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All of the Lights in the Sky Are Stars

Discussion in 'Creative Archive' started by Kalseng, Jan 23, 2011.

  1. When Ouranos was created, hundreds of billions of years ago, no one populated it. The flowing, shifting surface of the planet did nothing but create a hazardous, unsafe atmosphere where nothing could live. The planet's lava eventually cooled, and congealed into rock. The rock rose to the surface, and water filled the planet's cracks and crevices, until only one landmass remained. This would come to be known as Allea.

    Eventually, the planet became populated with creatures of all kinds. Fish to fill the seas, birds to rule the skies, reptiles to survive the heat, dragons to balance the land and sky, and man to unify the planet in all its parts.

    Along with the creation of life, came the creation of magic. The first and most dominant magic of all was the magic of Mother Oura, which became the foundational force for the peoples of the land of Tarra. Tarra was the most eastern continent of the separated Allea, and was ruled by a Theocracy. The church of Mother Oura came to dominate the peoples of Tarra. It ruled Government, Punishment, Science, and even the Armed Forces that protected the peoples of Tarra.

    Those who lived in Tarra harnessed the power of Mother Oura by channeling Her mighty strength through their bodies. Everyone born under the rule of great Tarra was born with magic of Mother Oura. Their magic was that of the planet, and they called themselves Geomancers. They could manipulate and use the environment around them, including the ground, the plants, the water, the air, and everything else around their natural environment. Most Tarrans can use rock and ground-based geomancing most effectively, but those that live near the ocean are the best water Tarrans alive.

    The next magic was born from the core of people themselves. All humans were born with magic inside of them, and these people of the northern continent learned to harness and control that magic. These people were known as the Arvan people, of Arva. This magic became the foundation of their culture and government in little time. Rulers of Arva had to be gifted in magic, and the military had to be expert magic users. Those who operated in Arvan culture respected the magic in every living being, and used their own magic to do even the most basic of tasks.

    Those born into the Arvan magic are born with tattoos across their body. Some have more than others, but everyone has at least a few tattoos. These tattoos channel out the magic from inside the Arvan peoples' bodies, forming different spells based on their manipulation. Instead of channeling power through their tattoos, some Arvans channel their power to their tattoos, giving them solid mass that hovers above their bodies. These tattoos can be incredibly strong, and have been reported to cut through diamond when honed properly. Either magic is a possibility for any living Arvan.

    Every Arvan has a limit on their own magic, however. When this runs out, Arvans draw magic from those who've long since been dead. By pulling magical energies straight from the Otherside, as they call it, they can channel even more power through themselves and out into battle.

    The western clan, which dominates the largest portion of the now separated planet, is that of the Dragon Clan. They are a race of humans that found their magics outside of themselves. Members of the Dragon Clan themselves contain little magical energy whatsoever, but their source of power comes from Dragons. The humans of the Dragon Clan have befriended the Draconic race over thousands of years of a symbiotic relationship, resulting in the current-day bonding of Dragons and humans. Dragons themselves have always been a wellspring of magical energy, but they've never been able to completely access this magic. By bonding to a human, Dragons can access their full potentials, channeling their magic through a human. The humans can access and easily use magic, but lack the necessary magic to do so. A Dragon possesses just the opposite; boundless magic with no control. Some Dragons mature magic immediately, while others take time. Dragons themselves have developed a new biological clock to match that of humans. Birth, growth, and death all occur within a very close time frame to that of humans, and for every human that is born, a dragon is born as well. Every human is given a dragon partner at birth, and grow up with the dragon as their closest friends. Some humans would rather die than face a world without their dragon partners.

    Outside of Allea, little is documented. Ships have been constructed, but most, if not all, have been lost at sea and found little to nothing.

    This is Ouranos.

    And this is its story.



    ----------------------
    Prologue - The Trial
    ----------------------


    His eyes captured everything around him wildly and brightly, trying to hold everything he saw that day, trying to understand so much that was too much for his small mind to comprehend. Wearing his shaggy hair just above his eyes, Landric saw much other seven-year-olds didn’t. He clasped his father’s left hand with his right, clinging to his father’s side. His brother strode along on his left, his hands placed firmly in his pockets. The two siblings looked much alike, but his brother had a much different mindset. Landric was built sturdy and thick, from both of his parents. His father’s side of the family came with thick bone structure, as well as thick bones. His mother’s side of the family had strong bones, as well, but their minds is where they excelled. Landric took both of these traits with him everywhere, striving to both understand and withstand the world he was involved in. His brother, however, seemed to draw solely from his father’s side of the family. He didn’t bear the magical prowess of his mother, in fact, he only had a basic grasp on Geomancing in general. His body was well-built and strong, but he didn’t use it to defend those around him. He used it to get away with defiance, and to pressure those around him into his way.

    The three of them filed into the courtroom, ornately decorated with carvings of trees and plants, as every other courthouse in Tarra would look, but the courthouse of the capital building was decorated with a grand carving of Mother Oura herself in the back, behind the place where the residing Bishop would seat himself. Sitting down in one of the wooden benches, the three of them tightly packed themselves into a group. His father told the two of them to hush, and Landric nodded, turning to Sean for his approval, who made a click against his teeth and nodded slightly.

    “Bishop Kley presiding,” The bailiff standing next to three high seats, each guarded with a stone desk and wall, said. “All rise.”

    After a few moments of chatter died down, everyone rose to accept the bishop into the room. He took his position at the highest seat, and everyone stayed standing. The two priests sat at the two lower seats on either side of him. The bishop looked out at everyone who was gathered at the trial, and waved at the two iron-clad guards in the back of the room.

    “Send him in,” The bishop commanded. His voice was dry as clay, but his wisdom seemed just as old as the substance. His typical brown garb was draped over his figure to mask his human form, and a coil of vine was worn about his neck and shoulders, falling just short of where his diaphragm would’ve been. He wore a small crown with the tree of Oura on the top. The two priests wore a similar garb, but neither wore the vines or the crown. They looked just as old.

