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Literature Text
- - -» {[Memories – part one.]}
- The First Oath;;
Caele, age 7 [human equivalent: age 4]
Year; 12,950.
D'issan.
Inspiration: 'Fear' by Disturbed and 'Finally' by TRUST Company.
- - - - - - - - - - » »
Glass shattered across the cobblestone, sharp chunks of it hurtled in every direction. The sound was broken by loud mocking laughter, a quiet gasp, then a voice, high with youth and tainted by malice.
"Aww, did we scare you, little Caele?" the voice jeered as a boy of about eighteen stepped forward towards a smaller - much smaller - toddler. He wasn't very tall; about five feet seven inches, give or take, with bone-white hair and the darkest ash-colored skin.
A drow. One of the younger line in D'issan. And one of the most notorious bullies to walk Felnova. Grinning while he stepped forward again, the adolescent elfkin tapped a small dagger flat against his palm, three others giggling as they followed just behind.
Caele, a black-haired child with silver eyes, backed up trembling violently. His left arm hung limply at his side, blood dripping from a cruel gash cut vertically down it's length. But the boy didn't pay it any heed - his gaze fixed on the ones who approached him, thin boots crunching against the glass.
Light slanted through the alleyway, tinted a strange green, making the floor glitter and sparkle. Still, the dagger-wielding bully and his cohorts came on until their victim was backed up against one grey-slate wall, one small hand clutching feebly at the surface. "L-leave me alone, Zessy," he whispered, eyes widening still with sudden realization.
Zesstrin's going to kill him.
"Aww, now why would big, bad 'Zessy' want to do that, huh? You're already dead, kid." The drow approached his prey without any sign of wariness, one hand flicking back a strand of hair nonchalantly from his face as the other raised the jagged blade. "Any last wishes, weakling? I'm not gonna wait for the runt you are to die by nature's coarse. Little Agarwath needs to be... culled." At the last word his terrible grin spread, the other three boys breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
Caele sank to his knees, tiny fingers touching the pool of slowly-accumulating blood. With a small frightened gasp, he pulled them away, staring at the red staining his fingertips as if it had been acid. At the sound of Zesstrin's knife clacking against the wall he jerked back up, tears rolling silently down his cheeks.
Just a scared, helpless little boy.
"Nothin'? Aww, too bad little warrior. We all know that you just aren't brave enough to join the High Ranks," Zesstrin said, voice low and mocking. "And yet you still wanna? Poor widdle Caele, who can't even stand the sight of his own blood?"
The little boy pressed himself back further against the wall, breathing coming in shallow breaths. He clutched at the wound now; hot blood welled from between his small fingers. Whispering incoherently, Caele winced, thin frame tensed for the blow -
- then something snapped.
Zesstrin shot forward, the dagger merely a silver streak through the air - but his wild laugh cut off as his victim suddenly wasn't there.
Caele darted underneath his adversary large, once-frightened eyes narrowed in stubborn determination. He rammed into the legs of one of Zesstrin's comrades with his good shoulder, wounded arm hanging limp as a doll's. The boy he hit staggered back with a shout, the other looking with a blank expression back to their leader.
Zesstrin knelt, head bowed; ivory curtains of hair fell around his face to obscure his expression. When he rose, one hand pushing back the locks, those eyes held a hatred that could have been purely scarring.
The toddler dipped behind Zesstrin's cohort, the whistle of the dagger slicing the air. The elder youth gave a startled cry; Caele was barely able to sidestep as one of the other drow staggered backwards, hands clutched feebly around the hilt lodged in his breast. Shock lanced over that face, eyes flaring with agony... then a simple thud on the ground, the crunch of glass - and he lay still.
The dark-haired boy looked shaken, fearful eyes locked on the prone form before him as Zesstrin stared dumbly at the one he had slain. Caele backed up a few awkward steps warily, breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. Shock choked the boy... he had never actually seen anybody killed before. Not yet.
What... have I... done...?
"G'dan," the white-haired leader murmured, a spark of sympathetic remorse coming to his scarlet eyes. But when he looked back up and set his sight back on Caele...
...he beheld the gaze of a murderer.
"Z... Zessy...?" the little boy was once again backed into a wall, eyes wide with terror. He shrank against the cool stone, trembling uncontrollably; what would the elder drow do? Thoughts of torture entered the toddler's mind and tore at his short-lived determination - coupled with shock, the feeling could be described as near crippling. Zesstrin took a step forward to kneel beside the motionless G'dan, fingers wrapping tightly about the hilt that protruded from his chest. He pulled the dagger out with that stony, cold expression and advanced on Caele. "Zessy, d... don't hurt me..."
"Oh, I'll hurt you alright you little bastard." Was that a trace of regret in the white-haired drow's tone? He stalked towards the child, dagger raised above his head. "I'll slaughter you. By the time I'm finished, you won't care what hell awaits you!"
"Z-Zessy, I didn't m-mean to!" His hard words fell on the little boy's shoulders like the sentence at a criminal trial; what the judge and jury declared had to be true. The persecuted? Caele. The jury? Judge? Zesstrin.
The verdict? Guilty.
"I... I s-swear I never... meant to hurt him," Caele whispered, sinking down to both knees. He stared at Zesstrin as the dagger glittered in the green-hued light, before arcing down towards the child's exposed throat. He threw both arms up with a choked cry - the blade struck. It sliced deeply into the dark elf's wrist, just below where the previous injury ended. Caele screamed, fiery pain lacing up from the wound, scarlet spattered across the glass-strewn cobblestone. With a whimper he sank to his knees, new tears streaming down the little boy's pale cheeks.
Zesstrin stared coldly at his victim as the boy clutched his ravaged arm close against his chest. Fear sparkled in those wide, tear-filled silver eyes... and yet, determination flared in a flame brighter then ever before. Thoughts of escape and plans of vengeance were born in the toddler's mind: Of how he could save his own life, perhaps even kill Zesstrin.
...kill... The word held so much meaning. Never before did Caele have a true lust for blood. For vengeance, justice. But here it came, deadly as the one wielding the dagger.
