The dusk is quick and night descends,
Where light was born now dark things bend.
A heavy hush looms over all
As drums beat long and Death does call
To those that seek the evening power
Of blade and bow, now is the hour.
Prepare for war, sad Aboron,
For chains you bear shall soon be gone.
-"Revolution", Earin di'Zal
Enter Aidan Cree.
Dusk is settling about the steppes before Nyord Sardi. The air is growing crisp and frigid with the onset of autumn. Thousands of Aboronians are setting fire to the outlying buildings of the nobility who have prospered for so long in the wake of centuries-old corruption in the courts. Blood and blade will fall this night.
Aidan feels his courage waver, not a child of violence, but of submitting to tyranny. He feels both vaulting ambition and crushing fear battle inside his chest for dominance of his will.
Fight or flee? his mind calls to him.
Aidan suddenly hears a shrill cry through the mounting darkness in the wake of the setting sun. "Now is the hour! Now is the day! Revenge and freedom for your homeland, your loved ones, and your dignity! Throw down the shackles of imprisonment and dissemble the pillars of tyranny!"
It was a man atop a roof holding a broken body by the hem of its clothing. He seemed a thing of chaos, maddened and wild-eyed in the light of the burning sunset. All of his stony, sharp features were cast in to stark relief in his state of triumph and pleasure.
Revenge and freedom... for your loved ones...
The words chided him unendingly in his skull.
"No," he promised himself, "I will dog Count Reithwayr to the highest mountain top and to the lowest pit!" He spat on the dirt and drew his shabby, second-rate broad sword.
The face of Mahra, his beloved sister, abused and dragged beyond the fringe of his sight that night that his world came crashing down, surfaced in his mind. The body of his father, fastened to a massive, sturdy oak, ripped and mauled to pieces as he screamed and cried in unearthly torment to the maddened bloodlust of the Aboronian soldiers, was splayed in his mind's eye before him.
He cried in to the night and charged to the aid of his countrymen and countrywomen.
Mentis thought as he nodded at the man to his left, who proceeded to kick in the door with unbridled rage. He and 2 other townsfolk rushed into the manor, pounced on the guard stationed to protect the family, and brought him with with their makeshift weaponry.
One of the men bellowed into the empty hallways, taunting the rich inhabitants. Warning them that their days of feeding off the weak were at an end: Mentis could not agree more.
The other man sobbed as he beat the corpse of the guard mercilessly with his cudgel, letting out years of hatred within the span of 11 blows. He wiped away his tears of fury, and nodded at Mentis.
He lit two torches, one was thrown into the hallway to their left, and one was sent upstairs. Without looking back, the trio left the house and blocked the doorway with a cabinet, the people within would not escape with their lives.
Mentis grinned at this, their freedom was finally at hand, no longer would they have to live under the heel of the oppressive nobles. They, the townsfolk made the rules now.
He screamed into the moonlit streets, not at anyone in particular, but at the oppression, for he had experienced it first hand. He gripped his chain tight, and waved his fellow revolutionists into the next house, and the next unfortunate victims of their anger.
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"One in every 10 million people can potentially have a headache from this pill." God forbid she is the 0.000000001% of having a headache.
"You there! Stop!" calles a voice far off, "Get him he's one of the Count's men!"
Laist stops at the sight of three townsfolk running at him with their 'weapons' drawn. They surround him with anger in their eyes, ready to kill.
"No, wait. My name is Laist, I'm not any of the Count's disgusting hencemen," Laist tells them pleading for his life.
"You came from the fortress, you have to be. You must have been running for your life after news from our attack," says one of the three men.
"No! I'm nothing of that. I'm a spy, I was sent here to inflitrate the fortress and to learn of the Count's deeds. Look, I stole this map," Laist tells them removing the map from his knapsack.
"A spy? Who sent you then?"
"I cannot tell you that, but I am. Trust me, please. The Count found me out and sent me to the dungeons to be killed. I will fight along side you in this battle, to prove my hatred for the Count myself."
"Okay. Henry," the man asking all the questions says lowering his weapon, "Make sure he's not going to betray us."
"You got it," replies Henry.
"Now is the hour! Now is the day! Revenge and freedom for your homeland, your loved ones, and your dignity! Throw down the shackles of imprisonment and dissemble the pillars of tyranny!" echoes a man's battlecry throughout the mountains.
Laist looks over to the man standing on a roof as the cheers of the countrymen and countrywomen below him ring out into the nearing night. Laist looks back to the three men that are watching the people at a distance too.
"Let's go to battle, men" Laist tells them as they nod with agreement.
Tyreon stands at the outskirts of the city being ransacked by the masses of peasants and farmers. He stands there as he watches buildings be burned, humans being brutally murdered and pillaging of the nobels's possesions.
"Are we no better than they?" Tyreon asks himself. Tyreon turns around to avoid the scene in front of him. He watches the smoke quickly cover what little sun there is. The smoke mixes with the dusk light to create a dark auburn sky. A cold breeze blows down the spine of Tyreon.
While Tyreon contimplates his role in the revolution, he hears the cries of a younger human. Tyreon turns around to see the boy, barely fifteen; he can hardly lift the hammer in his hands to be used as a weapon. Tyreon watches as two nobels approach the boy. The men unsheathing their swords as they close in on the boy. One man draws his blade and slashes the boys arm.
Tyreon has seen enough.
"Now I remeber why I have decided to join this fight. I will not become one of them but I will stand up for those who cannot defend themselves" Tyreon announces to himself.
Tyreon grabs the hilts of the his two rapiers that lay on his hips. He charges towards the boy to defend him. As he rushes to the boy's aid, Tyreon pulls both of his swords from their holsters. Just as quickly as he made his way to the boy, Tyreon stops right in front of him. He stands there, both swords in hand, as he stares down the two men.
