Scratch

Here is my story/book. I have only written a couple chapters so far, but it is coming out nicely for the first draft. Hope you like it. Please post what you think of it. Oh, and I bleeped out all the bad words. (I think)
The working title is All Hail the Archking Flamothe. But, I don't think that will stay very long.

All Hail Archking Flamothe!
He came long ago.

He came with a sword of fire, burning out the old and bringing in the new.
He came with armor dyed crimson, saving tradition in its shell.

He came, and raised an army.
He came, and destroyed the hordes of yesterday.

He came, and inspired hope.
He came, and wrought fear.

He came, and changed the course of history.
He came, and helped the helper.
He came, with outside rules.
He came, and changed everything.

He came.
Who is he?

All hail the Archking Flamothe!


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 1

    The Archking Flamothe. The man of legend. Supposedly he stopped the Hordes of Dunhei at the Gheriko pass, about two miles from where I live. He took his flaming greatsword, with only fifty men, and held the pass for three days until reinforcements arrived. By then, only three of the fifty men were still living, and only Flamothe in fighting condition. However, almost the entirety of Dunhei’s horde was slaughtered there. The reinforcements ended up cleaning the mess and left. This was around 70 years ago, and still the stories were told at every Leaf Fall Festival.
     I visited there often in my childhood, hoping to see some new sign of the battle fought there long ago. You can still see the scars in the rock where his sword cleaved through, as if they were made of butter. Pa didn’t like my “obsession” with this place. He thinks that it’s a waste of time, but even so, he let me go.
     I grew up working for Pa. He was my father, and wanted me to have a “useful existence” when I grew up, so he taught me the forge from a very young age. I never did any of the hard work, mostly fetching stuff until I was about twelve or so. Then, he started to trust me with making small items, after much begging on my part.
     I started with spoons. I remember the first thing I ever made, with some s****tin and copper. I smelted them together, into bronze, and then made it into my spoon. I have to admit, it was a piece of *. But then again, it was my first piece of *. My lifelong friend, Jerboa, rolled on the floor laughing when he saw it. He got an easy job, working his father, a carpenter. All he had to do was lug big logs around. Or so I thought.
     He and I go way back. Always joking and running around, we were the terror to the town. I would come up with the pranks, and Jer could always pull them off. Or, he would come up the prank, get me involved, and then I would have to smooth talk our way through it.
     Jer and I met when we were both little kids. His mom died at childbirth and mine disappeared. Pa doesn’t talk about it much and I think that she ran off on him. And yet he speaks highly of her. Said she was the best woman he ever met. And that is the most he will talk of her. Ever. Jer and I bonded over having no mother, which made us buds.
     I worked for Pa from 5 am to 3 pm, and then got about three hours until dinner. I usually spent this time with Jer, helping him with his chores, planning pranks, and just having fun. I remember, he once tried to teach me to shoot two arrows at once. For some reason he is really good at this, and thought I should learn how to do it. He showed me the right stance, put the arrows into position and told me where to point it. I fired, and chaos ensued. The first arrow, the one on top, just flipped around and went about ten feet. The other one took a right and went straight through a window. We unwisely were practicing behind Madam Luco’s house, and she was a cranky old bat! We hightailed it out of there, but we got caught anyways. We had to pay off the money it cost to replace the window, which meant about thirty hours extra work. I was worth it though; just the memories of trying something so stupid are good enough. The best part was, this was about two months ago! Good times, good times.
     My seventeenth birthday just passed when news of the coastal towns started to come in. They were getting raided by the Shalas. It was odd, too. They would come in the dead of night, kidnap a couple of people, grab some booty and shove off. Some people didn’t know it was happening until morning. The odd thing was, they were kidnapping scholars. People with knowledge of the surrounding area, of the area of the land in general. They also took livestock and food. Like I said, it was weird. It started to get so bad that some people were moving into the mainland, away from the coast.
     Our town saw a constant stream of refugees, mostly old or young. All of the fighting men and women stayed behind to help their town if it got attacked again. Some of the refugee’s stayed in our town, either working on the fields nearby or at the inn. One, Mr. Godfrey, enjoyed playing chess with us on the porch of the inn. He didn’t need to work, as he made plenty of wealth during his lifetime and left before the Shalas raided his town. So, he played chess. He was very good at it too. First person that could beat me in a long while.
     Another refugee, Aniasle, was born in Shalas. Her mom was from Alegren, our kingdom, and decided to move back when Aniasle was five. They lived on the coast, until the raiders killed her mom, and she and her brother, Geral, decided to leave. She was only eighteen. Her brother was ten.
     King Luaus, our leader, decided that things were getting out of hand, especially when our mayor sent him the list of all the refugees who came through the Gheriko Pass. It listed over 1000 names! That’s a lot of people, especially over a one month time span. King Luaus sent word to most neighboring nations, and Archking Flamothe, requesting for some help. Our army is not that large, or at least not large enough to cover our expansive coastline (over 100 miles) in any efficient way. Archking Flamothe agreed to help King Luaus with the sea raiders. He said that he would put his army into practice, since they have been getting pretty lazy.
     Flamothe leads his own army, all trained to become top-notch soldiers. His mercenaries, for lack of a better term, only encompass around 700 fighting men, and yet each is worth at least an officer’s rank in the other nation’s armies. They are that good. The agreement was for King Luaus to provide food, shelter, and pay for the soldiers, and Flamothe would protect half of our considerable coastline until the Shalas raiders dwindled back to their usual aggressiveness.