Correction: The one not wielding it. Zesstrin doubled over, scarlet eyes wide; the little boy had lurched up and barreled straight into his tormentor with a feral shout, ramming with all the force he could gather into the older drow's stomach. Caele darted back again as his enemy fell - and then, the blessed sound of metal striking stone reached his ears. Instinct took over.
He reached out and grabbed the dagger from where it lay, unmarred fingers grasping the blade's hilt easily. The boy held his wounded arm against his chest still, but... he was armed.
Nothing had ever felt so natural.
Zesstrin was recovering. Already the youth rose to one knee, breathing ragged while he stared at his victim. The hunter faced the hunted, predator to prey.
The tables had turned.
Caele shot forward on impulse, oddly silent as he plunged the knife up to it's hilt in Zesstrin's chest. Vermilion blood spilt from the wound and darkened the slate-grey tunic he wore. A shriek broke the air, cut off - Zesstrin fell lifeless to the ground. In a quick move Caele wrestled the dagger free and plunged it into the elder drow's throat.
Silence fell.
Sudden, crippling horror smote the drow boy as the full awareness of what he'd just done came to light. He had killed. Murdered. But wait... why wasn't he crying? Why had the tears stopped? What was this strange feeling of ecstasy, of having accomplished something overwhelmingly good?
I...
It had all been in self-defense. All for protecting one's life. His own. That couldn't be so bad, could it? And suddenly, so suddenly... Caele knew what he was going to do. Zesstrin had killed so many; his cronies would be out there somewhere. Killing. Slaying innocents. They had run away. They were still alive.
Wisdom beyond his years, one might say... But Caele made a vow, a promise.
I'll find you, he thought shakily, reaching down to pull the bloodied dagger from Zesstrin's still form. Thoughts raced faster and faster, a whirlwind of images; things he had to do. To say. Previous wishes were drowned - he would become a warrior, a swordsmaster. A knight. I'll find you all, every one who's tortured before... I swear it. I swear it! I'll find you... And I'll... I'll...
I'll kill you all. Scylla help me, I'll find you!
- Jubilation;;
Caele, age 16 [human equivalent: age 11]
Year: 12,959.
D'issan, Derafyn Battleplain.
Inspiration: Another dream... fun, aren't they? Amplified by gud moosics, bby. (:
- - - - - - - - - - » »
Finally... Finally. He'd get to train with a real sword!
Excitement ran think through the air as Caele - wearing a light grey tunic that matched perfectly with his silver eyes, contrasting with the dark deerskin leggings - stood in a line of the youths selected for 'special' sword training. Each held a long, wooden stave of hardened oak in his or her right hand, unsharp blade pressed against their chests.
"I am General Anulo," a voice rang down the ranks, making many of the boys flinch. It held authority in its tone and commanded attention, emanating from somewhere down the line. "I am the High Rank commander of D'issan's central army."
The ages ranged from near-adolescence to quite young. Caele was one of the younger, but still able to hold his own in the ranks. A dark-skinned drow with snowy hair, as Zesstrin had so long ago, and cool, slate-blue eyes strode back and forth in front of the boys and girls, noonday sunlight from the hidden skylights sparkling across his steel armor and the silk-threaded tunic he wore underneath. At a sharp word all of them stood a little straighter, eyes locked on the commander.
"You all know what you are here for. There will be few chosen over the next moment to take their Test and prove their loyalty and dedication as a soldier to the drow nation. The rest of you will continue training; those chosen will fight me, then be sent on a specific quest announced by the Authoritarian Council. The quest could be announced tomorrow; or years from now."
They all stood upon a lengthy battlement, a stone wall that protected D'issan's western side from tunneling enemies, overlooking a vast black barrier of what appeared to be unrelenting obsidian; volcanic glass. Caele glanced at his surroundings while the Commander paused beside another young drow; a slightly taller lad than Caele himself with wild black hair tinged with red and liquid topaz eyes. Things were so beautiful here despite the darkness of the underground... A diamond in the rough.
He snapped back to attention as the officer continued. Booted feet planted together, left arm locked to his side, the other holding the wooden sword up against his chest, hilt across the heart.
"This Test will push you beyond your limits and past endurance; the weaklings will be weeded out and sent home." An unspoken threat - or a promise? "Those that pass will continue training at a higher level and enter into their sevenmonth trial period. During that sevenmonth, you will not be able to speak to another of your comrades until such training is complete."
The drow commander halted right in front of him. Caele gulped and nodded, trying not to let the nervousness he felt show. He wasn't entirely successful.
The commander reached out with one gloved hand and took the wooden sword by it's blade in a firm grasp, jerking it to one side; Caele retaliated on instinct, twisting it to break the other drow's hold.
He froze; the commander stepped back. Caele dropped it; he stave clattered noisily to the ground, the boy's eyes wide. He had just...!
"Good. You are a natural swordsman, Agarwath. Scylla has granted you many gifts." He peered at the young elfkin with narrowed eyes, smile fleeting at best. The commander gestured for Caele to pick up the wooden sword and resume position and turned to go. The youth hastened to do so - freezing again when that same voice interrupted once again. "You are the first chosen; meet me in an hour's time. At the gates."
A moment of hesitation... comprehension broke through the elated daze and the drow nodded vigorously, returning to his former position.
A place in the D'issan swordsman ranks. A good word from a General.
This had been a good day.
- - -
A few days later, Caele found himself where the young drow thought he'd never be - on the frontmost battlement, facing the glittering entrance that faced Derafyn Battleplain. The yawning archway that separated the underground from the life above shone with mid-day sunlight glancing across the swept cobblestones. Colorless sand swallowed the stone just beyond.
He gulped, staring outside with eyes filled with anxiety.
As the commander pushed him forward - a gentle-but-firm shove - his gaze locked on the vast... emptiness of the Battleplain. Alongside the General, Caele walked to the gate itself and halted there.
Nothing but gray sand greeted his vision, pockmarked by dead trees and burnt-out bushes, the obvious skeleton shining here and there; bones bleach-white and haunting, they grinned at him with eyeless sockets that seemed to have spirits dancing within their depths. They were twisted in such positions - many were humans, some dragons, possibly drow, wolves, strange winged creatures he'd never seen before - as to speak of terrible, deadly agony, a slow and tortured death. Small lizards scuttled back and forth between the ancient corpses, eying the gates of D'issan with large orange eyes. The afternoon sun set everything into stark contrast; shadows looked too dark, silver sand too bright.
