Book 5: Chapter 4 - The Curse of Iasis (RAW)

A bard’s true calling lies not in truth, but in weaving beauty from threads of imagination. Even if that means to twist truth to create beauty. The world’s ugliness, its harsh realities, are weights enough without adding more to a man’s heart. Let your tales and songs be a respite from life’s dreariness, a gleam of light in the weary darkness we all must face. While your stories may stray from fact, there lies a deeper truth in the joy they bring. For in lifting spirits, in stirring laughter and hope, you speak to the soul of something greater than mere truth.

- Attributed to the Bard Darren Kragain.

The scene dripped with despair and frustration, a shade of helplessness clinging to the air. Not it was no mere shade, it was the smell of slow lingering death that perfumed incense could not cover.

 I was failing. Forgive me, my friend, I had thought myself beyond mortal folly. I had thought myself unbreakable, untouchable, yet the great man laid low before me was proof of my weakness. Not perfect, not yet. The bitter taste of humility was sharp, unyielding, a reminder of limitations forged by the caprice of the Divines.

Enkidu lay sprawled on a pillowed bed, his body wasted, pale beneath a sheen of sweat that soaked through the linens. Servants moved around him in a quiet dance, pressing cool cloths to his feverish brow and lifting cups of honeyed water to his cracked lips. He burned, as if some invisible pyre consumed him from within, and my powers, formidable though they were, could not quench the fire. Days had passed in this agonizing vigil, each moment a testament to the insidious reach of the curse of Iasis, which stripped muscle from bone and spirit from soul, hollowing out the giant of a man Kidu once was.

It was a bleak reminder of my own mortality. 

“Mana potion!” I snapped, steeling myself to cast yet another Greater Heal. The spell’s divine melody could raise his Health, but it was only a fleeting balm.

“Samasa, with all respect, another potion might be dangerous… You’ve been taking them near constantly…” came the voice of a servant, hesitant and pleading. “Magister Vincenzio advises…”

My patience frayed, my armored fist flew out to silence the insolence—then froze. A young girl stared back at me, eyes wide with terror, her body shrinking back as if she could sink through the floor itself. I halted my hand, forcing it down, though the anger still pulsed like molten iron in my veins.

“Another Mana potion,” I repeated, my voice thin and deadly.

The girl stumbled back, nearly tripping in her haste to escape, as she scampered off to fulfill my order, leaving me alone with Kidu’s shallow breaths and the bitter truth.

“You should not mistreat those in service,” came a voice, high and polished, unmistakably noble. Lady Aelayah. Every word from her was oil on the fire of my anger. Women—how they knew exactly where to strike when a man was fraying at the edges.

“What now?” I snarled, scarcely holding back the bite in my voice.

She crossed her arms, unamused, annoyed at my tone. “What now?” she echoed, eyes narrowing. “You dare ask that? You’re needed in the Contest of Knives, not sulking here over a man already half lost,” she said, the words sharper than any blade. Cold and cruel. “Have you forgotten your promise, Gilgamesh?”

People with their wants. People with their demands. I shut her out, tuning her voice to a dull murmur as I turned back to Kidu. Threads of golden light coiled in my hands, a useless balm against a curse that gnawed at him like a starving beast. The magic poured from me, taking much of my Mana. The song I whispered had grown hollow, and the miracle had become a farce. A notification appeared, empty and infuriating—everything in this world reduced to numbers, yet the weight of loss felt achingly real.

Finally, I turned to Aelayah, the would-be ruler of this sun-beaten city, seeing in her eyes a mixture of frustration and something else. Fear. But was it fear of me, or fear for her own schemes for Al-Lazar?

“Why should I leave?” I asked, my voice hollow. “My friend needs me here. Do not disturb me unless you have come to help.”

“Every spell you cast is worth a fortune. An entire merchant family could live on each cast of holy gold.” Her voice softened, almost gentle, but the words cut all the same. “Is it not it enough? Have you not done enough? If this is truly the will of a Divine, then what more can you do but accept it? Nothing good ever comes from defying heaven, Gilgamesh.”

I laughed, the sound bitter and sharp. “Accept it? Bend? Is that what you’d have me do?” I paused, drawing an impassioned breath. “Would you do the same in your struggle? Lay down your sword, bend the knee? No. That’s how the Divines twist our will, Aelayah, make us weak. It would be so easy to give up… to take the easiest path.”

Her gaze softened, though the sharp edge never left her. “I see he is a friend you care for.”

“Ones and zeros,” I muttered, half to myself. “But he was there. A comfort when I needed one. He and…” I trailed off, memories of another lost to me intruding for a moment before disappearing.

Aelayah’s brow furrowed, ignoring my first words. “A friend you care for,” she repeated, her voice low. “But can you not see that you are only prolonging his suffering? Let him go, Gilgamesh. You are needed out there. Others fight in your stead, struggle for you. Even the elf girl, she fights like a demon to take up your slack! Do not let their sacrifice go to waste. Please, I beg you!”

