sleeves and ankle-cuffs of Chion's costume, ready to spring out at a moment's notice. Extrial shifted the pack on his shoulders uncomfortably.

"Yes, I KNOW! Do you think you can do this, Ark? Then stop complaining!" Deacia chuckled. The Wanderers had been arguing almost non-stop since Oman had been split apart, though she got the impression that it was more to let off steam than due to any genuine dislike.
"Are you ready then?"
"My dear Priestess, the sooner I've got my brothers out of my head, the happier I will be." Extrial growled. Then he smiled. "It's time to go. Maybe I'll see you again, my friend..." Extrial raised his hands to the sky. A bright light seemed to fall from the heavens above and engulf his body. When the light faded, he was gone.
"OK, seeing as no one else is going to ask, I will." Ark dramatically paused. "Where are we?" No one answered.

They had been in this new world for several days, and, as nice as it was, it had taken some getting used to. The sky was all wrong, a light shade of blue rather than the normal violet. Chion in particular disliked this world. A single sun he could live with, he had said, but just the one moon too? He wondered how this world's natives coped. Extrial had taken the journey the worst. The Starsling had been an improvised solution - it had never been meant to actually split up a soul as he had used it to. But that wasn't what worried him. All four of the Wanderers had complained that they had gaps in their memories. Though they could remember their lives in general, there were missing details. Ark and Chion had argued over the name of their mother - was it Deacia or Cradle? None of them could remember ever being in the same body either...except Extrial.
But even Extrial's mind was unclear on some points. He knew that, unlike the weapons held by his brothers, his staff was a weapon of legend in a disguise of varnished wood. He could remember it speaking to him of the future, but he couldn't remember what it had told him. And now it refused to speak on the subject any further, though it promised to reveal magical and fighting techniques in the future. One thing he did remember was the creation of the One. Many years in the future, the Wanderers would face several powerful foes. During the battle, one of them would join their souls together and form the One from whom they had all come from. But to do this, the other three would first have to fall... After debating whether to tell the others of this, Extrial decided against it. No one should have to live counting the days before their death, and they had many years left...

To most beings born to other realms, Otherworld was a place formed from nightmares. Dark, foreboding and deadly looking scenery seemed specially designed to strike fear into the hearts of intruders. A small group of murky clouds parted, allowing a beam of light to pass through and hurtle towards the ground. As it reached the ground and faded, four figures gazed at the surroundings.
"So this is the Otherworld." Ark commented. Chion grinned. "I like it!"
"You would." Ark chuckled.
"Ark, what was it the Oracle told you on Shanar? The exact words." Extrial instructed. Ark frowned in thought.
"The realm of Otherworld holds the one you must find. He is of the same blood as the fallen enemy and the one who chases you from far behind." Ark paused.
"You know, I still don't know what she meant." Chion spoke, uncertainly.
"Well, when you say 'the fallen enemy', that's presumably Malekai, right. Assuming he is actually dead." Sharve nodded. "It makes sense. But the enemy who chases us from behind? Do we have any real enemies outside of the Malekim?"
"If we do, we aren't aware of them." Extrial muttered. Chion frowned.
"I don't know if it means anything, but when Ark mentioned the other enemy, a name popped into my head…Tyryft. Does that mean anything to anyone?" Ark and Sharve shook their heads.
"That name..I think..." Extrial said after a moment. "It's....no. I seem to have heard it before, but I can't place it."
"Brothers." Sharve cut in. "Listen. Can you hear sounds of combat?" Battle sounds were coming from behind a large pile of rocks and rubble nearby. Several figures were engaged in combat. The Wanderers immediately recognised most of them.
"Malekim." cursed Chion.
"Take a look at the pale one with wings." Sharve urged. "That sword looks almost magical."
"Magical?" Extrial smirked. "That's Dawnrazor."
"What?!" Ark cried. "THAT'S Dawnrazor? Then that creature must be...." Extrial nodded. "Eternity, I believe his name is."
"Brothers." Sharve indicated another winged figure, this one with a body adorned with feathers. "The Gothim Eternity's companion is faring less well." Extrial chuckled. "Chion, you've been itching for a fight? Why don't you help him out?" Chion didn't even answer, he merely leapt into the battle, his claws tearing flesh and bone. The Malekim, startled by the unexpected reinforcements, were taken down almost immediately by several strikes from Dawnrazor. In moments, the Wanderers, Eternity and the feathered one were the only people left standing. Eternity addressed the brothers.
"I thank you for saving the life of my friends, but you trespass in my realm. Who are you, and what is it that you want?" Extrial stepped forward. "We are the Wanderers. I am Extrial. These are my brothers Ark...Chion...and Sharve." Eternity nodded. "And your purpose in Otherworld?" Extrial sighed.
"I'm not sure...but I think it is to find you."