Caele had to go out there. Had to train out there. Had to endure that strange sun, the heat, the terror of unknown. That wasn't even all of it.
He had to fight his General.
With Anulo's reassuring hand on his shoulder, Caele took a deep shuddering breath, and stepped forward into the light. He winced even though the sun could not possibly hurt him. Why was he afraid? Ha! This was the thing he'd been waiting all his life for! He was finally being trained for the Force, the military - he'd be a warrior, like his father. He would reach the High Ranks...
Struggling to gather his resolve, the boy continued on at a wary walk, glancing around before halting a few yards outside of the dark-wooded gates decorated with carvings of Scylla and Balion. He studied those for a moment more; two great dragons twined around eachother, both holding in their claws a wreath of delicate flowers, the great sun shining behind their prize. Balion was obviously a drake of the earth; Scylla of the wind and sky. Both gods had aided the drow in their history before and were revered beyond measure - Scylla the greater of the two.
With a whispered prayer, Caele halted. He glanced uneasily to the right and caught sight of a dragon's skeleton, bleach-white in the afternoon rays. He hadn't read enough history as yet to find out what massive battle had been set here; his studies had not advanced much on that level.
General Anulo came to stand beside him. "The sun will not hurt you," he said, reaching out with a hand as if to touch the light itself. "It is both blessing and curse; this you will learn soon. Go back to bed, Caele; your morning training had left you weary. I can tell."
Caele wasn't tired; far from it. But this first venture had made him wary, gave him food for thought. When Anulo decided they would fight, they would; that date and time would not be announced until the hour due. Scylla's judgment, he presumed.
"Thank you," Caele murmured politely. "I'll go..." With a quick bow and the gesture for farewell, the boy walked hurriedly back to the gates; he breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the city's shadows once again, spots dancing across his vision. He didn't hear the commander's chuckle behind him - already the boy broke into a jog, slipping into a small alleyway not too far down the main road.
As soon as the gates were out of sight Caele slowed to a walk and glanced around, lifting two fingers to his mouth. He blew a hard whistle and waited; the note echoed down the streets, quickly hidden by the street chatter. After a few moments a whinny answered it; he smiled. A black horse - untacked, unbridled, seemingly loose - trotted into view, hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles until it halted a few feet away. Caele's smile grew and he threw his arms around the equine's neck, burying his face in its mane. "I did it," he said softly, stroking its dished face with his right hand, "I got in! I get to train as a chosen!"
The horse snorted and nosed the boy's shoulder, bright eyes soft. Caele took the hint and swung onto its back with Elven agility; he barely had time to grab the horse's mane before the gleaming beast took off at a swift canter, clattering down the long alley. Buildings shot past - he gave himself to the adrenaline rush, leaning over the black equine's neck and withers. Horse riding, an art he shouldn't have learned at least for another four years, he had been taught in secret. His mother was good with the beasts; his father a master. Knights, both.
It took them a while to reach the city's hub. Slowing to an ambling trot, the horse tossed its head and entered into a small courtyard. Deserted - this time of day there would be no gatherings. Good. Caele dismounted and patted the horse's brow again with his swordhand, combing his fingers through its forelock before turning and jogging through an arched doorway. He followed the passageways for a good ten minutes and stopped at another door, listening at the crack. With a smile, he tossed it open.
"Mother!" he shouted, eyes alight with his news, "Mother, I've been chosen! I've been chosen!" He halted and beamed at a tall drowess as she turned. Her eyes - silver, like his - lit and she laughed, quickly closing the distance to kneel beside her son. She looked into his excited eyes and smiled, laying her hands on his shoulders.
"Very good," she said, hugging him. "You're father will be so proud! I knew you could do it, little one; and just think. Now you've beaten Fyndel already!"
As if on cue, the wild-haired boy from earlier entered, grinning at Caele while he set a pack down on the table L'alurn had just left. He rubbed one leather-wrapped wrist and walked over to tousle the younger boy's hair, golden eyes glittering. "Ha! You and I on the same day, Cae!" he knelt and hugged his little brother as their mother released him, grin fading into a good-natured smile. "Now we're both chosen; and you beat me by three years."
"Three years?" Caele asked, eyes widening; he had known it was a while, but not... that long. "You were training for three years...?"
"That's why I'm best in my class," Fyndel replied, jerking a thumb at his chest. The boy winked and rose, running a hand through his hair and glancing around thee room. "When's Da coming home?"
L'alurn looked to the door and at the time-candle, before returning to the half-prepared meal on the table. "Not for some time; he had a meeting to attend concerning our involvement with Vystriana's war at the Council, but should return before tomorrow morning. Not sure what's happening up above - we're scheduled to ride out in a week's time."
Caele's face fell. Tomorrow morning? He'd have to wait that long? Their father had been absent often lately; always on Authoritarian business. He wasn't a slaver, like some of the others though - that was one thing that bothered Caele about the younger bloodline. They always had slaves. Mostly humans or poor drow sold into bondage - but why? It went against every moral his mother had taught him, every code of honor the little drow had invented before adopting his father's. The weak shouldn't be made to work for the strong. "He won't be back tonight...?"
"'Fraid not," Fyndel said, also frowning. "Aaaah, I wish somebody else would take over for him once in a while; Da's been busy. He does a lot more than any of the other lazy ones."
He paused as he caught a scathing glance from L'alurn; Caele took the moment to slip around them and down the hallway, out of the cooking area and down to the rooms below. The boy ran down the stairs two at a time and scurried around one corner; he winced suddenly and looked at his left hand, slowing to a walk again. Aah. Scylla's fang. He had forgotten.
In training earlier he had been caught along one palm, then hid it; but even though the wound had scabbed over, it had started to fester and hurt. New blood oozed from the small cut and Caele sighed, changing direction to the bath quarters.
He went to the washbasin and ignored the pain, cleaning the wound with swift, cold water. Wrapping it in a tight bandage, he returned to the stairs, went down another hallway; once in his room he would read for a while - perhaps discover the secret behind Derafyn or stories from the aboveground world - and let sleep overtake him.
