This legend has lived secretly on the tongues of the elite, within the palaces of time worn, originally recorded on leather pages. The words burnt onto them carefully, discreetly, beyond the eyes of the prying throng, beyond their knowledge, held in confidence and protected. Valued like gold deposits, saved through the generations. Within the content of this ancient tome a wondrous immortal of godly power is verified true in life now as he was then and shall ever be. Telling his life as it was, all great things done with his hands, the world he lifted out of decay and turmoil. How this notion of benevolence was bestowed upon him through the actions of his adventures.
I was a shop smith when I came into possession of this relic, the legend of Kritzen written on leather. I was much younger than I am now, riding my trusty horse to Protrueton, I departed Auditon early right before sunrise. The journey was a half day of travel at my leisurely meter, not hurried though not lazy. With time on my side I was going to enjoy myself. Goods that I was going to sell in Protrueton were tied onto my horse. At the market there I would sell off a stock of metal-worked items that I'd built and some items that I acquired in trades. I promised my wife and two children a surprise when I returned and that promise was what occupied my mind through much of my trip.
At eighteen years old my eldest son was apprenticed to my shop. A strong and tall young man of purity and honor, trained on sword and shield, I trusted that he could stand in as protectorate of the house in my absence. We lived in a borough of high character and such need of a boy's protection would be so rare that we needn't worry. The knights around our vicinity were sharp and fair and our lot secure. I pay my taxes, twice that of the next man.
I was adaze in a sunlit dream, hypnotized unto the peace of the meadow that the road I was riding upon crossed. Beyond the halfway marker post that measured Protrueton's distance, an acre or so through the meadow, the scented air of flowers and dewed leaves drying under the heated sun reminded me of my wife.
At that moment of mental abandon a quick shape hobbled out of the tree line on the edge of the meadow. “Sir! I beg thee pardon, sir! We've been attacked! Halt, dear God, halt!”
He was an old man dressed in a thick wool gown tied at the waist with a fine belt. His white hair long and frizzy and his white beard covering his chest. His shoes were fine much like his gown, but as he neared I started to see the stain of bright red blood that marked his fine clothing. He clutched the leather tome with both arms, eyes lost in sorrow, a face that overcame horror.
I swung my leg around and slid off my horse. The old man, huffing hard, took my shoulder with one hand and coughed onto the dirt road. I saw a few tears kick up the summer dust.
“Old man.” I said, “What terrifies you?”
He raised his eyes to mine and said, “Invasion from the sea. Barbarians.” Tears streamed down his face. “They slaughtered everyone. The peasants were no match but stand hard they do and verily they continue to fight a losing battle as we speak. I was ordered to save the tome and the king, queen and their knights prepared to guard the inner castle. We were outnumbered. The king's advisors implored of him that he retreat and allow the barbarians to sack the palace but he feared not and drew his sword, saying that he would fight the barbarians and not be cowardiced into exile off his own land.”
A terrible scream shot out of the trees at the direction that the old man appeared. I could see lines of smoke drifting above the wooded canopy and thought of the town beyond them, a town I’d yet to see. A barbarian shouted something nonsensical.
I told the old man, “There, that large stone, hide there, I will return.” I went to mount my horse and the old man yanked my shirt, pleading, “No! The barbarians are vicious and bloodthirsty! We must escape and warn others! The risk is too great!”
I said, “No, old man. I can fight. I will win. You mark my words.” I yanked myself out of his grip and mounted my horse.
I drew my sword and the old man lost his breath, “My, what sword shines with the light of angels that a man such as you could behold?” I replied, “The light of God slices the heart of evil open and blessings endure through the blood in honor of he that cuts apart the goblin, the witch and the barbarian. And I am he that hath done so. My sword swims through the light of Godliness. Go now, beyond that large stone and I shall make a quick end of this barbarian.” The old man scurried away, clutching his tome.
The barbarian was ugly. His body thick and bulging, mud caked his half bare legs. Blood wetted the crude uneven tunic that hung out of his breastplate. His hair was tangled and wiry, his beard thick and mangy. His sword was dull and blunt in appearance. His small shield no more than a dinner plate made of wood. A lack of leg protection allowed him to sprint quickly. I wore a thick leather tunic and leather pads on my forearms. His armor outclassed mine with his breastplate and skullcap being made of iron.
I didn't fear him.
I rushed the barbarian full speed, my medium shield and my horses' reign held tightly in my left hand, sword raised in my right hand. He attempted to parry my attack but my reach too great and my sword too long. I caught his arm behind his pathetic shield with a downward swing, cutting his hand clean off as my horse kicked clods of dirt into his face. The barbarian howled in agony, trying to chase me but there wasn’t a chance. The insane look in the barbarian's eyes was that of a passionate beast, uncouth and feral, living on the underpinnings of nature. His scrunching face filled with the lines of hardship.
I circled my horse around on a second attack, this time with my sword across my left, ready to swipe the barbarian's head off. The barbarian was desperate, blood oozing out of his stub arm. He tried to charge the middle of my horse, thrusting his dirty sword out, but once again my reach was greater and my sword easily sliced his neck at the collar bone. His head stayed attached but his charge ended. His legs shook and onto one knee he bent, letting his sword go. A trickle of blood soaked into his breastplate out of the slice in his neck, he would choke and gasp like he couldn't breathe. I stayed my horse and watched the barbarian till he smacked face first into the dirt.
My sword was almost clean. I retrieved a cloth out of my saddlebag and shined my sword up, throwing the bloody cloth onto the back of the dead barbarian, and then re-hilted my sword in its sheath.
The barbarian smelled foul. Not of death, but of the life he lived.