     Pa thought that Flamothe had bitten off more than he could chew, seeing as he agreed to protect more than fifty miles of rugged coastline with only five hundred men. Then again, Pa didn’t like Flamothe very much either. It’s something about being “larger than life”. I didn’t get it. Just because he was the man of legend doesn’t make him a bad guy. But then again, it is Pa. I doubt he likes any authority figure.
     What I didn’t get is, what did the Archking get out of it? Apparently he did not get anything except for his soldiers to be taken care of. From what I have heard, mercenaries usually charge quite a bit for guard duty, and an arm and a leg for a war gig. The streets are all full of how King Luaus made a mistake to use an outside army, and yet no one has wondered as to what Flamothe gained. Then again, it is the same guy who took on 10,000 men almost by himself. The man must be insane. Still, it’s all very confusing.
     Well, village life passed by normally for a time, besides the refugees. I still had worked as Pa’s apprentice, and he worked me hard. I enjoyed it though. I liked creating things with the forge. Maybe not normal things, such as pots or pans, but I did like delicate, ornamental stuff. Pa’s fingers were too callused by working for as long as he had (“Boy, I been working since I was half your age, an’ I will keep workin’ here till I have been buried.”) so I took up all of the small work. I enjoy working with Pa. It was normal. When the Leaf Fall Festival came, that’s when things got a little hairy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2

     The Leaf Fall Festival happened right on time, about two months after the refugees started to pour in. In the final weeks of autumn, we set up the brightly colored tents, and started to see a stream of visitors approaching our town. Bards, showmen, and merchants all come to our festival. They set up shop, usually under canvases dyed such bright colors that they can be seen a mile down the path, and start to sell their services and wares.
     They settled on the space next to the town, in the big meadow.  Mostly tall grass grows there, but sometimes one can see wildflowers and such. There are also several badgers’ nests hiding beneath the grasses. When I was little, me and my friend Jerboa would sneak out and put honey in front of the dens, just so we could see one. When it finally came out, we both thought it was huge.  Then, as we were going back to our houses, we got lost because we could not see over the grass. It was rather curious to watch that. I remember, Pa gave me such a talking to about going into the meadow alone that I didn’t get near it until a few months later. And then I brought a string with me, so I could find my way out. I still got lost about three times after that. The meadow was a wide open space, about half a mile in each direction, or roughly the size of our town, which is why we could never find our way out when we were short. It was lined with the forest that surrounds our town on one side, and on the other was the town wall.
     Pa helped them set up. He made a lot of their spikes to secure the ropes holding the tents up, and most people trust him to help set up too. I was very busy, running errands for Pa. He wanted me to go get more iron spikes, rope, and some food at around midday.
     We sat down in the cool shade under the tent that he had just finished putting up, and started eating. I had grabbed some turkey from The Blue Moon and some water for us both. As we ate, I started to look around at the tent that we were sitting across from. It was a dusty yellow tent, unlike most of the other ones. It had two points on its top, just like the ones from the king’s festivals. It had an old sign that read “See Exotic Animals at Master Crocuter’s Traveling Menagerie!” The sign was worn out, and painted with red.  Overall, the tent seemed kinda creepy.
     While we were eating, I got a good look at the owner, Master Crocuter as he stood by the door, glaring at anyone who did not come in. He was older than Pa, with a stiff, crooked back. His hair was greasy black and he had a small goatee overshadowed by a long mustache. If it was possible, I would say that it was even greasier than his hair. He wore a tattered, red cloak that was meant for a much larger man, and he seemed to like it. As in he kept swirling it around, almost unconsciously as he stood there with his bucket. I think it was the collections money for his show. I didn’t know, not many people went in, and when they did, his oversized cloak got in the way.
     I then saw his sign that he stood next to. He finally moved from his spot and it said that entry was five silvers. I remember being stunned at the amount. Nothing cost that much at the fair, just the expensive silver dishes and the animals. Bloody hell, this guy was greedy. I resolved not to go into his tent, but then I remembered that I didn’t have ten bronzes, much less five silvers.
     Pa then called out, “Mat, it’s time to get back to work, boy. Tell ya what. If you can get all of them spikes out of the forge room, I’ll let you have the rest of the afternoon off.”
      “Sure Pa! I’ll be back in a tick.”  I replied over my shoulder as I started to run back to the forge. We lived near the edge of town, right next to the gate as so that it would be easy for him to ship his supplies to neighboring towns, and for events like this. It still took me a good ten minutes to get there though.
     The traffic along the narrow pathways was like a dense bramble, mostly because of the many people that were having old mules pull creaky wagons through them. Occasionally one of the carts would hit a support rope, and the tent would topple, rippling as it fluttered down. I usually found this funny, especially when the owners were inside the tents. They were just a blob sticking up in the middle of the tent. They were usually hoppin’ mad too.
     After I wove my way through the crowd, I sprinted the last hundred yards or so to the wall. This portion of it looked like it was crumbling, not a good thing. I thought about how much of a pain it would be to report it to the town council, and then decided to let it go. It’s not as if anyone will attack our town anyways. I just wanted to go explore the festival.
     I ran along the stone wall, occasionally trailing my fingers across the rough edges of the stones. I felt exuberant, as I could finally explore the tall tents and the wares by myself. But then, just as I was filled to the bursting point with excitement, I saw the pile of spikes Pa wanted me to fetch, and I groaned out loud.
     The pile was about seven feet wide and three feet tall, giving it the look of a kid’s fortress. The spikes were piled high, end on end. There must have been around 300 spikes in there, enough for a good sixty tents. I sighed as I realized that I was in for a lot of work. Maybe until mid afternoon, at best. At worst, I wouldn’t stop working until midnight. There went my plans of a fun filled afternoon.
     Just as I fit all the heavy spikes that I could into my arms, about ten out of ten bazillion, my friend Jerboa swaggered over. He said “Looks like you could use some help there buddy.” 
