Chapter 2 - The Others?
Submitted June 10, 2012 Updated June 14, 2012 Status Incomplete | Some ish for me an Nanu to pwn ppl in (no big deal) **Comments are always appreciated**
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Chapter 2 - The Others?
Chapter 2 - The Others?
Chapter 002: The Others?[/u]
“Fuck!” I yelled as I shoved my fist into the cave wall. Pain rattled through my bones but my tolerance numbed it instantly. My feet stopped dragging through rocks and started to slide into soil. The sun blinded me as I shook my hood off and stuck my sword into the ground. I reread my father’s note. His last words. His will. They weren’t here either. The ‘others’ .
It’s been about 7 months since my family was massacred. I was getting water for my little sister one night because she had a fever. I came back to a village in bloody ruins, houses burning down and familiar faces charred to crisps. I ran straight to my home, at the center of the village. As I flung the front door open, my mind was permanently stained with the horrors. My family, cousins, uncles, aunts, grandmothers. Maids, friends, neighbors, guests, travelers. All severed. Scattered body parts and torn cloth soaked in red jumbled around in my house. My movement was shivered. I was trembling. In anger. In guilt. In sadness. In torment. My body seemed to bounce towards my sister’s room, spilling the water I’d gotten for her all over the ground. I arrived and saw her body in the back corner. Tears welled up in my eyes. All my life I’d been taught to control the cold yet I could feel an incredible heat building in my eyelids as they swelled. Her head was severed and lying next to her limp body. Her clothing was burnt and shredded. Remains of her underwear still strung around her legs, blood pooled between her small 11-year old thighs. I notice a trail of blood leading out of the room from the back door, into the hall leading to my parents’ room. I opened the door and followed the trail, seeing bits and pieces of satin cloth. I recognized them because they pieced together to my mother’s beautiful turquoise dress she had worn today. But now shreds were lying in small embers and flames amongst the halls. I opened the door to my parents’ bedroom and the tears in my eyes stopped flowing. They suddenly froze onto my face and my heart pounded my chest. My mother was face-down, lying across the floor. Her dress was torn off lying on the bed next to her. Her entire back was in embers, skin burnt off. Flesh seared through. In turned around and left the room. I wandered towards the dojo, on the other end of the hall. My bedroom was connected to the other side of my dojo. As I slid open the dojo doors, I saw a hellish vision. Bursts of flame were sprouted about, spread across a dozen bodies clothed in bright satin red robes rimmed in dark red and orange symbols. They were all lying in pools of blood, sliced to bits. A smile slightly emerged from my cold face.
Father. My brain rung as I ran through the soupy bits of invaders and into my room.
I saw my father sitting in the chair at my desk, his body lazily slung over it. His back was scorched and covered in needles, arrows, swords slashes, and knives. In the corner of my room was a slim looking dagger, almost as long as a short sword. It was pinning another red soldier to the wall through his chest. I walked over to it and thunked it out of the corpse’s sternum. On the hilt my clan’s spirit animal, the dragon, is carved in. It was his. My dad’s. I looked over at him lying on my desk from this angle. His arms were strewn across it as if he was covering something. I looked as his side and see a large gash oozing blood into a thick pool on the ground. The man that was pinned to the wall was the one that finished my father. I walked to my desk and under my father’s messy hair I saw a note.
Since then, I’ve been trying to find these “Others” that my dad wrote about. After investigating a little, I found out that these robes are from an ancient assassin’s guild that is supposedly long gone. I dug a little deeper and learned that the last few survivors were held captive, in slavery, before they died. I figured that one or two of them might’ve had a kid. Rumors also started to reach my ear that one of the youngest (yet most wealthy) survivors, a middle-aged man, had his hidden village raided and his daughter and wife raped and killed. His son was missing. I started to fill in the blanks. The training me and my sister have been going through our whole lives weren’t for nothing. I am the descendant of a member of an assassin’s guild. My peers, the other members, are missing. I am the son of a survivor. And I don’t think I’m the only one. I’ve been raiding slave-captivities around the country for 3 or 4 months now. I’ve yet to find anyone bearing the same robes. Only other flame soldiers that hunt me down. Other mercenaries and assassins. Hitmen and alchemists. Killers and thieves. Rich and poor. I earned a national bounty, apparently, and a pretty hefty one too. My head would bring wealth upon a family for generations. Who’d pay for it? Who wants me killed so damn bad? Well, aside from the slave-traders who throw in a couple hundred or couple thousand here and there after I raid their slave caravans (maybe accidentally freeing a couple). After leaving my desecrated village, I made a few discoveries about the world around me.