I returned to the old man and dismounted my horse. I said, “See! I am a swordsman as well as a shopkeeper. Must every man be wise in the ways of protection and war? 'Aye.' says my Lord his Majesty. Not every man can be a knight, in spite of this, let every man stand and fight.”
The old man held a look of renewed faith. “Bless thee, sir. We must warn the people of Protrueton as soon as possible!”
I was urgent in the need to continue my campaign into the barbarian horde seizing this countryside castle but knew that I was outnumbered and so dire was the old man with defeat I dared not risk losing my life and in turn the townspeople of Protrueton. It was our duty to warn them to prepare their defenses. And verily, the old man and I made it to Protrueton many hours ahead of the barbarians, saving the town and leading to the ambush and slaughter of the whole hideous lot of them.
The old man gifted the tome to me and said, “Keep this sacred tome in the hands of the righteous. Secrets are within it that will beset a power unto you over man and nature and an advantage upon life's perils. You will learn of an immortal man that is Godly who makes kings of men. It is he that hath the knowledge and the lifesblood of the Gods. Go to him and return this relic to him.” The old man produced a yellow gemstone that glowed with a neon fluorescence. “You see, this relic was his and is his key to return to his people. Without this relic, he is bound to Earth for eternity. If you should not find him when you are as I am now, elderly and whitened, you must pass this relic and this tome on to someone whom you trust will never let these items become lost in the ditch of time and forgotten. Save this Godman for us, for the world, for all existence.”
I'd taken the tome and the relic as he requested and swore to him that I would honor his concerns no matter what the price could be.
I kept the tome secret, not telling my sons or wife about the old man's request. My family was mouthy and word would get out quickly. Here are the contents of that tome.
* * * * * * * * * *
KRITZEN, GODMAN of the HEAVENS
Kritzen, man half a god, within him beholden a power that he couldn't see. Nature in his hands, the creatures knelt to him, and they listened to him, and he they. Man and his woman amazed at Kritzen, his control over forces we cannot influence.
Kritzen born son of stargods out of the heavens above.
Landed onto Earth inside a machine that flied along stars. His father stargod and mother threw Kritzen onto the dirt, naked. Stargod father said, “We are warring. Let my gemstone prove thee a Marsgod. In absence of this gemstone, wild spirits shall strangle the heart of Mars. And the war cannot be won. Go, Kritzen, build thee up!”
Kritzen learned the Earth and the ways of mankind. He traveled a distance great. His years were kind and Kritzen did not age. He knew a great many things. Because Kritzen could not die a natural death and he did not age, his knowledge was vast. He was with a tower of intellect, that no man could match him in science. He turned his father’s gemstone in his hand and dreamt that Mars above was his.
Tortured was Kritzen with his noble immortality that the world died yet he lived. Centuries he lived in secret, hiding his eternal youth. He learnt his powers. He starved himself and couldn't die and many things he did to test his powers. He traveled and kept wealth, living fine and sharing his knowledge on occasion.
With science Kritzen held power and crushed kingdoms and saved kingdoms. Humanity was short lived and petty in temper and his science couldn't save them. Humanity was foolish he judged and he would avoid the humans. Poor humans made Kritzen suspect whenever they couldn't understand.
Kritzen, man half a god, born children of a wife born noble, who kept his secret. Then he faked his death to save him the suspicions of their society. His wife met him in secret till death parted them. Kritzen fell into sadness.
Heavy hearted and wounded, Kritzen fled to a country castle. Locking himself in. He tracked his children and their children and their children. He tracked his descendants until they no longer resembled him and his memory was forgotten. Only Kritzen would remember his wife and their children through eternity.
Inside his riverside castle Kritzen practiced science. His knowledge was greater than any man. Kritzen wanted to return to his true home, Mars. He cared not of his gemstone, of Godliness.
Decades burnt off his calendar in his pursuit of building a starship to sail into heaven. He deepened his knowledge greatly with an obsessive hypnosis overtaking him. Man was no challenge against Kritzen the man half god. His science proved pan-ultimate. And his starship was done. Built with the help of men who knew not of what they were building. Kritzen would not tell them. They despised him and his wealth and stole the gemstone. Kritzen's helpers left and he paid them well but he could not find the gemstone. Without his gemstone his starship could not leave the Earth. He could fly all over the Earth but could not leave.
While flying high into the heavens Kritzen met a starman like his father. Starman warned Kritzen that without his gemstone he would die. Kritzen requested another gemstone. Starman said, “I cannot give you mine.” Starman left Kritzen alone. Kritzen was too late to ask the Starman to take him home. He never saw another Starman.
Kritzen’s grievance became so great that he is said to lie at the depth of the greatest canyon. Kritzen starves eternally and does not move. He watches the horizon with one eye. His cheek on a pillow, his only luxury. He cries for his gemstone.
* * * * * * * * * *
All my life I kept this ancient leather book inside a secret vault behind a bookcase in my house. At times I would stare at the pages and roll the gemstone in my hand well past dusk, attempting to solve the puzzle. Truth this must be. What king would save a lie with death upon his head? Kritzen must be real. I pondered that Kritzen was alive somewhere in the world. That his immortal flesh lay covered in moss and dirt clinging to his everlasting animate body, sucked dry like smokehouse beef, an eternity of sorrow.
I shall always keep my promise. Let a hero inherit these items, to bestow upon him the responsibility of saving the heart of an immortal cursed and doomed to live among us. I swore on my lifesblood and my children's livelihood. I am not the man that has power enough to return the gemstone to Kritzen. I know a man though that is a great warrior and adventurer. And tomorrow I shall gift him these items and inherit unto him this responsibility.