    The two guards at the back pushed the doors open, and the entire crowd was brought into a sudden state of panic. Landric’s father seemed angry when his son checked, and Sean had a look of intrigue. He had yet to make his judgments. His brother always was late to decide. Landric, not knowing what to do, decided to try and adopt both intrigue and anger in his face, but he only hurt his forehead trying to twist up his eyebrows in both patterns. The two guards blocked a clear view from Landric, but as they led the defendant to his table, Landric realized what the man was, and why they’d called him a dog of a man.
    The man was about 6 feet tall, and managed to stand on both feet, surprisingly. He had a human structure, but the rest of him was covered in a brown coat of fur. His ears pointed up out of his skull, like a dog, and when he turned to look at his guards, Landric saw that the man had the head of a wolf. He wore a pale loincloth, most likely for social reasons, but the look agreed with him. His muscles appeared well-built, but it was hard to tell. The tail that poked up out of the top of the cloth gave the crowd and embarrassing view of the wolf-man’s butt, which Landric snickered at childishly. The wolf was bound at both his arms and legs, with cuffs behind him and shackles beneath him. Landric couldn’t bare to pay attention, and preferred to swirl the dirt beneath him around in circles with his childish magic. Small pebbles rolled about under his fingertips, ones he had trailed in with him.
    “Cyrus, age twenty-three...” The bishop murmured, and then addressed the defendant. “Do you understand the crime?” The bishop asked, looking down his long nose at the accused man. “You have been convicted of trespassing on sacred ground, touching that which humans are not allowed to touch, and baring malice against Her Holiness, Mother Oura.”
    “Convicted?” Sean growled, just above a whisper, beside Landric. The child brought the pebbles up, hopping them onto the back of the chair in front of them, and up onto their seat. They rolled silently in circles, amusing Landric to the point where he was smiling. “They’ve already decided his guilt?”
    The wolf man nodded lowly, seeming as if he carried the weight of a long life on his young shoulders.
    “He’s just accepting it?” Sean protested quietly. His father leaned over Landric, and hushed his son. “Sorry, dad.”
    “Just remain quiet,” The father’s gruff voice commanded.
    “So you understand the sentence?” The bishop asked. “You are to be treated as a tainted one, and sent out of the capital city.” Landric’s pebbles suddenly stopped moving, no matter how he willed them. “You will be placed within a confinement ring, and tended to daily. Your crimes cannot go unpunished.” Landric tried to force the pebbles back, but they rolled forward, onto the solid ground with a gentle clatter. They rolled under the bench ahead of them, and Landric bent over his knees to get a better look. He craned his head down to the bottom of the wooden back, stretching himself just far enough to see them roll to the feet-or claws, in this case-of Cyrus. The pebbles, as well as many others, gathered about his hind claws. They rolled to the bases of his feet, and the wolf tried to shake them off, until each rolled back about an inch and waited. Landric’s father reached his hand down, and pulled his son up by the black collar of his shirt.
    “Stop that,” Landric was told. The young boy slipped back onto the bench, his arms folded.
    “Your silence proves your guilt,” The bishop assessed. “Without a defender,” The bishop gestured to an empty desk where Cyrus’s defender would’ve been. “I am enacting your sentence at the end of this meeting. You are to be escorted by the premises by no less than three knights, and dealt with. Now to discuss the legalities and religious meanings...” Landric, from a mixture of lack of sleep and boredom, felt his eyelids start to droop. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, from being so excited to see the wolf man. But now that he was there, he couldn’t bare to stay awake. In the fifteen minutes the boy slept, it appeared that something had happened. Everyone stood quiet, their eyes locked onto Cyrus. Each looked down at the wolf’s legs, as opposed to up at his face. The man seemed ashamed of what had happened, and Landric hadn’t a clue why.
    Pebbles were harmlessly collecting around his feet and ankles, shifting slightly. One rolled up his leg and around his thigh, and quickly descended into the ant-like scramble of pebbles beneath him. The crowd hung silent, no one knowing what to do. The bishop was holding a book half-open, and was keeping his eyes locked firmly on the convicted man. Landric didn’t know what was wrong. All he knew was that others were upset.
    “Stop this,” Sean muttered. Landric could feel his brother’s anger, and see it in the twisting cloth between his clenched fingers. “This isn’t right. You all know it.”
    “What do you mean, brother?” Landric protested, tugging on his brother’s suit sleeve.
    “Hush, children,” His father hissed, eyes focused like pin-pricks on the bishop. The air was taut with silence, muffling sound in all directions. The gentle rubbing of stone on stone was like an avalanche to the audience, each appearing as if in wait for as much.
    “They can’t make him do anything,” Sean finally answered, barely above a breath. “Anything from this point on is his choice.” With that, the wolf turned his head to look the family in the eyes. It looked first at the father, then at the sixteen-year-old youth, and finally at the young child. His eyes rested on Landric for a long time, and he turned to face the back of the courtroom, uttering his first word since his entrance into the court.
    “I accept the terms,” Cyrus answered. “And I will await the sealing priests at the point which I shall choose.” The wolf exited the court, shedding pebbles as if they were loose hairs. The room stood still, completely quiet, until Landric fell forward on his brother.
    “What are you-?” His brother began.
    “That man made me sleepy,” Landric muttered, his consciousness sliding gently into darkness. “Can we go fishing later?”
    ----------------------
    Chapter 1 - Registration
    ----------------------


