"Two-legged or four, it doesn't matter."
~A Tamurian saying
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I watch my past seven years ago unfolding like a play, myself seated as the lone audience. Everything is too surreal, this has never been the way to spend my eighteenth birthday. Leers exposing my fears back then, my kidnappers spared no effort in unmasking their hopeless lives. Who would ever commit his lust unto an eleven-year-old girl yet to see maidenhood? ‘Tis a question which I will never know the answer to. Joenne said outlaws like them only desire money and ransom, Karen asking why money and ransom since either should be enough. That was two years ago, I still remember a sombre Karen nodding in response to Joenne’s answer.
"Only ransom if you’re a son. If you’re a daughter, then ransom exacted plus getting sold to a bordello."
They claimed to be after my father's gold, said gold was nothing to these ravenous animals licking their lips. Two things they aimed to get, one end was all they wanted. To take their undeserved reward and my body, to renege on their word so as to sell me off like what Joenne had said. I know what they were thinking, for each man spoke aloud out his mind.
Should sins and all things evil from the heart have a higher authority than the mind?
I ask myself this question every now and then, rumoured tales of potent brew running rampant in my head. There is always more than one way to be intoxicated, be it through the hands of a conniving servant or a seemingly innocuous offer to the thirsty. As for me, being both the audience seated and a victim seemingly doomed is another way to be intoxicated even though I know not why.
"There is no honour in fuelling our evil desires, 'tis why even the gods are also sinners. For we are their image in the same way they are of ours."
My mother not from birth has taught me this much, this is why I abhor such a life. What purpose does the promise of power serve if your soul knows not what you are living for, let alone why? What manner of gods are appeased by such heinous individuals? My father is no stranger to scoundrels doing such things in the name of their gods, this is why I know certain things without being cursed with the luck to see them. My mother first taught me about them, my father then followed suit. Not because he was willing, but because my mother effectively forced his hand by acting first. In fact, there were moments where I was left wondering whether my mother did love her husband even though I could see my father giving his love unreservedly to his wife. For I was nevertheless their daughter despite not through birth, the parents' honesty tends to be the most direct before their child. Never mind whether 'tis via a truthful show of emotions or truthful words whispered to me in private.
Then he enters the act abruptly, the only words my inner self can conjure being Chaos Incarnate. All twenty bandits bereft of repentance were hacked down, any reprieve given naught. The continuous nature of his blinking movements was outrageously alluring, it remains so whenever I still think about it. Beholding my saviour weaving to and fro is beauty truly defined, his impunity displayed like a beast mocking its quarry. I witness nothing less than a marvellous sequence of someone disappearing and reappearing at will, me being both the audience seated and a victim saved. Those whose lives are like mine tend to shun me because they say a Cinha is no Causacean. They call me a harlot and a whore, yet his eyes betray a life countless times worse than mine.
His eyes of crimson red... should I be fearing him?
Is he a demon so many have whispered about in fear or merely someone forced to be an avatar of death?
Or mayhap this man is chaos itself assuming flesh? After all, both the heart and head did proclaim the words Chaos Incarnate.
Questions without answers I choose to force away from the porch of my mind, I know with nary a doubt that this dream is never the end. 'Tis, but only a beginning to something I cannot foresee. My heart reaches out to my saviour brandishing a sword baptised in blood, I stand up from my seat with a hand extending towards the stage.
If I am that damsel in distress, is he then the hero who saves her?
As the only audience seated below, should I adore him akin to how Joenne and Karen admired that comely actor years ago on the stage?
My instincts tell me he is indeed a living sigil embodying conflict, my mother used to say trustworthy is a woman's instincts before herself. Surely he is not the type of man Joenne or Karen would fancy, but is he handsome?
More likely he is the rugged type comfortable with charming smallborne girls serving in taverns or even in a bordello. Tuor once commented such men are only good enough for whores, that was when I was only twelve winters or so. My father was not amused by this bluntest jape, a stinging slap and words equally harsh ensured history would not be repeated again.