It was not long; a book fell to the floor with a whumph and the glittering artificial light automatically dimmed, magically reading Caele's drift into slumber.
- - -
A week had passed; the injury had not gotten better, despite Caele's care. He slipped into a basement near the training grounds and struggled with a fresh bandage between classes, one strip clenched between his teeth. He pulled it tightly, racing the clock; and froze as he heard another enter the room. No! Nobody could know - what would they make of him? A warrior crippled by the smallest injury, unable to even heal a scratch?
"Caele?" It was one of the trainers. He cursed his luck and spit out the bandage, too late to hide it - the man came into view. He nodded silently, eyes averted; the trainer came to stand in front of him, eying the boy's injured hand with a practiced eye. A large drow, one of the elder bloodline, dark brown hair streaked with strands of grey; he sank to one knee and took the boy's hand in his own, waiting until Caele looked up again. Pale blue met silver; regret to sympathy. "You were injured some time ago," he commented, unwrapping the half-done bandage to examine the slash beneath. "But you did not tell any of us...? Why, young one?"
"I thought... I just..." What to say? How could he admit his shame without becoming the laughingstock of the army? He had trained under this man only once; what was he like? What would he do?
"You thought you would be made fun of from your injury? Caele, you must understand - things like this cannot go ignored." A small, gentle smile. It reminded him of his father. "All warriors get hurt at least once, little one, more often many times. But half the world's heroes would be dead if they hid their hurts and had them not healed."
He looked back at Caele's palm and took his other hand, turning them slowly over. A quick word, a flash of white; the pain suddenly vanished. The wound healed without a scar. Slowly, he turned the boy's right hand back and touched his slender fingers, marking the calluses and blister scars that had appeared on his smooth skin. "These are not the hands of a warrior," he said softly, letting Caele's hand go. "You would have excelled at many other tasks, Caele, so many much more fitting than the life of a soldier. Why did you choose this path, young one?"
"Because I have to," Caele answered immediately, meeting the trainer's gaze with sudden determination. It wasn't something he could help; this happened when he was questioned about his future. He couldn't be denied. He had to keep to his promise... rid the world of those unjust to others. Kill the murderers and those that thrived on innocent fear. "This is my destiny... I have to. I made a promise."
The trainer rose and patted Caele's shoulder companionably, giving him a gentle push towards the doorway. "I understand; I made much of the same promise years ago some time I had joined the military." A smile. "After all, I was apprenticed to a blacksmith before I started training."
Caele stared at him. The man gave him a wink and left, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts. He glanced down at his hands and flexed his fingers, eyes following the scars that marred his palms, the blisters and callused tissue...
...it was true; these were not the hands of a warrior.
Did that mean he didn't belong?
- - -
The midday sun beat down upon Derafyn's grey earth with all of summer's intensity, glittering off of armor, sword and shield. Caele stood across from Anulo, a naked blade held ready in one hand, tiny sparks of magic glittering along the length of metal. They were magically protected, forged into the steel; neither blade would harm the opponent that held its partner, acting as an illusion if touched to flesh.
That didn't make the task look any simpler. Caele gulped and struggled to remain calm, face set in a mask of faked determination. He couldn't lose... not now. Not ever. The commander was fully armored as opposed to the boy's sparse shoulder plates and bracers; the sword he bore easily twice as long. This did not bode well.
A starburst erupted overhead; a blue-white flame in the shape of a dragon on flight, roaring once before exploding in a shower of sparks. Caele flinched and started to circle warily, Anulo doing the same. Within seconds, the General shot forward. Caele barely had time to register the movement; he parried the blow just in time to avoid having his neck 'severed', stumbling to the right to retaliate with an underhanded swing. Blocked. He tried to circle to the front and attack - but it was almost as if Anulo was keeping his back to him on purpose.
Caele struck at the General's back, the only place he could hit; the movement was too quick to track. Anulo flicked his blade up and jabbed it back, both trapping the blade and shoving Caele back into a defensive position at once. He twisted around to face the boy, grinning, and pushed the boy back another step. Glittering laughter danced in the drow's eyes, like sunlight on steel. "You can do better, Caele!" he shouted, shoving again.
Surprise gave way to anger. Caele narrowed his eyes and pushed back defiantly, thinking ahead. He could dive to the right and roll, try to cut at the General's legs; maybe jump back and draw him closer, a strike to the side when he attacks; perhaps a feint to the right and leap to the left, bringing the blade to his exposed shoulder -
- he chose the second. The boy drew back and broke away, adopting a frightened expression. Letting the sword lower a few inches, he calculated Anulo's speed and took a few steps back as he advanced, pinpointing where he needed to attack.
The General gripped his sword tighter and bright it up and to the side, teeth showing in a victorious grin. "Are you giving up, my friend? Come now, attack me! Beat me!" He dove forward and drove the sword down on Caele's shoulder; surprise replace jubilation as the boy slipped past, a blade ripping into his side where the armor would be weak. An illusion, only - but it gave a sharp sensation not unlike pain.
Laughing, he let his sword fall to the ground and collapsed dramatically, playing the part. After he was 'dead' Caele approached him and smiled, eyes wide with triumph; the commander cracked an eye and rose to a sitting position, clasping the young drow's hand in his own. Cheers erupted from the ranks of a few hidden watchers - the loudest Caele recognized. He glanced around and noted the recruits hiding behind dead bushes and rocks, grin broadening mightily as he spotted Fyndel clapping wildly.
He had made it... he did it!
He won!
( continued in part 2 )
- The First Oath;;
Caele, age 7 [human equivalent: age 4]
Year; 12,950.
D'issan.
Inspiration: 'Fear' by Disturbed and 'Finally' by TRUST Company.
- - - - - - - - - - » »
Glass shattered across the cobblestone, sharp chunks of it hurtled in every direction. The sound was broken by loud mocking laughter, a quiet gasp, then a voice, high with youth and tainted by malice.
"Aww, did we scare you, little Caele?" the voice jeered as a boy of about eighteen stepped forward towards a smaller - much smaller - toddler. He wasn't very tall; about five feet seven inches, give or take, with bone-white hair and the darkest ash-colored skin.