     I replied “Yeah, could you? Then I can come with you into the festival. Help a friend out, Jer’.” He replied sarcastically, “Yeah, but I am not lifting anything. What do ya need?”
     I rolled my eyes and retorted “How ‘bout you just kick them over to the tents? Could ya do that?” He smiled mischievously. “Kick them? Nah, I couldn’t do that. How would a cart do?”
     I sighed, and realized that he had been pulling my leg the entire time. Pa probably sent him over, with the cart that I most likely missed after rushing off. I then grinned. I would be off into the festival in less than twenty minutes, if Jer helped contrary to his threat.
     I replied to this revelation more sarcasm. “With those big arms of yours, you could probably scoop up all these steel twigs and walk to the drop zone. But if you insist, we can use the cart.” Although, he probably could lift twenty or so of the spikes. His father is a carpenter by trade, and is getting old, so Jer does all of the heavy lifting. I saw him once lift a twenty year oak; right off the ground after it got chopped off at the knees. Thing probably weighed 250 pounds, and he lifted it up and carried it to the workshop, without a bead of sweat in effort. He also has won the Strongman Competition at the festival several times. He was as strong as a horse.
     He casually said, “Sarcasm isn’t going to get you anywhere, Mat. You should be groveling at my royal feet for helping you out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Goodness of your heart. More likely the fear of your fathers strap for not helping. Aye, it’s all the goodness you have.” I grinned, satisfied with the pained look of surprise on his face at my guess. I had a knack at guessing such things. Don’t know why, it’s just that when I get a gut feeling, it’s right ninety percent of the time. I have good luck, I guess.
     “****you and your mind tricks Mat. That’s not fair. Fine, fine. I was, ah, persuaded to join your almighty quest to move the grand pile of spikes to the main tent area. At least I brought a cart, instead of playing the strong man.”, he scowled. Then his face brightened as I walked over and dumped the load in my arms onto the cart while I said, “Your forgiven, but only if you help me load this ****wagon.”
     It took us about ten minutes of grueling, back-breaking labor to load the cart. We worked pretty quickly though, after he moved it to the pile. Just pick up, and dump. Pick up, and dump. It became a game of sorts, as to who could load it the fastest. He won, of course. I was wrong. Jer can lift around thirty spikes, no problem. He had the advantage.
     It’s odd. We are complete opposites, or close to it. He is big, manly and extremely good at anything physical. He can shoot a bull’s eye from 200 paces, chop down most small trees with one swing of an axe, and like I said, has won the Strongman Competition several times. I, on the other hand, have my mind on my side. Besides my good guessing skills, I have great luck and can reason through most riddles. Jer isn’t dumb, but he hasn’t won the riddle contest at every Leaf Fall Festival for the past five years. And, despite our differences, we are the best of friends since the time he thumped me with his new pillow, or about age five. Come to think of it, I still haven’t gotten him back for that…
     Anyways, we took the cart on the perilous journey back to the main tent. I think our cart hit maybe two, maybe three ropes? Each time we did, we kinda just moved a bit faster, so that the owner would not see us with our cart. We did not want to have more work to do. Still, it was fun to get the cart as close as possible to the spikes and not knock them down.
     We arrived at the main tent, about thirty minutes after Jer came to the rescue. We proceeded to unload the spikes while Pa looked on approvingly. It was windy, but that just made us work harder. It didn’t take us nearly as long as it did to unload the spikes. Once we done, Pa said “Well, I guess I have to let you boys go now. Don’t spend all your money, and be back before dark. Ya hear me?”
     We replied simultaneously, “Yes Pa!”, “Yes Sir!” and then dashed off into the midst of the festival.
     Most of the tents were now open, and we explored with no regard to our pocket change. I bought some cinnamon candy sticks, and Jer got a cobbler pie. Felling ecstatic and slightly sticky, we flopped down on a bench in the main pathway. Grinning at each other, we both scoffed down our treats and chatted about the on goings in our lives.
     “So, Jer, how’s your old man?” I said. “He is doing fine, although he is still working me as hard as ever. There is no way that Ardley will win the Strongman Competition this year, the way I have to work. I swear, I have carried half the forest for ten miles around into his shop to be turned into tables.”
     “So, how is Lucy doin’? I heard that she finally got rid of her hip problem. Does she still like that leash I made for the two of you?” He laughed and replied, “Of course she still likes that leash. It’s still the best thing you ever made. How’s that spoon of yours? Got it framed yet?” I blushed, and retorted “At least I have a spoon, instead of eating that cobbler with my hand.” We both looked down, and saw what mess he made, and burst out laughing.
     After we calmed down, which took while, we started to talk about what to do next.  I wanted to go hear the storytellers, while he wanted to see if the bartender at The Blue Moon would give us beer this time. I won out, of course. No one can beat my logic when I want to be persuasive.
     We decided to go with an old favorite, Master Story Teller Spethan Dukie. He was an old man, and had been coming to the Leaf Fall Festival since we were born, and long before that. He was a flashy man, and always wore a tattered, gaudy cloak. He had a long mustache, and a small goatee. Don’t let his appearance fool you though. He was the best story teller ever, and a good natured fellow to boot.
     His tent was only a couple rows away, and we got there right in time for the next telling. The sign said that he was telling about the Archking Flamothe, which was odd. He usually didn’t tell this story. In fact, I doubt that I had ever heard the tales of the Archking from him, so this should be interesting.
     We took seats in the front row, right in the middle. We were sure that Ol’ Dukie would see us, and sure enough, when he flounced out on stage, he gave us a roguish wink, and spun about, finally falling dramatically onto an armchair onstage, behind a fire. This was his usual set up but, like always, we got hooked the instant he came out.
He looked around at the crowd as he got settled, and then took out his pipe. After sticking it in the fire for a light, he took a long puff of the smoke, and got started.
     “The Archking Flamothe appeared about sixty years ago, during the time of King Huiro III. He traveled our country and the ones around it, searching for information, and getting his name spread. I have even heard that he traveled across the sea, and studied the sea raider barbarians that live there. Then, he started to gather followers. He took them from several lands, and trained them himself. He was extremely knowledgeable in the art of war, and almost everyone knew that these mercenaries would have to be destroyed to keep the peace.
     Flamothe, having heard that the nations would rise against him, did nothing for a time. Then, during one of the last meetings, he appeared. He strode through a wall, and calmly asked them about what they would do with the horde coming down the coast, if they were in a war with him? You should have seen the looks on their faces. Well, I wish that I had. A six foot seven warlord comes right through the wall, with his crimson armor, and black hood, you all would be ****ing your pants.”
     Jer and I laughed at this. He leaned over and whispered “I doubt that they knew back then that he could create doorways.” I chuckled and added, “I wonder if he lined that doorway with fire, like he normally does?” We both laughed, and then realized that everyone was staring at us. We instantly calmed down, abashed, and Dukie said wryly, “Okay then, now that our less mature guests have stopped with their caterwauling, Can I continue?” We quickly nodded.
     He puffed up, got settled again and started. “Do you people not know why you would be scared to death of this man in full battle armor? Have you never seen him? That must be why no one is quaking in their boots right now, for any sane man would run in the other direction if Flamothe has his hood up.
     Like I said, he stands at around six foot seven, and seems to fill up much more space than that. His armor is dyed crimson, with his black sigil on the chest. What is his sigil you ask? Well, let me tell you. You probably saw it on the way in, you unobservant folk. It is five overlapped rings, three on top, and two below that. The shoulder joins are rounded, giving them a semi-spherical shape. There are two ivory spikes, about the size of your middle finger on top of each joint. The cuffs on his arms have a blade built into them, running parallel from his wrist to his elbow.”
     He reached behind his chair, and brought out a clay replica. He had painted it crimson, and yet I could tell it was clay because the paint was flaking. Still, the thing looked deadly. The blade was supported in two places, one on the wrist, and the other right before the elbow. It actually extended a good five inches past the elbow, although I didn’t know why. Jer leaned over and asked that exact question. “Psst, do you know what the extension is for? It would be hard to stab anyone with that.” I said I didn’t know, and then turned back and listened to Dukie.
     “…that we have seen this replica, you know how dangerous this man’s armor was. However, he doesn’t fight fist to fist, ladies and gentlemen; he fights with a flaming greatsword. With a nine inch handle, and a four foot blade, it is a scary sight! It is a simple looking sword; he doesn’t need it to be pretty, just deadly. On the hilt there is one ruby, with his sigil etched into the stone. Once the sword clears it’s sheathe, it burns brightly. People, this is why all the old war vets * their pants that night. The Archking is a fearsome fellow indeed.
     However, the sword is not what strikes fear into the heart of his enemies. Oh, no, most evil henchmen don’t fear dying. However, it was his hood that makes men tough as nails weep for forgiveness! His Hood of the ****ed, or so we call it in the telling business. However, he won’t call it such; he just says that it’s an ordinary, cotton hood. We know better. If the Archking grabs anyone, and looks them in the eye, they will go mad. Staring deeply into the Hood of the ****ed cause’s insanity like nothing else. No sane man knows what the victimsed see. Now that, gents, is what he brought into that meeting.” We stared at each other, grinning. Most people knew about his hood, but then again, most did not dare talk about it. Magic such as he’s talking about it is a touchy subject. Most countries imprison those who can use it, in ours, it is suggested that they live away from most people. However, Flamothe flaunts his skills. No one does anything about it either.
     Dukie continued, with almost a bored tone. “Like I said, he burst into the council, as casual as if it was a barber shop. His hood was down, but most of the men there still shouted for their guards. They rushed in, each preparing to die for their patrons. Stupid people, if it was me, I would have run the other way. Anyways, several of the council were veterans and got up themselves. However, Flamothe had other ideas. He waited for them to get close, and then surrounded himself in fire and fled. To the other side of the room. Imagine the backbone he had! They rushed to him there. And, he transported to the other side in the same manner. He did this several times, until the guardsmen got less stupid and decided to just guard around the main table. Then, Flamothe opened a portal beneath the table, causing it to fall through, and then went there. Musta looked silly, all these grown men sitting in a circle around him. No one ever found out when he put it. It’s too bad, it was a nice table.” The crowd roared with laughter. Ol’ Dukie would always have a laugh going through the crowd; that’s why we liked him.
     Once the crowd quieted down, he continued. “They finally started to listen to him. He told them about how Lord Dunhei was working his way down the coast, pillaging the seaside ports and conquering the lands up north. Flamothe warned them of how he was only a week from the Gheriko Pass, and that he planned to move inland from there. He planned to conquer the nations. 
     They laughed at him. They had heard none of this, they told him. He was just trying to get them to stop plotting to kill him! He was furious, as you can imagine. He coldly gave them an ultimatum. “You have six days to assemble troops at the end of Gheriko Pass. Any nation not there will suffer for their cowardness. If you don’t believe me, just ask the people who have died, rotting on the beach, and whose homes have been burnt into a shell. Ask them.” And with that, he disappeared in a whirlwind of flame.
     He waited at the pass, waiting for armies that would never come. In the end, our King Huiro sent fifty men, to hold the pass. He decided to rather be safe than sorry, which in my mind, means that he was afraid of the Archking’s threat. Yes, I said it; our good King Huiro was a coward. Long live his soul.” He grinned wickedly.
