Author's Notes: This is an AU set in the long ago past where myths of
dragons and monsters living in the sea were popular. It might sound
confusing at the moment, as this is only the first chapter. I was in my bed
last night, set for bed, when all of a sudden this idea just popped out at
me. ^_^;; But as I started writing it at one o'clock in the morning, I kind
of felt weird writing the actual names as my characters, because those
characters are really not ::insert name here::. Of course there's
exceptions, such as "Rock" or "Hunter" because, truthfully, I don't think
people go around naming their children "Rock" and I haven't heard of
"Hunter" lately, but no offense to those called that! I know of someone
named Hunter, and I definitely don't have hard feelings towards him so...
^_^ Below are the 'translation' of names so to speak. I tried to find/make
up names that were related some way to the actual guy/girl, so I hope that
it makes sense. Thanks! ^_^
Lord Rikin: Rikishi
Lord Bravico: Jericho
Donovan: Rock
Mikhail: Mick Foley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Isolation - Part One
Beginnings
By: Marie Allen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The distant drops of water echoed throughout the large, empty room. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that it came from everywhere except for the small crack in the ceiling. Outside an enormous rainstorm was taking place. Lightning cracked the sky as thunder shook the heavens. Parents cuddled close to their frightened children and lovers embraced each other tightly beneath warm quilts.
But he didn't know that. All he knew was darkness. Darkness was what he woke to, and darkness was what he slept with. It was cold and comfortless, leaving him alone for the time being. At first he had tried to welcome the darkness, holding it close to him like he would any other close friend, but that hadn't worked. Instead he had found misery, depression, and loneliness. Which was all he had now.
He had tried to fight in the beginning. He had fought in the beginning because he never gave up. He had a strong mind and was always determined to do what was on his mind. He was taught to do what he knew what was right for not only himself, but for others. But it was that teaching that had gotten him where he was now. Alone. If he had just gone along with everyone else, he wouldn't have had to endear the pain he had gone through, and was still going through.
He shook his head. No. He would not regret anything he did, because deep down he knew that at least one person was alive. And that person would one day come for him. He didn't know when or how, but that person would save him from the agony he faced every day and night.
What was day? What was night? What was time? Time ceased to exist in this black hell-hole. He lived to breath and nothing more. He did not know what day this was, or even the month. He had tried keeping marks on the wall by counting the times he saw the light through the crack of the wall near the continuous drips. Drip, drip, drip... Like the blackness, the water was always there. That alone was the worse torture he had ever faced. Just that simple drop enhanced his thirst, making his patched tongue turn into a small, shriveled stick. Drip, drip, drip... It continued to echo through his mind, forcing him to think of the large masses of water that he would never see again.
But that wasn't right. He would see them again because his savor was still out there. He didn't remember who that person was, or what they even looked like, but he knew they were out there. He knew that they were just outside that huge wooden door, with their ax held high, ready to tear apart one of the barriers to the sunlight.
He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the sunshine on his flesh, basking in its warmth. He had forgotten what warmth felt like. He just knew numb, damp, coldness. Wait. That wasn't right. No, warmth was the tip of a long iron poker that had just came from the hearth and that glowed an evil, bright red. It reminded him of a witch's cat with its one, red eye. It would awake with a hiss from its bed and slowly stalk towards him without a blink before stopping directly towards his face. He had been locked in a cage that hung from the ceiling, trapping him from all movement. When the eye finally approached him, he would try to stare it down, but it was all for nothing. He would lose in the end by the monster jumping at him, clawing open his skin as it sank its razors into his body, tearing him up.
The first time he had fainted from the pain. He had screamed until his throat was dry and hoarse, and the only one that could hear him were the creatures that lived in his hair. Another form of torture, he was unable to lift up his hand to his head to flick out the bugs. Whenever they bit, he could only close his eyes and think of something else. Not that it mattered anymore. His right arm was completely useless. The Cat had scratched him deeply one time. It had left a deep gash to his bone which refused to heal correctly. One night, or day, while he slept, some type of bug attracted to blood had crawled into his wound and nested itself there. He didn't know of any such things that did that, but this one had. For the long aching hours he was awake, he nested these insects until they finally hatched. They quickly drank up as much blood as they dared before they gnawed through his now healed skin. Now he could barely move his elbow, and couldn't even move his fingers. All because of a small bug.