    The salty sea air ran warmly through Landric’s hair, drifting down his shirt and flapping at the tail of his blue fisherman’s jacket. His left leg was placed up on the edge of the boat, his uncovered calve flexing to maintain a steady pull. As he tugged on the ends of the net, his arm muscles began to bulge and move, in an attempt to keep up with the heavy weight. His other leg was braced firmly against the wooden floor of the vessel, straining against the pull of the fish. He could feel a large haul of food, a good omen for the rest of the day. He normally didn’t resort to geomancing for fishing, but his grip was slipping. Putting his left leg up against the boat, and firmly wrapping the extra netting around his right arm, he reached his left arm out and made upward motions.
    A molehill-sized boil of water moved upwards, a small stream of water moving from the top. It kept together well, forming a tendril of solid saltwater. It reached for Landric, and coiled around his tanned forearm. His connection with the water complete, he found it easier to direct the flow of the water. Pulling up from the water further, he grabbed at a sphere of water around the net. Lifting that with his non-dominant hand, his dominant one got a better lift of the netting. The sphere of water pushed the net up, and his father walked up beside him.
    “Couldn’t lift it yourself?” His father’s dry voice asked, his breath baked in salt and rum.
    “No, Dad,” Landric groaned back in low tones. The water formed a column, pushing the net up to the same level as the boat. Now using both arms, Landric yanked the large capture of fish onto the boat, sweat rolling down his face.The water on his arm retreated into the ocean, and the column of water fell back down to the surface as if nothing had happened, save a few ripples across the waving water. Landric emptied the net onto the floor of their fishing boat, spilling out pounds upon pounds of fish. The haul seemed enough to keep them going for the week, and definitely enough for dinner for a few weeks, if nothing else. Landric dropped to his knees, the fringes of his blue working shorts soaked, and began to sift through the aquatic life.
    “Great haul today, son,” His father said, lifting up a particularly meaty Blue Flipper, and placing it gently back down. “What are you looking for? More of those damn clams?”
    “I really need it, Dad,” Landric protested, moving his hands through the wet, scaly pile of fish. His fingernails caught on a fin here or there, but nothing was particularly drawing his attention. Going up to his shoulder in the center, he felt his fingers brush over something hard and ridged. He plunged his hand down hard, and pulled up a Bigmouth Cracker, and held it up by the tail. It writhed at the touch, but held in its mouth was a clam, the fish cracking the surface with its known hard grip. Landric lowered the fish to the dock, and placed his foot on its back. Taking the clam in his right hand, he took the club at the edge of the boat with his left. He raised it high above his head, and brought it down solid on the fish’s head. Its mouth seized, crushing the clam. A small, tooth-colored rock flew from the mess, skittering across the deck. Landric dropped the dying creature and ran towards the pearl. Grabbing it with his hands, he fell softly to his side. He parted his fingers slowly, revealing a pearl the size of a large grape.
    “What is it, Landric?” His dad asked, his fist around the neck of a rum bottle. His son held up the pearl, light sending white patterns all over the boat.
    “I’m gonna do it, Dad,” He answered. “I’m gonna be a knight.”
    “Of course you are,” His dad said, moving to the back of the boat. “Hit the sails. We’re going home.”
    “You’ve got it,” The eighteen-year-old teen moved to the mast, and grabbed onto the rope. Twisting it around his arm as he had done with the water earlier, Landric twisted the mast around, catching a rogue gust of wind. Lifting his right arm, Landric waved a few stray winds into the sail, righting the boat and aiming it towards the shore of Fasheel, their home. As the wind hit the sail, they moved forward at a brisk pace, Landric’s left leg wrapped around the mast. He looked a little silly, but it felt great to have the wind rush over his face and through his hair. His happy green eyes faced the shore, and he held his body tight to the wooden mast.
    The shore came into view after a while, littered with boats firmly tethered to wooden docks. After just a little while of clinging to the mast, Landric had began boxing up the fish and throwing out the debris, leaving them with two full wooden boxes, each carrying just over 50 pounds of fish. The two of them hauled up the fish onto their backs, and carried them to their home. There were fish racks outside, as well as a carriage with a horse. The two of them dropped their fish out in front of the house, and walked in to meet Landric’s mother at the stove, cooking up a plate of fish and eggs. They all hugged, and Landric’s father moved upstairs after supper, leaving the other two alone to clean the dishes.
    “Mom,” Landric started, carrying the supper platter into the sink.
    “Yes, dear?” She responded, humming something quietly to herself.
    “I finally have enough money,” He said, pushing the dishes into the water. He grabbed the rag, and went to cleaning them. “So I’m going to be taking my horse out to the Capital City, if that’s okay.”
    “That’s fine with me, honey,” His mother answered with a gentle smile. Her brown hair fell just below her shoulder blades, leaving her time-worn face to talk to the rest of the world. Her clothing was plain, with just a brown blouse and white skirt to present. She was all about putting her best foot forward, a task which Landric had happily adopted. “As long as you come back.” Her voice weighed heavy on both of them. “I don’t want to get another letter about my son not coming back from war. Another one of my men can’t leave me, you hear?”
    “I know, Mom.”
    “And take your own sword. You’ll be better with it than a regulation one.”
    “I know.”
    “And pack up everything, in case you want to stay.”
    “I know, I know!” Landric and his mother laughed, and she turned to give him a wet hug.
    “I’ll miss you,” She confessed, squeezing him tight.
    “I’ll miss you too,” He returned.
    ----
    His legs ached to drop off of his horse, throbbing with pain as his horse trotted slowly towards the army building of the capital city. His brown eyes were wide like a young child, trying to take in the surroundings of his new place. He could hardly believe what was going on around him, with all of the hustle and tightness of a city. Everyone seemed to move out of the way for him, as if they knew he was a would-be soldier. The broadsword hanging from the left side of the horse’s saddlebags might have given it away, but Landric liked to pretend he looked soldierly. He may not have had the muscles for it, but his full build suggested otherwise. As Landric passed by a larger building, he heard some shouts flying over the noise of the street.
    “Clear!” A small man shouted, waving his hands back to the other side of the market. Landric’s horse shuffled sideways, and a few men around the shouting one waved their hands out. The middle section of a building flew out, barely clinging to the base of the building with some spindly-looking supports. The men were geomancing a rock building built straight out of the ground. The upper floor was connected by more stable-looking supports, and it gently sunk to the place where the second floor had been. The men below made movements with the building, swinging it up into place above the new second floor. The merchants beneath them seemed unafraid, and Landric was the only one making any looks towards the building.
    “Hey kid,” A man behind him said, pushing on the right flank of his horse. “Move. This isn’t your street, y’know.” The man seemed to angrily push ahead Landric’s black horse, Sky, but his intentions seemed lax enough. As the man pushed, Landric could feel the white equine fall to the left side. With his hand free of the reigns, Landric pulled up a section of soft earth to catch his horse, and stabilized himself again.