"Your tyranny ends here." Tyreon tells the men. The man on his left lunges forward, swinging his sword towards Tyreon. Tyreon quickly side-steps to avoid the attack. As the man misses and passes Tyreon, Tyreon spins around in a full circle with both rapiers slicing through the air. The attacker stands for a second before his head drops to the floor, soon followed by his body. Tyreon stands up straight again and focuses on the other attacker. The man takes a defensive stance as he prepares for Tyreon's assualt. Tyreon charges towards the man with his rapiers dancing in an aerobatic assualt. The blades spin around Tyreon slicing left and right, top and bottom. The man blocks many of Tyreons attacks, blocking one sword while quickly reacting to the next attack. The man gradually backs up as he defends himself from Tyreon's swings until he eventually gets backed up against the wall of a house. Tyreon halts his attack and stares at the man directly into his eyes. The man can almost feel Tyreon looking into his soul.
"You disgust me, going after a boy. You should be ashamed of yourself but I'm sure this is just another incident on the long list of horrible crimes you have committed." Tyreon announces to the man. With that Tyreon thrusts both rapiers deep into the man's chest. Tyreon quickly withdraws his two blades from the man's torso. Without another word said, the man drops down to his knees for a second before his lifeless body impacts the ground beneath him.
Tyreon's attention quickly returns to the boy who is sitting on the ground. Tyreon rushes back over to the boy and kneels down
"Let me see you arm." Tyreon asks the boy. Tyreon grabs the arm of the boy as he inspects the severity of the wound that was inflicted. Tyreon wraps his hands around the laseration and closes his eyes.
"Abdura Basreyacera" Tyreon chants. A bright light shines through Tyreon's hands. Tyreon releases his grip around the boys arm to reveal an unscathed arm.
Tyreon stands up as he hears a man yelling from a roof top. A cry to all of the men apart of the revolution.
"Barbaric as some of these men are, I am proud to be a part of this." Tyreon expresses.
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Suddenly, a horn bellows from atop the lofty ramparts of Nyord Sardi. It echoed long and bailfully, rumbling through the brick and mortar of the crumbling outlying nobility's housing. Aidan stopped midway with his sword ready to pierce a man he did not know, and, astonished, both quickly looked toward the sound.
High above, Aidan saw the synchronized glint of hundreds of bows raising to the skies and hundreds of men stepping forward to view.
----------
Enter Countess Amriella Gremne-Aboron.
Amriella ran as fast as her thick royal dressings would allow her, clasping a handkerchief in her left hand and yanking herself up the stairwell with her right hand on the railing. The ramparts of Nyord Sardi seemed an eternity beyond her futile steps, forever moving yet farther from her so that she might never reach it.
"No, my husband! Please no! You will kill not only the revolutionaries, but the nobility will suffer your deadly wrath, as well! The survivors will surely join the Revolution against you!" she remembers begging Reithwayr.
She remembered his vile grin, then, that maddened, twisted, meniacle work of devilry. "No, my love," he said with a sweet lift in his voice, "the people will relish dying by my orders, and since you have brought it to my attention, I will personally feast upon the heart of every survivor, revolutionary or not!"
She then remembered Reithwayr turning to her precious son Derroda, who bowed slightly and averted his father's eyes. "My son, my son, now you see what separates leaders from the weak! Send out my orders to the Royal Guard. Perhaps someday you will be as great as me!"
I must stop them. She was crying now. Surely, I have some influence. I am the Countess!
After what seemed a vast ascension of the highest mountain, she topped the last cold, stone step and rounded the corner toward the landing to the wall, her delicate Aboronian jewelry tinkling and glittering in the torchlight. As she had anticipated, the elite of the Royal Guard's marksmen were lined atop the wall in perfect unison, their arrows ready, and Derroda's arm and hand held in the air, ready to issue the order that would cast many lives in to oblivion.
"NO!" she shouted before she could think of anything else.
Amriella ran desperately to her son, falling in to his right arm. "You cannot do this! You must not do this!" She heaved a great breath. "You know in your heart it is wrong!"
She heard Derroda let out a quivering breath. "I am not in a position to disobey my father, or the Count's, wishes."
She groped his chest and yanked his face down to her's, "There are thousands doing that very thing at the foot of this blasted fortress of death and every vile thought! You know this is madness! Please, Derroda, my son! We can overthrow the Count and rule in peace!"
He pushed her away, "What makes you think that these people, who have suffered for so many years under our kind, would want to be ruled by us? In their minds we are the same."
She stood in an empty doorway, the hinges broken off and the wooden frame splintered. The door itself lay on the floor within and, beyond that, were strewn the bodies of the house's inhabitants. They had not been wealthy nobles. They were but the poor servants of rich masters. Now they were dead, having laid down their lives in service to their vile masters.
"This is not what I envisioned. Revolution against tyrany. Vengeance for those who suffered. Not the slaughtering of innocents which first sparked me to join in this mutiny. Now I wonder if my choices were the right ones."
She turned around.
"Was I wrong to come here?"
The man that stood before her shook his head.
"No, Fariha. You made the right choice. These people, innocent as they were, supported the evils of greater men. It was their decision to lay down their lives instead of their arms as so many others, more sensible, have done."
"Yaret, you always were insightful," she said, her lips curling into a slight smile at the nostalgia of her adopted family.
Yaret had been the youngest boy in the family that had found her and had saved her life. They had grown up together, learned together, and she had always felt as if they truly were brother and sister.
"Go home. Tell mama and papa it has begun and that they should try to stay away from the cities as much as possible. You remember the way?"
He looked incredulous.
