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| - "They're fools!" Svaldur roared, slamming his clenched fist into the wooden dinner table. Alisdar flinched as the impact reverberated, shaking his plate, but did not look up from his dinner to watch his father's eyes glow red with anger, threatening violence. Alisdar's mother, Leka, gave her husband a patient glance. "Then say something, Svaldur. They'll listen to your words. Surely some among them have sense," she replied, her voice calm, yet edged to parry. "Do you think I've been silent, woman? Pysen is undeterred, looking for his moment of glory. The rest are motivated by fear." Svaldur shook his head in frustration. "Cowards!" "Why fear?" Alisdar spoke up for the first time that evening. Svaldur gave his son a withering look. "They're afraid that Lord Kotraen's illness will invite Sulaf's raiders to test our northern border. Didn't your cowardly friends tell you that before skulking off to polish their armor?" "They told me Pysen said that -" "Never mind what that fool says," Svaldur growled, digging his claws into the table. "Why the Lord made him his second, I will never know." "Surely Lord Kotraen doesn't know what Pysen's planning? How many men he's taking?" Leka interjected as she rose from the table to begin clearing the dishes away. "The Lord expressly forbid it, in fact. Whether he knows that Pysen's ignoring the order..." Svaldur sighed. "I do not want to ask. In his condition, who knows. That priest of his is so incompetent that the shock of finding out might kill the poor man." Svaldur rose from the table suddenly, knocking the chair backwards. "I'm tired of talking about this. I'm going back to the castle for the night." He looked at Alisdar intently, then continued, "You ought to spend the night in the barracks. With all the men heading out in the morning, we'll be shorthanded, and you'll be needed out on patrol. I'll fetch you there in the morning." "Yes sir," Alisdar replied as he watched his father's imposing figure duck under the doorway. As soon as he disappeared from view, however, Alisdar let out a sigh and took a deep drink of his cider. The soft light of the twilight still spilled into the small home, reminding him how early it was, yet the brief moment of family togetherness had already ended. None too soon, in Alisdar's opinion, but he could see the disappointment on his mother's face as she wordlessly stared out the window. Being together as a family unit was an unusual occurrence these days. As captain of the Lord's personal guard, Svaldur rarely came out to the house they'd all shared when Alisdar was young. Now, Svaldur stayed in the keep, just down the hall from the Lord's room, and Alisdar split his evenings between the barracks and the house. Leka was often left here alone. It seemed to Alisdar that the solitude had worn on her. Leka wasn't a terribly old woman, only perhaps in her early forties, but the lines around her gentle gray eyes had grown deep and tired as of late. At one time, Alisdar had rather resembled his mother, his dark hair and bluish complexion matching hers, but as he had grown stronger through his combat training and duties, she'd grown frailer and more sullen, as if he'd been sapping away her strength with each night he could not visit. Alisdar stood up and walked over to the window, stood behind Leka, and placed a hand on her shoulder in comfort. "Mother..." he began. "Go on, Alisdar. Get to the barracks," she gently chided him. "It may be some time before I'm able to come by and stay," he replied. "Like Father said, with the new offensive, they'll be shorthanded, and I won't have a night off-duty until -" "I know." Leka turned to look at him, offering a sad smile. "You're a good son. See to it that you're as strong a warrior." "Yes'm." Alisdar withdrew his hand and headed out. --- The barracks were bustling with activity, with all the young men sharpening swords and stringing up bows. Alisdar sighed heavily as he passed them, making his way to his usual bed, and climbing atop it unceremoniously. He pulled out a book from underneath his pillow and lit a candle on the nightstand, leaning over to better eliminate the shadows that were interfering with his ability to read the lines on the page. The inferior light didn't matter for long, however, as Alisdar was soon interrupted by a trio of familiar excited voices. "Asphelumbra!" "Asphelumbra..." Alisdar replied, looking up into the face of his fellow soldiers. "What are you doing?" a lighter-skinned ranger named Ragder asked, deftly pulling the book out of Alisdar's claws and laughing aloud as Alisdar swiped at him hopelessly, trying to retrieve it back. "The Chronicle of Narnja? You're reading that again?" "It's a good story," Alisdar growled defensively, finally getting a claw around the corner of the book and yanking it back into his possession. "Do you even know what it's about?" Ragder rolled his eyes. "No... but if it isn't about sticking your sword through Sulaf's heart, what good is it to you?" "Yeah, Alisdar, why aren't you getting ready?" Tidem, Ragder's taller, lankier brother chimed in. "You do know we leave at dawn." There was a brief moment of silence as Alisdar sighed, looking down at his book, the edges of the cover looking slightly frayed from the brief game of keep-away. Finally, the third soldier, a young woman named Finna, spoke. "Oh, no. Don't tell me your father..." Alisdar nodded. "I'm not going." "You've got to be joking!" Ragder exclaimed, crossing his arms. "Our first big raid, and he said no?" "You can't tell me that you're surprised," Alisdar replied, shaking his head. "Everyone knows he doesn't care for Pysen." Finna flopped down next to Alisdar, concern in her eyes. "I'm so sorry about your father, Alisdar." "Me too," Tidem nodded. "Can't you just... come with us anyway? It's not like the old man will leave the Lord's side and drag you off the