    “Watch yourself,” Landric chimed, righting the horse towards the large building with the Tarran crest hanging above the archway. As he moved towards it, he saw two men standing by a collection of horses, decorated with the symbols of rich families and Capital connections. Landric trotted up on his horse, and they nodded at him.
    “You here for registration?” He waved a hand at him, exposing his army sword, a sign of military ranking. His smile was sweet, and his tone baked with trust and honesty.
    “Yes,” Landric answered with a nod. “Do I leave him here?”
    “Yeah,” He continued, looking back at the row. “Aaren, hook him up at the end.” Landric dismounted his horse and retrieved his bags, hanging them over his right shoulder. He strapped his sword to his left hip, and thanked them both.
    “Hey,” He asked before they turned away with Sky. “Where do I go to get my information?”
    “Uh,” The man shifted his eyes towards the other man, and pointed out into the courtyard. “Well, if you can go and ask him out there, he can tel-”
    “Don’t listen to them,” A man behind Landric said. The teen turned to face an army commander, in civilian clothes. He had a custom scabbard for his sword, with scars all across his face proving that he had earned it. He had light blond hair and blue eyes, signs of royal blood in these parts. His clothes were an army brown, covered with the dust of a walk through town. “They’ve been swiping horses all day.” Upon hearing this, the man Landric had been talking to turned white as steamed rice, and turned to flee. Landric held out a hand, and lifted some of the thick dirt beneath the man upwards, tripping him. The man skidded to a stop on his stomach, and attempted to stand. Lifting the ground beneath his feet high in the air, Landric sent the man’s feet reeling over top of him, landing the thief on his back. Landric charged for him, and the other man, Aaren, tried to get at him with a drawn knife. As Landric turned to defend himself, he found a blade placed a few inches in front of his chest. A long blade, with a serrated edge pointed directly into the soft flesh, placed itself just on the soft trachea of the man, stopping him dead short of doing away with the soon-to-be soldier.
    “And don’t turn your back to them, either,” The commander sheathed his blade, and grabbed Aaren by the shoulder, practically covering it with his large hand. “Why don’t you run along and we’ll count this as a big mistake, shall we?” The man needed no more persuasion than that. He slunk away from the commander, and fled. The other man had no intention of getting up.
    “Thanks so much,” Landric said, smiling.
    “No problem, kid,” The commander walked over to Sky, and grabbed the reins. “You’ve got a nice horse here. Name and hometown?”
    “Uh,” Landric stuttered, and then stood at attention. “Landric Galmaea, of Fasheel.”
    “Never heard of it,” The commander gave the reigns over to Landric, who relaxed and grabbed onto his horse.
    “Few people have,” He said with a disappointed look. “Just a fishing town, y’know. Not much but pearls and fish there.”
    “So what brings a fisher like you all the way to the capital city?” The commander was overlooking Sky as Landric re-saddled his bags.
    “I’m here to join the army,” Landric answered, walking over to talk to the commander. The two of them stood close enough that Landric could see how much smaller the man was. Landric was just a hand’s breadth over six foot, but this man seemed to be a hand’s breadth under six foot. His frame wasn’t that impressive, but he appeared to have muscle in all the right places for combat. His eyes were perceptive, and at his age of around thirty, they should’ve been.
    “You don’t say,” The commander continued, giving Sky’s black mane a pat down. “Did you say your name was Galmaea?” He seemed to take an interest in that.
    “Yeah, why?” Landric raised his eyebrows at the question. Not many people knew of or cared for the Galmaea family.
    “Your brother, was he a commander as well?” He asked.
    “Yeah. He went MIA a few years back.”
    “I heard. Tragedy, honestly,” The man extended his hand to Landric. “Well, Galmaea. I’m commander Rossel. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure to have you in our ranks.” Landric took his hand and shook it.
    “It’s an honor, really,” Landric said with a nervous laugh.
    “Now go and get on up and get your stuff registered. It won’t be long before we’ve closed registration.”
    “Thanks, sir,” Landric gave the man a salute, which Rossel laughed off, and the teen walked off, Sky’s reigns in his right hand.
    ----
    Landric’s room was scarcely decorated, like an empty room filled to match the tastes of anyone. He walked in, noticing the fact that there were two beds, as opposed to one. Each was just white, with a wooden bed frame. There was a window on the far side of the room, which Landric opened. The window provided a view out into an empty field on the west side of the training grounds, which were mostly flat. There was one ring of dead grass far out in the distance, but it seemed like something one could just glance over. Landric shrugged his bags onto the bed closest to the window, and looked around the room. There were two writing desks next to each other on the other side of the room, and a private lavatory for the two occupants to share. A chest of drawers was next to Landric’s bed, with two distinct sets of drawers, for the two people to most likely share. A feeling of duality washed over Landric.
    He emptied out his clothing bags, placing them in each drawer as he saw fit. Underwear in the top, socks in the next, pants, and then shirts. They’d given him his new clothes when he got there, and they all looked the same. He had one drawer left over, and he placed the formal attire they had given him in those drawers. Walking around the room, Landric saw the emptiness and felt a little lonely. After a few minutes of straightening his things and placing his bags under his bed, a boy of Landric’s age walked noisily through the doors. He had dingy blond hair, as if it were fading out. His eyes were a tired green, and his frame suggested he hadn’t done anything physical short of the lifts and runs he had to do to pass the physical. His shoulders seemed to strain under the bags he carried.
    “Excuse me,” The boy asked. “Could I get some help?” Landric got off of his feet and shouldered one of the bags, realizing just how light it was. The boy looked down and shrugged his bag off onto the writing desk next to Landric’s, and turned to face his roommate, but his eyes still looked at one of his shoes, which was apparently falling off.
    “My name’s Landric,” He offered.
    “My name is Isaac,” The boy looked up at Landric for the first time, his lazy eyes barely focusing. “It’s nice to-whoa!” His eyes snapped open, and he gave Landric another look over. “You’re huge!”
    “Thanks,” Landric said with a smile. “It comes from working on the boat with my dad, I guess-”
    “I hardly come up to your chest!” Isaac interrupted, as if he hadn’t heard Landric talking. It was true, the boy was on the short side. “But I guess any big guy can join the holy army of Tarra nowadays.” Isaac had a very royal attitude about him, undoubtedly bought into the army.
    “Excuse me?” Landric took a few steps towards the princely man.
    “I’m just saying they need strong fighters,” Isaac sighed and regally walked over to his things, placing them on top of the chest of drawers. “I mean we need War Knights just as much as we need Holy Knights, don’t get me wrong.” The boy started opening up the drawers Landric had placed his stuff in, and began pulling Landric's clothes out one at a time.
    “Actually, I came here to be a Holy Knight,” Landric interjected. “I don’t have the physical strength to be a War Knight. I only have the magical abilities, really.”
    “I never would have guessed,” Isaac continued, throwing Landric’s shirts onto the ground.
    “What are you doing?” Landric asked, picking up his clothing as it fell.
    “Putting my stuff in my drawers,” Isaac said as if it were obvious. “You get the right ones. I want the left drawers. And the bed that’s closer to the window. Could you move your things to the other bed?” Isaac waved his hand to Landric, as if dismissing him.
    “I guess so,” Landric took his things and moved them to the other bed.
    “Y’know, I think this could be the start of a great friendship or something,” Isaac said, looking completely cheery about the entire thing.
    “Or something, I’m sure.”
     