"Of course you do. Go then. I will continue on through the village and meet up with the force on the other side. Goodbye, brother."
She kissed his forehead and he took off down the street back in the direction they had come. She watched as he ran off then, when she finally could not see him any longer, continued down the street the other way, in search of life.
Tyreon turned his head to see the wall of archers and arrows approaching. Tyreon grabbed the boys arm and pulled him up.
"Quick, hurry, into that house." Tyreon ordered as he pointed to a house a few feet away from them. They ran into the house and Tyreon slammed the giant oak door behind them.
"Stay here until it is clear." Tyreon explained to the boy. He then quickly reopened the door and ran out of the house and shut the door again, sealing the boy safely inside. Tyreon stood in front of the house, guarding it as if it were his own now.
"What is that boy thinking, risking his life. How much tyranny must there be in this world to cause such innocence to be changed into instruments of war?" Tyreon pondered to himself. As he stood there pondering the this transforamtion of children, an arrow shoots through the air aimed at his skull. Tyreon reacts with what little time he has after noticing the arrows path.
"Thud" the arrows eminates as it hits the door behind Tyreon, inches from his face.
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He loved the sound, absolutely loved the sound the chains made. Odd that he grew to enjoy a sound so much when it was the only thing he could hear for uncounted years. He grinned at the irony of it all, and grinned at the fear the sound was causing.
He could hear them, their quivering voices, their slowed breathing, he could hear it all. He reveled in it for mere moments before kicking down the door. It shattered under the force of his blow, and sent splinters flying throughout the room. He spotted the first of his victims, and whipped his chain towards the noble. It wrapped around the mans' throat, piercing his flesh as it dug the various blades into his neck. Mentis ripped the chain backwards, and sent the man to the floor with a sickening thud.
Mentis merely laughed, and grinned insanely at his next victim. The man must have went into a state of shock, his face a blank stare. Mentis focused on his chain, and muttered "fethala aretavaru" under his breath. His chain raised itself upwards like a cobra ready to strike, and darted forwards towards the man's chest. It punched through his thin robes, and exited the man's ribcage through shreaded flesh. He grinned at his handiwork, and departed from the newly vacated dwelling.
Mentis was suprised he was capable of such cruel deeds, it was rather ironic that he now was doing much worse things to his oppressors than they ever thought of doing, seemingly in the name of justice. He grinned at this contradiction, and continued on down the streets towards the object of their rage : the count's castle.
Whistling a tune, he heard a faint chorus join in to his song. He looked around to see who it was, but it kept growing louder, yet the streets were completely devoid of life save a child running into a back alley. He wondered then, what was causing the noise. Looking up just in time to see the moon blackened by a swarm of arrows, he immediately drew upon his energies and yelled "Fethala azretavu" , Countless arrows bounced harmlessly off his shield, and were sent spiraling towards the nearby houses with renewed force.
Gasping with the exertion this caused, Mentis continued once more towards the count's castle, and towards what was left of the revolutionaries.
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"One in every 10 million people can potentially have a headache from this pill." God forbid she is the 0.000000001% of having a headache.
Aidan managed to vault behind a heavyset barrel as the barrage of arrows rained down from the darkening heavens. He felt the barrel rumble as it was pounded by relentless thuds. He could hear the chaos all about him, watched as mere feet from his haven nobility and revolutionary alike were nailed to the ground in a bloody mess.
His heart racing and body sweating, Aidan waited for the brunt of the airborne attack to stop and then quickly ran from the barrel behind a nearby building.
"Quick, hurry in to that house. Stay here until it is clear."
The calm and steady voice was a brief calm in the storm, a bit of friendliness that seemed out of place. Exhausted, Aidan quietly rounded his head about the corner to witness the man at the door, infinitely youthful with robes and iron mesh about his body.
"You," Aidan coughed, "Where are you bound? Are you heading to the fortress?"
Laist and the three militiamen started to work their way back toward their allies.
"So, Laist, did you learn any thing about Reithwayr while you spied on him?" asked one of the men.
"I'd rather not talk about it, especially with you," Laist replied with disgust in his voice.
"Alright then, have it your way."
As they drew closer to the others the cheers grew louder and more vigorously Suddenly, a guard jumped from the bushes near them and thrust his pike deep into one of the men. Laist quickly turned to the commotion that had taken place next to him, drawing a small knife from his boot. He held it to the guards neck as he dropped his pike to the ground, still stuck in the man.
"Do you wish to die?" Laist asked coldly.
"Anything for Count Reithwayr!" shouted the guard.
"So be it," Laist told him, slowly dragging the blade of the knife along his neck.
The guard screamed in pain clenching his neck as blood spewed between his fingers. He fell to his knees as Laist's boot met his chest knocking him to his back while the last breaths of life faded from him. Laist looks down to his fallen ally and he grinds his teeth.
"Stupid human," Laist says under his breath turning away.
The sound of a horn bellowed out to the surrounding countrymen, warning them of their deaths. Archers took their places atop the fortress wall with the bows drawn, ready to fire. Arrows darkened the sky from any light that was left to be seen through the smoke and fire. Laist darted to the wall of the nearby house as the arrows pelted the ground and roof of the house.
"Lucky are we," Laist told Henry, the only other survivor of their group, "Guess I'll be watching your back too. Let's move."
Laist and Henry ran into the town to avoid any following volleys of arrows and took refuge in the house they used for cover.
"You," Aidan coughed, "Where are you bound? Are you heading to the fortress?"
Tyreon's head turns toward a young man. His eyes look past the arrow that almost ended his life. He sees this young man, leather armor covering his body.
I am headed toward the fortress. Tyreon answers the young man. I can only assume you are as well. We should go on from here togehter. Are chances of survivng are better if we stick together. What do you say, shall we continue together? Tyreon asks this stranger.
