Post by Prime on Jan 17, 2011 7:36:23 GMT -5
It was a bitter cold evening, and the sun sat low on the horizon. Dawn was slowly breaking over a chilled land, frost clinging to every long blade of grass, every tree trunk. The shallow river to the north of the valley was frozen over, the blood from the day's previous battle frozen to the ground. Soldiers everywhere, the dead or dying on the field, unrecoverable. Two great armies faced eachother, each prepared to rain arrows on the other should it approach.
The dying men stared out with red cheeks and frost bitten skin, the blood around their wounds frozen, yet they still bled. Some shivered uncontrollably, others merely lay still. The dead stared accusingly at their killers, frosted milkey eyes sending chills down the spines of men. Friends yeared to retreave friends, and yet their commanders held them back, saving their lives from the arrows of the enemy.
Sero stared at it all, lost in memory, though his mind considering. He was a General, his command beyond reproach, his power beyond question. They called him Sero the Blackblade, Sero the Wytchebourne, Sero the Uninvited. He had become a legend in his short life, and barely noticed at all. He was untalented with Ether, but he moved through the world like a Ghost. Like he was a different kind of man entirely.
His soldiers worshipped him, and his King plotted to kill him before long. His legend was growing to fast, his leash was to long, and the soldiers followed him alone. He thought of all this, as he planned the movement of his army, and though of times far simpler. In truth, Sero was a simple man. He had but one passion, to kill the Corellians. A whole country of witches right on his border, white devils who had burned down his home, killed his parents, and chased him into the wilds.
He was 28 rings of heaven, 28 'years' of life as the old calanders said. He'd been barely eight when the white demons had first attacked, and he'd remember that day as long as he lived...
He was breathing hard, harsh and heavy. He'd run home as soon as he'd seen the fires, and they remained even as he approached his house. They flared even as the rain pounded, Sero's bare feet sinking into the mud as he tried to rush forwards. He could see his father inside, half into his guard mail, brandishing a sword against a man with a white gem growing out of his forehead.
His father swung as Sero rushed in the door, and the white demon parried it easily, his eye's cast with an eery, hungry glow. He thrust out a hand, and his father stopped moving. A white light surrounded him, and the unknown soldier grinned. His fist closed, and Sero's father coughed.
"Dad!" Sero yelled, and his fathers eyes darted to him. He coughed again, a gout of blood emerging from his mouth. "Run Sero!" His father coughed, before succoming at last. He crumpled to the floor as Sero rushed inside the house, his mother standing at the dining room table. The soldier advanced on her, ignoring Sero.
"No!" Sero yelled, grabbing his fathers heavy black sword. He pierced the soldier in the lower back, right next to the kidney. The man coughed and howled, backhanding Sero into a wall. Sero gasped as stars appeared before his eyes, a hollow ringing sensation destroyed his hearing. He heard a dull wail, and struggled to focus. The soldier was advancing on him, hand outstretched, a white glow in his palm.
Sero shakily steadied his weapon, pointing it towards the soldier with both hands. The man sneered, eyes wild, and Sero knew somehow that he'd lost his mind. Fear unloaded itself on him, and Sero let loose a wild slash as he yelle, soiling himself. He fell to the ground, and everything turned black.
Yes, that was the day. All those years ago that had been the day that his life ended as a human being. Sero had become violence, and he remembered it well. He'd gone completely mad at what followed, and wandered into the forest with his fathers sword. He spent years as a force of destruction, killing and eating. He slept when he was to tired, he killed when he was hungry, and he sharpened his sword against stone when he wasn't.
It had taken years for another human being to find him, he'd wandered the forests largely towards the sunrise, a vague desire to see the sea guiding him. What else could have occured, he did not remember very well. He had run on instinct, his mind unable to process the saddness that he broken him. He had been far, far to young.
He felt heavy breathing, those his own was steady. There were supporting arms below him, and as he laborously opened his eyes, they revealed his mother. She was carrying him, sword across his chest, through the burning village. She was heading for the woods, hoping to hide from the soldiers, but her hopes were all to soon broken.
Sero felt his eyes widen, before he even realized why. There was wet, warm red on his face. The was an arrow sprouting from his mothers chest, and a cold empty look on her face. He was falling, she on top of him. He was covered in her blood, he couldn't process, she landed heavily on him and breath exploded from his lungs. The black sword slid across his palm, and his blood stained the blade.