    #1 Kalseng, Jan 23, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 19, 2013
  2. ----------------------
    Chapter 2 - Injustice
    ----------------------


    His lessons were simple enough, in terms of magic. They taught the basics of magic, the flow of geomancing, the connection to Mother Oura required for powerful magic. He learned to shift the dirt and rock beneath the ground, without shifting the surface. Sliding the magic of Ouranos from one side to the next was a relaxing exercise, and it cleared Landric’s mind. The army members that worked with him did excellent jobs, but none seemed to find the peace of mind that Landric did.
    Holy Knights had the honor of learning to be a mixture of magic-users and physical combat. War Knights lost the magical lessons that Holy Knights had, and made up for it in physical lessons. At least, that’s what Isaac would tell Landric, whether he wanted to hear it or not. The pair had the same classes, and ended up sitting next to each other whether they wanted to or not. There was one class, however, that the two of them had to be very close in.
    There were two rows of soldiers, facing each other. Landric and Isaac faced each other, but neither had a sword. The task at hand was to use geomancing together. Magic, unfortunately, was much like your soul. To use magic in tandem with someone else was like letting them hold your soul in their own hands. Landric would always push Isaac a little too hard unfortunately. The goal was a better control on your magic, so that you could try and raise the land beneath your partner and they could push back for about five minutes, without stopping. Isaac would usually strain under the force that Landric would push upwards with, and he would curse loudly every time they worked against each other.
    “Pull back,” Isaac whined, bullets of sweat falling to the ground in rapid pace. Landric casually lowered his arms, pulling his magic ever-so-slightly.
    “I don’t understand why we’re paired together,” Landric said clearly. “We’re on different levels.”
    “I know,” Isaac groaned. Landric let his grip on the magic falter just a second, giving Isaac a temporary rest. The rocks beneath him shook, and there was a clear seam in the ground, from Landric’s upwards pushing. “Stop!” Isaac cried out. Landric let his hand fall, and the column of terrain dropped about an inch when Isaac fell to his knees.
    “Galmaea,” The instructor said, marching down the line towards Landric. For some reason, they all wore full armor all the time. “Why is it always the two of you that give up?” He interrogated.
    “It’s my fault,” Isaac coughed.
    “No it’s not,” The instructor cooed. “You’re fine. It’s this other one that’s being so brutal to you.” The instructor and Isaac were clearly related, but neither of them admitted to it. And with a feeling of nepotism in the air, Landric almost pushed harder, just to irritate the instructor.
    “Did I do something wrong?” Landric tested.
    “Did you-” The instructor rubbed his temples angrily, and looked down at Landric, square in the eyes. “Just go sit in the courtyard. I’ll come to collect you later.” The instructor spat as he hobbled over to the exhausted Isaac. Landric sighed and walked over to the pile of his things. He lifted his blade and scabbard, swinging them over his shoulder. It made a quiet slap against his leather armor, and he made long, deliberate strides towards the courtyard.

    When the instructor arrived, no one was there. The courtyard was a square area of grass with a fountain placed in the middle. It was surrounded by the academy’s stone pillars on all sides, and was sparsely decorated with shrubs and small trees. The fountain in the middle was in the shape of the great Mother Oura, in all of Her splendor. He found Landric tapping quietly on his notebook and scribbling down answers to the homework he’d been assigned. The instructor was dressed down into civilian clothes, and slapped Landric on the head with the sheathe of his sword.

    “We came to a decision,” He said with a stern voice. “You will be in charge of the care of Cyrus, the tainted one outside the walls of the academy. This is your Holy Task,” He paused, turning on his heels and walking away. “And your punishment.”

    “Wait,” Landric said, the instructor stopping in place. “What on Ouranos is a Holy Task?”

    “Honestly?” The instructor questioned. Landric nervously smiled, trying to make himself seem less incompetent. With a sigh, the instructor spoke. “As a member of the Tarran army, you have to complete at least one Holy Task to be a Knight. To be a Holy Knight, three must be performed. So we’ve assigned you one. Good day.” The instructor left Landric alone to scribble in his notebook, with no more guidance than assigning him a task. Huffing audibly, Landric collected his things into the cloth side-bag he’d been given and marched back to his room with powerful strides. When he arrived at the wooden door, it gave way easily, gliding to reveal a view of the familiar room. His bed, neat and organized, was covered by a dirty shirt, and a pair of boots, not his, were scattered near the foot of his bed. Isaac was on his bed, unorganized and sloppy, sleeping bare in his unwashed clothes of the day.

    “Isaac,” Landric called, averting his eyes from the naked boy. The boy waved his hands and rolled his body to face the corner. “Isaac. Your clothes are all over my bed.”

    “Move them yourself,” He grumbled in his sleep. “Wash ‘em.” He was clearly out of it. Landric walked over to the shirt, and threw it over Isaac’s face.

    “Put some pants on, for Oura’s sake,” Landric lifted the sheets to remove the wrinkles, and smoothed them out. Isaac was stirred by the shirt, and quickly came to attention. Moving the clothing, Isaac pulled a sheet over his bare body.

    “What are you doing?” Isaac said with shock in his voice. “Entering my room without knocking?”

    “It’s my place too, roomie,” Landric kicked Isaac’s boots out of the way, and wandered over to the drawers. Grabbing one of Isaac’s loincloth, he threw it back at his roommate.

    “Speaking of that,” Isaac said, taking the loincloth under his sheets and tugging it up his legs. “Could I maybe ask you for a small favor?”

    “I’m reluctant to say yes,” Landric answered, removing his saddlebags from underneath the royalty’s chaps.

    “It’s just a small thing, really,” Isaac continued standing and straightening the edges of his undergarments. “When you address me, could you mind applying the right formalities?” he turned to face the window and opened it, the fall air flooding the room.

    “Formalities?” Landric asked. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but that was how royalty was.

    “You know,” Isaac said, returning to his bed and bending over to assemble his clothing. “Calling me Master Isaac, as opposed to just my name. It befits our classes, don’t you agree?” Isaac tugged at his lone article of clothing, and removed it from himself.

    “Unless I’m mistaken-” Landric started.

    “Here,” Isaac commanded, throwing it over his shoulder. “Grab me another. I don’t really care for this one. It’s grabbing me in the wrong way.”

    “Unless I’m mistaken,” Landric continued, swatting down the white cloth. “We’re both cadets at this academy.” The teen retrieved another loincloth for Isaac, and lobbed it over to the blond-haired nudist staring out the window. “I’m going to call you Isaac.”