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Aidan stood for just a moment, taking in those strange eyes, deep as an endless ocean yet filled with a consuming emerald. "You... I know what you are."
He thought for a moment, "No, it does not matter now. We are brothers in war. Let us meet the Count and show him what strength two races have against one."
Aidan motioned around the house and in to a back alley, "We need to avoid the arrow volleys. Let's try to stay behind the buildings for as long as we can."
As Farihah moved through the empty streets, waves of dust and smoke passed over her, choking the air and making her eyes water. There was debris everywhere, flying through the air on the breeze or mingled on the ground with the corpses. Her eyes could not help but follow the rivulets of blood that lined the streets, pooling where some blockage stopped their slow descent to the sewers. She had not seen death like this in a long time... Massacre.
"You there! Which side are you on?!"
The voice surprised her and, though she had been preparing herself for conflict this whole time, this sudden intrusion of reality into her thoughts was like a knife in the dark.
"I..." she stammered. "I am here to aid in freeing this land from tyranny. And you?"
"I am here for that as well," came the response. It did not sound genuine. The voice was tense, evasive. Her mind pictured a predatory cat, waiting to pounce on its prey.
"Come from the shadows, let me see you."
The figure stepped forward, reluctantly by the slight hesitation she noted. It was clear that he was agitated.
"Take me to our meeting place. I have gotten lost in the city. I do not know the way."
She was silent. He was lying. He was not a revolutionary but a noble. She was not some stupid peasant. She was not ignorant to the ways of the world - not anymore. She could see by the tattered robe he clung to and the expensive shoes on his feet that he was a desperate man of wealth, trying to escape the dark demise that he had brought upon himself.
"Well, come on. What are you waiting for?"
"Nobody commands me," she said simply.
The man looked as if he would speak, then he abruptly stopped. He stared at her. She stared at him. She could feel the tension in the air. It was a taught wire on which they both stood, each of them with knives in hand. Who would be the first to cut?
He lunged forward, his hands slipping from his robes and clutching for purchase on her arm. His grip was soft, weak. His hands were smooth and she slipped away from him easily.
"You're going to show me out, girl!" he shouted.
"Aferre azre-" she began. He cut her off with a snarl.
"What is that, magic? Like that's going to work."
He leapt at her again, used his weight to push her to the ground. He raised a fist to strike her.
"Aferre azretade'cera!"
As his fist came down, he went flying up into the air and away from her, his back slamming against the dark wall behind-which he had been hiding before. He groaned as he slid down the wall to the ground, landing with a soft thud.
"What.. what did you do?" he moaned.
She backed away, pushing herself over the rough ground away from her attacker.
"Aferre," she began again. Even in the darkness she could sense his eyes widen, the newfound terror. "Azretavaru."
Her body and mind worked in unison to channel her will and the power of the ancient Gods together, ripples of force working on the wall before her. There was a low rumble and a snap of crumbling mortar. The man looked up in terror as the wall above him came crumbling down upon him.
"Noo!" he cried.
And then it was done. Farihah stood there, her breath heavy and ragged. Her face was a mixture of grief and anger, unable to determine which she ought to feel.
Now I have killed a man, she thought, and what has it changed?
Tyreon and his new partner slipped into the back alleys of the houses. The rain of arrows piercing the roofs of the houses could still be heard. They slowly made their way closer and closer to the wall the that stood between them and the count.
As they passed one house, Tyreon could here two men talking. Arrows littered the walls and door of the house. Tyreon motioned back to the other man.
"Hold on, there are people in this house." Tyreon announced. He crept down to peer into one of the windows of the house. He saw two men, one appeared to be just another militia man aiding in the attack against the count. The other, however, was in the outfit of the count's men. The two men appeared to be working together. Tyreon examined closer at the uniformed man and noticed a map, cleverly hidden in his clothes.
Tyreon slams the hilt of one of his rapiers into the window. The glass comes crashing down. Before the two men can even react, Tyreon jumps through the broken window and points each of his swords at each man's throat.
"What is going on here?" Tyreon asks of the count's man, confused by his garments and suspiciously hidden map.
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"Okay Henry, I think we should wait until the next volley of arrows is over and then move into the battle," Laist told him.
"Alright, I'll have your back," Henry reassured Laist.
Laist looked away from Henry uneasy about Henry's ability to actually help him. Human, protect me. If he can take an arrow for me, he's done well.
Suddenly the window of the house shattered and in moments a man was jumping through holding swords to their throats.
"What is going on here?" the man asked starring Laist down.
"We are rebelling against the Count along side the other countrymen and countrywomen who fight outside," Laist told him quickly, noticing the mans keen interest in the map, "We mean you no harm, sir. This outfit is one I stole while I spied on the Count himself. Who are you?"
"I apologize for my rashness. In these times it is better to act first and ask questions later. My name is Tyreon, I too am aiding in this fight against the Count." Tyreon continued to look over the man in the Count's uniform unsure of his allegiance.
"The man with me is..." Tyreon paused for a second realizing he had not even gotten the name of the man he was with. Tyreon looked back at him.
"What is your name?" he asked the man he was with.
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The question had caught Aidan off his guard and his mouth fumbled awkwardly for an answer; he was tired and worn. "Aidan. Aidan Cree of southern Aboron."
The moment was muddled in his mind, and then he had the sense of logic to return the question to Tyreon, "And you, sir?"
There was a sudden crash from the street, dust and the finery of a nobleman's shelves falling to the floor as the acquainting group steadied themselves.