The solder who'd shot was laughing now, pointing at the boy as he struggled below his mother.
"Ah look, its a smaller target!" He said to his companion, "Hrmp," The man responded, "I'll wager you five silver you can't hit something small and quick like a child from here."
"I will take that bet sir," The first soldier said, leveling his crossbow at Sero.
Sero shakily picked up his black blade, pointing it towards the soldiers. They laughed again, mocking him. Mocking his pathetic display of defiance, and his mind snapped. A violet hue engulfed the black sword, not ether, and spread through Seros blood as a harsh howl was ripped from his throat. His arm straightened directly to his side, violet lightning sparked along the blade, and then a mist snatched him away.
"Diiiiiiiiiie!" Sero scream from behind the soldiers, hacking into the man with the crossbow viciously. The little eight year old was insane with rage, beyond understanding what had happened, tears in his eyes as he hacked into the soldier. The second soldier was surprised, but still managed to draw his blade and strike at Sero. Though he hopped back, Sero still suffered a ragged cut as the first soldier fell to the ground, his kidney a mess and his breath heaving.
The second soldier flicked out with his sword, curiously testing the child that he so suprised them, and found him an easy mark. The blade licked across his leg, and across his face, leaving long cuts behind them. Sero would carry the scars for the rest of his life, but he threw himself into danger fearlessly, his anger to great to be controlled, and thumped into the second soldier.
His suicidal motion surprised the hell out of the soldier, and he froze, fatally. Seros sword punched directly through the mans trunk, and severed his spine. He fell to the ground in a heap, unable to move his own legs any longer. Sero pulled the blade out, and screamed again, from pain and loss and terrible rage. He screamed until his throat was raw and his lips were specked in blood, and when he finished he ran through the town into the forest, I wild look in his eyes.
His mothers lifeless eyes stared after him, and he dare not look back, but he remember what his mother had once said.
"I met your father by the ocean, and the only moment more perfect than that one, was the day you were born Sero. If you ever need to feel at peace, just look out at the ocean, and all your fears melt away in the face of its freedom."
So he ran, towards the sun, towards the edge of the human empire. His insane mind now searching for peace.
The dying men stared out with red cheeks and frost bitten skin, the blood around their wounds frozen, yet they still bled. Some shivered uncontrollably, others merely lay still. The dead stared accusingly at their killers, frosted milkey eyes sending chills down the spines of men. Friends yeared to retreave friends, and yet their commanders held them back, saving their lives from the arrows of the enemy.
Sero stared at it all, lost in memory, though his mind considering. He was a General, his command beyond reproach, his power beyond question. They called him Sero the Blackblade, Sero the Wytchebourne, Sero the Uninvited. He had become a legend in his short life, and barely noticed at all. He was untalented with Ether, but he moved through the world like a Ghost. Like he was a different kind of man entirely.
His soldiers worshipped him, and his King plotted to kill him before long. His legend was growing to fast, his leash was to long, and the soldiers followed him alone. He thought of all this, as he planned the movement of his army, and though of times far simpler. In truth, Sero was a simple man. He had but one passion, to kill the Corellians. A whole country of witches right on his border, white devils who had burned down his home, killed his parents, and chased him into the wilds.
He was 28 rings of heaven, 28 'years' of life as the old calanders said. He'd been barely eight when the white demons had first attacked, and he'd remember that day as long as he lived...
He was breathing hard, harsh and heavy. He'd run home as soon as he'd seen the fires, and they remained even as he approached his house. They flared even as the rain pounded, Sero's bare feet sinking into the mud as he tried to rush forwards. He could see his father inside, half into his guard mail, brandishing a sword against a man with a white gem growing out of his forehead.
His father swung as Sero rushed in the door, and the white demon parried it easily, his eye's cast with an eery, hungry glow. He thrust out a hand, and his father stopped moving. A white light surrounded him, and the unknown soldier grinned. His fist closed, and Sero's father coughed.
"Dad!" Sero yelled, and his fathers eyes darted to him. He coughed again, a gout of blood emerging from his mouth. "Run Sero!" His father coughed, before succoming at last. He crumpled to the floor as Sero rushed inside the house, his mother standing at the dining room table. The soldier advanced on her, ignoring Sero.
