Playthings

[sanmartin]

Since I've transferred hemispheres, I've found myself with half a year of spare time in school, and this is the result. I don't quite know how, but school brings out the best in me, and when it's useless, boring pointless classes, the BEST really does come out. So I give to you what is easily my best work so far:

The title is Playthings, and it's a fantasy story. The title stems from how the gods will intervene later in the story, but I haven't gotten that far yet.

Tarek sighed heavily. On his desk stood a map which told the truth his general dared not speak: they were losing this war. Only a year ago he might have led the troops ravaging his homeland, but the gods had forsaken his nation, and the empire was torn asunder along the lines of religion. To the north, the patronage of the Phoenix was strong, but unlike its god, the people would not be reborn should they die. To the south, the followers of the Wolf had banded together to fight against the aggressors: between the lands of the Wolf and the lands of the Phoenix, the followers of the Snake, devious and cunning like their god, pushed out into the lands of the neighbors. Clad in armor of grey scales, they had managed to defeat all enemies that stood in their way.
Suddenly, Tarek’s grim thoughts were interrupted by the sound of armored footsteps. Looking up at the entrance to the tent, he was surprised to see his son in the vivid scarlet and gold armor of the mage-warriors.
“Janis, my son! I see your training is nearly complete,” Tarek walked to his son’s side and slapped him on the shoulder. Looking down into Janis’ smiling face, he faked a smile and held a sigh: his son would now be one of the many stakes he was risking. He thanked the heavenly bird when Janis’ teacher, Arch Mage Borelsheron, stepped into the tent. Unlike Janis, the Arch Mage wore the pristine blue robes of his rank; by some form of magic, the robes he wore shone more brightly in the faint dusk sun than the polished surface of the boy’s armor As it was meant to do, the sight of the enchanted fabric awed Tarek into an instant sense of respect.
“Master Tarek,” Borelsheron’s words were calm and cool as well as humble as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder where Tarek’s had been just before, “do not heed the young lord’s words, for he is not yet but an apprentice. As talented or as powerful as he may be, it will years before he is ready to fight our enemy on the battlefield…” Borelsheron smiled warmly at his pupil, though the latter found no warmth in his words and simply pouted. Looking gravely at his master, Janis marched out slowly to the awaiting mage guard who led him back to the Gate.
“You cannot continue to hold him back, sire. You know as well as I that I have lied in saying he is not ready; he quickly approaches a level I could never have dreamed possible at that age. The magique bends to his will like the army bends to yours… and soon, you will not have the luxury of keeping your son hidden,” the mage’s face had turned stern and his gaze unflinching.
“Borelsheron, my old friend, I know you are right. My son… I’ve seen him training, and he easily surpasses most of the mage-warriors in the army… but you must understand, he was his mother’s last act in this world, he is my only son, he –” Borelsheron interrupted him coolly:
“He is your heir,” the unblinking gaze of the wizard’s vibrant green eyes forced Tarek into his seat.
“You are right… I’ve been selfish. By next month, if you deem him ready, I wish for him to go on to the fields of battle…” Tarek paused but quickly continued, “And you, my friend, shall be the one to lead him,” Tarek smiled at the Arch-Mage, who replied with a quick smile and a smile all his own.
“You went from selfish to rash to… generous in mere instants, just as an army general should be. Of course, I’d be glad to return to the field of battle as escort for your son… the class room has grown dull and tedious, as fewer and fewer true talents emerge. But, Tarek, I have a question…” Borelsheron stroked his beard pensively and allowed his gaze to wander around the tent. Picking up the hints, Tarek grinned and played along.
“Yes, old friend, what is your question?” His hopes of light banter were quickly dashed when the Arch-Mage continued with a far more serious question than Tarek had expected.
“Do we have a month?” The mage’s eyes continued to wander.
“That would depend on whether our requests are accepted soon enough. If they were, we might still win this war. If not, I’d surrender lest Janis risk death or injury in vain,” Tarek sighed heavily and crossed his arms. His gaze fell upon Borelsheron, and he was amazed to see the fabric of the Arch-Mage had turned a deep shade of jade green.
“Do you still believe that our victory is at all possible?” The crystalline robe glistened in the little light that the sun still shed, accentuating the mage’s aged but chiseled features.
“It is more a case of believing they can still lose,” Tarek grinned despite himself, and Borelsheron chuckled lightly; it was going to be a long month indeed.

[sanmartin]

Well, since no one has really paid much attention to this, I've decided to bump it in the best way possible: By updating it, free of errors mostly. If you mind any mistakes, please point them out.