He opened his eyes as he searched the room, looking for something, anything. He wondered why he was here and how he had gotten into this situation. And why was he still alive? Was it because they gave him just enough food and water to keep his frail heart moving? He didn't know, nor did he care. He didn't care about anything anymore.
When had he stopped caring? He leaned back against the bars of his cage and desperately tried to search his memory, trying to find any piece of evidence on his being here.
***
Laughter rung through the room. Glasses clanked together in a toast, spilling over the sides. Conversations covered a wide area from the latest masterpiece concerto to the latest flame. Tonight was a celebration of victory. The Kinship of Wolves had joined with the Lord Rikin against his greatest rival, Bravico. The two lands had been rivals for generations, but it was only now that Bravico had turned the hatred into a fierce war.
Rikin was a large, lazy man who had not been prepared for such a war. Bravico was a smart man who knew his enemy's weaknesses. Thinking that he had the upper hand, he had sent a month's notice to Rikin that he was going to war with him. Terrified, Rikin had sent pleading letters to his comrades, but none had replied. Fearing the worse, he was prepared to fall to Bravico's army. That was, until two weeks before the battled date.
Donovan was a proud man and a fierce warrior. He was respected by all who worked with him because of his dedication and greatness. He was a large man compared to the smaller built ones of his group. He towered over everyone he came to meet which earned him many nicknames. The one that stayed the longest was Rock. As a child, he had made a pledge that he would start a band of mercenaries and destroy the man who had killed his father with his sword before raping and killing his mother before his young eyes. Donovan was quiet in the sense that he was always thinking of where his mercenaries would strike next.
Known for their power that would bring horror to every town they struck, the bandits were labeled as "The Kinship of Wolves." Each member was loyal to the next, but none were more so then their leader, Donovan. For years they traveled together, growing each day with both experienced murders to meek boys. They always hit at night, attacking when all were at their weakest states of sleep. And year after year, each battle would bring disappointment to the leader, for he was always brought up with the same information of the man who killed his parents. That was, until two weeks before two hatreds would be forced to face one another.
"Master Rock! Master Rock!" A small boy at the age of ten with short brown hair ran as fast as he could up a green hill. It was just the beginning of spring and flowers were blooming brightly under the warm sun. Donovan turned towards the boy known as Taima and smiled. He had only been here for a little over a year, yet Rock had seen a great improvement since his first time. He could wield a sword now, instead of a broken branch. In a couple of years he would be almost as great as he himself.
"Mast Rock!" he panted. He stopped when he reached him, leaning over his knees and trying to get his breath back. The boy had a grin upon his face, lighting his features to his childish innocence. In his hand he clutched a letter lightly. He feared that if he should let it go, it would disappear. He continued to grin as he handed it to the man he deeply admired. This man had taken him in off of the streets during the greatest storm of the year. He hadn't eaten in weeks and was weak. Had Rock not been restless that night, he would have surely been dead the next morning.
"What's this?" questioned Rock as he opened the letter. He did not recognize the seal on it, nor did he care. As he scanned the words, Taima answered him.
"It's from Mikhail, my lord. He has sent word on Bravico and his whereabouts! What does it say? The messenger wouldn't tell me anything!" He grabbed onto his arm and tried to pull it down so he could also read it. As they read it silently together, each grew a sense of excitement. Taima because his hero was finally knew where his archenemy was located which would lead to his destruction, and Rock because he would finally be able to kill the man who had destroyed his family.
"Quick," he told Taima, still looking at the letter, "tell the boys to pack up. We'll be moving out before dusk." Taima raced off to relay the message, leaving Rock alone. He reread the letter at least a dozen times before folding it back up. He stared at the seal. A memory flash lit through his mind like a lightning bolt. He had seen that brand before on a fire night full of hatred and fear and blood. It had been on a dagger he had seen right before it had plunged into the heart of his father. It was the seal of Bravico, just like Mikhail had said. He was a spy inside his castle now, and he would use this to his advantage. His eyes glowing with a freshly lit fire, he grinned down at the camp below. Tonight he would leave for his new ally's castle and together they would defeat the one man that they both hated. And then he would have his revenge.