I then see the full moon gradually laying down its cards, I witness the lunar sky invaded by a captivating sea of blue. The resultant clarity ensnares my soul, this has to be someone from that enigmatic race known as the Vánagandr. A silent understanding seems to greet the rugged figure as he turns around, his back becomes the most poignant portrait ever. Mother has spoken before of beings both fair and powerful, their long ears and hair of wintry snow setting themselves apart from the elves others have spoken about.
Then a violent wind assaults both the stage and without. It feels like the frigid wind arriving every eleventh month, but the force resembles a blizzard during the month of winter. His cloak billows wildly left and right, the wind directing its course in the most chaotic fashion possible. His hood blown away from the head it is meant to cover, indeed 'tis a show of force from a forceful gale.
Then a violent wind assaults both the stage and without. It feels like the frigid wind arriving every eleventh month, but the force resembles a blizzard during the month of winter. His cloak billows wildly left and right, the wind directing its course in the most chaotic fashion possible. His hood blown away from the head it is meant to cover, indeed 'tis a show of force from a forceful gale.
I never expected a complexion bronzed like a Tamurian. Yet, I would never accept that stark white hair and his distinct features as a lie. Our eyes met each other for the first time, burning jewels of crimson red supplanted by the most beautiful colour never before seen...
The colour belonging to that azure moon hanging above... the never-ending blanket of clearest blue…
There is no difference between the past and present, it seems. And may the future be like this as well. If only I could tell him that night my name is Alestrial Eliaden.
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The boiling anger is all too evident, Aeravor’s seething wrath directed against that one person he once called a friend. Lars Alterfate the demon hunter, Lars Alterfate the thrice-damned betrayer…
"Fight me like a man," snarls the ranger, his fist tightly clenched despite every sliver of strength departed from him.
"Just to make sure I die like one?"
"You don’t deserve to die like one."
At those words, Lars gives a smile. Not the devious kind or the occasional leer Aeravor is used to giving, but rather a smile from someone haunted by hurt and guilt. Lolyx does not know whatever transpiring between the two, but something in her says that it isn’t that simple. Above all, that very smile captures her heart like a little girl feeling pity for a wounded puppy.
As for the former Vánagandr, forgive and forget is never part of his language. Let alone the mood to do so. Gripping the Edge of Answerer tightly despite the searing pain caused by Lars’ weapon, Aeravor snarls his defiance like a wolf cornered by a relentless hunter. Crimson warmth trickling along the arm, Aeravor steels himself with a raging fire stoking within. He can’t give in to the pain, he can’t give in to defeat. If Kagetsu no Ji'Yeon is to be the only woman he will ever love, then Lars Alterfate is that one person who must die because of her. Even though he knows what the Chains of Judgement can do, it merely means Lars is not the only person wielding a Grail.
"Kill you! Kill you, kill you, KILL YOU! LARS ALTERFATE!"
A bestial roar resounds throughout the forest, a multitude of voices accompanying a wounded wolf in his full anger. In an awesome show of power, be it due to physical fortitude, a determination of steel, or both, the chains immobilising the ranger and the knight are shattered. For the first time since Arondight rescued her from the slavers, Seelia has a real taste of fear. The ghosts haunting this place were drawn to the stranger for reasons unknown, the peace and tranquillity coming from them now warped into incessant wails, curses, and every expression of bitterness towards a world which has wronged them for no cause at all. There is something disturbing about him, an unseen spectre which seems to deny everything the world has stood for. Perhaps even the world itself.
"Seriously, you drunk or what?
"No joke. I unearthed something funny. A rock with funny words inscribed. I tried to get it interpreted. And guess what? Someone was actually good enough to do it!"
“So you paid him?"
"Well, sorta. He demanded payment, I said I don't have the money."
"That's bullshit coming from you."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I killed him before he started getting too noisy."
"That's bullshit coming from you."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I killed him before he started getting too noisy."
"So what does that word mean?"
"Enemy of the world. Scary joke, huh?"
Such was the last conversation between two of her tormentors before Arondight suddenly appeared, a bestial fire raging brightly in his deep blue eyes. If there is any part of her past which Seelia would gladly forget, it has to be her days as a slave ravished many times over before she was to be sold. Yet here it is, an unexplained reminder of a nightmare taunting her.