    “But,” Isaac turned with a confused look in time for the cloth to hit him and hang over his face. Dragging it down off of his face, as if revealing a new face, he had a look of charisma again. “I don’t think it’d be fitting for you to talk to a member of a royal family like that.” His eyes were questioning, and his brow was furrowed as if trying to understand. The fact that he was sliding his underwear on detracted from it somewhat.

    “You’re not superior to me here,” Landric replied, leaning his blade and scabbard up against the wall next to Isaac’s. His sheathe was much less decorated than Isaac’s, but they were the same size. They were both about a hand’s width across, and about four heads tall. They were huge blades, and unruly to really swing. They were mostly just for decoration, an unnecessary item for Landric. Landric would’ve chosen to use a much smaller sword, but the Holy Army was required to learn to manage such weapons as if they were smaller models.

    “I don’t understand,” Isaac finally said with a fake laugh and a smile. Landric lifted Isaac’s training sword, laid down right next to his own, and slung it at the other person.

    “We go by military rank here,” Landric finally said. “You’re a cadet, I’m a cadet. We’re equal.”

    “Well then,” Isaac said, drawing himself up to a full height. “I guess I’ll just have to put myself to the grindstone and outrank you as quickly as possible. Then you’ll call me sir, right?”

    “Careful,” Landric quietly laughed. “You might reveal what sparing whit you have.”

    “I’m full of surprises, I’ll have you know.”

    “Oh yeah?” Landric asked, strapping up his bag. “Like what?”

    “When I was young,” Isaac was throwing clothes on his body at a rapid pace, hurrying to be ready for sword training. “I created an entire regime for my stuffed animals, with me as the leader.”

    “I can’t say that’s surprising,” Landric sighed as he moved out of the door.

    “I was princess.”

    “I stand corrected.”
    ---
    The following weeks were hard on Landric, physically and socially. Though his logic seemed to make sense to Isaac, after he’d explained his point, none of the other royalty saw it his way. They all immediately assumed they were of better morale fiber than him, and that he wasn’t referring to them with proper respect. Landric would talk with few other people, and had to resort to talking to Isaac about his problems. It was a shock to everyone, especially Landric. The boy was a surprisingly good listener, and he could sympathize with most of his problems. His family wrote him weekly, and Landric wrote them back. His letters were tied in a bundle and placed under his mattress. He thought it was nice, and might be good reference material for blackmail later.
    The two of them were partners, like in everything else at the academy, during sword training. With the training blades, they could meet each other rather well with the guard and attack responses. Isaac swung down hard, placing a firm lock of blades on Landric. Going for a middle slice, Landric held his blade up sideways to stop the strike. Going for a low sweep, Landric placed the blade at the proper angle, sliding Isaac’s sword down at the ground. The metal was buried into the soft soil for only a few inches. Blowing his whistle, the instructor let them rest. Sweat poured down both Landric and Isaac’s foreheads, but the royalty seemed to be getting a bit harder of a workout.
    “You alright?” Landric asked, looking his partner in the eye.
    “Fine,” Isaac breathed. “I’m just going to walk it off. And don’t forget to feed and care for Cyrus. It’s already passed midday.” The two of them, breathing heavy, retreated to their room, dripping in perspiration. They stripped their equipment down, and Landric walked into the washroom, alongside Isaac. The two of them splashed their faces with water and dried themselves lightly. Feeling fresh, Landric re-dressed in his chore clothes, plain pants and a white shirt, and shouldered a paper package tied down with string. It was meat and cheese, mostly, with some bread and fruit thrown in. Walking out the door, Isaac called a goodbye after him. Returning the sentiment, Landric made his way down the marble stairs and out the back of the academy. Ivy overgrew the back walls, breaking up brick here and there, where the repairmen hadn’t been to.
    Landric knew where he was to go. His window even faced the location. Leading himself out into the open field, his eyes locked onto the dead patch of grass. A dark, half-wolf, half-man sat in the center, unmoving. The cadet moved quickly, hoping to approach the wolf faster. The quicker he was gone, the less suspicious it looked. A little under three acres of walking, and Landric stood, a bit winded, in front of his charge. The wolf was muscled, but from what, no one knew. He stared up at Landric, and stirred himself up to stand. In a 20 foot radius around him, the wolf could move and practice geomancing as he felt. The fur covering the wolf had seemed a similar color to the dirt around him, perhaps a choice. His yellow eyes peered deep into Landric, but it seemed as if it were just another choice. As if sight wasn’t a necessity for the wolf.
    “Hello,” Landric said. Isaac may have been his human talking partner, but Cyrus listened better. “Sorry there isn’t as much usual, but there is fruit this time.”
    “You’re too kind,” Cyrus humbly admitted with a smile, or maybe a baring of teeth. They both looked the same to Landric. “Throw it here.” Landric knelt in front of the black wring of archaic Tarran script, and undid the string on the package of food. Grabbing the wet, bloody meat from the center, he tore off a piece of paper and slid the contents over the wet grass and into the dry circle of packed earth. Cyrus lifted the meat with a claw, and held it dangling over his mouth. As his teeth sunk into the meet, a stream of dark blood fell in a clean line down from his lips. “How’s training?” The wolf asked through a full mouth.
    “Fine,” Landric sighed. Tearing another piece of paper, he sent a half-pound cheese wedge into the circle. “I’m still partnered with Isaac.”
    “And how’s that going?” Cyrus inquired, running his tongue along the deadly row of canines he had sharpened to a point.
    “We don’t have time to discuss that,” Landric replied, going for the bread.
    “Fumble on the fruit,” Cyrus suggested. “Cut the bread. Stall.”
    “He’s still as pushy as ever. And acts like he’s the only one in the room,” Landric answered, running a knife through the stale, dark loaf of bread. “Sleeps naked, stays in the washroom for hours, and leaves his clothes everywhere.”
    “That’s not what I meant,” Cyrus replied, dragging his claw through the top soil.
    “Right,” Landric sighed, cutting the bread into slices to draw out their conversation. “He doesn’t care so much about the class difference. We settled on military ranking determining which of us is the superior. And it doesn’t matter how friendly we are, everyone else keeps thinking I’m inferior.”
    “You could always grow claws and fangs. It helps.”
    “No thanks,” Landric slid the bread on a sheaf of paper into the ring. Numbly handling the soft, yellow fruit, he acted and dropped it a few times. “Besides, I’m sure my sword skills and my geomancing can get me through the first year.”
    “One can only hope,” Cyrus smiled that same smile, and Landric slid the last bit of food in on the remaining paper. “Can you give me the twine? I have an idea.”
    “It’s yours,” Landric answered, throwing he wheat-colored rope in after Cyrus.
    “Thanks,” Cyrus said, stringing it out between his hands. “Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye,” Landric, his burden eaten and separated, made his way back to the academy. Cyrus. Not a normal friend. But then again, life was never very normal for Landric. Making his way up the stairs and into his room, he saw Isaac in an all-too-familiar position. Sleeping with his body sprawled out in all directions. “At least he’s wearing underwear.” Landric muttered. Slipping the bleached parchment out of his bag, he wandered over to the writing desk. Landric raised his hand to the lamp next to him, knocking the flint together underneath the ignition with the familiar feeling of geomancing. It started immediately, casting a yellow glow over the room, and pushing back the encroaching dusk.
    An essay on what his goals were as a Holy Knight. Honest goals were out of the question, so Landric wrote up a lie about wanting to better himself and becoming the most useful member of the Tarran nation he could be. His pen was run dry quickly, and he dipped himself a full pen once more. Writing carefully, he conserved space and filled the page with lies about his family’s pride and how much he loved Tarra. The real reason? It laid acres away from the academy, drawing circles in the dirt and playing with string. Injustice. His desire to reform the injustice that Tarra bred through the royalties and theocracy.
    He wrote of the glory of Tarra in the dim yellow light, calmly lying to his judges.
     