A drow. One of the younger line in D'issan. And one of the most notorious bullies to walk Felnova. Grinning while he stepped forward again, the adolescent elfkin tapped a small dagger flat against his palm, three others giggling as they followed just behind.
Caele, a black-haired child with silver eyes, backed up trembling violently. His left arm hung limply at his side, blood dripping from a cruel gash cut vertically down it's length. But the boy didn't pay it any heed - his gaze fixed on the ones who approached him, thin boots crunching against the glass.
Light slanted through the alleyway, tinted a strange green, making the floor glitter and sparkle. Still, the dagger-wielding bully and his cohorts came on until their victim was backed up against one grey-slate wall, one small hand clutching feebly at the surface. "L-leave me alone, Zessy," he whispered, eyes widening still with sudden realization.
Zesstrin's going to kill him.
"Aww, now why would big, bad 'Zessy' want to do that, huh? You're already dead, kid." The drow approached his prey without any sign of wariness, one hand flicking back a strand of hair nonchalantly from his face as the other raised the jagged blade. "Any last wishes, weakling? I'm not gonna wait for the runt you are to die by nature's coarse. Little Agarwath needs to be... culled." At the last word his terrible grin spread, the other three boys breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
Caele sank to his knees, tiny fingers touching the pool of slowly-accumulating blood. With a small frightened gasp, he pulled them away, staring at the red staining his fingertips as if it had been acid. At the sound of Zesstrin's knife clacking against the wall he jerked back up, tears rolling silently down his cheeks.
Just a scared, helpless little boy.
"Nothin'? Aww, too bad little warrior. We all know that you just aren't brave enough to join the High Ranks," Zesstrin said, voice low and mocking. "And yet you still wanna? Poor widdle Caele, who can't even stand the sight of his own blood?"
The little boy pressed himself back further against the wall, breathing coming in shallow breaths. He clutched at the wound now; hot blood welled from between his small fingers. Whispering incoherently, Caele winced, thin frame tensed for the blow -
- then something snapped.
Zesstrin shot forward, the dagger merely a silver streak through the air - but his wild laugh cut off as his victim suddenly wasn't there.
Caele darted underneath his adversary large, once-frightened eyes narrowed in stubborn determination. He rammed into the legs of one of Zesstrin's comrades with his good shoulder, wounded arm hanging limp as a doll's. The boy he hit staggered back with a shout, the other looking with a blank expression back to their leader.
Zesstrin knelt, head bowed; ivory curtains of hair fell around his face to obscure his expression. When he rose, one hand pushing back the locks, those eyes held a hatred that could have been purely scarring.
The toddler dipped behind Zesstrin's cohort, the whistle of the dagger slicing the air. The elder youth gave a startled cry; Caele was barely able to sidestep as one of the other drow staggered backwards, hands clutched feebly around the hilt lodged in his breast. Shock lanced over that face, eyes flaring with agony... then a simple thud on the ground, the crunch of glass - and he lay still.
The dark-haired boy looked shaken, fearful eyes locked on the prone form before him as Zesstrin stared dumbly at the one he had slain. Caele backed up a few awkward steps warily, breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. Shock choked the boy... he had never actually seen anybody killed before. Not yet.
What... have I... done...?
"G'dan," the white-haired leader murmured, a spark of sympathetic remorse coming to his scarlet eyes. But when he looked back up and set his sight back on Caele...
...he beheld the gaze of a murderer.
"Z... Zessy...?" the little boy was once again backed into a wall, eyes wide with terror. He shrank against the cool stone, trembling uncontrollably; what would the elder drow do? Thoughts of torture entered the toddler's mind and tore at his short-lived determination - coupled with shock, the feeling could be described as near crippling. Zesstrin took a step forward to kneel beside the motionless G'dan, fingers wrapping tightly about the hilt that protruded from his chest. He pulled the dagger out with that stony, cold expression and advanced on Caele. "Zessy, d... don't hurt me..."
"Oh, I'll hurt you alright you little bastard." Was that a trace of regret in the white-haired drow's tone? He stalked towards the child, dagger raised above his head. "I'll slaughter you. By the time I'm finished, you won't care what hell awaits you!"
"Z-Zessy, I didn't m-mean to!" His hard words fell on the little boy's shoulders like the sentence at a criminal trial; what the judge and jury declared had to be true. The persecuted? Caele. The jury? Judge? Zesstrin.
The verdict? Guilty.
"I... I s-swear I never... meant to hurt him," Caele whispered, sinking down to both knees. He stared at Zesstrin as the dagger glittered in the green-hued light, before arcing down towards the child's exposed throat. He threw both arms up with a choked cry - the blade struck. It sliced deeply into the dark elf's wrist, just below where the previous injury ended. Caele screamed, fiery pain lacing up from the wound, scarlet spattered across the glass-strewn cobblestone. With a whimper he sank to his knees, new tears streaming down the little boy's pale cheeks.
Zesstrin stared coldly at his victim as the boy clutched his ravaged arm close against his chest. Fear sparkled in those wide, tear-filled silver eyes... and yet, determination flared in a flame brighter then ever before. Thoughts of escape and plans of vengeance were born in the toddler's mind: Of how he could save his own life, perhaps even kill Zesstrin.
...kill... The word held so much meaning. Never before did Caele have a true lust for blood. For vengeance, justice. But here it came, deadly as the one wielding the dagger.
Correction: The one not wielding it. Zesstrin doubled over, scarlet eyes wide; the little boy had lurched up and barreled straight into his tormentor with a feral shout, ramming with all the force he could gather into the older drow's stomach. Caele darted back again as his enemy fell - and then, the blessed sound of metal striking stone reached his ears. Instinct took over.
He reached out and grabbed the dagger from where it lay, unmarred fingers grasping the blade's hilt easily. The boy held his wounded arm against his chest still, but... he was armed.
Nothing had ever felt so natural.
Zesstrin was recovering. Already the youth rose to one knee, breathing ragged while he stared at his victim. The hunter faced the hunted, predator to prey.
The tables had turned.