***
Author's Notes:
Like I said before, this might seem a little confusing, but I think things should start making sense in later chapters. ^_^;; I hope. Anyway, thanks for reading this far! I love CONSTRUCTIVE criticism because it lets me know what's wrong, stupid, or whatever so I can fix it. That goes for the names too... Is it too confusing? OK? ^_^ Thank you!
~ Marie
Lord Rikin: Rikishi
Lord Bravico: Jericho
Donovan: Rock
Mikhail: Mick Foley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Isolation - Part One
Beginnings
By: Marie Allen
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The distant drops of water echoed throughout the large, empty room. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that it came from everywhere except for the small crack in the ceiling. Outside an enormous rainstorm was taking place. Lightning cracked the sky as thunder shook the heavens. Parents cuddled close to their frightened children and lovers embraced each other tightly beneath warm quilts.
But he didn't know that. All he knew was darkness. Darkness was what he woke to, and darkness was what he slept with. It was cold and comfortless, leaving him alone for the time being. At first he had tried to welcome the darkness, holding it close to him like he would any other close friend, but that hadn't worked. Instead he had found misery, depression, and loneliness. Which was all he had now.
He had tried to fight in the beginning. He had fought in the beginning because he never gave up. He had a strong mind and was always determined to do what was on his mind. He was taught to do what he knew what was right for not only himself, but for others. But it was that teaching that had gotten him where he was now. Alone. If he had just gone along with everyone else, he wouldn't have had to endear the pain he had gone through, and was still going through.
He shook his head. No. He would not regret anything he did, because deep down he knew that at least one person was alive. And that person would one day come for him. He didn't know when or how, but that person would save him from the agony he faced every day and night.
What was day? What was night? What was time? Time ceased to exist in this black hell-hole. He lived to breath and nothing more. He did not know what day this was, or even the month. He had tried keeping marks on the wall by counting the times he saw the light through the crack of the wall near the continuous drips. Drip, drip, drip... Like the blackness, the water was always there. That alone was the worse torture he had ever faced. Just that simple drop enhanced his thirst, making his patched tongue turn into a small, shriveled stick. Drip, drip, drip... It continued to echo through his mind, forcing him to think of the large masses of water that he would never see again.
But that wasn't right. He would see them again because his savor was still out there. He didn't remember who that person was, or what they even looked like, but he knew they were out there. He knew that they were just outside that huge wooden door, with their ax held high, ready to tear apart one of the barriers to the sunlight.
He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of the sunshine on his flesh, basking in its warmth. He had forgotten what warmth felt like. He just knew numb, damp, coldness. Wait. That wasn't right. No, warmth was the tip of a long iron poker that had just came from the hearth and that glowed an evil, bright red. It reminded him of a witch's cat with its one, red eye. It would awake with a hiss from its bed and slowly stalk towards him without a blink before stopping directly towards his face. He had been locked in a cage that hung from the ceiling, trapping him from all movement. When the eye finally approached him, he would try to stare it down, but it was all for nothing. He would lose in the end by the monster jumping at him, clawing open his skin as it sank its razors into his body, tearing him up.
The first time he had fainted from the pain. He had screamed until his throat was dry and hoarse, and the only one that could hear him were the creatures that lived in his hair. Another form of torture, he was unable to lift up his hand to his head to flick out the bugs. Whenever they bit, he could only close his eyes and think of something else. Not that it mattered anymore. His right arm was completely useless. The Cat had scratched him deeply one time. It had left a deep gash to his bone which refused to heal correctly. One night, or day, while he slept, some type of bug attracted to blood had crawled into his wound and nested itself there. He didn't know of any such things that did that, but this one had. For the long aching hours he was awake, he nested these insects until they finally hatched. They quickly drank up as much blood as they dared before they gnawed through his now healed skin. Now he could barely move his elbow, and couldn't even move his fingers. All because of a small bug.
He opened his eyes as he searched the room, looking for something, anything. He wondered why he was here and how he had gotten into this situation. And why was he still alive? Was it because they gave him just enough food and water to keep his frail heart moving? He didn't know, nor did he care. He didn't care about anything anymore.