Tarek sighed heavily. On his desk stood a map which told him the truth his general dared not speak: they were losing this war. Only a year ago he might have led the troops ravaging his homeland, but the gods had forsaken his nation, and the empire was torn asunder along the lines of religion. To the north, the patronage of the Phoenix was strong, but unlike its god, the people would not be reborn should they die. To the south, the followers of the Wolf had banded together to fight against the aggressors: between the lands of the Wolf and the lands of the Phoenix, the followers of the Snake, devious and cunning like their god, pushed out into the lands of their neighbors. Clad in armor of grey scales, they had managed to defeat all enemies that stood in their way.
Suddenly, Tarek’s grim thoughts were interrupted by the sound of armored footsteps. Looking up at the entrance to the tent, he was surprised to see his son in the vivid scarlet and gold armor of the mage-warriors.
“Janis, my son! I see your training is nearly complete,” Tarek walked to his son’s side and slapped him on the shoulder. Looking down into Janis’ smiling face, he faked a smile and held a sigh: his son would now be one of the many stakes he was risking. He thanked the heavenly bird when Janis’ teacher, Arch Mage Borelsheron, stepped into the tent. Unlike Janis, the Arch Mage wore the pristine blue robes of his rank; by some form of magic, the robes he wore shone more brightly in the faint dusk sun than the polished surface of the boy’s armor As it was meant to do, the sight of the enchanted fabric awed Tarek into an instant sense of respect.
“Master Tarek,” Borelsheron’s words were calm and cool as well as humble as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder where Tarek’s had been just before, “do not heed the young lord’s words, for he is not yet but an apprentice. As talented or as powerful as he may be, it will years before he is ready to fight our enemy on the battlefield…” Borelsheron smiled warmly at his pupil, though the latter found no warmth in his words and simply pouted. Looking gravely at his master, Janis marched out slowly to the awaiting mage guard who led him back to his tent.
“You cannot continue to hold him back, sire. You know as well as I that I have lied in saying he is not ready; he quickly approaches a level I could never have dreamed possible at that age. The magique bends to his will like the army bends to yours… and soon, you will not have the luxury of keeping your son hidden,” the mage’s face had turned stern and his gaze unflinching.
“Borelsheron, my old friend, I know you are right. My son… I’ve seen him training, and he easily surpasses most of the mage-warriors in the army… but you must understand, he was his mother’s last act in this world, he is my only son, he –” Borelsheron interrupted him coolly:
“He is your heir,” the unblinking gaze of the wizard’s vibrant green eyes forced Tarek into his seat.
“You are right… I’ve been selfish. By next month, if you deem him ready, I wish for him to go on to the fields of battle…” Tarek paused but quickly continued, “And you, my friend, shall be the one to lead him,” Tarek smiled at the Arch-Mage, who replied with a quick bow and a smile all his own.
“You went from selfish to rash to… generous in mere instants, just as an army general should be. Of course, I’d be glad to return to the field of battle as escort for your son… the class room has grown dull and tedious, as fewer and fewer true talents emerge. But, Tarek, I have a question…” Borelsheron stroked his beard pensively and allowed his gaze to wander around the tent. Picking up the hints, Tarek grinned and played along.
“Yes, old friend, what is your question?” His hopes of light banter were quickly dashed when the Arch-Mage continued with a far more serious question than Tarek had expected.
“Do we have a month?” The mage’s eyes continued to wander.
“That would depend on whether our requests are accepted soon enough. If they are, we might still win this war. If not, I’d surrender lest Janis risk death or injury in vain,” Tarek sighed heavily and crossed his arms. His gaze fell upon Borelsheron, and he was amazed to see the fabric of the Arch-Mage’s robe had turned a deep shade of jade green.
“Do you still believe that our victory is at all possible?” The crystalline robe glistened in the little light that the sun still shed, accentuating the mage’s aged but chiseled features.
“It is more a case of believing they can still lose,” Tarek grinned despite himself, and Borelsheron chuckled lightly; it was going to be a long month indeed.

-oOo-

Kohan Hyetsu eyed the messenger with disdain. The crude scarlet and gold armor he wore told him that he was from the Phoenix people of the former Yojei Empire; the messenger’s tired face and shallow features made it painfully clear that the matter was urgent, and the full battle ensemble that the simple manager wore clued him to the desperate struggle that Tarek Sala and his armies found themselves in. All this equated to one thing: Tarek needed his help, and soon.
“My lord Kohan, I br—” Kohan interrupted the messenger with a simple wave of the hand.
“I know messenger, your appearance says more to me than anything you could speak. I know where you are from, I know where you are from, I know the urgency with which you come, and I know what crisis has befallen your nation. You will, in no more than two days, return to your Lord Tarek, with our message. But first, you will rest, eat and prepare as we make better armor for you. Now go, your sight is painful to our… refined eyes,” and with another wave of his hand, Kohan sent the messenger away.