Caele shot forward on impulse, oddly silent as he plunged the knife up to it's hilt in Zesstrin's chest. Vermilion blood spilt from the wound and darkened the slate-grey tunic he wore. A shriek broke the air, cut off - Zesstrin fell lifeless to the ground. In a quick move Caele wrestled the dagger free and plunged it into the elder drow's throat.
Silence fell.
Sudden, crippling horror smote the drow boy as the full awareness of what he'd just done came to light. He had killed. Murdered. But wait... why wasn't he crying? Why had the tears stopped? What was this strange feeling of ecstasy, of having accomplished something overwhelmingly good?
I...
It had all been in self-defense. All for protecting one's life. His own. That couldn't be so bad, could it? And suddenly, so suddenly... Caele knew what he was going to do. Zesstrin had killed so many; his cronies would be out there somewhere. Killing. Slaying innocents. They had run away. They were still alive.
Wisdom beyond his years, one might say... But Caele made a vow, a promise.
I'll find you, he thought shakily, reaching down to pull the bloodied dagger from Zesstrin's still form. Thoughts raced faster and faster, a whirlwind of images; things he had to do. To say. Previous wishes were drowned - he would become a warrior, a swordsmaster. A knight. I'll find you all, every one who's tortured before... I swear it. I swear it! I'll find you... And I'll... I'll...
I'll kill you all. Scylla help me, I'll find you!
- Jubilation;;
Caele, age 16 [human equivalent: age 11]
Year: 12,959.
D'issan, Derafyn Battleplain.
Inspiration: Another dream... fun, aren't they? Amplified by gud moosics, bby. (:
- - - - - - - - - - » »
Finally... Finally. He'd get to train with a real sword!
Excitement ran think through the air as Caele - wearing a light grey tunic that matched perfectly with his silver eyes, contrasting with the dark deerskin leggings - stood in a line of the youths selected for 'special' sword training. Each held a long, wooden stave of hardened oak in his or her right hand, unsharp blade pressed against their chests.
"I am General Anulo," a voice rang down the ranks, making many of the boys flinch. It held authority in its tone and commanded attention, emanating from somewhere down the line. "I am the High Rank commander of D'issan's central army."
The ages ranged from near-adolescence to quite young. Caele was one of the younger, but still able to hold his own in the ranks. A dark-skinned drow with snowy hair, as Zesstrin had so long ago, and cool, slate-blue eyes strode back and forth in front of the boys and girls, noonday sunlight from the hidden skylights sparkling across his steel armor and the silk-threaded tunic he wore underneath. At a sharp word all of them stood a little straighter, eyes locked on the commander.
"You all know what you are here for. There will be few chosen over the next moment to take their Test and prove their loyalty and dedication as a soldier to the drow nation. The rest of you will continue training; those chosen will fight me, then be sent on a specific quest announced by the Authoritarian Council. The quest could be announced tomorrow; or years from now."
They all stood upon a lengthy battlement, a stone wall that protected D'issan's western side from tunneling enemies, overlooking a vast black barrier of what appeared to be unrelenting obsidian; volcanic glass. Caele glanced at his surroundings while the Commander paused beside another young drow; a slightly taller lad than Caele himself with wild black hair tinged with red and liquid topaz eyes. Things were so beautiful here despite the darkness of the underground... A diamond in the rough.
He snapped back to attention as the officer continued. Booted feet planted together, left arm locked to his side, the other holding the wooden sword up against his chest, hilt across the heart.
"This Test will push you beyond your limits and past endurance; the weaklings will be weeded out and sent home." An unspoken threat - or a promise? "Those that pass will continue training at a higher level and enter into their sevenmonth trial period. During that sevenmonth, you will not be able to speak to another of your comrades until such training is complete."
The drow commander halted right in front of him. Caele gulped and nodded, trying not to let the nervousness he felt show. He wasn't entirely successful.
The commander reached out with one gloved hand and took the wooden sword by it's blade in a firm grasp, jerking it to one side; Caele retaliated on instinct, twisting it to break the other drow's hold.
He froze; the commander stepped back. Caele dropped it; he stave clattered noisily to the ground, the boy's eyes wide. He had just...!
"Good. You are a natural swordsman, Agarwath. Scylla has granted you many gifts." He peered at the young elfkin with narrowed eyes, smile fleeting at best. The commander gestured for Caele to pick up the wooden sword and resume position and turned to go. The youth hastened to do so - freezing again when that same voice interrupted once again. "You are the first chosen; meet me in an hour's time. At the gates."
A moment of hesitation... comprehension broke through the elated daze and the drow nodded vigorously, returning to his former position.
A place in the D'issan swordsman ranks. A good word from a General.
This had been a good day.
- - -
A few days later, Caele found himself where the young drow thought he'd never be - on the frontmost battlement, facing the glittering entrance that faced Derafyn Battleplain. The yawning archway that separated the underground from the life above shone with mid-day sunlight glancing across the swept cobblestones. Colorless sand swallowed the stone just beyond.
He gulped, staring outside with eyes filled with anxiety.
As the commander pushed him forward - a gentle-but-firm shove - his gaze locked on the vast... emptiness of the Battleplain. Alongside the General, Caele walked to the gate itself and halted there.
Nothing but gray sand greeted his vision, pockmarked by dead trees and burnt-out bushes, the obvious skeleton shining here and there; bones bleach-white and haunting, they grinned at him with eyeless sockets that seemed to have spirits dancing within their depths. They were twisted in such positions - many were humans, some dragons, possibly drow, wolves, strange winged creatures he'd never seen before - as to speak of terrible, deadly agony, a slow and tortured death. Small lizards scuttled back and forth between the ancient corpses, eying the gates of D'issan with large orange eyes. The afternoon sun set everything into stark contrast; shadows looked too dark, silver sand too bright.
Caele had to go out there. Had to train out there. Had to endure that strange sun, the heat, the terror of unknown. That wasn't even all of it.
He had to fight his General.
With Anulo's reassuring hand on his shoulder, Caele took a deep shuddering breath, and stepped forward into the light. He winced even though the sun could not possibly hurt him. Why was he afraid? Ha! This was the thing he'd been waiting all his life for! He was finally being trained for the Force, the military - he'd be a warrior, like his father. He would reach the High Ranks...