Before Farihah had a chance to steady herself, the sound of wood splintering and the crack of hinges shocked her back to attention. A man lay in a pile of broken wood, the remnants of a door by the sound of it. He looked up at her and the two of them locked eyes. She could see by his weary expression that he had no more fight left in him - at least for the moment. He did not have the look of a noble and, at any rate he posed no threat. She took a step forward, hoping to help him up.
At that moment, a soldier stepped through the empty doorway, weapon held high. Without thinking, she raised her hands and, with her last ounce of will, shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Alani basreyacera!"
The sword came down, stopped midway through the air as if an invisible shield had blocked its path. The soldier turned to glare at her and let out a bellow of anger at his thwarted attack. He forgot the old man, charging at his newfound quarry, sword rising once more over his head. She backed away, unsure of what to do, unable to concentrate on her spells; defenseless.
Aidan eased the front door open to take a better vantage on the goings on of the outside. The volley from the walls continued to poor down along the main avenues, Standing Legion soldiers were now entering the fray from the outskirts of the external housing of Nyord Sardi, and immediately across the smoke-clogged street stood a solitary girl, more beautiful than any he had ever seen, poised unreassuringly against the oncoming blade of an Aboronian soldier.
A strange thing happened then. A decision was made without the inclusion of any conscious thought, drawing on some deep-hidden well of strength he did not know he possessed, and he hurtled through the door, across the debris-strewn road, and then he was in the soldier's breast, warmth dripping all over his hand, and a strange look of confusion settled on the soldier's face.
Aidan watch as the man slipped free of his blade and slouched on the ground, blood gushing from his wound.
"I..." He was at a loss for words. He had never truly killed another being. This was his first of the battle.
Enter Aidan Cree.
Dusk is settling about the steppes before Nyord Sardi. The air is growing crisp and frigid with the onset of autumn. Thousands of Aboronians are setting fire to the outlying buildings of the nobility who have prospered for so long in the wake of centuries-old corruption in the courts. Blood and blade will fall this night.
Aidan feels his courage waver, not a child of violence, but of submitting to tyranny. He feels both vaulting ambition and crushing fear battle inside his chest for dominance of his will.
Fight or flee? his mind calls to him.
Aidan suddenly hears a shrill cry through the mounting darkness in the wake of the setting sun. "Now is the hour! Now is the day! Revenge and freedom for your homeland, your loved ones, and your dignity! Throw down the shackles of imprisonment and dissemble the pillars of tyranny!"
It was a man atop a roof holding a broken body by the hem of its clothing. He seemed a thing of chaos, maddened and wild-eyed in the light of the burning sunset. All of his stony, sharp features were cast in to stark relief in his state of triumph and pleasure.
Revenge and freedom... for your loved ones...
The words chided him unendingly in his skull.
"No," he promised himself, "I will dog Count Reithwayr to the highest mountain top and to the lowest pit!" He spat on the dirt and drew his shabby, second-rate broad sword.
The face of Mahra, his beloved sister, abused and dragged beyond the fringe of his sight that night that his world came crashing down, surfaced in his mind. The body of his father, fastened to a massive, sturdy oak, ripped and mauled to pieces as he screamed and cried in unearthly torment to the maddened bloodlust of the Aboronian soldiers, was splayed in his mind's eye before him.
He cried in to the night and charged to the aid of his countrymen and countrywomen.
Mentis thought as he nodded at the man to his left, who proceeded to kick in the door with unbridled rage. He and 2 other townsfolk rushed into the manor, pounced on the guard stationed to protect the family, and brought him with with their makeshift weaponry.
One of the men bellowed into the empty hallways, taunting the rich inhabitants. Warning them that their days of feeding off the weak were at an end: Mentis could not agree more.
The other man sobbed as he beat the corpse of the guard mercilessly with his cudgel, letting out years of hatred within the span of 11 blows. He wiped away his tears of fury, and nodded at Mentis.
He lit two torches, one was thrown into the hallway to their left, and one was sent upstairs. Without looking back, the trio left the house and blocked the doorway with a cabinet, the people within would not escape with their lives.
Mentis grinned at this, their freedom was finally at hand, no longer would they have to live under the heel of the oppressive nobles. They, the townsfolk made the rules now.
He screamed into the moonlit streets, not at anyone in particular, but at the oppression, for he had experienced it first hand. He gripped his chain tight, and waved his fellow revolutionists into the next house, and the next unfortunate victims of their anger.
Laist stops at the sight of three townsfolk running at him with their 'weapons' drawn. They surround him with anger in their eyes, ready to kill.
"No, wait. My name is Laist, I'm not any of the Count's disgusting hencemen," Laist tells them pleading for his life.
"You came from the fortress, you have to be. You must have been running for your life after news from our attack," says one of the three men.
"No! I'm nothing of that. I'm a spy, I was sent here to inflitrate the fortress and to learn of the Count's deeds. Look, I stole this map," Laist tells them removing the map from his knapsack.
"A spy? Who sent you then?"
"I cannot tell you that, but I am. Trust me, please. The Count found me out and sent me to the dungeons to be killed. I will fight along side you in this battle, to prove my hatred for the Count myself."
"Okay. Henry," the man asking all the questions says lowering his weapon, "Make sure he's not going to betray us."
"You got it," replies Henry.
"Now is the hour! Now is the day! Revenge and freedom for your homeland, your loved ones, and your dignity! Throw down the shackles of imprisonment and dissemble the pillars of tyranny!" echoes a man's battlecry throughout the mountains.
Laist looks over to the man standing on a roof as the cheers of the countrymen and countrywomen below him ring out into the nearing night. Laist looks back to the three men that are watching the people at a distance too.
"Let's go to battle, men" Laist tells them as they nod with agreement.
"Are we no better than they?" Tyreon asks himself. Tyreon turns around to avoid the scene in front of him. He watches the smoke quickly cover what little sun there is. The smoke mixes with the dusk light to create a dark auburn sky. A cold breeze blows down the spine of Tyreon.