[sanmartin]

Part 2:

The two days passed and the messenger presented himself to Kohan anew. No longer clad in the scarlet and gold armor of his army, the messenger now wore the blue and red color of House Hyetsu; the tired look Lyandor had worn upon his arrival had gone, his handsome feature returning as had the muscle he had lost on his voyage. His hair had been tied back and combed, blue and red braiding the pony tail he wore proudly in his golden brown locks. He smiled flirtingly at the women that passed him in the halls; now more than ever he fit in, here, amongst what many believed to be the most perfect of humans. In the days that had passed, Lyandor had nearly forgotten why he was here, but his old armor had been laid in a neat bundle on his bed this morning. Though it was the same color, the similarities ended there: it had been refined to a level of beauty unknown in his homeland, with finely inlaid phoenixes flying across its surface. Used to its encumbering weight, he was surprised at how much lighter the suit of armor was now, and this was even more apparent in the brand new one they’d crafted for him before. He noticed he was daydreaming when he snapped back to reality in Kohan’s court room.
“Young sir Lyandor Vocar, messenger of Lord Marshall Tarek Sala of the Phoenix people, and envoy to Emperor Kohan Hyetsu: your lord has requested our assistance and you will bring our reply to him directly. Go forth, and present this sword to your liege upon your arrival at his side; therein lies the message. We’ve given you two days worth of hospitality, and we offer yet another 2 on the high seas to assure your safe arrival at your homeland. You will, however, know nothing of the message you carry, for it is of great risk to travel upon seas we do not yet control and across lands we cannot yet defend. The voyage on ship shall be one worthy of any of our people, so you may rest assured of your comfort. The 3 day ride that will follow this voyage will be without our company I am afraid, but we will grant you the speed of one of our steeds. Fair journey and Fare well,” Kohan bowed his head slightly and Lyandor gaped rudely as he returned the gesture. He regained his composure as one of the court Maidens affixed the sword and scabbard onto his waist, and he was surprised when it was her and another woman who accompanied him out of the palace and towards the docks.
“Is there a reason two unarmed maidens are the ones escorting me home?” Lyandor eyed the one clothed in white from head to toe lustfully.
“You would do well, foreigner, to assume less when our women dress in robes. I do not accompany you for your pleasure, but for your safety, and should you act on the former, I will forego the latter,” the woman’s tone was aggressive and accusing as she pulled back a fold in her robe to reveal a light colored suit of armor underneath her clothing and a short sword hidden discretely against her thigh. She pushed ahead straight onto the small cutter awaiting them in the docks. The other younger woman giggled delightfully and whispered in Lyandor’s ear:
“If it’s any consolation… I think you’re pretty cute,” she giggled and darted off after her companion. Left behind and completely in shock, Lyandor sulked and boarded behind them: he was in for an interesting couple of days.

-oOo-

Lyandor reflected quietly on his soft bed. He was returning home and to his people, but somehow it felt wrong; he had never felt like he fit in before, and this voyage, his stay in Hyetsu, it felt right. He closed his eyes to the vibrant sunlight shining through the little glass over his bed, and then dozed off.

