Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Chapter 3: Blood and Tears

Richard Von Weber looked down upon the twisting mountain trail from his perch upon Nawie Ridge, hidden under the shadow of the overhang. The perch had a hidden stair that stretched back to Mubam’we and from the perch you could see all the way to the Yame river. In times of peace it served as a quiet spot for the young couples of the town, but Richard knew what it’s true purpose was. It was built for war.

His eyes darkened as he watched the Caravan wind it’s way along the trail, bringing much needed supplies and specialty goods from Yageus, and Alan’we, but more importantly it carried the last few people they needed.
He gave a dark smile. They were probably looking out upon the hills and town thinking “What a nice little town” or “maybe I should settle down here.” But Richard knew the truth, this town wasn’t as innocent as it seemed. It’s farms were watered in blood and it’s children washed in tears.

He could still see it, the ground soaked in blood and bodies, charred and blackened laying in the street. His friend and relatives. The smell of burnt straw and hair mixing with the ash in the sky. Tears in his eyes he ran running through the street. Elle, I must find Elle. Where is she. Rounding the corner he came face to face with three Achillian Spell-stitched, caring the Acillis blade. These were red coats, elites of the Achillian army. They were blood thirsty, brutal, and they had Elle. She lie naked at their feet crying bruises covering her. Blood fell from her lips, her jaw was broken

“please… please stop.” Richard begged, falling to his knees. “were just town folk, we did nothing to harm either, Achlla or Aegea”

“Your not with Aegea?” asked the warrior in a queer tone

“NO” Richard screamed, his tears running down his face.

The warrior walked toward him and grabbed his face with his hand
“and your not with Achilla either?”

Richard, to his everlasting regret, remained silent.

“That is where you made your mistake.”

With one deft move he gutted Elle.

Richard jumped forward, but caught himself just in the nick of time. He hung halfway off Nawie ridge his left foot hang out over space. A hundred foot drop stretched below him. He hung their, for longer than what was needed for him to come to his senses. The seconds ticked on, but at long last he pulled himself back. The visions had been getting stronger as of late especially since he stopped killing…

His tears had dried in the heat of the fire that consumed Mubam’we on that night. He remembered those warriors now. A smile came to his face. They had taken such a long time to die.
He had killed so many men. Each one given his own special coffin, made just for him. So many, in fact, he had become known as Adata Fu‘we, “Spirit of Death” in the native toung. Yet, despite the men he had killed and the scarifices made, the war raged on Mubam’we, pointlessly for years. For you see Mu'bamwe rests right between Aegea, the city-state praised for it’s vast and powerful Navy, and Achilla, known for it’s spell-stitched warriors. They constantly war for control over the land and Mubam’we is a prime killing ground. That was until two years ago.

Sionaas and his odd apprentice had come to town and, like a miracle, the killing had stopped, the town was rebuilt, and the economy boomed, mostly due to the money Sionaas pumped into the village from his excavating foray. He was in town searching for something, but what was unknown. He had hired most of the town to mine for him in the Windswept Wall .

Richard frowned. He stood, grabed his bag and started down the hidden stair to report the Caravans progress to Sionaas. For two years the town had prospered and he had stoped killing. Naturaly he had hatted all mages as the Arcane Gront were the forces behind the war, but Sionaas had been difererant. He played with the children of the town, and drank with his workers. But then last week an accident occurred up at the Sionaas mine and some people had died. Richard’s old predugisoses had flared again, but Sionaas actually seemed worried and aloof. He had remained that way untill one day when Sionaas came to him, of all people, and asked if he knew anyone who might be interested in a little dangerous work at the old mine. Even with his hatred of mages what this man did for his town requires thanks, bordering upon his very life, and he agreed to help him. Now the only thing left to do is wait for the caravan to arrive to arrive so that he can start the task presented to him.

He looked at the sky and smiled. It really was a beautiful day.

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