While Tyreon contimplates his role in the revolution, he hears the cries of a younger human. Tyreon turns around to see the boy, barely fifteen; he can hardly lift the hammer in his hands to be used as a weapon. Tyreon watches as two nobels approach the boy. The men unsheathing their swords as they close in on the boy. One man draws his blade and slashes the boys arm.
Tyreon has seen enough.
"Now I remeber why I have decided to join this fight. I will not become one of them but I will stand up for those who cannot defend themselves" Tyreon announces to himself.
Tyreon grabs the hilts of the his two rapiers that lay on his hips. He charges towards the boy to defend him. As he rushes to the boy's aid, Tyreon pulls both of his swords from their holsters. Just as quickly as he made his way to the boy, Tyreon stops right in front of him. He stands there, both swords in hand, as he stares down the two men.
"Your tyranny ends here." Tyreon tells the men. The man on his left lunges forward, swinging his sword towards Tyreon. Tyreon quickly side-steps to avoid the attack. As the man misses and passes Tyreon, Tyreon spins around in a full circle with both rapiers slicing through the air. The attacker stands for a second before his head drops to the floor, soon followed by his body. Tyreon stands up straight again and focuses on the other attacker. The man takes a defensive stance as he prepares for Tyreon's assualt. Tyreon charges towards the man with his rapiers dancing in an aerobatic assualt. The blades spin around Tyreon slicing left and right, top and bottom. The man blocks many of Tyreons attacks, blocking one sword while quickly reacting to the next attack. The man gradually backs up as he defends himself from Tyreon's swings until he eventually gets backed up against the wall of a house. Tyreon halts his attack and stares at the man directly into his eyes. The man can almost feel Tyreon looking into his soul.
"You disgust me, going after a boy. You should be ashamed of yourself but I'm sure this is just another incident on the long list of horrible crimes you have committed." Tyreon announces to the man. With that Tyreon thrusts both rapiers deep into the man's chest. Tyreon quickly withdraws his two blades from the man's torso. Without another word said, the man drops down to his knees for a second before his lifeless body impacts the ground beneath him.
Tyreon's attention quickly returns to the boy who is sitting on the ground. Tyreon rushes back over to the boy and kneels down
"Let me see you arm." Tyreon asks the boy. Tyreon grabs the arm of the boy as he inspects the severity of the wound that was inflicted. Tyreon wraps his hands around the laseration and closes his eyes.
"Abdura Basreyacera" Tyreon chants. A bright light shines through Tyreon's hands. Tyreon releases his grip around the boys arm to reveal an unscathed arm.
Tyreon stands up as he hears a man yelling from a roof top. A cry to all of the men apart of the revolution.
"Barbaric as some of these men are, I am proud to be a part of this." Tyreon expresses.
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High above, Aidan saw the synchronized glint of hundreds of bows raising to the skies and hundreds of men stepping forward to view.
----------
Enter Countess Amriella Gremne-Aboron.
Amriella ran as fast as her thick royal dressings would allow her, clasping a handkerchief in her left hand and yanking herself up the stairwell with her right hand on the railing. The ramparts of Nyord Sardi seemed an eternity beyond her futile steps, forever moving yet farther from her so that she might never reach it.
"No, my husband! Please no! You will kill not only the revolutionaries, but the nobility will suffer your deadly wrath, as well! The survivors will surely join the Revolution against you!" she remembers begging Reithwayr.
She remembered his vile grin, then, that maddened, twisted, meniacle work of devilry. "No, my love," he said with a sweet lift in his voice, "the people will relish dying by my orders, and since you have brought it to my attention, I will personally feast upon the heart of every survivor, revolutionary or not!"
She then remembered Reithwayr turning to her precious son Derroda, who bowed slightly and averted his father's eyes. "My son, my son, now you see what separates leaders from the weak! Send out my orders to the Royal Guard. Perhaps someday you will be as great as me!"
I must stop them. She was crying now. Surely, I have some influence. I am the Countess!
After what seemed a vast ascension of the highest mountain, she topped the last cold, stone step and rounded the corner toward the landing to the wall, her delicate Aboronian jewelry tinkling and glittering in the torchlight. As she had anticipated, the elite of the Royal Guard's marksmen were lined atop the wall in perfect unison, their arrows ready, and Derroda's arm and hand held in the air, ready to issue the order that would cast many lives in to oblivion.
"NO!" she shouted before she could think of anything else.
Amriella ran desperately to her son, falling in to his right arm. "You cannot do this! You must not do this!" She heaved a great breath. "You know in your heart it is wrong!"
She heard Derroda let out a quivering breath. "I am not in a position to disobey my father, or the Count's, wishes."
She groped his chest and yanked his face down to her's, "There are thousands doing that very thing at the foot of this blasted fortress of death and every vile thought! You know this is madness! Please, Derroda, my son! We can overthrow the Count and rule in peace!"
He pushed her away, "What makes you think that these people, who have suffered for so many years under our kind, would want to be ruled by us? In their minds we are the same."
"Forgive me, mother."
He turned to his men, "Fire at will."
He dropped his hand. The arrows flew.
She stood in an empty doorway, the hinges broken off and the wooden frame splintered. The door itself lay on the floor within and, beyond that, were strewn the bodies of the house's inhabitants. They had not been wealthy nobles. They were but the poor servants of rich masters. Now they were dead, having laid down their lives in service to their vile masters.
"This is not what I envisioned. Revolution against tyrany. Vengeance for those who suffered. Not the slaughtering of innocents which first sparked me to join in this mutiny. Now I wonder if my choices were the right ones."
She turned around.
"Was I wrong to come here?"