"No!" Sero yelled, grabbing his fathers heavy black sword. He pierced the soldier in the lower back, right next to the kidney. The man coughed and howled, backhanding Sero into a wall. Sero gasped as stars appeared before his eyes, a hollow ringing sensation destroyed his hearing. He heard a dull wail, and struggled to focus. The soldier was advancing on him, hand outstretched, a white glow in his palm.
Sero shakily steadied his weapon, pointing it towards the soldier with both hands. The man sneered, eyes wild, and Sero knew somehow that he'd lost his mind. Fear unloaded itself on him, and Sero let loose a wild slash as he yelle, soiling himself. He fell to the ground, and everything turned black.
Yes, that was the day. All those years ago that had been the day that his life ended as a human being. Sero had become violence, and he remembered it well. He'd gone completely mad at what followed, and wandered into the forest with his fathers sword. He spent years as a force of destruction, killing and eating. He slept when he was to tired, he killed when he was hungry, and he sharpened his sword against stone when he wasn't.
It had taken years for another human being to find him, he'd wandered the forests largely towards the sunrise, a vague desire to see the sea guiding him. What else could have occured, he did not remember very well. He had run on instinct, his mind unable to process the saddness that he broken him. He had been far, far to young.
He felt heavy breathing, those his own was steady. There were supporting arms below him, and as he laborously opened his eyes, they revealed his mother. She was carrying him, sword across his chest, through the burning village. She was heading for the woods, hoping to hide from the soldiers, but her hopes were all to soon broken.
Sero felt his eyes widen, before he even realized why. There was wet, warm red on his face. The was an arrow sprouting from his mothers chest, and a cold empty look on her face. He was falling, she on top of him. He was covered in her blood, he couldn't process, she landed heavily on him and breath exploded from his lungs. The black sword slid across his palm, and his blood stained the blade.
The solder who'd shot was laughing now, pointing at the boy as he struggled below his mother.
"Ah look, its a smaller target!" He said to his companion, "Hrmp," The man responded, "I'll wager you five silver you can't hit something small and quick like a child from here."
"I will take that bet sir," The first soldier said, leveling his crossbow at Sero.
Sero shakily picked up his black blade, pointing it towards the soldiers. They laughed again, mocking him. Mocking his pathetic display of defiance, and his mind snapped. A violet hue engulfed the black sword, not ether, and spread through Seros blood as a harsh howl was ripped from his throat. His arm straightened directly to his side, violet lightning sparked along the blade, and then a mist snatched him away.
"Diiiiiiiiiie!" Sero scream from behind the soldiers, hacking into the man with the crossbow viciously. The little eight year old was insane with rage, beyond understanding what had happened, tears in his eyes as he hacked into the soldier. The second soldier was surprised, but still managed to draw his blade and strike at Sero. Though he hopped back, Sero still suffered a ragged cut as the first soldier fell to the ground, his kidney a mess and his breath heaving.
The second soldier flicked out with his sword, curiously testing the child that he so suprised them, and found him an easy mark. The blade licked across his leg, and across his face, leaving long cuts behind them. Sero would carry the scars for the rest of his life, but he threw himself into danger fearlessly, his anger to great to be controlled, and thumped into the second soldier.
His suicidal motion surprised the hell out of the soldier, and he froze, fatally. Seros sword punched directly through the mans trunk, and severed his spine. He fell to the ground in a heap, unable to move his own legs any longer. Sero pulled the blade out, and screamed again, from pain and loss and terrible rage. He screamed until his throat was raw and his lips were specked in blood, and when he finished he ran through the town into the forest, I wild look in his eyes.
His mothers lifeless eyes stared after him, and he dare not look back, but he remember what his mother had once said.
"I met your father by the ocean, and the only moment more perfect than that one, was the day you were born Sero. If you ever need to feel at peace, just look out at the ocean, and all your fears melt away in the face of its freedom."
So he ran, towards the sun, towards the edge of the human empire. His insane mind now searching for peace.
Feel free to critique or make suggestions, you may point out grammatical mistakes if they bug the crap out of you and I shall attempt to fix them. I apologise for any misuse of the word eyes or eye's. Italics are absent from the format I origionally used, but the notes about his childhood are memories, and this is going to run through two seperate timelines, and a short third. His childhood in the woods is the short third, his teenage years when he first decides to fight for the empire, and his years as a tempered older man who faces betrayal by his own king.