     “The fifty men were not all the help the Archking had. Thuder de’Martyeir showed up too. No one knows how the best sorcerer in Alegren knew, and yet he did. Maybe a tipoff from Flamothe? I don’t know.  Flamothe was disappointed and yet it was all he expected. The captain of the small force wanted command, until Flamothe told him calmly that over 10,000 soldiers were only a day’s march away. The stories go that the captain heroically told him that they will stand and fight one million soldiers. Others say that he drew a line in the sand, and declared that none shall pass…What really happened? He threw his sword on the ground and marched off, tail between his legs.” Dukie roared with laughter.
     He said “The other forty nine men decided to stay, if just to get their names in the heroes’ books and due to a large amount of convincing from the Archking. Who knew which weighed more on their minds, lives in legends or dying by fire?” The crowd laughed at that remark. “Anyways” He grinned, “They spent the night inside the Gheriko pass. It was nice weather, beautiful indeed. The men got ready for war. They suited up, grabbed their swords, and then went to the Archking’s tent for instructions. And now, my good patrons, it is time for intermission! You got thirty minutes, while I eat lunch. Thanks!”
     We filed out with the crowd, talking about the story so far. Jer thought it was a bunch of horse *, seeing as no man could be that good. I, however, disagreed. “Jer, if the man can elementize, he can do almost anything. The Archking just likes to use fire, that’s all. He can be that good.” Sorcerers use the elements to do magic, such as fire, air and earth. Many are specialized, although the best are good in all of the seven elements. They also each used a power symbol, such as a staff, or in the Archking’s case, a sword, eternally lit on fire. The elements can be combined, to form lightning and such, and not all of elementizing is violent. Some of the best healers are specialists in the earth, water and spirit elements.
     “That may be so, but his hood? How does he do that? I never heard of a combination that can turn a man insane.” he argued. “Hood of the ****ed my ***. No, my gullible friend, you have been unwittingly led into a hoax.  It can’t exist, and that is that.”
     “Oh and how would you know this? Stick to swordfights my friend, as in the area of elements you are lost. I, on the other hand, have considerable knowledge of the subject, and…” We argued back and forth for a long time, neither of us giving up a foot of ground, until I looked around and realized that we had wandered over to Master Crocuters tent.
     Master Crocuter was a bad man, I told Jer. I related to him the beat down sign, the overstated price, and just general lackluster of the place. We both thought it was fishy. Jer then  suddenly got a look. A look I knew very well, and was semi-afraid of. I had seen this look before he shot an arrow through the hole in Mrs. Kesey’s window, and also before he stole some pies and put them under my window sill. I knew this look very well, and I knew what it meant. He got the look of a prankster.
     I tried to talking him out of it, stating that this could be dangerous. But no, he wanted to do this. I even lied and said I saw Crocuter with a sword, a pike, anything. He didn’t believe me. I then conceded, partly because a voice inside me told me to go along with it, and I knew that Jer would not give up. I told him that I saw that one of the corners had not been spiked.
     Knowing this, Jer wanted to take a look under that tent flap, just to see what animals he had, and whether Jer could release any. He thought that would be a good idea for havoc. I disagreed. I thought it was dangerous, and that we could get ourselves killed by doing that, but I conceded to scout out the area. We decided to take a peak under the corner flap. We got down on our hands and knees after making sure that no one was looking. Once we were ready, we lifted the flap and looked. We then jerked backwards, horrified with what we saw. My mind was reeling.
     “Good God Jer, he is selling…” His hand muffled the rest as he grabbed my mouth, and dragged me back, just as stunned as I was. He, at least, had retained some sense as I lost mine. I nearly alerted them to us, and yet he had enough sense to pull me out. That was a close one.
     Then, I felt hands roughly grab me, and I spun around to see Crocuter, in all of his greasy worth, with two other thugs, both of which had a hold on Jer and me.
“Hello, my good…friends? Yes, friends. Only good friends of us are allowed to see, yes? Spying is naughty, oh so naughty. Take our friends inside, Bors, as they seemed so eager just a moment ago, yes? Good.” *, even his voice was slimy. Yuck. “Sir, we didn’t see anything, sir. Just wanted to get a look at the animals sir.” Good old Jer, trying to get us out of this mess.
     “Really? I think not, yes? If you want to see the…animals, you shall see them. Lead the way Bors.” He replied, almost lazily, one eye flickering between Jer and myself, almost as if weighing us on some scale. He must have reached a conclusion pretty fast, because his head snapped back and he led the way to the entrance of his shabby tent.
     We got hauled inside the tent, where we could see a few small cages. The walls were furnished with just tent fabric, the same color as on the outside. The corner where we unwittingly peaked in was clothed off, with some thick fabric. I shivered. The things behind that fabric curtain were…unpleasant. There were a couple of chairs and a table near the entrance, for collecting money I guess. The cages were few and far between. There was a big empty cage on the far left, and it was empty except for a large chew toy. At least, that is what I thought it was until upon closer examination I found it to be a dead cat, with its gut slashed open.  I looked around the room, disgusted, wondering what animal would do that. I found my answer all too quickly. My stomach sank. I had seen a gholush. 
     A gholush looks like a cross between a bear and an ice beetle. It has icy blue fur, short-cut, with white skin underneath, not that anyone can see it.  Their bodies are thick, with an almost elliptical shape. I could see its teeth, almost a foot long, sticking out of its ever open mouth. The teeth were an ivory color, and had a serrated edge on the side closest to the mouth. They looked really freaking sharp. This one touched the top of the cage with its back, and it looked to be a four foot cage. The thing looked cramped inside the cage, especially since its spikes scraped top bars. The back of this monster was covered in about five creamy white spikes, tinged with a hint of blue. This one’s spikes looked scraped, and dull, probably of the horrible conditions it was forced to live in. It was kneeling, with both knees on the ground. I doubt that it could stand up in there. I almost felt pity for it, but then I remembered that this one probably got captured during one of the Shalas raids.
     I ducked my head down, trying not to appear interested, but it was too late. Crocuter saw me looking at the gholush, and grinned wickedly. “Oh, you like, yes? Maybe you watch our other…friend have play time with gholush? Yes, I see, you want. Bors! Take other friend and introduce him to gholush! In the big pen, yes.” I was stricken, horrified at what he suggested and worried about the life of my friend.   The thug, Bors, dragged him over and all but threw him into the back of the cage. Then he thudded back over to us, grabbed the gholush’s cage by the handles, and put it next to the door. He closed the door, locked it, and then used a piece of wood to push open the monsters cage. Took him five minutes though, and I doubt he had ever done it before.
     The entire time we were both trying to talk them out of this madness, and when that didn’t work, I tried to beat the ****out of Crocuter. Unfortunately it didn’t work, even with Jer egging me on, fear clearly written on his face. Apparently Crocuter knew how to fight, and slugged me over the head and in the stomach, so I couldn’t do anything accept curl up on the ground. Jer watched this, all the while Bors got closer to opening the cage. Something close to hope dawned on his face though, and he quickly masked it, but it was definitely there. He started to shout. “I bet this gholush would like to rip that greasy throat out of yours! You wait, if I get this cage open, it eat you both up! He is sure hungry, you great fat cows!! I bet I can get it undone faster that you stupid thug, idiots!”  Jer walked to close to the cage wall, and Bors slugged him.
     He fell, hard. And unfortunately, Bors got the cage open. Crocuter called out, “Bors, lets, ah, make this fair, yes? Give the boy your stick.” Bors grumbled, and chucked the stick at Jer, who got up and grabbed it, while the gholush was getting itself outside of the cage. One of the spikes caught, at it couldn’t get free. The thing was snarling like there was no tomorrow. Jer did something odd then; he used the stick to lever the spike back, and down, effectively freeing the gholush from the cage. It broke free, and shook itself like a dog, snarling all the while. Then it looked at Jer, slightly cocking it’s head, as if…confused? I don’t know. Jer then did something just as perplexing, he gave it a slight nod. The gholush shook itself again, then leaped, teeth bared, right at his throat.
     Crocuter motioned Bors to come back over to where we were; about ten paces from the cage. He murmured something into his ear, and Bors came up behind me, grabbed my hands and tied them. I didn’t resist, as I was too horrified for my friend. Jer had gotton the stick up just in time, but got knocked backwards. The gholush was chewing at the stick, which Jer had between its jaws and his face.
     This struggle continued for a couple of minutes until the gholush backed up, and started circling. Jer also got up, and made his way to the door, even though it was locked. Then, I saw in his hand a lock pick. He was going to try and break free! They would never let him do that…I decided the best way for this to work was to distract them. I started to shout obscenities, and kicked around. I caught Bors in the crotch, and he bent over, swearing. I then gave him a kick to the head, and his body slumped to the ground. He never got up. Crocuter, pulled a knife out of somewhere, and stuck it in my arm. Bloody hell, that hurt! I howled, and then jumped back, because he had another knife out, and was advancing on me. We both then heard the gholush make a blood-curling, howl, and my heart plummeted. Crocuter paused, and looked at the big cage to see the carnage, and I followed his gaze.
     His eyes popped open, because about 700 pounds of pure fury was hurtling at him as fast as its two legs could carry it. He literally flew backwards, over one of the cages, close to the flaps of his private room his hands now flourished a knife in each hand, and he threw one of them at the gholush. However, it moved when he threw it, so the knife just glanced off its spikes. The gholush stopped its mad charge, saw Bors in front of the cages that Crocuter had acrobatically leaped, and went for him. Probably because he didn’t have any knives. I almost felt sorry for the man. Bors was no mores. Heheh. Jer, however, was just leaning against the cage, grinning. He was alive! I could feel the blood running down my arm, as it gave another painful twinge.  Things kind of got rushed from there.
     A voice called out “Halt! What is going on here?” I saw Jer slowly wave, and I looked around, my arm feeling like lead. The captain of the guard had come in through the flaps, with a couple of men, like the white knights in shining armor. I looked at the gholush, still feeding on Bors, unnoticed by the guardsmen. Jer called out “Sir, he is selling…”, but the guardsmen didn’t hear because they just saw the gholush. One of them threw his spear at it; and knocked a lamp off the table in the back, which started a fire. I turned farther, to see what Crocuter was doing, and my arm gave a fresh spurt of agony as my face contorted into one of mass horror.
     Crocuter was throwing one of his knives right at Jer’s head, and time slowed; Jer’s expression slowly turning into one of shock with the words cut off as the knife left Crocuters fingers and moved through the air like it was jam, turning slightly in the air, going closer to Jer, and I want to stop it, must stop it! It must go, emotions raged and my arm was on fire, there was a ringing in my ears, can’t hear, burning fire and the knife got closer, getting closer and the fear, anger and hatred boiled over in my head, roiling with concern for my friend as the knife got closer and the storm reached a peak in my head as colors and symbols flashed through my eyes, WHITEREDBLUEBROWN  in a crazed swirl of ever upping momentum, my arm was on FIRE, BURNING FIRE, the storm reached its peak, and it HURT, the pain was KILLING ME, KILLING ME, MORE PAIN, crescendo, pain and fire, WHITEREDBLUEBROWNRED, crashing ringing MY GOD IT BURNS, the knife ever CLOSER, ever CLOSER, ringing, and I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
     My mind exploded as all of the energy released in one instant, as one jolt of lightning forked through the room, crackling, maddening, and focusing on that one knife. Delighted in what it found, it poured its energy into the iron, the bronze hilt and reduced it to flaming ore, and crackling one last time, it exploded into the knife. Everything was gone, all the pain, was gone. Eternal bliss… Blinding whiteness, with the ringing back. Men running, shouting. Ears still ringing. My arm hurts.