When had he stopped caring? He leaned back against the bars of his cage and desperately tried to search his memory, trying to find any piece of evidence on his being here.
***
Laughter rung through the room. Glasses clanked together in a toast, spilling over the sides. Conversations covered a wide area from the latest masterpiece concerto to the latest flame. Tonight was a celebration of victory. The Kinship of Wolves had joined with the Lord Rikin against his greatest rival, Bravico. The two lands had been rivals for generations, but it was only now that Bravico had turned the hatred into a fierce war.
Rikin was a large, lazy man who had not been prepared for such a war. Bravico was a smart man who knew his enemy's weaknesses. Thinking that he had the upper hand, he had sent a month's notice to Rikin that he was going to war with him. Terrified, Rikin had sent pleading letters to his comrades, but none had replied. Fearing the worse, he was prepared to fall to Bravico's army. That was, until two weeks before the battled date.
Donovan was a proud man and a fierce warrior. He was respected by all who worked with him because of his dedication and greatness. He was a large man compared to the smaller built ones of his group. He towered over everyone he came to meet which earned him many nicknames. The one that stayed the longest was Rock. As a child, he had made a pledge that he would start a band of mercenaries and destroy the man who had killed his father with his sword before raping and killing his mother before his young eyes. Donovan was quiet in the sense that he was always thinking of where his mercenaries would strike next.
Known for their power that would bring horror to every town they struck, the bandits were labeled as "The Kinship of Wolves." Each member was loyal to the next, but none were more so then their leader, Donovan. For years they traveled together, growing each day with both experienced murders to meek boys. They always hit at night, attacking when all were at their weakest states of sleep. And year after year, each battle would bring disappointment to the leader, for he was always brought up with the same information of the man who killed his parents. That was, until two weeks before two hatreds would be forced to face one another.
"Master Rock! Master Rock!" A small boy at the age of ten with short brown hair ran as fast as he could up a green hill. It was just the beginning of spring and flowers were blooming brightly under the warm sun. Donovan turned towards the boy known as Taima and smiled. He had only been here for a little over a year, yet Rock had seen a great improvement since his first time. He could wield a sword now, instead of a broken branch. In a couple of years he would be almost as great as he himself.
"Mast Rock!" he panted. He stopped when he reached him, leaning over his knees and trying to get his breath back. The boy had a grin upon his face, lighting his features to his childish innocence. In his hand he clutched a letter lightly. He feared that if he should let it go, it would disappear. He continued to grin as he handed it to the man he deeply admired. This man had taken him in off of the streets during the greatest storm of the year. He hadn't eaten in weeks and was weak. Had Rock not been restless that night, he would have surely been dead the next morning.
"What's this?" questioned Rock as he opened the letter. He did not recognize the seal on it, nor did he care. As he scanned the words, Taima answered him.
"It's from Mikhail, my lord. He has sent word on Bravico and his whereabouts! What does it say? The messenger wouldn't tell me anything!" He grabbed onto his arm and tried to pull it down so he could also read it. As they read it silently together, each grew a sense of excitement. Taima because his hero was finally knew where his archenemy was located which would lead to his destruction, and Rock because he would finally be able to kill the man who had destroyed his family.
"Quick," he told Taima, still looking at the letter, "tell the boys to pack up. We'll be moving out before dusk." Taima raced off to relay the message, leaving Rock alone. He reread the letter at least a dozen times before folding it back up. He stared at the seal. A memory flash lit through his mind like a lightning bolt. He had seen that brand before on a fire night full of hatred and fear and blood. It had been on a dagger he had seen right before it had plunged into the heart of his father. It was the seal of Bravico, just like Mikhail had said. He was a spy inside his castle now, and he would use this to his advantage. His eyes glowing with a freshly lit fire, he grinned down at the camp below. Tonight he would leave for his new ally's castle and together they would defeat the one man that they both hated. And then he would have his revenge.
***
Author's Notes:
Like I said before, this might seem a little confusing, but I think things should start making sense in later chapters. ^_^;; I hope. Anyway, thanks for reading this far! I love CONSTRUCTIVE criticism because it lets me know what's wrong, stupid, or whatever so I can fix it. That goes for the names too... Is it too confusing? OK? ^_^ Thank you!
~ Marie