“Leave me!” I roared, the words tearing out, hollow as my heart, but carrying enough force that she stepped back. And then, in silence, she turned and went, leaving me to the ragged breaths of a friend slipping into darkness.

*****

It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, I did not know and did not care. The servant had returned with a potion… then more potions. Now, each one was but a dribble, no more than a drop in a cracked cup. I felt the price of such indulgence too, as every draught weakened me further, draining Health even as it fed the Mana, only to be countered by more Health potions. A vicious circle, one’s body at war with itself. Sleep whispered promises of easy release, the Rest skill beckoning with soft temptation.

Then came Vincenzio, pale-faced, his expression uncharacteristically soft, sympathy and understanding painted in shadows across his normally inscrutable face.

“What is it?” One spoke without much interest, barely clinging to civility.

He regarded me in silence, his face ashen, an unsettling contrast to Aelayah’s earlier vibrance. “They will tell you this is meaningless,” he said, his tone almost offhand.

One spared him a glance, barely lifting one’s gaze from Enkidu’s side. “And what of it?” One rasped, voice thick and frayed.

“They are wrong.” His shrug was casual, but his words carried weight. “This struggle has meaning, every second you carve out for him. It is defiance against those who would seek to put you beneath them, your rebellion against the Divines.”

A hollow laugh left one’s lips. “What good is meaning if it leads nowhere? What use is the futile struggle. Tell me, Vincenzio, do you have an answer?”

Vincenzio’s gaze held steady. “This answer is for you to find,” he replied, his voice softening. “One cannot save this man. But what you seek here, that must come from within. But let this day give you reason. Another one at least to do what must be done. Remember our accord.”

One’s gaze fell, searching the flawless marble floor for answers that weren’t there. “You, too, wish something more from me?”

“Yes, but not all for me. Our accord is important, but one also wishes something for you,” he sighed. “One wants you to find the meaning for yourself. That is the fire that will hold back the curse of the years. But one cannot lead you to it.”

I scoffed, weakly, the sound bitter. “Spare me this mysterious talk. Will you tell me next that death is merely the next stage? That all things have a time? I do not need cliches. And there is no need to worry, I will fulfill our accord.”

“Sometimes, that is all we have,” he replied, almost regretfully. “We are mortals, not gods. We chafe against their yoke, struggle for freedom. Not every choice we make is a good one, but they are ours. One thinks one has overstayed and will leave you now to your vigil and contemplation.” He placed a small case by Enkidu’s bedside, filled with blue and red potions that gleamed in the dim light. He bowed to the ailing warrior before slipping away, leaving me in silence.

One could tell at a glance that the potions were worth a small fortune. The Health potions were as dark as clotting blood, the Mana potions a deep, brooding blue like the ocean’s depths. Vincenzio had left me a princely gift for my rebellion against the Divines. And more than that, unlike so many others, he believed me about Iasis’ visitation.

But I could linger here no longer. I had glimpsed the trap lying in Iasis’ conditional forgiveness, and the choice before me was cruel in its simplicity. I weighed Enkidu’s life against my quest for eternity. Cold, clinical, one ran every simulation of the future, each one ending in the same bitter truth. Either choice was a pitfall, but I could only lean into the one that would cost me less. Damn Iasis and her cunning conundrum.

Enkidu would die. Yet I would honor him with the grandest of funeral pyres. If I could not strike Iasis herself, then I would strike her servants. The Adventurer’s Guild… I would tell all of the dark conspiracy that had taken root there. 

Not for Salahaem or its politics, but for one’s own satisfaction. I would make a point. Selfish though it was, Vincenzio’s words had kindled a spark within me and galvanized me to action.

I would tear the Guildmaster apart, and Kaila too, with my own hands. To spite the dark goddess, I would dedicate their deaths to her hated sister. A judgment, and an arbitrary one at that, based on nothing more than the strength of my weapon arm.

It fit the nature of this world. It was the natural, and inevitable conclusion. But first, I would rest. Rest and welcome the dark dreams that would claim me as sleep purged my sytems of the toxins running rampant in my body, the accumulated slurry that was burning me from the inside out. Detachedly I realized that it was a miracle that I was still breathing.

I looked at the food at the bedside table, removed my gauntlets so that I might more easily wolf it down. Caring nothing for the flavor, I ate bite after bite, shoveling it down fuel for the fire. After days without sustenance my body craved food. A hunger, a normal thing that was all consuming. Calling the servants for more, I ate and drank the watered wine. They served me nervously, knowing that to displease me would be to entertain death. 

Unlike the Lady Aelayah, they knew their place. 

With each bite I began to grow more hale, even as Enkidu’s breathing grew more labored. Any man could tell that he had not much time now. Soon they would sing his dirge, but I would make sure that he did not cross the Shallow River alone.

I would rest now. Rest even as my friend died so that I might mete vengeance out in the name of a false goddess. It would be fitting that I would be doing so in the name of justice.