"Mortals use Fate and Destiny interchangeably for their true meaning is beyond their comprehension.
Fate is the path you embark upon, the journey you undergo.
Destiny, on the other end, is the destination all your paths lead to.
That is why, Mortal, You May Defy Fate, But You Shall Never Escape Your Destiny.
All your actions to fight for a future of you own creation, to carve your own Fate, do nothing but lead you to your predetermined Destiny.
Pray tell, Mortal, how does it feel knowing all your struggles, those sacrifices, all the decisions taken just to break free from the prophecy were leading you perfectly where you were meant to be?"
-Extract from the Memoires of Abraxas the Unsound, a renowned seer's encounter with an eldritch being known as 'Fate Keeper'
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In a stormy night with no soul in sight, a carriage made way through the Baltimore Forest. The carriage was a Bluethorn-5, the latest model on market developed by the Alchemy Guild, a perfect fusion of comfort and function, a primarily elven carriage enhanced by dwarven engineering and runic magic. It came along with stealth and speed boost features, thought right now, the passive stealth effect was meaningless. The carriage thundered through the primeval forest, foregoing safety and comfort for speed, tearing away any farce of making through silently through the journey. But surprisingly, neither man nor beast stepped anywhere near a mile of the carriage. What was supposed a treacherous journey through a man eating forest, turned into a speed run through a safe but untrodden path.
Keeping his eyes on the path, whipping the skittish horses to maintain the speed, the driver of the carriage, Old Tom as he was called, looked at his passenger.
Old Tom was 56, and had been working as a carriage driver for a inn keeper for more than 3 decades. This was a huge achievement, for the said inn was the front of the black market, and the passengers he dealt with were big people, with backgrounds he couldn't fathom, committing atrocities he couldn't even imagine. He heard a lot, about a lot of different fields, sensitive information which would get heads rolling, but it was a test, if you could keep quiet, you would keep your life. He had started off with 20 colleagues, in the same job, and now there were only 5 of the same batch left.
He had seen his fair share of passengers, and had gradually worked out a unique method to judge the rank of the nobility he was carrying. As usual, he did give his passenger a quick glance. Yet, for the first time, he was stumped.
Black, leather, metal tipped boots, with a glossy texture, similar to an adventurer but with a dark sheen he had never seen before. Considering the wealth of his usual passengers, there weren't many things he hadn't seen.
Clothes, impeccable. A white shirt, black pants, with a black coat. Nothing wrong or special about his attire, but the intricate details and artwork pointedly reflected his noble origins. Tom wasn't learned in the art of magic but he was willing to bet that the patterns decorating the clothes which seemed to glow in a sporadic manner were in fact Magic Runes rather than some fashion statement. He knew this for he had seen his patron win something similar in an auction once, a Robe worth an entire year's earnings of a Dukedom, a prized possession which he admired but could never bring himself to use.
But he idly wondered, 'Was that Robe even half as impressive as this one?'
"Aaahhhhh!"- a scream cut through the silent night and old Tom's thoughts like a knife, jerking away any sliver of sleep which may have creeped into his mind.
Reflexively Tom tightened his hold on the reins, slowing the horses down and the carriage came to a gradual halt.The change in pace allowed him to focus his senses, and in the lights of the lamps his sight fell on the road. Cautiously, he peered around using the illumination of the lamps, trying to find the source or cause of the scream, and see if it posed any danger to his undertaking.
Armed with a Crossbow in one hand, and a ManaLight in another, Tom truly observed his surroundings, and that's when he realized the inconsistencies.
As if a Spell had been broken, Tom picked up all the small things he had been ignoring or seemed to forget, which if taken together pointed to a big secret.
'The unnatural silence in this blood thirsty forest... the lack of creatures or even Elves for that matter, none can ignore our presence when we were this loud...'- checking the sides for creatures but finding none, he slowly turned towards the road, and what he found, along with a realization chilled him to the bone.
'The path ahead, and the one they had been travelling on, had been ignored and destroyed, and subject to the ravages of time for the better part of 3 decades. This was a disputed territory, with humans not even stepping close in fear of aggression by the Elves and the magical beasts. So how was the journey so smooth? There was no one to maintain the road; and how could they even find the road, which by now should have been claimed by the forest.'
Trembling like a leaf in the midst of a stormy night, Tom stumbled as he tried to keep his calm in front of the gruesome reality he found himself facing, illuminated by his ManaLight.
Blood. Flesh. Destruction.
Destruction littered the path, with trees and shrubs layed waste to, literally ripped off in a brute show of strength. Mighty trees were downed, with their complicated roots exposed to the air, holding literal chunks of the road, or what remained of them.
Flesh, bones, organs and mass, along with some viscous liquid were used as building blocks to repair the road. The skulls of Elves, Humans and Magical Beats alike lined in a macabre parody of a fence marking the road made him question his life.
Blood acted as an all encompassing carpet, layering all the works in a dull, muted maroon hue; holding everything together and coagulating at certain spots as if forming the perfect path for smooth travel.
"Thud"- loud sounds of something heavy hitting the ground, followed by muffled, heartwrenching screams forced him to turn the ManaLight far ahead. A mistake, which introduced him to the artists responsible for this gory artwork which were still in the process of completing their masterpiece.
Silhouettes offour large creatures were visible, hiding most of their features under the cover of shadows. Yet there was no mistaking those monsters forms, with four clawed limbs on their upper bodies skewering Magical Beasts and humanoids alike, and ripping the spines of their preys with their brute strength. He saw an Owlbear, an Elven favorite, have its head ripped from its body, and the victor releasing a bestial howl of terror which made him dizzy. They had a sinuous serpentine lower body, using their inhuman strength and flexible tails to uproot trees and vegetation which blocked the road and popping the bodies of the prey alike. They were abominations he had never seen before, with a controlled savagery systematically aiding them on their journey.
Tom was not dumb. He didn't live to be as old as he was without having a good head on his shoulders. It didn't even take much thought to decide what to do. He simply got back on his seat, whipped his horses, and got the journey started. It was almost as if this never happened. The screams were never heard, the carriage never stopped, and Tom never knew just what he was driving his carriage on.
Almost.
If one ignored the dilated pupils, cold sweat and shaky hands of the old driver.
Pity. He was getting old, and thinking of retiring. After this ride, Tom was sure of one thing- This was the last ride he would ever be a part of, either one way or the other.