Struggling to gather his resolve, the boy continued on at a wary walk, glancing around before halting a few yards outside of the dark-wooded gates decorated with carvings of Scylla and Balion. He studied those for a moment more; two great dragons twined around eachother, both holding in their claws a wreath of delicate flowers, the great sun shining behind their prize. Balion was obviously a drake of the earth; Scylla of the wind and sky. Both gods had aided the drow in their history before and were revered beyond measure - Scylla the greater of the two.
With a whispered prayer, Caele halted. He glanced uneasily to the right and caught sight of a dragon's skeleton, bleach-white in the afternoon rays. He hadn't read enough history as yet to find out what massive battle had been set here; his studies had not advanced much on that level.
General Anulo came to stand beside him. "The sun will not hurt you," he said, reaching out with a hand as if to touch the light itself. "It is both blessing and curse; this you will learn soon. Go back to bed, Caele; your morning training had left you weary. I can tell."
Caele wasn't tired; far from it. But this first venture had made him wary, gave him food for thought. When Anulo decided they would fight, they would; that date and time would not be announced until the hour due. Scylla's judgment, he presumed.
"Thank you," Caele murmured politely. "I'll go..." With a quick bow and the gesture for farewell, the boy walked hurriedly back to the gates; he breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the city's shadows once again, spots dancing across his vision. He didn't hear the commander's chuckle behind him - already the boy broke into a jog, slipping into a small alleyway not too far down the main road.
As soon as the gates were out of sight Caele slowed to a walk and glanced around, lifting two fingers to his mouth. He blew a hard whistle and waited; the note echoed down the streets, quickly hidden by the street chatter. After a few moments a whinny answered it; he smiled. A black horse - untacked, unbridled, seemingly loose - trotted into view, hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles until it halted a few feet away. Caele's smile grew and he threw his arms around the equine's neck, burying his face in its mane. "I did it," he said softly, stroking its dished face with his right hand, "I got in! I get to train as a chosen!"
The horse snorted and nosed the boy's shoulder, bright eyes soft. Caele took the hint and swung onto its back with Elven agility; he barely had time to grab the horse's mane before the gleaming beast took off at a swift canter, clattering down the long alley. Buildings shot past - he gave himself to the adrenaline rush, leaning over the black equine's neck and withers. Horse riding, an art he shouldn't have learned at least for another four years, he had been taught in secret. His mother was good with the beasts; his father a master. Knights, both.
It took them a while to reach the city's hub. Slowing to an ambling trot, the horse tossed its head and entered into a small courtyard. Deserted - this time of day there would be no gatherings. Good. Caele dismounted and patted the horse's brow again with his swordhand, combing his fingers through its forelock before turning and jogging through an arched doorway. He followed the passageways for a good ten minutes and stopped at another door, listening at the crack. With a smile, he tossed it open.
"Mother!" he shouted, eyes alight with his news, "Mother, I've been chosen! I've been chosen!" He halted and beamed at a tall drowess as she turned. Her eyes - silver, like his - lit and she laughed, quickly closing the distance to kneel beside her son. She looked into his excited eyes and smiled, laying her hands on his shoulders.
"Very good," she said, hugging him. "You're father will be so proud! I knew you could do it, little one; and just think. Now you've beaten Fyndel already!"
As if on cue, the wild-haired boy from earlier entered, grinning at Caele while he set a pack down on the table L'alurn had just left. He rubbed one leather-wrapped wrist and walked over to tousle the younger boy's hair, golden eyes glittering. "Ha! You and I on the same day, Cae!" he knelt and hugged his little brother as their mother released him, grin fading into a good-natured smile. "Now we're both chosen; and you beat me by three years."
"Three years?" Caele asked, eyes widening; he had known it was a while, but not... that long. "You were training for three years...?"
"That's why I'm best in my class," Fyndel replied, jerking a thumb at his chest. The boy winked and rose, running a hand through his hair and glancing around thee room. "When's Da coming home?"
L'alurn looked to the door and at the time-candle, before returning to the half-prepared meal on the table. "Not for some time; he had a meeting to attend concerning our involvement with Vystriana's war at the Council, but should return before tomorrow morning. Not sure what's happening up above - we're scheduled to ride out in a week's time."
Caele's face fell. Tomorrow morning? He'd have to wait that long? Their father had been absent often lately; always on Authoritarian business. He wasn't a slaver, like some of the others though - that was one thing that bothered Caele about the younger bloodline. They always had slaves. Mostly humans or poor drow sold into bondage - but why? It went against every moral his mother had taught him, every code of honor the little drow had invented before adopting his father's. The weak shouldn't be made to work for the strong. "He won't be back tonight...?"
"'Fraid not," Fyndel said, also frowning. "Aaaah, I wish somebody else would take over for him once in a while; Da's been busy. He does a lot more than any of the other lazy ones."
He paused as he caught a scathing glance from L'alurn; Caele took the moment to slip around them and down the hallway, out of the cooking area and down to the rooms below. The boy ran down the stairs two at a time and scurried around one corner; he winced suddenly and looked at his left hand, slowing to a walk again. Aah. Scylla's fang. He had forgotten.
In training earlier he had been caught along one palm, then hid it; but even though the wound had scabbed over, it had started to fester and hurt. New blood oozed from the small cut and Caele sighed, changing direction to the bath quarters.
He went to the washbasin and ignored the pain, cleaning the wound with swift, cold water. Wrapping it in a tight bandage, he returned to the stairs, went down another hallway; once in his room he would read for a while - perhaps discover the secret behind Derafyn or stories from the aboveground world - and let sleep overtake him.
It was not long; a book fell to the floor with a whumph and the glittering artificial light automatically dimmed, magically reading Caele's drift into slumber.
- - -
A week had passed; the injury had not gotten better, despite Caele's care. He slipped into a basement near the training grounds and struggled with a fresh bandage between classes, one strip clenched between his teeth. He pulled it tightly, racing the clock; and froze as he heard another enter the room. No! Nobody could know - what would they make of him? A warrior crippled by the smallest injury, unable to even heal a scratch?
"Caele?" It was one of the trainers. He cursed his luck and spit out the bandage, too late to hide it - the man came into view. He nodded silently, eyes averted; the trainer came to stand in front of him, eying the boy's injured hand with a practiced eye. A large drow, one of the elder bloodline, dark brown hair streaked with strands of grey; he sank to one knee and took the boy's hand in his own, waiting until Caele looked up again. Pale blue met silver; regret to sympathy. "You were injured some time ago," he commented, unwrapping the half-done bandage to examine the slash beneath. "But you did not tell any of us...? Why, young one?"
"I thought... I just..." What to say? How could he admit his shame without becoming the laughingstock of the army? He had trained under this man only once; what was he like? What would he do?
"You thought you would be made fun of from your injury? Caele, you must understand - things like this cannot go ignored." A small, gentle smile. It reminded him of his father. "All warriors get hurt at least once, little one, more often many times. But half the world's heroes would be dead if they hid their hurts and had them not healed."
He looked back at Caele's palm and took his other hand, turning them slowly over. A quick word, a flash of white; the pain suddenly vanished. The wound healed without a scar. Slowly, he turned the boy's right hand back and touched his slender fingers, marking the calluses and blister scars that had appeared on his smooth skin. "These are not the hands of a warrior," he said softly, letting Caele's hand go. "You would have excelled at many other tasks, Caele, so many much more fitting than the life of a soldier. Why did you choose this path, young one?"
"Because I have to," Caele answered immediately, meeting the trainer's gaze with sudden determination. It wasn't something he could help; this happened when he was questioned about his future. He couldn't be denied. He had to keep to his promise... rid the world of those unjust to others. Kill the murderers and those that thrived on innocent fear. "This is my destiny... I have to. I made a promise."
The trainer rose and patted Caele's shoulder companionably, giving him a gentle push towards the doorway. "I understand; I made much of the same promise years ago some time I had joined the military." A smile. "After all, I was apprenticed to a blacksmith before I started training."
Caele stared at him. The man gave him a wink and left, leaving the boy alone with his thoughts. He glanced down at his hands and flexed his fingers, eyes following the scars that marred his palms, the blisters and callused tissue...
...it was true; these were not the hands of a warrior.
Did that mean he didn't belong?
- - -
The midday sun beat down upon Derafyn's grey earth with all of summer's intensity, glittering off of armor, sword and shield. Caele stood across from Anulo, a naked blade held ready in one hand, tiny sparks of magic glittering along the length of metal. They were magically protected, forged into the steel; neither blade would harm the opponent that held its partner, acting as an illusion if touched to flesh.
That didn't make the task look any simpler. Caele gulped and struggled to remain calm, face set in a mask of faked determination. He couldn't lose... not now. Not ever. The commander was fully armored as opposed to the boy's sparse shoulder plates and bracers; the sword he bore easily twice as long. This did not bode well.
A starburst erupted overhead; a blue-white flame in the shape of a dragon on flight, roaring once before exploding in a shower of sparks. Caele flinched and started to circle warily, Anulo doing the same. Within seconds, the General shot forward. Caele barely had time to register the movement; he parried the blow just in time to avoid having his neck 'severed', stumbling to the right to retaliate with an underhanded swing. Blocked. He tried to circle to the front and attack - but it was almost as if Anulo was keeping his back to him on purpose.
Caele struck at the General's back, the only place he could hit; the movement was too quick to track. Anulo flicked his blade up and jabbed it back, both trapping the blade and shoving Caele back into a defensive position at once. He twisted around to face the boy, grinning, and pushed the boy back another step. Glittering laughter danced in the drow's eyes, like sunlight on steel. "You can do better, Caele!" he shouted, shoving again.
Surprise gave way to anger. Caele narrowed his eyes and pushed back defiantly, thinking ahead. He could dive to the right and roll, try to cut at the General's legs; maybe jump back and draw him closer, a strike to the side when he attacks; perhaps a feint to the right and leap to the left, bringing the blade to his exposed shoulder -
- he chose the second. The boy drew back and broke away, adopting a frightened expression. Letting the sword lower a few inches, he calculated Anulo's speed and took a few steps back as he advanced, pinpointing where he needed to attack.
The General gripped his sword tighter and bright it up and to the side, teeth showing in a victorious grin. "Are you giving up, my friend? Come now, attack me! Beat me!" He dove forward and drove the sword down on Caele's shoulder; surprise replace jubilation as the boy slipped past, a blade ripping into his side where the armor would be weak. An illusion, only - but it gave a sharp sensation not unlike pain.
Laughing, he let his sword fall to the ground and collapsed dramatically, playing the part. After he was 'dead' Caele approached him and smiled, eyes wide with triumph; the commander cracked an eye and rose to a sitting position, clasping the young drow's hand in his own. Cheers erupted from the ranks of a few hidden watchers - the loudest Caele recognized. He glanced around and noted the recruits hiding behind dead bushes and rocks, grin broadening mightily as he spotted Fyndel clapping wildly.
He had made it... he did it!
He won!
( continued in part 2 )
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Aw shoot. This was too long to submit to dA. O____________O Nowaaaaai.
ANYWAYS LOL. Part one, I guess, of Caele's long awaited 'Memories'. I think I started this early last year, put it off for a while, then finally got off my lazy bum and edited the crap outta it/added tons more/finished it up. |DD
Some of the characters aren't mine~ Scylla is (c) Skyeh (~XxzenithxX) and Saudi is (c) Darkeh (~Inklaw). I hope i got 'em right! Both were amazingly epicnicity to write about. Other characters mentioned belong to their respective owners (most being me !).
And if i totally screwed somebody's personality of the charries that aren't mine, beat me up. I deserve it. xDD
part two!
ANYWAYS LOL. Part one, I guess, of Caele's long awaited 'Memories'. I think I started this early last year, put it off for a while, then finally got off my lazy bum and edited the crap outta it/added tons more/finished it up. |DD
Some of the characters aren't mine~ Scylla is (c) Skyeh (~XxzenithxX) and Saudi is (c) Darkeh (~Inklaw). I hope i got 'em right! Both were amazingly epicnicity to write about. Other characters mentioned belong to their respective owners (most being me !).
And if i totally screwed somebody's personality of the charries that aren't mine, beat me up. I deserve it. xDD
part two!
© 2010 - 2024 Verridith
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