The man that stood before her shook his head.
"No, Fariha. You made the right choice. These people, innocent as they were, supported the evils of greater men. It was their decision to lay down their lives instead of their arms as so many others, more sensible, have done."
"Yaret, you always were insightful," she said, her lips curling into a slight smile at the nostalgia of her adopted family.
Yaret had been the youngest boy in the family that had found her and had saved her life. They had grown up together, learned together, and she had always felt as if they truly were brother and sister.
"Go home. Tell mama and papa it has begun and that they should try to stay away from the cities as much as possible. You remember the way?"
He looked incredulous.
"Of course you do. Go then. I will continue on through the village and meet up with the force on the other side. Goodbye, brother."
She kissed his forehead and he took off down the street back in the direction they had come. She watched as he ran off then, when she finally could not see him any longer, continued down the street the other way, in search of life.
"Quick, hurry, into that house." Tyreon ordered as he pointed to a house a few feet away from them. They ran into the house and Tyreon slammed the giant oak door behind them.
"Stay here until it is clear." Tyreon explained to the boy. He then quickly reopened the door and ran out of the house and shut the door again, sealing the boy safely inside. Tyreon stood in front of the house, guarding it as if it were his own now.
"What is that boy thinking, risking his life. How much tyranny must there be in this world to cause such innocence to be changed into instruments of war?" Tyreon pondered to himself. As he stood there pondering the this transforamtion of children, an arrow shoots through the air aimed at his skull. Tyreon reacts with what little time he has after noticing the arrows path.
"Thud" the arrows eminates as it hits the door behind Tyreon, inches from his face.
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He loved the sound, absolutely loved the sound the chains made. Odd that he grew to enjoy a sound so much when it was the only thing he could hear for uncounted years. He grinned at the irony of it all, and grinned at the fear the sound was causing.
He could hear them, their quivering voices, their slowed breathing, he could hear it all. He reveled in it for mere moments before kicking down the door. It shattered under the force of his blow, and sent splinters flying throughout the room. He spotted the first of his victims, and whipped his chain towards the noble. It wrapped around the mans' throat, piercing his flesh as it dug the various blades into his neck. Mentis ripped the chain backwards, and sent the man to the floor with a sickening thud.
Mentis merely laughed, and grinned insanely at his next victim. The man must have went into a state of shock, his face a blank stare. Mentis focused on his chain, and muttered "fethala aretavaru" under his breath. His chain raised itself upwards like a cobra ready to strike, and darted forwards towards the man's chest. It punched through his thin robes, and exited the man's ribcage through shreaded flesh. He grinned at his handiwork, and departed from the newly vacated dwelling.
Mentis was suprised he was capable of such cruel deeds, it was rather ironic that he now was doing much worse things to his oppressors than they ever thought of doing, seemingly in the name of justice. He grinned at this contradiction, and continued on down the streets towards the object of their rage : the count's castle.
Whistling a tune, he heard a faint chorus join in to his song. He looked around to see who it was, but it kept growing louder, yet the streets were completely devoid of life save a child running into a back alley. He wondered then, what was causing the noise. Looking up just in time to see the moon blackened by a swarm of arrows, he immediately drew upon his energies and yelled "Fethala azretavu" , Countless arrows bounced harmlessly off his shield, and were sent spiraling towards the nearby houses with renewed force.
Gasping with the exertion this caused, Mentis continued once more towards the count's castle, and towards what was left of the revolutionaries.
His heart racing and body sweating, Aidan waited for the brunt of the airborne attack to stop and then quickly ran from the barrel behind a nearby building.
"Quick, hurry in to that house. Stay here until it is clear."
The calm and steady voice was a brief calm in the storm, a bit of friendliness that seemed out of place. Exhausted, Aidan quietly rounded his head about the corner to witness the man at the door, infinitely youthful with robes and iron mesh about his body.
"You," Aidan coughed, "Where are you bound? Are you heading to the fortress?"
"So, Laist, did you learn any thing about Reithwayr while you spied on him?" asked one of the men.
"I'd rather not talk about it, especially with you," Laist replied with disgust in his voice.
"Alright then, have it your way."
As they drew closer to the others the cheers grew louder and more vigorously Suddenly, a guard jumped from the bushes near them and thrust his pike deep into one of the men. Laist quickly turned to the commotion that had taken place next to him, drawing a small knife from his boot. He held it to the guards neck as he dropped his pike to the ground, still stuck in the man.
"Do you wish to die?" Laist asked coldly.
"Anything for Count Reithwayr!" shouted the guard.
"So be it," Laist told him, slowly dragging the blade of the knife along his neck.
The guard screamed in pain clenching his neck as blood spewed between his fingers. He fell to his knees as Laist's boot met his chest knocking him to his back while the last breaths of life faded from him. Laist looks down to his fallen ally and he grinds his teeth.
"Stupid human," Laist says under his breath turning away.
The sound of a horn bellowed out to the surrounding countrymen, warning them of their deaths. Archers took their places atop the fortress wall with the bows drawn, ready to fire. Arrows darkened the sky from any light that was left to be seen through the smoke and fire. Laist darted to the wall of the nearby house as the arrows pelted the ground and roof of the house.
"Lucky are we," Laist told Henry, the only other survivor of their group, "Guess I'll be watching your back too. Let's move."
Laist and Henry ran into the town to avoid any following volleys of arrows and took refuge in the house they used for cover.
Tyreon's head turns toward a young man. His eyes look past the arrow that almost ended his life. He sees this young man, leather armor covering his body.
I am headed toward the fortress. Tyreon answers the young man.
I can only assume you are as well. We should go on from here togehter. Are chances of survivng are better if we stick together. What do you say, shall we continue together? Tyreon asks this stranger.