It all happened in a momentary flash. In a show of madness, Lolyx runs hastily towards Lars as Aeravor prepares to strike. The ranger has teleported behind his wide-eyed prey, surely all will end here in a single blow. With golden eyes narrowed immediately, a silver chain strikes from above. Struck from behind and immobilised again, Aeravor glares at the object of his hatred. Unable to utter a word, there is only this far his inhumane fortitude can go. Shocked numb by the attack, his senses struggle to piece themselves back together as pain erupts like a conflagration gutting a town.
"My thanks, little girl. You don’t have to do this, though."
If Lars’ statement is intended as one of gratitude, Lolyx would have nothing of it.
"Little girl? Look, I’m already eighteen. You know what this means?"
"Why, yes I do," smirks Lars suddenly in the most roguish fashion, "It means having a pair of breasts."
"What?" retorts an outraged Lolyx, the manner of such a reply causing awkwardness in a watching Adine, "You know what you’re saying, you deplorable lowlife?"
"Why, yes I do, my dear grown-up kitten. I know your friend over there is also a looker even though her breasts are small. But hey, she's also eighteen like you."
Before a banter sparked abruptly, Aeravor gnashes his teeth. It is so much like a past worth countless years of hate, a past damning him forever. If there is truly a life worse than one of despair, it would be that of hope shattered like an infant mercilessly dashed against the rocks. Lars then casts a glance towards the person who used to be his friend.
"You know what it means to be best friends forever? I know that sounds really sappy, Aera."
"You’re drunk, Lars."
"No, I’m not. How can a drunk shaft a whore since he doesn't know where to put it?"
"Too many books on children's tales then, whoremonger."
"I guess so. I mean the children's tales part, not whoremonger. Erm... Aera?"
"What? You want me to shut up about your adventures in the whorehouse?"
"Thanks, Aera. Ji will kill me and hang me upside down if not for your promise of timely aid. She likes children's tales, but it doesn't mean anything once she starts breathing fire and brimstone down my neck."
"You owe me one, Lars. And no best friends forever unless you want me to kill you in Ji'Yeon's stead."
With nary a show of farewell save that smile of a wounded man, Lars Alterfate departs abruptly. His form disintegrates into a murder of crows, incessant caws ringing like piercing shrieks. Lolyx, Adine, and Seelia are left stupefied while Arondight merely exposes a frown. As for Aeravor, his rage flares up like a massive bonfire. Then he finally gives in to the searing pain, darkness befalling and usurping his senses.
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Beneath the morning sun stands a manor, its foundation surrounded by a wall spanning miles. Perched atop a fertile plateau overlooking the region of Saltsea, this is the seat of House Eliaden. Given to its first patriarch Erasmus Gaius Eliaden, Lancershire is a place named after the finest spearmen the Kalaran Empire has ever seen. Despite countless years passing by, these fearsome fighters have never been displaced from their home. Like his father and forefathers before him, Louthes Gaius Eliaden is tasked with the duty to oversee law and order while looking out for marauders attacking from either side of the Endless Straits. With its back facing the Rock Coast and Eagle's Horn to the north, Fort Cairn is ever ready as the watchtower. For despite Histalonia’s claims of being nothing more than a mercantile nation neutral and fair, many a question has been asked concerning alliances forged between Histalonian buccaneers and the dwarven reavers of Crag Isles. Not to mention as well the occasional Cinha pirates from the Nanban archipelago at the Furthest East.
"Young Mistress, there is someone out there seeking your audience," with a formal bow, Tuor announces the arrival of a person he’d rather die than to show respect for.
The target of his reverence is a beautiful maiden of eighteen winters. Wavy hair of raven black reaches to her waist, the fairness of her complexion different from that of the Causaceans. Dressed in a light blue gown, a shelf full of books faces her with an open tome before a pair of dark brown eyes.
"Let me guess," snickers a portly middle-aged man dressed in finery and a chainmail shirt underneath, his sturdy frame leaning against the window sill, "It’s our brave little lion, no?"
"Yes, you’re right. Happy now, Yeovil?" snaps the elderly man, his wiry frame tensing up.