     I am on my back, after the explosion hit me. I sat up, groaning. My head hurt, and I could not get that bloody ringing out of my ears. Around me, men were shouting, and I think I saw a fire being put out. I could not see Jer, or the weasel Crocuter. I hope he died in that explosion, whatever the ****it was. I stood up, wincing as pain shot up my arm. I could still see the knife handle sticking out of it.
     I limped over to where the entrance had been, now just a pile of ashes. Men, were standing around, yelling at each other. Or, at one man in particular. Funny, his face seems familiar…and my arm sends another spurt of agony at my brain, so I abandon the thought, and concentrate on limping closer. Once I got there, after about a bazillion stabs of fire into my arm, I mumbled something like this “W-Where iss J-Jer?” One of the men looks at me, and gasps. I guess he hasn’t seen many people walking around with a knife in their arm. I started to laugh.
     Then one of the men, the one they were all yelling at came over, and gave me a good look, like he was buying a hammer or axe. That too, struck my funny cord, and I redoubled my effort to be heard on the other coast.  The man, who I am now going to call Scarface, finally looked away and said “He needs to get some medical attention. You have any healers around here, or do you throw them out as well?”
     A chubby man, whom I recognized as the ever annoying town Council leader, responded “No, we have a healer! They use their arts for something else than blowing up respectable businesses!” I should probably tell them about his side business, but decided to let it go on account of the fact that all I wanted is for my head to stop ringing like some bloody bell, and for my arm to be gone. “…you can just leave! I don’t know why we are putting up with you insisted excuses about why you didn’t do this. It had to be you, Thuder!” Scarface just leaned back, and grinned.
     It was Thuder de’Martyeir. As soon as I heard the name and connected it to Scarface, I got hit with an invisible sledgehammer. My head shot up as I reeled back, struck with sudden blindness. Colors flashed through my eyes, and I felt exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. Emotions, colors and shapes rolled through my mind, with my sanity a ship on their massive ocean, with a storm lingering. I fell to the floor. My muscles felt like lead, and as weak as jelly. Nausea hit my stomach, and I lost control. Waves of emotion rolled through my mind, rage, jealousy, and fear. Fear dotted out all the rest. Just and endless blanket of darkness bloomed out of the horizon when my head hit the floor, and colors burst in an array of sunlight. Light inversed itself and became dark, and I blanked out.
     When I woke up, I realized that my eyesight came back, and yet it was odd. Colors were distorted, and the air had a slightly vivid look, as if reality got pumped up. As best as I can describe it, I saw everything from a bird’s eye view. Reality thickened, and hummed as I watched. It was like watching a teller’s story get unveiled before my eyes.
     I saw Thuder, looking much younger with a black mane of tangled hair. His entire body was like a wound spring, ready to snap open in anticipation for the events that would follow. He wore a black cloak that swirled with the small breeze, and the hood was down, for he needed all of his sight to be focused. He carried an ash wood staff, with carved elemental runes in it that seemed to be slightly glowing, as if they knew that they would be used soon.  He was standing on the cliffs next the Gheriko pass, looking down upon the grassy path with a look of disgust on his face as he watched an endless column of soldiers march pass, ignoring the impeding storm.
     Lightning arced through the sky above, laden with clouds as black as the night itself. The clouds seemed to be on the breaking point of a deluge. The wind howled and streaked through the pass, grabbing at anything light and free moving. Several times the horses stumbled from its mighty blaze. The air felt thick with tension, as if it knew of the battle to come. The ground trembled in the armies passing, and the cliffs reverberated with the sound of metal boots clinking in perfect rhythm.
     Several men looked around nervously, unsure of the weather. A couple horses brayed and took several seconds for the owner to calm. The animals seemed on the brink of panic, as if their instincts knew of what would happen. Most of the soldiers, however, were calm. They were sure that their great leader, Lord Dunhei, would get them through and into riches that no man could dream of.
     They were unaware of the man standing above them, even with the radiance given off by his fierce persona. They trooped on, ignoring the wind and impending rain. Lord Dunhei rode in the middle of the parade, on a midnight-black warhorse. He had brought his army down from the northern lands, where he united the tribes, created the giant horde in front of Thuder and then marched down the coast, planning to use the Gheriko pass to gain entry into the Alegren Kingdom. Thuder, it seemed, was going to try and stop him alone.
      He was waiting for the right moment to spring his trap, and yet he felt like it might not be enough to stop them. His steel strong resolve faltered, if just for one second as he contemplated other ways to divert the horde. Then, as he realized that they were almost at the trap, he shook off his doubts and got ready. When the front guard of the soldiers marched passed the gnarled tree on the right, he sprang the trap. The elemental runes on his staff glowed intensely for a second, all seven of them, and dimmed down again. Then, all **** broke loose as the walls of history collapsed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

      Two boulders careened into the canyon, smashing into each other and the walls of the pass, and finally landing with a tremor so great that it was felt for miles around, shooting up a dust cloud. The soldiers stopped, afraid that the boulders would start to move down the gentle slope they were climbing. As the dust and debris settled, the army saw the boulders settle into their craters, not to be moved. Everybody let out a collective sigh of relief that they did not know they had been holding, and marched one, for there was a crack that the men could move through the newly made obstacle.