battlefield," Ragder argued crossly. "Don't think I haven't considered it," Alisdar replied, scowling a bit. "As if anyone would want to be left behind on a raid like this. But if one of Sulaf's men didn't run me through, my father would do it instead when I got home." "Not if you were the hero!" Ragder persisted. "I'll let you have credit for all of my kills. Everyone will be impressed. Maybe even Svaldur." Alisdar laughed ruefully. "Ah, yes, because it would make sense for me to count kills made from a well-aimed arrow. That will be believable. Ragder, you know I couldn't hit the long side of the barrack walls from only a stone's throw away." "He's right, Ragder," Tidem echoed. "He is terrible with a bow." "You didn't have to agree so quickly..." Alisdar muttered. "Sorry." Tidem grinned apologetically. "Well... for every man you miss the opportunity to kill, I'll kill two," Finna vowed, placing a hand on Alisdar's arm. "And I'll kill three!" Ragder crowed. Alisdar shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks, guys..." "We'd better finish our preparations," Tidem reminded the others. "If we don't see you again before we go... Blood for blood, Alisdar." "Blood for blood," Ragder and Linna chimed. "Blood for blood," Alisdar replied in a falsely upbeat tone, trying to hide his disappointment. The three soldiers turned to leave, and Alisdar again looked down at his book, not feeling at all like reading now, when he heard Ragder call a final ribbing over his shoulder, "Promise me you'll try not to have too much fun on guard duty!" "I won't." --- It was an easy promise to keep. The first few days Alisdar was assigned to the northern border watch. It seemed a most fruitless assignment, as Pysen's armies had marched off in that direction to Sulaf's territory, and if there'd been any enemies in the way, Alisdar had no doubt that they'd been swiftly dispatched. It was a testament to his father's lack of faith in him to be placed on the most basic of patrols. True, Alisdar hadn't yet seen battle, and in truth lacked the real eagerness for blood that Ragder or Linna possessed, but he believed himself capable, at least. But as Alisdar considered his unit companions here along the watch - a unit composed mostly of a handful of aging soldiers, shaky-armed archers, and a mage with a discernible lisp - it was clear that Svaldur, obviously, disagreed. It didn't particularly matter how underwhelming the makeshift patrol was, however, as the most threatening force they faced over the three days was an injured and angry Karnif that had wandered away from its pack and into their field of vision. The archers took turns missing it, until finally one of the swordsmen slid down the rocky embankment and put the animal out of its misery. For his part, Alisdar passed a great deal of the time sitting on a nearby boulder and whittling a small branch into a point. The fourth day, they were rotated out to the eastern coast. It was another pointless, though marginally less so, assignment. None of their enemies were known for attacking from the sea; no one had the naval power for such a thing, and there was hardly anything along the coast worth terrorizing. It was a rocky, resourceless area, with only a short stretch of area suitable for landing boats. So it came as a great surprise when from atop the guard post, the mage yelled, "Thereth enemieth coming ashore!" "How many?" one of the rangers called back. "Which flag are they flying?" "... All of them." A shocked silence followed. A few of the other soldiers scrambled their way up the guard post, disbelieving. Alisdar followed, peering out towards the sea. Sure enough, the flags of the boats that were landing came in every color: crimson, signifying Lodosen to the southeast; green and gold, from Mellem in the northwest; blue from Rygg, an old power they'd all but defeated a few years ago... even one of Sulaf's flew in the mix. The colors had apparently allied and coordinated for this very moment, and the boats were out as far as the eye could see to the line of mist above the water. The how or why of it Alisdar did not understand, but he knew immediately that not only could their band of misfit patrolmen not handle the coming onslaught, it was unlikely that all Lord Kotraen's remaining defense soldiers could manage to hold such an alliance of forces back. "Alisdar!" one of the old swordsmen snapped at him, interrupting his growing fear. "Run, boy, as fast as you can. Warn your father; warn Lord Kotraen. And pray... pray to the Shedim that we are delivered." --- There was little preparation that could be done. Alisdar's report to his father Svaldur was taken grimly and nearly without surprise, and with time short, the man sounded the alarm. Those in the fields and homes near the keep fled inside the walls to wait for the coming attack. Alisdar noted with a rising panic that his mother was not among them. Svaldur took Lord Kotraen's guard and placed them at the choke point to the main hall as the keep began to shake. Alisdar, too, was assigned to the choke point, furthest to the back. For once, Alisdar protested. "Let me fight alongside you!" he cried. "There is no point in letting you be the first to fall," Svaldur hissed, pushing his son roughly aside. "If they make it through the rest of us, then you can die." Svaldur positioned himself towards the front as second loud boom shook the walls, and the faint sound of crumbling could be heard coming from the back rooms of the keep. Alisdar burned with anger. Here, in their last moments, his father would not allow him any moment of honor at all? There was no time for his frustration to manifest, however, as a gasp rose from the guard. Lord Kotraen had emerged from deep inside the keep, his weakened body nearly pinned down by the heavy armor that had once belonged to a proud, powerful ruler. Særða, the young priest that Alisdar had heard Svaldur complain about so many times