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He thought for a moment, "No, it does not matter now. We are brothers in war. Let us meet the Count and show him what strength two races have against one."
Aidan motioned around the house and in to a back alley, "We need to avoid the arrow volleys. Let's try to stay behind the buildings for as long as we can."
"You there! Which side are you on?!"
The voice surprised her and, though she had been preparing herself for conflict this whole time, this sudden intrusion of reality into her thoughts was like a knife in the dark.
"I..." she stammered. "I am here to aid in freeing this land from tyranny. And you?"
"I am here for that as well," came the response. It did not sound genuine. The voice was tense, evasive. Her mind pictured a predatory cat, waiting to pounce on its prey.
"Come from the shadows, let me see you."
The figure stepped forward, reluctantly by the slight hesitation she noted. It was clear that he was agitated.
"Take me to our meeting place. I have gotten lost in the city. I do not know the way."
She was silent. He was lying. He was not a revolutionary but a noble. She was not some stupid peasant. She was not ignorant to the ways of the world - not anymore. She could see by the tattered robe he clung to and the expensive shoes on his feet that he was a desperate man of wealth, trying to escape the dark demise that he had brought upon himself.
"Well, come on. What are you waiting for?"
"Nobody commands me," she said simply.
The man looked as if he would speak, then he abruptly stopped. He stared at her. She stared at him. She could feel the tension in the air. It was a taught wire on which they both stood, each of them with knives in hand. Who would be the first to cut?
He lunged forward, his hands slipping from his robes and clutching for purchase on her arm. His grip was soft, weak. His hands were smooth and she slipped away from him easily.
"You're going to show me out, girl!" he shouted.
"Aferre azre-" she began. He cut her off with a snarl.
"What is that, magic? Like that's going to work."
He leapt at her again, used his weight to push her to the ground. He raised a fist to strike her.
"Aferre azretade'cera!"
As his fist came down, he went flying up into the air and away from her, his back slamming against the dark wall behind-which he had been hiding before. He groaned as he slid down the wall to the ground, landing with a soft thud.
"What.. what did you do?" he moaned.
She backed away, pushing herself over the rough ground away from her attacker.
"Aferre," she began again. Even in the darkness she could sense his eyes widen, the newfound terror. "Azretavaru."
Her body and mind worked in unison to channel her will and the power of the ancient Gods together, ripples of force working on the wall before her. There was a low rumble and a snap of crumbling mortar. The man looked up in terror as the wall above him came crumbling down upon him.
"Noo!" he cried.
And then it was done. Farihah stood there, her breath heavy and ragged. Her face was a mixture of grief and anger, unable to determine which she ought to feel.
Now I have killed a man, she thought, and what has it changed?
Tyreon and his new partner slipped into the back alleys of the houses. The rain of arrows piercing the roofs of the houses could still be heard. They slowly made their way closer and closer to the wall the that stood between them and the count.
As they passed one house, Tyreon could here two men talking. Arrows littered the walls and door of the house. Tyreon motioned back to the other man.
"Hold on, there are people in this house." Tyreon announced. He crept down to peer into one of the windows of the house. He saw two men, one appeared to be just another militia man aiding in the attack against the count. The other, however, was in the outfit of the count's men. The two men appeared to be working together. Tyreon examined closer at the uniformed man and noticed a map, cleverly hidden in his clothes.
Tyreon slams the hilt of one of his rapiers into the window. The glass comes crashing down. Before the two men can even react, Tyreon jumps through the broken window and points each of his swords at each man's throat.
"What is going on here?" Tyreon asks of the count's man, confused by his garments and suspiciously hidden map.
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"Alright, I'll have your back," Henry reassured Laist.
Laist looked away from Henry uneasy about Henry's ability to actually help him. Human, protect me. If he can take an arrow for me, he's done well.
Suddenly the window of the house shattered and in moments a man was jumping through holding swords to their throats.
"What is going on here?" the man asked starring Laist down.
"We are rebelling against the Count along side the other countrymen and countrywomen who fight outside," Laist told him quickly, noticing the mans keen interest in the map, "We mean you no harm, sir. This outfit is one I stole while I spied on the Count himself. Who are you?"
"The man with me is..." Tyreon paused for a second realizing he had not even gotten the name of the man he was with. Tyreon looked back at him.
"What is your name?" he asked the man he was with.
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The question had caught Aidan off his guard and his mouth fumbled awkwardly for an answer; he was tired and worn. "Aidan. Aidan Cree of southern Aboron."
The moment was muddled in his mind, and then he had the sense of logic to return the question to Tyreon, "And you, sir?"
There was a sudden crash from the street, dust and the finery of a nobleman's shelves falling to the floor as the acquainting group steadied themselves.
"Noo!"
Silence.
At that moment, a soldier stepped through the empty doorway, weapon held high. Without thinking, she raised her hands and, with her last ounce of will, shouted at the top of her lungs.
"Alani basreyacera!"
The sword came down, stopped midway through the air as if an invisible shield had blocked its path. The soldier turned to glare at her and let out a bellow of anger at his thwarted attack. He forgot the old man, charging at his newfound quarry, sword rising once more over his head. She backed away, unsure of what to do, unable to concentrate on her spells; defenseless.
"You will die for that!"
A strange thing happened then. A decision was made without the inclusion of any conscious thought, drawing on some deep-hidden well of strength he did not know he possessed, and he hurtled through the door, across the debris-strewn road, and then he was in the soldier's breast, warmth dripping all over his hand, and a strange look of confusion settled on the soldier's face.
Aidan watch as the man slipped free of his blade and slouched on the ground, blood gushing from his wound.
"I..." He was at a loss for words. He had never truly killed another being. This was his first of the battle.