    #2 Kalseng, Jan 23, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 19, 2013
  3. That's a fancy world you got there, Kal ♥

    I must say, I do enjoy your narrative, despite the part where I skipped the prologue and chapter one |D I do wonder why Landric hasn't gotten mad at Isaac at this point. Like, really. He's such a hoe D:<

    Anyway, I hope you don't drop this halfwayyyy~
     
  4. ----------------------
    Chapter 3 - Boom.
    ----------------------

    “Congratulations,” The commander said, reading over a small piece of parchment. He was scanning for names, and looking up to the correlating people in line. Landric and all of his peers stood at attention, listening for their names. “You’ve all shown remarkable improvement, and are all deserving of praise. A few of you, however, have improved farther than the rest of you. To those of you on this list, you are truly Tarra’s best, and I’ll be your new instructor. My name is commander Rossel. Names.” he barked the last word, and began reading off the list. “Arna, Chandler, Ferra,” The list was small. Landric felt a warmth fill him as they neared the G’s. He knew it. He’d been training harder than anyone else. He deserved it. “Galmaea.” The commander seemed happy, and winked at Landric as the man stood a step ahead of the crowd. “Harson,” Landric soon tuned out the names, feeling proud that he was separate from the others of his group. He basked in the acclaim that was to surround him, his thoughts nothing but pride.
    “What?” Isaac shouted from the line. Murmurs of similar nature floated around, carrying to Landric’s ears a message that everyone felt. Disbelief. “What did you say, sir?”
    “I thought I was clear,” the commander said. “You’ve been called up, Isaac Nefaray.”
    “Sir, there must be a mistake,” Isaac said. A low chuckle spread through the crowd. “There isn’t, mister Nefaray. And if you wouldn’t mind joining your peers, we could keep this moving along.
    “But sir, I-”
    “There are no excuses, mister Nefaray,” The commander furrowed his brow, staring Isaac down. “Step forward.” Isaac took a heavy sigh and raised his hand to object. Before he could hear an answer, something else filled his mind. It was like a far off whisper in clarity, but like a shout in the ear in terms of volume.
    “Steps...” It murmured.
    “What?” Landric responded under his breath, concentrating on the sound.
    “Four steps...”
    “I can’t understand you,” Landric muttered.
    “Four steps back!” It said clearly. It was the voice of a girl, around his age, if not a little older.
    “What?”
    “Four steps back! Now!” Landric felt compelled to listen to the voice, and took a few stumbling steps backwards as Isaac bickered with the commander.
    “Mister Galmaea,” The commander said, catching Landric out of the corner of his eye. “What are you doing?” Three steps so far. Just one more to go. Taking a hesitant step back, Landric answered the instructor honestly.
    “I don’t know,” As he spoke the words, the reason suddenly became apparent. The west side of the building, the one all of the trainees were facing, had just burst open, with large clouds of blue smoke and light erupting around the wall. The entire west wall had blown, with rocks and debris flying everywhere. Landric stared at the incoming rubble with wide eyes.
    “Stand still! You’re safe there!” The girl’s voice insisted. A large piece of wall landed in front of him, about four steps ahead. As other rocks landed, Landric watched the south wall burst open in a similar color. Four larger explosions echoed in a chain reaction, around the center. The west side began to fall and crumble, like mud falling down the side of a hill. They were taking out the supports. The east side exploded in red smoke, collapsing into the courtyard, triggering the south side to fall as well.
    “Cyrus!” The voice inside Landric echoed. “It’s after Cyrus!”
    “How can I trust you?” Landric asked out loud, this time at almost a shout to keep his voice over the falling rock.
    “You can’t be sure,” It answered, fading away at the end of the sentence. Landric looked towards the north, and sighed. He began at a jog, past his peers, who were busy running up to the Commander, who had made a makeshift shield out of rock from beneath them. They called out to Landric, but their cries were far behind him. He moved swiftly and with purpose, towards the north side. As he did, he saw something flicker out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face the flicker, and saw something thin like paper. It was like a butterfly, only it didn’t seem to be flapping its wings. It was a deep blue, like the ocean, but it was completely flat. It looked sort of like a bolt of lightning, only it appeared to branch off into three prongs at either end. It glided along in the air alongside him at his running pace, glowing softly.
    “What are you?” Landric asked it. The glowing became more intense, and it began to hum gently. The humming got higher pitched, and the center of the object became brighter. Landric ducked down into a roll as protection, and three bright bolts of lightning shot out of the floating object. They crackled through the air with hot intensity., each striking the ground in different places beyond Landric. The humming started again, and Landric scrambled to his feet. As the flat blue object charged, Landric felt the planet beneath him, and reached out for a section of earth with his mind. Grabbing onto a two foot long, six inch wide section, Landric pulled up a sheet of earth as the object fired. The lightning went straight for the section of earth, but curved into three different arcs as it fired, going around the sheet and striking the ground right in front of Landric. The teen ran into a jump, and rounded the corner of the dilapidated building, onto the exposed north side. Cyrus was in the middle of his shield, standing in an angry position. In front of him was another person, one that he had never seen.
    She had long, red hair, which seemed rather unruly. It fell below her shoulders, unevenly landing on the small of her back. She was clothed oddly, dressed in only a long, burlap sack. It looked brown, from the ways away Landric was. She looked out of place. She placed a hand on the barrier separating her from Cyrus, and then pulled back. She had probably noticed that any non-living things could go in, leaving her out of the problem. Landric waited a second, and saw the same fluttering object from earlier pass over his shoulder. It zoomed straight towards the girl, fluttering gently in the breeze. The girl turned her head to watch it, and held up the inside of her arm. It slid down onto her skin, and melded into place among a solid blue wall of a tattoo running up her arm, ending in flames around her wrist.