      Almost no one wondered as to why these landmarks had shifted from their spots of a thousand years, not when they had endured storms of greater magnitude than this, and not when several men had tried to topple them before. Even their guides from the northern lands knew of them, and used them to mark the halfway distance into the kingdom. Then again, they weren’t given much time to think.
      Thuder started to combine fire and soul, making spirits whose primary goal was to burn anything, and everything. Standing a head above the average man, they would burn people into shells, and then continue onto the next. There is no way to fight back, at least not physically. Elementalists dislike them, mostly because they are like their host element, fire. If you play around, you can get burn just as easily as your victim. Thuder summoned them.
      As the boulders settled, something happened near the back of the long procession. For men near the front, it looked like sparkling dots were dancing around the backside of the horde. For those near the back, it looked like hells armies had come to escort them to their fiery doom. Waves of fire spirits rushed through the soldiers, burning animal and man till they were no more, and then moving on the next victim. Thuder had chosen wisely in his plan, as I could see. Men were getting burnt out in the back, and yet the soldiers had to move on towards the front of the procession for the spirits moved to the closest living thing.
      Men panicked, horses fled and only a lucky few made it past the line of burning flesh. Then, the spirits started multiplying. Their number now crushed the armies back, laying waste to squads of soldiers in minutes. Meanwhile people were getting trampled in an effort to get through the boulders, where they mistakenly thought safety lay.
      Thuder started the next part, creating lightning out of a combination of ground, water, air and fire. The elements came to life, and flew across the sky and the lightning ignored the tall trees it had previously tormented and started to select other elementalists, who finally realized they were under attack.  It struck wagons, and supply trains, and into squads of men. People were blown to pieces, and thrown into the walls and nature turned on them.
      Thunder ripped through the sky, and lightning arc down, arcing through the many people. Explosion after explosion, as men were hurled left right and center. Horses were vaporized, and armor was disregarded in the onslaught. Craters were scooped out of the earth by a giant, and shouts could not be heard because of the rolling crash of the thunder. Thuder had his namesake well, as this onslaught from the heavens was tearing the army apart. Men were in awe of the power of the sky, as it turned their world upside down. Some learned to stay away from others. Others knelt down and prayed to the gods.  Either way, the sky caved in around them.
      A resistance formed, and started to banish the spirits, whose numbers dwindled under the new onslaught of the opposing force. The lightning was pushed away, and either grounded harmlessly into the ground, or into the trees on the side of the canyon. A group also went to find the elementalists responsible for this assault, sure that a veritable army of them had made this attempt on their lords life.
      For his part, he had done well. Even as his army was getting attacked, he remained calm, and focused his energy on getting men through the gap. He gave the rallying cry “For Blood! For Glory! For Victory!”, and the army surged forward, sure that their leader was strong enough to survive the tempest being thrown at them.
Thuder now looked worried. The elementalists had stopped his attacks all too quickly, and the men were too strung out for his liking. He had to stop them here and now, before they made it into the kingdom. All the countries were unprepared to deal with the horde, and he doubted that most even knew of its existence. Steeling himself, he made one last desperate attempt to stop them before resorting to the final act.
      The boulders began to move, as if on their own. The wind pushed them, and the earth itself molded into tracks of hard stone for them to run along. It took all of Thuder’s energy to create these, or almost all of it. Satisfied, he saw them start to move.
      And then watch in horror as the men stopped them, by flinging dead comrades in their paths and by trying to push them back. Unfortunately for Thuder, their crazy, non-human effort succeeded. The boulders stopped, and settled for the last time that day. Thuder swore, and then stiffened as he realized that the opposing elementalists had found him.
      He threw up wards quickly, just in time. Fire slammed into the shimmering air around him, but it could not find a way through. He grimaced as more energy slipped away from him. He started to move towards the center of the horde. He also threw up an air wall in the gap between the boulders, as to not let any more men escape than he had to. As he ran along the edge, he looked and realized that his previous attacks had only killed off about a quarter of the horde, and left about half injured.  Better than he had thought, but still not good enough. He slowed to a stop as he got to where he needed to be, right above the heart of the horde, and where Dunhei was located.
      Thuder gave a quick prayer, and started the incantation. Colors and symbols swirled around him, and then turned black as he finished. The spell was primed, and almost ready. All it needed was the one word that would trigger the reaction. He took a breath, and jumped out into the canyon. His cloak swirled around him, and he brought his staff to bear as he dropped the height to the ground.
      As he neared, he thought about all of the wasted moments in his life, the love lost and his friends not knowing what had happened to him. He had any regrets, but he also had a duty. His duty to the ones that he had failed a long time ago. As he fell, he smiled, almost unconsciously at the thought of finally repaying that debt. He accepted death, and it will accept him. Now, he whispered the final word, and disappeared in a blinding glow of white light.
      I saw him jump, and I saw him turning into the light. After that, it continued to expand outward, and an extremely fast rate. Men tried to flee, but almost all were absorbed into the light. Dunhei was a the head of the men fleeing, and when he finally lost the race, he was absorbed in a much more brilliant flash than any of the others. After that, it receded back into the center, where it flashed one last time, and vanished. Thuder was no more.
      The survivors peeked out of their hiding places, unsure if the tempest had abated. Seeing no one, they got bolder, walking slowly towards the center of the blast. Finding nothing, they were unsure of what came next. Their leader was gone. Their army was decimated, perhaps beyond repair. And they never saw the attacker, Thuder, make his final move. Grim faced, they started to head back the way they came, towards home. Only fifty men survived.

Last edited by TheSaint (2010-01-27 18:45:21)