before, was by the old man's side, having supported the Lord as he dragged himself into the room. At once Svaldur had shoved his way back through the guard, stopping just short of Særða, his claws balled into threatening fists. "Are you trying to save or kill the man!" Svaldur bellowed into the healer's face. "This is no place for -" "Be silent, Svaldur," Lord Kotraen admonished his captain in a low voice. Even in his faltering state, the man's words commanded respect, and Svaldur immediately became quiet and dropped to his knee. Lord Kotraen gave a slow nod and nearly smiled. "You have served me well, Svaldur, but I am here of my own accord. If we are all to die, then I will do so defending our people, and not fallen asleep on my death bed." "Yes, m'lord," Svaldur replied, and rose to his feet again, turning to the soldiers. "To arms! Prepare for battle!" Another boom, and the sound of war cries and shouting filled the air. Their enemies had broken through the last of the defenders making their stand outside, and swords flashing, they rushed into the final army of the Lord Kotraen and his personal guard, who were waiting for them inside the door, shields raised and their faces dark and grim. The battle was short, but from his position in the back, it seemed like a lifetime as Alisdar watched iron render flesh from bodies, sparks flying, and fire rushing in towards them. In an instant he saw Svaldur engulfed in flame, as a mage's powerful and well-timed attack charred the strongest and most determined of all the men in the land. Moments later, Lord Kotraen too fell, the force of the mage's blast knocking him back and into the wall, and the light in his eyes went out. Alisdar could not control himself as the carnage continued... his body turned, and he ran from the coming advance of death, as far back into the keep as he could manage. Others in the guard faltered as well, seeing the battle was hopeless, and ran after him too. The enemies relentlessly pursued, shooting arrows into their fleeing backs, methodically mowing each of them down. Alisdar felt a sharpness in his side, and he crumpled to the ground. He sighed in his last breaths, almost of relief, knowing that neither he nor any of the others would survive to know how he failed at the end. --- Alisdar awoke again, looking into the face of... a Daeva? Couldn't be... he focused the the features and realized that he knew this man, the horns and the pale face. It was Særða who was leaning over him, but he looked different than before. He seemed to glow with power. Yes, it was a Daeva. Impossible though it seemed, the one his father had called incompetent, worthless, and troublesome... that priest had ascended. He looked around, past Særða, to his surroundings... Lord Kotraen himself was still sagged against the wall, and his father Svaldur still a burnt, lifeless corpse, one of many littering the ground. But there were others that were alive... some he recognized from being outside the keep at the time of the assault, others that had made their stand inside, and even a few of the farmers and villagers that were covered in blood, who too had tried hopelessly at the end to hold the attackers back with the heavy weapons of the fallen. A handful of the others, too, had changed... aether had settled upon them, and made them more than what they had been before. Alisdar slowly climbed to his feet, feeling alongside where his wound had been, but there was no wound. He was well again... presumably due to Særða's intervention. He stared at the young priest, unsure whether to thank or curse him in that moment, but did not have the opportunity, as the healer spoke first. "I assume you can fight?" Særða asked, handing Alisdar his sword as if disinterested in a reply. Alisdar nodded, regardless, a touch stunned. "Then follow me." --- There was hardly anyone alive at the end, save for the resurrected men and newly-ascended Daevas. They had managed to rout what was left of the strike force in the keep and the few soldiers that had unwisely wandered inside afterward, looking for valuables to loot. Outside the keep, however, it was a massacre. The fields and homes were burned to ashes, the women and children lying face-down dead along the roads. No one had been spared; the allied enemies' years of pent-up frustration and jealousy over Lord Kotraen's success had been unleashed onto this piece of Andorja, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. As for the rest, they had sailed off as quickly as they came. When it was clear to do so, a small band of the survivors slowly made their way down from the keep on the hill. Alisdar went with them until he came to his childhood home, now little but a charred frame. The sight was overpowering nearly made him retch with emotion. He knew there was nothing he could have done to save her, and that his cowardice had not affected her death, but still guilt overcame him and he could not stop himself from weeping. With great trepidation he approached and searched for his mother's remains. He found the body lying on what was left of her bed. At first, his mind flashed to what despicable things the enemies might have inflicted upon her before her death. He raged, tearing his claws into the ground in his grief, until he noticed a small vial, still intact, lying nearby. He picked it up curiously, then sniffed at the vial's mouth to try and determine its contents... Poison. The realization washed over him... the reason his mother had not come to the keep, despite that her home would have been easily within fleeing distance before the attack began. He remembered the last words she had spoken to him... he hadn't known what she meant, but now... You're a good son. See to it that you're as strong a warrior. It was then, in the apex of his grief, that Alisdar felt the aether settle inside of him, and he began to ascend.
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