    “You,” She spoke with command. “Come here.” Flicking her wrist towards herself, Landric felt a physical pulling at his chest. “Now.” With a more exaggerated gesture, Landric felt a sharper pulling. Suddenly, he was flying towards her, the tips of his feet skidding the grass. He flew into her open palm, and he got a good look at her face. And he got a good look the burn that ran across the left side of her face, up over her eye and stopping just short of her hairline. “What is stopping me from getting to him?” Landric kept his mouth shut, knowing she’d probably kill him as soon as he answered. “Answer me. Answer Cannibal.” He felt heat come from her hands, coursing into his body. It was a heat without a burn, moving through his body slowly. It hurt, and pushed against his frame It was a pain that punished him in a way he had never felt. Groaning against the internal pain, Landric’s body writhed and seized.
    “Disrupt the seal,” Landric squeezed out between his moaning. “Break up the ground.”
    “Do it,” Cannibal dropped Landric from her grip, and the heat dispersed from his skin. Reaching a hand up, he saw Cyrus at the end of his hand, with a low hand. The pose for prepared geomancing. Shifting the earth at the bottom of the seal in front of Cyrus, he released the seal. A light green dome made of aura, like smooth glass, shattered over Cyrus’ head. In a quick gesture, he brought his fist up. Along with his fist, came the grass beneath Cannibal’s feet. It lifted and swirled, wrapping around her legs.
    “Cute,” She taunted. Fire coalesced around her legs, destroying the grass. “Die.” She raised her hand and flicked her fingers, lightning dancing through the air. Cyrus kicked his leg forward instantly, and a spire of rock shot out at an angle, catching the lightning and killing its charge, as well as hitting Cannibal directly in the stomach. She was sent reeling back, and held up her hand. A clod of dirt flew up to her palm, as Cyrus shifted his foot forward. Bringing up his two arms, two spires shot up at angles on either side of Cannibal’s extended arm and ended locked onto her wrists. Combining into a triangular sheet of rock, it pulled her hands down to the ground. She kicked her legs off of the ground, and bent them over her head. Kicking her left foot, a fireball shot out in a spear-shaped form. Cyrus brought up a wall of rock, which the fire slammed into hard. With the kick of her other foot, a lightning bolt shot out and broke violently through the wall, just barely flickering out of life before it could hit Cyrus.
    Landric lifted his hand, trying to at least help. A jagged section of rock rose quickly from the ground and struck Cannibal in her back, sending her lower body back onto the ground.She lifted her head towards Landric in anger, and inhaled sharply. The tattoos around her neck shimmered gently, and she let out a large breath. It was a big fireball, approximately the height of Landric. The ground beneath him shifted suddenly, and a sheet of earth flew with him on top. It jerked to the right about two meters, and Landric fell forward as it stopped. Cyrus lifted his arms and brought them apart, sending the spire locking down Cannibals arms far apart, pulling her body tight and low. He brought his fists up, drawing dirt and rock around her feet. With her restrained, he brought the soft soil and burried rocks around her up over her back, and sealed her down.
    “You got her?” Landric asked, staggering to his feet.
    “I think s-” He was cut off by an explosion of blue light, which sent the rocks flying in all directions. She pushed herself up onto her legs, and extended her arms in either direction. Landric forced the rocks that came at him down into the ground, but Cannibal wasn’t interested in that at all. The tattoos on her arms slid off, like two satin gloves from a dancer’s arms. They seemed to be manipulated independently of Cannibal’s arms, as influenced by a rolling of their knuckles she wasn’t performing. Almost instantly, two bright white cross-shaped auras slammed into the floating tattoos from behind, both the arm-shaped tattoos and the crosses exploding in white light. Cannibal stumbled back, clutching her arms in pain as the tattoos resurfaced on her skin. The dirt and rock beneath her twisted, and soon enveloped her writhing body.. Pulling her down, the earth pulled her under its surface. She was buried up to her head in rock, wriggling to try and free herself to no avail. She inhaled deeply again, but a section of rock shot up and latched onto her face like a muzzle.
    “Good shot,” Landric said to Cyrus, smiling.
    “That wasn’t me,” Cyrus answered, still ready for battle.
    “It was me,” An instructor said. He was the one that had given Landric the Holy Task of caring for Cyrus. “And you’ve broken one of the holy laws. You are to be banished. Goodbye, Mr. Galmaea.” Three knights ran up behind him, the first two sliding down to her body and latching a collar around her neck. The other snapped his fingers, and it flashed a brilliant white. She seemed to lose consciousness after the flash was done, and they geomanced her up and out of the ground. Grabbing her by the arms and legs, they hoisted her out of the open area. The other knight ran up to Landric, and hit him hard in the stomach. Hard enough to send Landric to his knees, regardless of the leather armor he was wearing. The knight turned behind Landric, and handcuffed him. The handcuffs seemed to drain him magically, making Landric barely able to even feel the presence of the ground beneath him.
    Commander Rossler jogged up to Cyrus, and made a twirling motion with his finger. The wolf turned around, and Rossler applied the same cuffs to Cyrus that Landric was wearing. They prevented geomancing, as well as restraining the wearer.
    “Your train goes out tomorrow,” the instructor continued. “You’ll both be deposited in the Arbos Neutralis. The Empty Forest. It is there that you will die. It truly is a shame to send out loyal knights like yourself. Or in your case,” The instructor leaned down to Landric’s level, and spat on his chest. “It’s a good deed to cleanse the army of trash like yourself.”
     
    #4 Kalseng, Feb 3, 2011
    Last edited by a moderator: Sep 19, 2013
  5. Finally got to reading this, and I must say, I'm loving it! You're a very talented author, and this sure is an interesting and exciting story! It actually got me back into fantasy enough to finally get some backstory for my own fantasy fic on paper :)

    Sweet work, this thread shall be STALK'D.

    ~Weeds
     

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