“Fuck!” I yelled as I shoved my fist into the cave wall. Pain rattled through my bones but my tolerance numbed it instantly. My feet stopped dragging through rocks and started to slide into soil. The sun blinded me as I shook my hood off and stuck my sword into the ground. I reread my father’s note. His last words. His will. They weren’t here either. The ‘others’ .
It’s been about 7 months since my family was massacred. I was getting water for my little sister one night because she had a fever. I came back to a village in bloody ruins, houses burning down and familiar faces charred to crisps. I ran straight to my home, at the center of the village. As I flung the front door open, my mind was permanently stained with the horrors. My family, cousins, uncles, aunts, grandmothers. Maids, friends, neighbors, guests, travelers. All severed. Scattered body parts and torn cloth soaked in red jumbled around in my house. My movement was shivered. I was trembling. In anger. In guilt. In sadness. In torment. My body seemed to bounce towards my sister’s room, spilling the water I’d gotten for her all over the ground. I arrived and saw her body in the back corner. Tears welled up in my eyes. All my life I’d been taught to control the cold yet I could feel an incredible heat building in my eyelids as they swelled. Her head was severed and lying next to her limp body. Her clothing was burnt and shredded. Remains of her underwear still strung around her legs, blood pooled between her small 11-year old thighs. I notice a trail of blood leading out of the room from the back door, into the hall leading to my parents’ room. I opened the door and followed the trail, seeing bits and pieces of satin cloth. I recognized them because they pieced together to my mother’s beautiful turquoise dress she had worn today. But now shreds were lying in small embers and flames amongst the halls. I opened the door to my parents’ bedroom and the tears in my eyes stopped flowing. They suddenly froze onto my face and my heart pounded my chest. My mother was face-down, lying across the floor. Her dress was torn off lying on the bed next to her. Her entire back was in embers, skin burnt off. Flesh seared through. In turned around and left the room. I wandered towards the dojo, on the other end of the hall. My bedroom was connected to the other side of my dojo. As I slid open the dojo doors, I saw a hellish vision. Bursts of flame were sprouted about, spread across a dozen bodies clothed in bright satin red robes rimmed in dark red and orange symbols. They were all lying in pools of blood, sliced to bits. A smile slightly emerged from my cold face.
Father. My brain rung as I ran through the soupy bits of invaders and into my room.
I saw my father sitting in the chair at my desk, his body lazily slung over it. His back was scorched and covered in needles, arrows, swords slashes, and knives. In the corner of my room was a slim looking dagger, almost as long as a short sword. It was pinning another red soldier to the wall through his chest. I walked over to it and thunked it out of the corpse’s sternum. On the hilt my clan’s spirit animal, the dragon, is carved in. It was his. My dad’s. I looked over at him lying on my desk from this angle. His arms were strewn across it as if he was covering something. I looked as his side and see a large gash oozing blood into a thick pool on the ground. The man that was pinned to the wall was the one that finished my father. I walked to my desk and under my father’s messy hair I saw a note.
Since then, I’ve been trying to find these “Others” that my dad wrote about. After investigating a little, I found out that these robes are from an ancient assassin’s guild that is supposedly long gone. I dug a little deeper and learned that the last few survivors were held captive, in slavery, before they died. I figured that one or two of them might’ve had a kid. Rumors also started to reach my ear that one of the youngest (yet most wealthy) survivors, a middle-aged man, had his hidden village raided and his daughter and wife raped and killed. His son was missing. I started to fill in the blanks. The training me and my sister have been going through our whole lives weren’t for nothing. I am the descendant of a member of an assassin’s guild. My peers, the other members, are missing. I am the son of a survivor. And I don’t think I’m the only one. I’ve been raiding slave-captivities around the country for 3 or 4 months now. I’ve yet to find anyone bearing the same robes. Only other flame soldiers that hunt me down. Other mercenaries and assassins. Hitmen and alchemists. Killers and thieves. Rich and poor. I earned a national bounty, apparently, and a pretty hefty one too. My head would bring wealth upon a family for generations. Who’d pay for it? Who wants me killed so damn bad? Well, aside from the slave-traders who throw in a couple hundred or couple thousand here and there after I raid their slave caravans (maybe accidentally freeing a couple). After leaving my desecrated village, I made a few discoveries about the world around me.
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