"Let him in, Tuor."
With a tone gentle yet firm, Alestrial Eliaden rises from her chair made from oaken wood.
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"Getting married?"
Expecting disappointment from the man who has pledged himself as her bond, Alestrial is unable to mask her surprise at Gael Kodr’s composure. Surely there has to be a sliver of sadness in his words!
"I know I should have been disappointed. I guess years of knowing certain things do have a wonderful effect. That's why boys will become men. What a bullshit reality."
The sandy blond betrays a rueful smile. When they were twelve, a promise was made in the name of loving union. Kids will always be kids, his only family member would always say. Catterm Leen called him both a cretin and loon for harbouring the absurd dream of being both a hero and Alestrial’s beloved. Lukas Brun, on the other hand, would always encourage him to take that leap of faith. For it is nothing less than his own life, nothing less than a case of now or never. By his own decisions, his life should be defined. As for Adine, she first proposed to him when they were thirteen. She was called an ugly little wench and she disappeared from his view after he mentioned the promise made with Alestrial. For years, she worked as a tavern wench under her father's wary eyes. Within those years, she actually became a beautiful lass. In the words of a children's tale, the ugly duckling has always been a baby swan. And now, Gael has to announce a decision made with much effort coming from Garyth Parkins and Crocker Tayne, two senior figures only wanting the best for their charges.
"You’re not the only one getting married," shrugs Gael, a fortitude of steel being the only wall between anguished denial and fatalistic acceptance, "I and Adine will be getting married. Next spring to be exact. Which means I'll be sending you off first."
Upon those words, the Cinha daughter of Causacean nobility can only nod in stoic calm. Her eyes of brown never straying from his gaze, Alestrial recalls that very day where a little girl first met a lion cub.
"Ales…"
"Don’t worry, Joenne. I’m here."
Grabbing her friend’s arm tightly, Alestrial could only watch in awe and shock as the unruly boy decimated their tormentor. No one knew whence the wild child hailed from, neither could any discern how a smallborne was able to enter a school reserved for the nobility and rich. Sneaking a glance towards Karen Tenias, the Cinha realised she’s wearing an expression no different from the rest. Only Joenne Nantes was scared stiff, yet who could blame her for being the victim instead of a mere spectator?
The trio has been close to each other since their first year in form school. Yet, it was the untimely death of Eirlanna Ulst-Eliaden, beloved wife of Louthes Gaius Eliaden, which brought them closer still. Joenne detested her family watching her every move, the less said about Karen’s father the better. The gaze Graniar Calig Tenias sent towards Alestrial a fortnight ago after his standoff with her father remained a nightmare yet to be shaken off, perhaps this was why sweet gentle Karen would always have nothing good to say about him.
As for that wild smallborne boy, no one has yet to discover how he managed to evade the security. What the Cinha did know, however, was that the bully had gone too far by ripping off Joenne’s skirt and pelting Alestrial with slurs lewd and obscene. Only the Holy Quintet knew where he got his knife from. That was before the offensive object got knocked away from his hand when a violent fist broke his wrist.
"Kill you! Kill you, kill you, KILL YOU!"
Those were the words bursting from the boy’s lungs, his voice resembling a lion’s roar. Prior to her death, Alestrial’s only mother had brought her to the Imperial Zoo. She remembered two animals standing out from the rest, the lion happened to be one of them.
Was this then how a real man should be like? Full of wrath against what is wrong and blessed with an unruly, yet upright soul?
"Ales, stop him! We’ll get implicated if Victis dies!"
The Cinha stared blankly at Karen’s pleading look, Joenne shaking her head vehemently in response.
"No! Let that bastard die!"
"Joenne!"
Promptly interrupting Karen's rebuke, a crippled man laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Your father is worse than a scoundrel, but not you. Lady Karen of House Tenias, I give you my word that I’ll stop this child of mine. And besides, Gael can be quite a troublemaker at times."
Calling out his son’s name, the kindly man with a limp seemed to have fulfilled his promise. Then arrived a moment more shocking than the violence done, the boy’s question resembling more like an animal’s growl. It was a question repeating an obscene boast, the words repeated slowly and causing every girl's blushes. As for the boys, they could only remain speechless for whatever reason inside their heads.
"Garyth Parkins! Tell your boy to shut up before I terminate your service!"
"No wonder he looks familiar…” sniffled Joenne as their school principal and Garyth Parkins engaged in a staring duel, "His vegetable loaf is the best we’ve ever tasted. Vegetables have never tasted this good before."
"None…" sobbed Victis Blaem, "Please, no more…"
Without saying a single word, Garyth’s son turned his back on a defeated foe.
"Watch out!"
Alestrial’s warning was a split moment too slow, Karen and Joenne could only stare in tears and horror as a rock was smashed across the boy knight’s head. Yet, he managed to survive a hit which could have killed someone of his age. Someone of the same age as Alestrial and her two friends. What kind of being is he? More than just a boy, he seemed more of a beast. With a twisted grin, the smallborne gripped the rock firmly in his right hand. Licking the blood which stained the weapon, he spat like a tavern brawler. Wearing a leer, a vicious pursuit was now on the cards before all who were present.
"Hu… huh… HAH!"
Victis Blaem ran away as fast as possible, every girl including Joenne laughing at his plight. The boys, on the other hand, started whispering at each other. It was one thing being convinced that one amongst them was a god, quite another to see that very god wetting himself. As for Alestrial, she kept her eyes on what made the firstborn son of House Blaem flee like a craven knave vanquished.
The saviour’s eyes and his smile… nobody noticed his mundane features. But the Cinha knew another person of a similar bearing. Gael Kodr was merely someone around her age, but his anger was reminiscent of a Vánagandr she met under that blue full moon a year ago.
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Glossary:
Causacean: Basically my version of the white people. If you never saw this coming, most likely it's due to you reading too much whites-only fantasy literature (which by itself is not a sin unless you're too dumb to make an independent judgement as a result).Grail: Not gonna spoil it for you as well. But I can say the Holy Grail is a central part of Arthurian tales.
Seat: A region under the direct supervision of the governor. Beyond its boundaries, the relevant authorities are instead given the task of daily management with audits coming from the governor on a yearly basis. When needed, however, the governor has the authority to assume total authority over the county under his care. [Note: A viceroy does not have a seat. Unlike a governor, however, a viceroy has the right of direct access to the Senate without the need to seek permission. At the same time, every governor has to submit his audit findings to the viceroy.]
Lancershire: A region within Teslaide that is the seat of House Eliaden. Name inspired by a place called Lancashire.
Fort Cairn: A fortress situated in Lancershire, hence also considered as the seat of House Eliaden.
Rock Coast: A rocky coast with a predominant high ground terrain facing the eastern sea border of the Kalaran Empire. It has only one single pass leading to inland, hence its high defensive value.
Crag Isles: A group of islands where the dwarves made their home. However, it must also be stated that those forsaking the way of piracy are always found in places beyond Crag Isle. Due to its central location between the east and west of the Endless Strait, dwarven raids are never confined to just the Kalaran Empire. Instead, there are also moments where Teutonia was also a target. Due to the vast plains defining Slarvea as a nation, however, the Homm'Eot never attempted any attack on the Slarvs.
Endless Straits: A body of water that is part of the Boundless Sea. Above the Causacean continent of Nordeas and below the frozen wasteland of Acard, it stretches from Eagle's Horn at the eastern end of Nordeas to the Teutonian port city of Leavre at Nordeas' western tip.
Furthest East: The eastern continent where the Cinha people reside. Currently split into three factions. Namely, Kamakura at the east, Shikoku to the west, and Nanban down south.
Nanban: The sole archipelago region in the furthest East where multiple shugos (i.e. feudal lords) reign in tandem. Based loosely on the Ryukyu Kingdom.
Bond: An oath sworn by any smallborne to bind him/herself to any member of the nobility. Such an oath can never be broken unless the recipient of the oath decides to nullify it.
Form school: An education system reserved for children aged seven to twelve. After that will be the nurturing school where the system is reserved for those aged thirteen to eighteen. For those pursuing excellence in the individual field of expertise, the Imperial College is the only place for such people aged nineteen onward.
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