Vale's head throbbed. He felt something hard beneath him as he struggled to wrench his eyelids open. Immediately, he squinted as a bright light filled his vision. He slowly flexed his sore muscles, which felt as if they had been dragged on the ground for miles.
He brought his hands to rest adjacent to his chest and pushed himself up into a seated position, blinking away the light. As his eyes adjusted to the dark night, he turned his head. He seemed to be on a wooden dingy. The gentle sounds of rowing registered in his head, and he whipped his head around to see who was responsible.
An old man sat at the bench, rhythmically pumping the oars. Vale tried to swallow, but it felt as if glass shards were in his throat. The old man looked at him, saying nothing. He took one of his hands off the oars and tossed the boy a waterskin.
Vale drank greedily, not taking his eyes off of the old man. He gasped as he finished drinking, adjusting to be more comfortable in the boat. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice sounding very small.
The old man resumed rowing. "Tal." he said gruffly. Vale waited a few second for him to say more.
When the man said nothing else, Vale asked, "Where are we? Did you kill the baron?"
"In the water, and yes." The man said. Vale's eyes drifted down to the man's exposed forearms. His tattered cloak from before had been discarded. Tattoos of chains winded their way from his upper arm down to his forearms. It looked as if they continued upward to the rest of his body.
"Why?" Vale asked, fearful of the sinister looking tattoos.
"Because you're marked, boy." Seeing Vale's look of confusion, he continued, "The baron would've killed you himself if he had known which god marked you." His steel gray eyes lacked any readable emotions as they bored into Vale's. The man might've been called handsome, if his long silver hair wasn't matted with blood and the rest of him just as dirty. His facial features were strong, and the wrinkles served to lend him a rugged, experienced look.
"Marked by what? The baron fed me, which was more than most people do. Are you going to kill me?" Vale said. Others his age might've been more shell shocked at the death they had witnessed, but Vale had often been thrown between misfortunes.
"Marked by a god, boy. And no, I will not kill you." Tal's muscular forearms rippled as he continued rowing. "A rather hated one, at that."
"A god? Why would a god mark me?" Vale was incredulous. "I'm nothing worth marking."
"Hell if I know. Now quit asking questions." The old man sent the boat rocking as he stowed the oars and stood. Turning around, Vale saw a small dock ahead.
The boat drifted about half a foot from the dock, and Tal jumped to it, mooring rope in hand. He deftly knotted the boat to the dock and gestured for Vale to follow. Vale hesitantly stepped onto the dock, holding his throbbing head. Tal set off towards the dirt path that led to the little dock they were on.
Vale figured they had just crossed the Lake of Mist, a rather aptly named body of water that was constantly covered in a thick layer of mist. It was huge, spanning miles in width. They must have crossed from the town of Lirund, where Vale had been for the past few months.
The baron had taken Vale as a ward a few months back, taking him back to his seat of power in Lirund. He didn't particularly care for the man, as he had been cruel to both Vale and the rest of the household. He had never laid hands on Vale, oddly, almost seeming afraid to.
Vale had never enjoyed such good food before. His time in the mansion had been relaxed, but somehow tense. He knew from past experience that good things like that didn't come for free.
But the baron had never asked anything of him. He simply seemed to be waiting for something. What that was, Vale wasn't sure, but as long as he could eat whenever he wanted he did not care too much. His head was practically bursting with questions. Vale's curiosity finally won out over his sense of self-preservation.
"Where are you taking me?" He asked. "Which god marked me? Why do you have chain tattoos?" Tal looked back at him from ahead on the dirt trail.
"Away. Same god that marked me, the Chained God. They aren't tattoos." He responded, looking back ahead. Vale could see an elegant longsword fastened to the old man's back.
"I haven't heard of him. Why is he hated? Why did he mark me?" Vale said.
Tal sighed. "Kid, I can tell there's a lot you haven't heard of. The Chained God is just one of His aspects. His most infamous title is the Blood God." Vale drew in a sharp breath. The Blood God was hated because of the fanatical supplicants of His faith. Rumors of cannibalism and self-mutilation were the least of the horrid whisperings told of them. Tal continued, "Gods are not what you think, boy. They are more forces of nature than they are intelligent creatures."
"Are you one of them? The Blood Sect?" Vale's heart quickened.
"In a sense." Tal responded. "But no, not really. I'm something of an unwilling lord among them. We will rest when we reach the forest." Vale watched Tal's back warily. His entire body was sore, likely having been slung over the old man's shoulder for the first part of their journey. Vale eyed the dagger Tal wore on his left hip. He figured he would wait until Tal slept, then steal his dagger and kill the cultist. Everyone knew those Of Blood could not be trusted.
Their journey continued, Vale keeping a careful distance behind the man, but having no choice but to follow in this unfamiliar land.