-oOo-

The sun continued to shine, but Lyandor noticed something immediately: he wasn’t sleeping in the boat anymore. He looked around and saw somebody kneeling in front of him, and a peculiar weight rested upon his head. He reached out with his hand and touched it: it was a crown! In his shock, he noticed something else: his armor was different. No longer simply scarlet and gold or blue and red, it mixed the two patterns flawlessly; it combined the colors of his homeland and, he realized, the colors of his people. But why would he wear a crown? Instinctively, he looked to his left and saw a woman, a woman of great beauty, and she too wore a crown, and her slender jeweled hand was holding his own tightly. As he opened his mouth to speak, the woman to his side looked at him and suddenly shouted:
“Lyandor!” Everything went black, and he opened his eyes to see the carpeted floor rushing up towards him.
“Ow,” Lyandor moaned and turned on his side. He could hear a ringing noise in his ear and his vision was blurred, but he could distinguish a figure at the foot of his bed. Without thinking he asked, “What do you want?”
“Well, now that you’re awake, maybe you could come solve our… problem on deck,” the figure was still blurred, but he could hear him… no, her, clearly.
“What? What problem could I possibly handle that you can’t?” Lyandor rubbed his eyes, straining to see clearly.
“Let’s just say diplomacy…” Lyandor could now clearly see the Priestess, who held out her hand to help him onto his feet. In the depths of his mind, a sudden flash of realization told him that she was the woman from his dream, but this was extinguished immediately as the pair rushed onto the deck.
The sudden exposure to the full force of the sun’s rays caused him to wince. Raising his hand to cover his face, he saw the problem the priestess and her companion along with the ship’s crew couldn’t handle; 10 fully armed soldiers had boarded the ship. Although this would normally be little trouble for the 20 man crew of skilled marines, their assailants wore vivid scarlet and gold armor: they were of the Phoenix nation.
“Uh… captain was it? Well, here’s that diplomat I told you about,” the priestess shoved Lyandor in front of her and towards the soldiers. He resisted as best he could and tried to take a step back, the priestess still pushing.
“Are you insane?! I’m not a diplomat, I don’t know the fir—” Lyandor started, but the priestess shushed him.
“Look Lyandor, you’re the closest thing we have to one; these are your people after all!”
“Well, about that,” Lyandor sputtered. He had to tell her, tell somebody, about his dream, and he thought maybe she could explain it somehow, “I had this dre—” Before Lyandor could tell her though, the captain of the assailants spoke up at last.
“You, diplomat or whoever, come here. We’re going to talk face to face…” Lyandor approached slowly and reluctantly as he watched the captain’s fingers twitch around the hilt of his sword. Once he finally reached the captain’s side, the latter clamped his cold gauntlet around Lyandor’s nape, giving him chills throughout his body despite the hot sunlight; the soldier gripped tightly, causing Lyandor to clench his teeth from the pain. Shifting his head painfully, Lyandor managed to catch a glimpse of the priestess, who looked on with an expression of genuine concern in her face. Lyandor jumped a little when the captain began to speak in his ear:
“She’s quite a looker ain’t she? Aww, don’t pretend like you wasn’t looking, I saw you… Oi, here’s the deal: you hand over that there girly and her friend, and me and my men’ll be on our merry little way. And remember, before you decide, I could order my men to kill each’n every person you’ve got on this ship,” Lyandor was hardly listening, but he’d heard enough. Without even stopping to think, he answered immediately and resoundingly.
“No,” the captain’s face went white from indignation, but Lyandor continued talking, “And by the way, captain, if they wanted to, these sailors could take care of all of you where you stand. They wear better armor, they wield better weapons, they’re better trained, and they outnumber you. Frankly, I’d be surprised if you even managed to hurt one of the girls,” Lyandor grinned, and no sooner had he finished his sentence, the Captain unsheathed his sword and began to swing it around towards Lyandor. The latter closed his eyes in anticipation, but was pleasantly surprised when he heard the thud of a collapsing body and the clang of a sword falling to the ground. He opened his eyes to see what had just happened, and noticed the captain, as well as his entire band of marauders, lying unconscious on the floor. Over the captain stood both the Priestess and her companion, who eyed the motionless body with disdain.
“Uh… thanks I guess. I’m amazed at how quick you two are…” Lyandor rubbed his nape, feeling grateful for the recently returned heat.
“Actually, I just threw something at his head,” the priestess grinned, and Lyandor started to laugh, the two women laughing along with him. Once the assailants had been returned to their ship, the cutter set sail once more and Lyandor retreated to his cabin. Though he wasn’t tired, he lied down and was fast asleep before long.

[sanmartin]

Part 3:

Once again, Lyandor could feel the weight of a crown upon his head, but he was no longer in the court room. Instead, they were in the dining hall, with its tall vaulted ceiling and high slender windows, pierced only by an eerie moonlight now. If not for the torches, the room would be pitch black, and even with the light of the crackling fires, the room emanated with damp and gloomy light as well as homely and welcoming warmth. This was reflected in the mood of the guests, who chatted amongst themselves boisterously and enthusiastically, and the cling of cutlery resonated particularly loud in the packed room. Looking around him, Lyandor was surprised to see both his commander, Tarek, and for the past two days host, Kohan, sitting side by side and chatting like old friends. Tarek no longer wore the crown that symbolized his sovereignty over the Phoenix nation; instead he wore a slim crown with a lone Phoenix shaped jewel upon his forehead. Although he still wore the familiar scarlet and gold of his homeland, these colors no longer dominated his clothing; it was silver and blue that marked his robes more than anything. Kohan, though he still wore his familiar red and blue, no longer wore the crown of Hyetsu. He too wore a simple thin crown, though his bore the image of a spiraling dragon in the place of a phoenix. Catching sight of him, Tarek winked at Lyandor and they both waved to him.
Lyandor noticed that he too was waving at them. He realized then that he was watching himself: he was watching through his eyes.
“Lyandor,” the same voice that had awoken him the first time he’d had this dream was speaking to him again, “Lyandor, I think it’s time for your speech,” the voice was sweet, and as the dream Lyandor looked to his left, he saw that it was the priestess, more beautiful than ever in her multi colored robes, who sat by his side, as his wife. The scarlet and gold accentuated her fine jewelry, which glowed in the torchlight, and the red and blue of her heritage rimmed her robes with red phoenixes flying on blue skies. She wore a tiara that shone with the intensity of the stars, lighting up her face from above.
“Of course, my dear Eliana,” the dream Lyandor made to stand, but Eliana scolded him playfully with a flick of her wrist. He bent back down and embraced her, smiling happily at his wife. He then straightened and cleared his throat, the bustle of the room beginning to quiet down. The dream Lyandor smiled and bowed his head slightly before starting, “My dear friends, my guests, I am sad to say that the dullest part of the night is upon us: my speech,” a low laughter rippled across the tables, “As you know, this time last year, myself and Eliana were wed…” Lyandor suddenly heard the voices begin to fade, the feelings numb and the darkness set in. He was hanging in sheer blackness, unable to breathe, hear or feel. Lyandor wanted to vomit the food from the banquet, but there was nothing, not even bile. He was nothing, and he was floating in the middle of nothing. As the emptiness began to engulf him, a feeling of warmth enveloped him, a sound like a raging fire rang in his ears and a sudden flash of pure white light surrounded him. As the bright light ebbed and his sight returned, he saw a Phoenix surrounded by a roaring blue fire. Its scarlet and red plumage shone vibrantly, but the feathers seemed pale in comparison to its eyes, those glowing golden eyes like the sun. Lost in the depths of the jewel like pupils, Lyandor heard a distinct voice whisper in his ear.
“Your nation may feel forsaken, but fear not, as its savior is returning home. You have seen glimpses of your future; for her sake, the sake of your people, and indeed, the world, fulfill it…”
Lyandor woke with a start. With the very first traces of dawn on the horizon, he decided not to return to sleep. Wiping some of the cold sweat from his face and brow, he walked up on deck to the refreshing sea breeze and the relaxing noise of the waves. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled and leaned against the side railing, holding back an urge to vomit. Behind him, a soothing woman’s voice spoke to him.
“Couldn’t sleep either I see,” the priestess came and leaned on the railing next to Lyandor.
“No… sleeping is the problem,” Lyandor sighed deeply and looked up at the horizon. In the distance, he could see the blue of the sea and sky mixed with the red and scarlet clouds and… and the golden sun like an eye in the middle of it all looking down at the world.
“Ah, so you had a nightmare then?” She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Well, it wasn’t really a nightmare. It had more to do with the fact that I could feel, see, hear, even taste my dream, but it wasn’t me in the dream, and yet it was. I think… I think I saw my future,” Lyandor looked down into the lashing waves and forced out a stifled laugh, “But it couldn’t be my future, I was wearing some kind of crown, and my clothes blended the colors of our homes…” Lyandor held his hand up into the sky, looking at the sun behind it, and again he saw the four colors blending so flawlessly, “I mean, there’s no way I’m royalty, much less of two nations!” Lyandor forced another exasperated laugh.
“Was… was I in your dream?” the priestess asked weakly, blushing and grabbing onto Lyandor’s sleeve.
“Yes, you were my queen,” this time Lyandor smiled genuinely and warmly, “And I found out your name too, Eliana,” he let out a soft laugh, and Eliana smiled happily.
“Are you going to try and fulfill it then?” Eliana looked up into Lyandor’s eyes: she looked like she had in the dream, wearing a tiara of light, the sun illuminating her face as it rose slowly into the sky.
“The Phoenix told me that I needed to fulfill my dream, for the sake of the world, but… I don’t want to fulfill it because I think I need to, I’m going to fulfill because you’re a part of that future,” Lyandor looked down into Eliana’s glowing eyes, and in that burning sunrise they kissed each other.


§

Janis flicked his wand and watched as a small phoenix flew around in his tent. He grew bored, groaned and made his little summoning disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Master Borelsheron, why do you continue to hold me back?! I’m ready to fight for my people; I know you can see that too!” Janis jumped to his feet and looked into his teacher’s eyes, who had just entered the tent.

[sanmartin]

ker-BUMP
:crash: