Myrmidon (Full Version)

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Crimzon5 -> Myrmidon (2/16/2009 7:58:41)

Myrmidon

[image]http://i290.photobucket.com/albums/ll271/g3ev/1-1.jpg[/image]


*Prays that for once I will finish a story*
*Prays again that for once I won't lose my files*

Anyway, welcome people to this story thread. I was inspired yet again to make this story and I have two goals for it:
1) For it to become a mature, powerful read
2) To make it a really good piece of literature that combines both romanticism and realism

Anyway again, a few brief notes:
Title: Myrmidon
Genre: Fantasy
Short Notes: Story focuses on a human soldier who manages to overcome the wall that seperated humans and demigods. But this wall was never easy to climb, and was never penetrable enough to shatter. As he struggles to endure the conflict between his human and social-classed-demigod sides, this myrmidon will soon have to take a stand.

Comments: http://forums2.battleon.com/f/tm.asp?m=15556127



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (2/16/2009 7:59:49)

Act One: Humanity Divided

Prologue:

For millennia, creatures known as Humans were crowned as kings. In their hands lay both the powers of restoration and destruction. Every choice they made affected the planet, and every other creature that dwelt in it. Though not as strong as the barbarian Minotaurs, Humans possessed the brains to surpass that futile race. Their intelligence was so mighty that they could construct an arsenal of weapons that emitted light, which could pierce through a heart of diamond. Though not as wise as Dragons, these warriors relied on their numbers to overcome these rough-scaled adversaries, sharing the glory and boasting the pride. Up to now their population doesn’t know the meaning of scarce.

Human… I take pride in being one.

Because of all the glorious feats of my race, the deity known as Arkanthor took Humanity into consideration. He gave my ancestors an offer, one that brought about a new race of creatures: Demigods. He took hundreds of women, impregnating them with his children. But this had led to two problems, one warned about, the other only to be predicted by a brilliant mind. As they had conceived the offspring of Arkanthor, those women became time bombs, only to self-destruct when the child is born. A non-divine couldn’t handle the bearing of a divine being.

Humanity was willing enough to sacrifice hundreds – yes, just a few – women to bring greater glory to their race. Not every family had a chance to share a lineage with the diving entity, which was the reason why pure Humans exist up to this point.

That’s where the second problem came. Discrimination was created. Those Demigods – “Homo divinus” they would call themselves, boasting the fact that they were part divine – started to see Humans as an inferior species. These kings were checkmated, forced to submit to another kind. We, in fact, were much weaker than our divine brothers and sisters. We were kings… now turned to slaves.

My kind would always wonder where the hearts of the Divinus went, seeing them as nothing but boastful tyrants. But could we really blame them? It was our forefathers’ choice to accept Arkanthor’s bid, and they did it just for the sake of beautifying their unimaginable magnificence.

Demigods… could the reason for their heart of darkness be reasoned by the reality of having no ancestral mother? No mother to teach them about virtues and morals? Tsk… how I pity the patriarchs for how low they imagined women to be.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (2/18/2009 9:04:45)

Blood and Tears

Millions of raindrops poured from the heavens, sharing the grief of Arkanthor’s loss. An ocean of tears mixed with battle-shed blood, scarring the green earth with crimson; such a painful sight could even melt the hearts of those who had no sympathy at all. In the eye of the grassy field and small hills, heavy drops of water bombarded a warrior. One could see the sky in his eyes. Like rain, tears fell from it.

The man was armored with silver, identifying him with a high rank. His plate had minimal design, only a few golden trims. He was a Myrmidon, an elite group of warriors, knighted by the ruling king himself. A Myrmidon contained as much loyalty as his arms possessed strength. Without a question, he would abide to his lord’s orders.

Every part of his body but his mouth, chin, neck, and hair – that had an unusual blend of yellow and silver – was shielded. Desiring to keep his identity hidden, for he believed the society wouldn't accept him because he was a mere Human, he concealed his face with a golden mask. If one were a Demigod, possessing divine blood flowing through his veins, a small light would sparkle in his eyes. If not one’s name or reputation, eyes were used to determine divinity.

Pride could’ve harbored his heart, but he couldn’t accept it. Regardless of the fact that he was Human, he was equal with the Demigods. Amidst his triumphs, he had a sensation telling him that something was wrong.

Catching his breath, he plunged his weapon deep into the ground and rested his arm on its handle. Three-fourths of the two-handed sword remained unearthed. Behind this man and his weapon, rested the corpse of the creature from where the mischief started. “I… I killed it!” he exclaimed to himself. He laughed maniacally, traumatized by his troubled pride. “I killed it!” he repeated. “But I was too late!” Accompanying his sorrow was uncalled-for anger. Releasing his rage on the weapon, he punched it off its standing position, and stomped on it, soaking the degraded weapon into the mud.

“Don’t worry,” a young man of fair complexion and brown hair caressed. His armor was just a thin iron plate while his footwear was a pair of leather boots. “I know it was a great loss losing the First Princess Karen Daveth. But in terms of damage taken by the town…”

The silver-clad Myrmidon gathered the anger into his fists, and unsheathed a dagger from a scabbard tied to his waist. Enraged by his comrade’s unfinished words, he grabbed the young man by the shoulder, and aimed the short sword at his vital neck. “In terms of damage what? Not much because this was just a Human town?!”

The lesser of the two men exploited a face of total fear – no other emotion could be seen. When the warrior remembered that the man was a mere mortal – something they had in common – he removed his grip, and returned him back to the ground. “Sorry,” he replied coldly.

If I’m sorry… why do I act this way?

Traumatized by his master’s sudden rage, the squire tried shaking off the recent uncomfortable moment by addressing a serious matter. “Sir, were you pierced by that thing’s tail? What else could explain the damage on your plate?” The Myrmidon gave no reply. He was ashamed to be concerned by someone whom he had just offended. The young man saw his troubled frown. He suspected the reason to be the casualty that they failed to prevent, but the aspiring soldier had no clue that the frown was created by the Myrmidon’s unfit deservingness of his squire’s forgiveness.

“Sir,” another squire, this one a Demigod, called out as he made his entrance into the scene. His skin was pale, and his crimson bangs covered a portion of his left eye. A small X-shaped scar was marked half an inch below his other. If not besotted by any particular emotion, a never-fading frown would occupy his face. Just seeing him would give a negative first impression.

An unpleasant grunt accompanied him as he continued. “The Second Princess Katrina has just arrived. She wishes to talk to you.” Turning his attention to the rather unarmored mortal, the Demigod gave him a spiteful smirk and whispered, “Consider yourself lucky to be part of the Sentinel’s brigade. That silver Myrmidon must have picked you out of randomness and just does not have the heart to kick you out.”

“That’s not true,” the silver warrior, the Masked Sentinel – as his true identity was unknown – butted in. “Koren, send in Katrina. If she wishes to have a word with me, it is my obligation as a Myrmidon to follow.” The Demigod nodded and dragged his feet as he exited. The mortal grinned as he watched the humiliated soldier disappear into the fog.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“It’s a shame that Koren never had a mother to teach him his manners,” the Sentinel uttered sighing. With his uneasiness gone, he knelt to glance upon his blade. He couldn’t understand his feelings. Was he consumed by hatred? Or engulfed in a void sorrow? He detected his weakness, his pride, something which burdened every man. But he couldn’t decipher its meaning.

“Sir, you’re poisoned. Should I–?”

“It’s alright; thank you. Now, I need some time with the princess.” The young man gave the Sentinel a salute before he disappeared into fog as well. As he waited for Koren to return with Katrina, the swordsman gazed upon the dead animal. The partial blue tint on his mask hid his teary eyes as he continued to blame himself for the loss.

If only my sin could be forgiven…

The creature was a Wyvern, a two-legged creature resembling a dragon. It appeared to possess dark scales, but actually, light had failed to shine its lavender color. A few feet away from it was its head that was decapitated when the Myrmidon delivered his final blow. Its damaged state besotted the man with a grotesque view.

The dismal downpour continued to rain.

Armengard… if only guards were assigned to this Human town… this would’ve never happened!

The strike on his side was his only injury. Unfortunately however, two other knights had fallen victim to the Wyvern’s bladed teeth and venomous tail. Feeling a sudden pain on his side, he examined his injury. At the instant, the ill-mannered Koren returned with the reigning king’s second daughter, shielding her from the rain by holding her umbrella. “You may leave now, Koren,” the Myrmidon said, giving an indirect order for him to leave. Koren slowly handed the parasol to the royal maiden.

“Thank you,” the princess bade as her escort disappeared once more into the low clouds. Seeing a crimson stain on the man’s suit of metal, she asked, “Oh Sir, are you hurt?”

“Not much, your highness.” After a short pause, he continued, “I am heart-fully sorry for the loss of your older sister. If only I was strong enough to–”

“Don’t give yourself all the blame. You weren’t capable of doing it on time.” The man stiffened as he heard the contradiction of her words. “No one was. Blame should only be given for failing to do something that you could’ve done,” Princess Katrina comforted. “Sir,” she called after a short moment of silence. “May I request? Please show me your face.”

“I… I…” he hesitantly spoke. If she discovers that I’m just a mere mortal… Concerned with the outcome of his current choices, he remained silent, pretending to have missed her words.

“Sir, will you please remove your mask?” she badgered. Still, there was no reply. “Sir,” she repeated. “Sir,” she repeated again. The disrespect she had received forced her burst with anger. “As the Second Princess of Amenia, I command you, my loyal Myrmidon…” after the release of convicted words, her timid accent returned. “…Please, oh please do show me your face. Oh please!”

The command gave the Sentinel a sudden pulse, an uncontrollable urge to carryout the command. “Yes, my Lord,” he replied as if he had lost control of himself. The man placed his hands on his mask. Before he could create the next slightest movement, the poison had taken in effect, causing the man to fall to his knees. He was unconscious, and unable to perform to princess’ command. His eyes squinted with pain. The poison was spreading.

I… I…

Several hours later, the man awoke. The first action he made was surveying the area. A bright beam of light pierced through a glass window, partially covered by an azure curtain. Blazed by the sharp ray of light, he turned his head left, subsequently catching a glimpse of the woman that pleaded to see his face. Her eyes were closed; her hands lay on her waist.

That made him remember.

His next course of action was to check if he still had his mask on, and to retrieve it as soon as possible if he didn’t. He slid his fingers across his face, embracing the lines of his cheekbones. Quickly returning his eyes to Katrina, he noticed that she slept holding his golden mask.

He stood up and slowly crept his hand towards his mask. As the metal made contact with his flesh, the princess awakened. “Hello, Sir Alexander,” she giggled. “The Masked Sentinel,” she finished off.

Katrina had recognized the man’s face. Seeing the absence of the divine glow in his eyes, she concluded that he was not a Divinus. “So that was why you were anxious to reveal your face. To think that–”

“To think that what? That the Sentinel is just a Human?!” Alexander Novum interrupted, forgetting his manners. Truth be told, he was enraged. “Sorry, your highness. I just… got carried away.”

“It’s alright,” she said. “But I was going to say that, to think a Human would want to conceal his identity after being bestowed a great reputation.” Alexander remained silent. His anger slowly dissipated. “That just shows how unsure you are of your answer.”

Alexander quickly formulated an answer. “Climbing the wall between the two races was tough. I even needed a mask to do so. If I remove it, everyone would see my face, and I would be stuck on the Divinus’ side… or in a worse case, I could lose my rank.”

“So you think that if you keep your identity hidden, you’ll be able to get over to each side whenever you want?” Before he could reply, she continued, “Don’t worry. You’re my friend. I can keep your secret.”

“Your friend?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I was really in a shock when you said that. Sure that we had been classmates when we were young… but we were not that close.” Out of respect, he halted himself from saying that she was feeling too close and comfortable, despite that they barely knew each other.

“But we still talked, right? A friendship can’t survive with nothing but silence. That’s the power of words. Words are so powerful that even the royal family uses them to command the Myrmidons.” Starting to develop an interest in the conversation, Alexander took his seat on the bed, and continued listening. He was eager to learn about the royal family’s power as he expected it to be the topic of the discussion. He gave his full attention, as if he were a mere child enthralled to good fairytale. However, even though she mentioned it, the subject of their talk was far from it. “Remember last night? It was stormy, wasn’t?” she continued. The man replied with a nod. His interest started to fade. “Even though I didn’t know who you really were, I was able to see what kind of person was behind that golden mask. I never knew your name… but I…”

Waiting for her to continue her unfinished sentence, the warrior gave the woman a puzzled look. “If you really don’t want to tell me whatever it is you’re planning to say, I could be going now,” he suggested. Accompanying those words, the man’s legs strengthened, rising from rest, supporting him as he motioned to stand up.

“Wait!” Katrina ordered as she grabbed his hand. “I… I…” The Myrmidon grew impatient. He forced his fingers to slip off. But still, he knew where this was going. Without waiting for her reply, and not wanting it either, he put on his mask and left through the door.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (2/22/2009 9:05:33)

His masculine instincts construed her timid personality as a sign of her fondness. For a fact, he did not love the woman. Shaking his head as he walked along the cold, cobblestone hall, he reflected about what had just happened. Katrina’s feelings weren’t exactly returned by Alexander but not because she was a Demigod, but rather because he wanted a girl whom he had spent his life with. He wanted someone who was a part of his childhood, and someone whom he loved first.

Two emotions clashed between his heart and mind. His mind suffered the plaguing fear of his identity being revealed to the public as a result of eventually breaking Katrina’s heart. His heart on the other hand, was burdened by the sympathy that wanted to keep the girl happy.

Not knowing what his feelings meant, his actions interpreted them as a solemn melancholy. Alexander made his way to the castle’s gate…

“Sir,” a familiar Human voice called. The voice belonged to his Human squire, the warrior whom he had stood for against Koren. Such tone reminded him of his younger days – his late teens as he strived to climb the wall that separated the two races. The enthusiasm impressed the Myrmidon. One thing he loved about his squire was his readiness to jump into action. “Thank Arkanthor that I found you! You have an urgent request and–”

“Aren’t most missions discussed in the respective Brigade Rooms?” Alexander, his identity sheltered by the sanctuary of his mask, interrupted. “Oh, don’t tell me. It’s–”

The squire replied with a nod. “Yes Sir. It’s him. That’s why he told me… because I was the first person he saw.”

“Thank you, Asher. So, I should meet up with the Professor at his laboratory, right? Care to come along?” Alexander extended his hand to his fellow Human.

The squire was honored by the offer, and shook hands with the Myrmidon. “You’re welcome Sir. And thank you,” he replied politely. An uncontrollable smile appeared on the Myrmidon’s face. “But Sir, he wants us to meet with him at the Eastern Caves,” Asher corrected.

“There? If his request is really that important, then I hope he’s still alive by the time we get there.” With a high-five and a friendly knuckle punch, the two made their way eastwards.

Upon exiting the castle’s gates, the Myrmidon led the way into a dark corner of the surrounding town. Behind one of the local taverns were two steeds, shadowed by the tall buildings. One was a roan horse; the back of its neck was shaved and covered with steel armor. Uniform to other knights’ mounts was a cloth with the kingdom’s insignia – a red dragon behind a cross of two lances – atop the animal’s back.

The second steed was a Pegasus. A thick rope hung around its neck, preventing its escape. Though it was loyal and tamed, Alexander had secured the creature just to be completely sure about its whereabouts.

“Only I’m allowed to ride my steed. So I guess you’re stuck with the Pegasus,” the Sentinel said with a little bit of laughter. After the short chuckle, the owner of the two mounts untied the rope from the winged-creature’s neck and tied it to one of its ankles. The Pegasus’ white feathery wings expanded as soon as Asher mounted it.

“Sir,” the man addressed with his polite tone, “you’re making that sound like a bad thing.”

“On the bright side, it’s not a unicorn. So I guess the women might not think that you’re gay.” With a quick tap on his animal’s behind, Alexander and his steed rode off. Holding the other end of the rope in his folded hand, he led the way to the caverns, galloping over vendor stalls and short walls while Asher and the Pegasus hovered above the buildings.

The warriors rode towards the rising sun. The downpour left its traces on the landscape. The morning dew kept the grassy fields wet, and the previous night’s storm had created pools of mud on the ground. Splashing the puddles as its hooves thundered the earth, the Myrmidon’s steed gave a restless charge.

Viewing the fields sent him visions of Katrina’s older sister, Karen. The nightmare of failing to protect the king’s daughter troubled him. He mourned not only because a life he had pledged to protect was lost, but he mourned because his reputation as the Sentinel was scarred with failure.

A blanket of mist veiled a large area. Behind the fog, a figure grew in size and became darker as they came closer. The low clouds consumed them, obscuring their vision. As more was revealed, they could see a rocky texture. Trying to avoid separation from each other, the squire gave the Pegasus a thrust, telling it to hover lower. The steed’s hooves pounded on the earth. Its wings retracted back to its sides.

They had approached.

The cavern gave two sounds. When they had approached the entrance, they were greeted by the sound of a whirling wind that resounded from within the cave. Nature’s second voice spoke much weaker. A few droplets of water slid off the cavern’s ceiling, creating an echoing beat. The pair dismounted their rides, and secured them to a tree not too far away.

The Sentinel’s mask emitted a yellow light in his eyes, allowing him to see in the dark. Asher brought along with him a lantern, which he lifted to the level of his shoulders as he followed the Myrmidon deeper into the cave.

Asher gave much attention to every little detail mainly because it was his first time to venture in such a place. His attention was attracted to an abandoned Wyvern nest left near the entrance. Nothing but eggshells remained.

“Sir, don’t you find it illogical that an animal would make a nest near the entrance of a cave?” Asher inquired as they walked.

Alexander was pleased to be of a learning service to the boy. Not twisting his head to face his faithful squire, he replied, “It’s probably a Bullwyvern’s nest. Scientists claim that its brain failed to develop during the evolutionary process, which is why it would make such an instinctual mistake.”

Asher, enthralled by the information, gave a slow nod. “Sir, don’t you find it strange that we haven’t seen the professor yet?” His tone was calm, the usual voice he used when addressing with respect. The Myrmidon was surprised by his lack of apprehension.

“I could never imagine his recklessness being the reason for his death. He must be in here somewhere. Perhaps somewhere deeper in the heart of these caverns…” he replied with a hardly-noticeable laugh. Their pace and conversations had slightly tired the silver-haired man. Trying to resist his thirst, he licked his lips from time to time.

Asher turned his head, catching a glimpse of total darkness behind him. They had ventured so deep that there was not any longer a trace of natural light. “There you are!” a madcap voice shouted all of a sudden. Astonished, the Human dropped his lantern. The only source of light disappeared as the glass shattered, causing the small fire inside to extinguish. “So… you seem to have brought some fodder with you,” the voice continued.

“No, professor. I brought him along for his learning experience,” the Myrmidon replied. The squire could do nothing but wait as the two conversed. “Now, enough of this trifling discussion. What can we do for you?”

“Ahh, oh yes.” Before continuing, the professor curled and played with the strands of his mustache. He was an old man, crazy at times but nevertheless a brilliant mind. “I heard that Silhouette cannot compare with your brawns anymore.” Alexander’s mouth opened, but was quickly shut by the scientist’s hand. “Sssshhh, I’m not done yet.” A short moment of silence lasted before he continued. “Inside these caverns lie stones of crystalline property. I was able to find some, and using them, I was able to produce a weapon that could generate light from these crystals. I would love to elaborate on the process, but I know you would fall asleep before I could even finish. Now, as of the weapon. This kind of light can cut through armor like a knife through melted butter. An ultimate weapon indeed. However, with the expense of the required gems, it would be impossible to provide the entire army with them.”

“Excellent discovery Sir,” commented Asher. “But how is the Sentinel related to this?”

“I was about to get to that point, young lad. And may I remind you that I should be addressed as ‘Professor’ …or ‘Larz’ if we’re close.” At a sudden instant, a green flame erupted from the darkness, revealing the three in the room and their surroundings.

Larz’s wrinkled hands held the weapon that he had discussed about. Its design was similar to Alexander’s two-handed sword, but with a few more decorative details. The hilt extended straight by two inches to both sides, and then made its way five inches diagonally downwards. The blade was cut in half, and the small gap between the two edged regions was where the light radiated from.

“Ahh, the light… feels good…”

“If you couldn’t see, you should’ve told us,” the old man scolded. The professor removed his tinted glasses. The divine glow from his eyes contained a bright cerulean luster. The glow was strong enough to shed light which a lantern could have produced.

“May I remind you to go on with what you were about to say,” the Sentinel requested with a rather sarcastic tone. He eyed the weapon, enthralled by its marvelous details. His desire to obtain the weapon grew as the green laser swirled like a pillar of flame. So these are the weapons of light my drunk superior was talking about. Demigods… give them a drink and all their secrets are exposed.

“I was about to get to that point,” Larz replied, quoting himself. “Since we know you need a new weapon, I would offer it to you as a reward for the completion of this errand. I need you to perform two tasks. Excavate these caverns for as many jewels as you can, and clear out the nest of Wyverns here.”

“We’ll take it!” the two Humans shouted simultaneously. The professor deactivated the sword and accompanied the two as they ventured deeper into the caverns. His naked eyes enlightened the area as if they were torches. “So, should we go hunting first? Or gathering?” inquired the squire. The Sentinel placed his finger under his lower lip as he thought, while folding his other arm.

An impulsive snarl grew from behind them, shattering the stillness into a million pieces. It was a rapid sound, filled with a short but continuous vibration. The Demigod and younger Human turned their backs to see the origin of the noise.

Knowing what kind of beast would produce that sound, the Myrmidon chose not to turn, and bent his arm with a calm gesture. “Hehe… I think that answers your question.”

Asher unsheathed his blade while his superior stood still, facing the beast backwards.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/10/2009 9:29:29)

Act Two: Dragon Slain

Prologue:

Across several endless plains, beyond the stormed abyss, is a land reigned by the rule of such chaos. Drakus Peak Mountains – my home, home to a superior race known as Dragons. Humans… those disgusting creatures are just self-proclaimed kings! They are the reason why my home houses chaos!

It started… not long ago. Creatures without wings, creatures without claws and fangs, creatures that stood on two legs, creatures that wielded weapons plagued through our lands. Forests and nests were burnt to steak. Caves were demolished, trapping many of my kin inside. Most of us fought back, but the enemy had the upper hand. It was an uncalled-for slaughter.

Now these men wear the skin of my brothers and sisters. Piercing through their armor is now piercing through my kind’s as well. Hearing and seeing them only stirs hatred and anger as much as it strikes fear.

Our bodies, skin, bones, and scales, were treated as merchandise, “goods” that were sold in armories and forgeries. All for the sake of the betterment of the Human Army. Humans make such a big fuss about their superiority.

Humans… I don’t understand them. I never will.

Not too long ago, a truce was formed with their kind; an agreement was made. They – we agreed that Dragonskin must never be used as armor. But these onslaughts never ceased. Madness!

Messengers would report back that Human king was never responsible for any of the attacks. True that not a man in his army wears the hide of my kind, but those he calls “outlaws” do. Nonetheless, those are still Humans. Are these criminals excuses for Humanity to break their promise? Cunning and sinister indeed.

We were outnumbered and outclassed. All we could do was either fight to avenge our fallen ones or take disguise in our human form. Ha! Hahahaha! Humans believe that we are still outnumbered. They’re wrong. They do not know that we are among them. In a matter of moments… their only advantage would be their weapons of light. But once unarmed and sabotaged, we’ll have them cornered like the rats they are.

Navith, you’ll pay for your crimes. Oceans of blood you’ve spilled. Seeds of chaos you have sown. I swear, I will live the day I see that smirk of yours wiped off your face.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/15/2009 4:34:24)

Left to Rot

Screams roared and echoed throughout the pitiful land. A small azure flower thirsting for sunlight… what little hope it had. But this war never allowed it to fulfill its purpose. It was a sentimental pain to see such a thing drowned in blood, blood shed for no other reason than greed. If a mere plant could melt one to tears, how much more would the corpses of thousands?

Fleets of dragons fled towards South. Setting to stop them, Human archers created a rain of arrows. The sky turned dark for a few moments, as if the moon and sun had crossed paths. Instead of mere metal, their projectiles were forged from horns and other materials taken from mythical beasts.

The arrows completely pierced the beasts’ skin, reaching the clouds before they returned to the earth. As a result of their aggressive attack, their formations were broken as corpses anchored and crashed from the heights. A Dragon, possessing wings with scarlet feathers, died with a smirk on her face, knowing that in spite of her death, she was able to bring demise to her foes.

Not a single one managed to escape.

On land, Human-made swords clashed with the hard, solidified Dragon claws. Sides were pierced, hearts were stabbed, bones were crushed, and bodies were ripped to shreds. Blood… blood everywhere.

War is a double edged sword, hurting both sides of the conflict.

Navith’s grin widened as he made an opening through the fronts. He was armored with a thin sheet of metal, covered with crimson Dragon scales whose bloody color shone in the light. His raven hair covered a portion of his ears, and reached down to as far as his nose bridge. He possessed a muscular build. His right arm was completely unarmored and exposed, revealing to those who stared at him his battle-earned scars.

He walked in a straight line, swinging his blade continuously with one slow, strenuous stroke at a time. Lightning discharged from the weapon, as if it were created by the friction between the blade and air. Small fires flared out of the wounded necks, and blood scattered with every hit. Dragons that approached his way we’re killed at an instant. His weapon was a part of him… an extension of his arm. For him, killing was his only purpose, for that was required to attain his goal.

“You…” a Dragon struggled to speak. His head suffered from several slashes, and his wings were pierced with large holes. The pouring blood on his face branched into three. If it wasn’t for his movements, the beast would’ve been thought dead. With every breath, he coughed a small cloud of smoke. “Your weapon–”

“Yes,” Navith interrupted. “It was made from an Elder Dragon’s horn. Weakling Dragons such as yourself would require a small brigade of humans to slay, while very large ones would bring down a dozen with before it falls. As for the Elder Dragons…”

“You slew Nightfang? They say he killed an entire army on his own!” Such news brought disarray to the Dragons’ morale. Every drop of hope was gone.

“Is that an indirect compliment?” Navith grinned as he plunged his weapon into the skull of the wounded Dragon. Blood spilled upon impact, scattering the swordsman with the blood of his enemy.

A large number of the beasts backed before him; he considered their fear as a compliment.

He glanced around aimlessly, ignorant of the invasion as if it had frozen in time. Trepidation was the source of his pride. That’s what he saw in his enemies’ eyes as much as he saw it in the faces of his own men.

The vicious man’s smirk faded as he came across a pair of corpses, two human-looking figures. They had no armor, just simple clothing. But regardless of their appearance, one feature distinguished them from the Human race. Wings, torn and pierced, were attached to their backs. “They’re not part of my army. How – where’d they?! Does that mean…?” Several questions bombarded his Human mind.

“We lurk among you, Human,” another dying Dragon whispered, using every last breath he had left. The creature’s purpose was to bring apprehension to the warlord. However, hearing this only drove him to insane laughter. Navith’s voice resounded in the entire battlefield; such a terrifying laugh lowered his enemies’ morale.

Dying creatures stared at him, wishing for Death’s embrace to end their moments of pain.



The battle ended in less than a day. Beasts of burden such as oxen hurled carts loaded with the bodies of fallen dragons. At campsites, men were aided and mended as a priority. But nonetheless, there were still hundreds of Humans carving the desirable materials they could obtain. Palisade walls hung with Dragonskin, as if they were wet rags drying in the sun.

Inside a small green tent, Navith and four of his loyal advisers discussed their plans around a table. Darius was one of them. Uniform to everyone in the tent, his armor was made from Dragonskin. Light failed to penetrate to their area, thus allowing the shadows conceal the azure scales on his chest plate.

He banged on the wooden table a linen paper inked with the nation’s map. The major placed his index finger upon a small marked territory. Darius kept a firm hold on a trident with his other hand. His weapon was tipped with two Unicorn horns, one on each side, and an Elder Dragon’s horn was mounted on the center piece of the three-pronged spear. “We are here, my Lord. It would take five days to reach the kingdom on foot.”

“I don’t care about that. What I want to know is: how did the Dragons take a Human shape?” Navith interrupted. The other four remained silent. Hearing no response, the warlord lifted his legs and landed them on the table. “Hmph! We are not yet ready to attack the throne. Therefore, right now, it is a mere trifling matter.” With a frown on his face, he rested the back of his head on his arms.

“But Sir,” Darius pleaded, “then what is there to discuss? The discovery of the Dragon’s shape shifting? True that only we have knowledge about it, but of what use can it be to us?”

“So, the Kingdom has not a single clue about it? Hmm…” Navith lowered his legs and returned his feet to the ground.


“Sir, I would hate to interrupt, but our spies report of the Kingdom. They have a weapon, a weapon that is said to emit flames. Swords that would clash with theirs will but cut at an instant,” Aaron, the youngest man in the room interrupted. He was only seventeen, but Navith had his interest on him for one particular reason. Half of his armor was forged out of mere metal only, while the lower half was decorated with overlapping emerald Dragon scales. Wrapped around his leggings was a red cloth, which served somewhat as a cape that covered his lower body only.

“Go on,” Navith insisted, folding his arms as he listened. His stopped crouching and straightened his back, giving his full interest to the young man.

The other three stared at the two. Paying no attention to the boy, they started to speculate about Navith’s favorite. Of all four of them, it had to be the kid! “I doubt what he has to say is nonsense and is of no importance,” one of them whispered to the other.

“Let him be. It’s his fault for wasting Lord Navith’s time,” another responded.

“I can hear you!” irritated, the key player of the group shouted. The three sealed their lips and gave their attention to the boy. Ashamed and embarrassed, they hid their eyes by resting their forehead on their palm, daring not to look into Navith’s eyes.

“Aside from the materials that are used to construct the foundation of the weapon, what supplies their weapons are these crystals that can be mined in the Eastern Caverns,” Aaron continued. “As mentioned by Darius, it would take us five days to get there on foot… three days on horseback. Unfortunately, even though that we would somehow manage to obtain an incredibly large amount of those crystals, the technology to utilize the chemical properties of the stones is out of reach.”

“Then we steal,” Navith replied immediately. “Darius, the boy and I are off to ‘visit’ those caverns. Your assistance would be of good reassurance. Gramisk, Ivand.” The two officers stood straight as their names were called. “Assist Navor as he temporarily takes charge of the army. I can’t bring a large number of forces lest we would be noticed.”

With every piece set into location, Navith drew a knife from his belt and pierced the cavern’s location on the map. Out of curiosity, Ivand took a peek on the spot he hit, which indicated his targeted destination. Without a word, Navith exited the shelter of the tent and stood outside, staring at the sky. A grin occupied his face.

Subsequently, Aaron followed and approached him. His lips made a slight movement. He had his words planned, and was about to mutter whatever thoughts he had, but was halted when Navith took a step towards the garrison’s gate. He turned his head, giving Aaron a taunting smile. Aaron tailed him as he walked towards the stables, about to mount a stallion.



While out in the field, a strong gust blew through their hair. Aaron and Navith, sitting on horseback, stared back the camp, waiting for Darius to come out. The boy played with the hair on his horse’s neck, combing it slowly with his fingers.

Impatiently waiting, Navith sat in a cross-sitting position, and rested his elbow on his knee. Aaron glanced upon him, somewhat uncomfortable with his position. Most of the time, Navith would forget his manners and would flex his body to whatever posture he found comfortable.

The two had seemed motionless. They remained that way until a rider, clad in blue armor, emerged from the garrison. The two could recognize him – only Darius was equipped with such brilliant azure scales. As the major approached the warlord, Navith threw his fist upon him, knocking off his steed. “Get up, and follow us if you can keep up. If you make me wait again, I’ll have your head!”

The man lost grip of his weapon. Darius stood up after recovering from the fall, and picked up his trident afterwards. As he wiped some dust off his torso, he was beleaguered by the sight of his two companions in a great distance. Hastily, he mounted his horse and forced it to go as fast as it could. The sun started to set, making it difficult for him to follow.

He lost sight of them in the woods, but was able to catch up at nightfall. The blaze that erupted from a small bonfire served as a beacon for their location. As he regrouped with the rest at the campsite, he was welcomed with a cold stare. Aaron was eager to give him a friendly welcome, but became anxious when seeing Navith’s hostile demeanor.

Repulsed by his subordinate, Navith without a word entered his tent. Darius could do nothing but glance at the warming light. “It’s okay. Navith’s… just sensitive when it comes to people being late and unsuccessful in carrying out his orders,” Aaron tried comforting. Darius replied with silence. The boy could not discern whether his superior was depressed or unconditionally angry with him. Not knowing what to say next, Aaron took a sip from his bronze chalice, enjoying the ounces of wine that had remained. “But I know that things should be okay between the two of you first thing in the morning.”

Annoyed by the boy’s words, the major stood up, and nailed the corners of his tent on a spot not too far from the other tents. Aaron sighed miserably, and entered his tent.

Morning came, and the boy was the first to awaken. As he left the shelter of his tent, the charred remains of the fire greeted him. The fire had completely consumed its medium, thus having nothing left to burn. He walked closer to the ash, and picked up his cup which he lad left on the floor during the other night.

Darius hoped to be the first to rise from slumber. Fortunately for him, he was able to wake up before Navith. But envy struck him as soon as he noticed that Aaron had beaten him. He was tempted to have his trident piercing the boy’s neck, but never had the guts to, not because of sympathy, but because of fear. The two’s eyes met. “Good morning,” Aaron greeted with a smile.

How did a boy this soft earn his rank among the Dragonbanes? He is not fit to be one of us. Whatever Navith’s plans for him are… they better be–

“Why Darius, isn’t it rude not to reply to a warm greeting like that,” startled Navith. Darius’ thoughts were cutoff, forcing him off guard.

“W-why, Sir… I was just… thinking deeply about something,” the man replied hesitatingly. Navith eyed him speculatively. Testing the man’s courage, Navith locked their eyes. Seeking redemption, Darius gave his best to withstand the life-shaking glare. He managed to persist for a minute.

Satisfied with Darius’ willpower, Navith broke the eye contact, and took his seat on the ground. “I’m bored. The two of you, entertain me by fighting. Aaron, have a drink first if you want to.”

Darius swallowed his breath. Aaron grinned as he played with his cup, tossing it from one hand to the other. “Thank you, Navith. A drink would surely help.”



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/24/2009 4:08:11)

Settled on the floor, Navith bent one leg, and rested his other leg on his knee. Aaron approached one of the tents, and removed the lids off two barrels. One was filled with water, which he used to splash onto his face. The other was three-fourths full of wine. Aaron dipped his chalice and scooped a cupful. As he drank, a bit of the wine dripped down to his chin, ongoing with its way to the ground. “I’ll have another!” he shouted. He dipped his cup once more, and drank as fast as he could. He could barely taste the drink as it descended down his throat immediately. When he had finished, he took another drink. After his sixth, the young man dropped the bronze cup.

Darius was bewildered by the expression on the boy’s face. The soft, calm youth had undergone a transformation into a beastly warrior. A grin as wicked Navith’s grew on his face. Darius could no longer recognize the person he had known.

Aaron was the first to make a move. He left his weapon hanging on his back, allowing him to run more smoothly and efficiently. His shield remained tied to his left arm. The buckler was as wide as his chest, and its length was twice its width. His chest plate and shield possessed a similar design, a gold line located at the center that forked into two curved directions downwards.

Aaron retracted his right arm. Expecting his opponent to release a solid punch as he charged, Darius held his trident with both hands horizontally. As the boy approached him, he grabbed onto the weapon’s fulcrum, and used it as support as he used pivoted his body over the man’s head. Taking advantage of his potion in midair, he allotted that quick instant for drawing his sword.

After being enthralled by the stunt, Darius’ instincts predicted Aaron to attack from his back. It was a blatant choice of action. He turned his back quickly; traces of his movements were seen in his cape, swaying against the direction he had turned to. Aaron aimed for the man’s crown, but his attack was parried by the trident.

“Bravo,” Navith clapped. “Darius, do you see the boy’s weapon?”

“Yes,” he replied at once.

“Don’t talk. Just listen…” Navith remained silent after uttering those words.

Aaron continued to push his weapon downwards, while Darius exerted force towards the opposing direction. The weapons had been lock, and trying to break the lock would leave one vulnerable.

“Aaron’s blade is also made of an Elder Dragon’s horn. You should know that. But if you’ve noticed, his weapon’s sharp side isn’t straight. It is rather… zigzag if you ask me. It may make piercing harder, but it adds pain to every hit he makes, doesn’t it?” Darius started to sweat. The stress from the battle was enough, but Navith’s words caused him to be even tenser.

Gritting his teeth, Aaron weakened his push, and subsequently strengthened it. His actions disoriented his foe, allowing him to shatter the lock without creating an opening in his defense. The boy aimed for the crown once more, and was blocked again. But instead of continuing his weapon’s path downwards, he quickly withdrew his sword, and struck Darius’ torso. Again, his attack was made ineffective by the bottom of his opponent’s trident. Aaron cut his shield’s strap, and threw the buckler like a Frisbee disk. The shield obscured Darius’ vision.

As Darius knocked the shield off its course, Aaron appeared in front of him, ready to deliver a solid blow. He was too close to parry; dodging was the only option. Darius took a leap backwards and pierced the area in front of him.

The warrior’s sword became stuck between two of the trident’s heads. A grin appeared on the older man’s face. He swung his blade to the left; his purpose was to disarm the boy. But Aaron did not let go off his weapon, resulting to being tossed away with it. Dust rose from the soil as Aaron slid across.

A wound grew on his cheek. Aaron coughed from exhaustion as he tried to stand up. Knowing that he was in vulnerable position, he predicted Darius’ approach. He stood up and wiped his lips with his hand.

Aaron threw his sword. The weapon aced through the air, cutting its way into between the trident’s spearheads. As the blade penetrated through, it stopped at the hilt. The swordsman charged towards his opponent, grabbing onto his blade’s handle a few seconds after colliding with the trident. Aaron retracted his weapon and struck another area. Darius caught his arm. Desperate to be let go off, Aaron spat on the arm. Disgusted, Darius loosed his hold. Aaron grinned as he released himself. Spitting once more, targeting the man’s face, the warrior struck the chest plate, using his spit as a distraction. Darius set aside his disgust, and intercepted the blow with his own weapon.

Both warriors could feel their muscles burn. Exhaustion troubled the boy. Much oxygen was taken from his effortful movements. Darius knew this, and continued persevering until he knew the boy was weak. This boy is drunk! Too drunk to think of an effective strategy. In a matter of moments, all his energy would be drained out of him.

Darius observed his foe. Heavy breathing had replaced his aggravating war cries. The gesture served as a sign that he was weak. Deciding that it was time to end the fight, Darius approached, grabbing the boy’s neck and lifting him a foot above the ground. The man stared at the boy, who returned a pale, sickly face. Having the boy’s throat in his hand, the warrior was tempted to crimple his fingers. Envy and anger consumed him, forcing his restraint to wander off into the empty void of his consciousness.

“That’s enough, Darius!” Navith complained. Startled, Darius’ grip on the boy loosened. Aaron struggled to breathe, coughing from his desperate need of air. Sober from the drunkenness of hatred, the spearman dropped the boy. “I underestimated you,” their superior complemented with a clap. “If you lost… I would’ve left you there to rot. Please, don’t disappoint me.” Darius bowed, showing his loyalty despite the unpleasant words he just heard.

Navith approached the fallen warrior. He stretched out his hand, offering to help him stand. Darius tried his best to keep his gesture and emotions untouched. A sentiment of being second-best burdened his heart… but mostly his pride. Silently reflecting, the man almost failed to notice that his companions had packed their things and stormed off, recovering lost time spent during the sparring. Ignored, he felt as he if we an unwanted item... being left to rot.

A storm arose the following night. Thundered roared, a majestic golden best of the sky. Clouds gathered up in darkness, a celestial essence turned to gloom. Elements of the sea flooded on land. Hooves splashed on the puddles that were result from the imbalance of nature’s storm. Mud soaked on the animals’ fur.

The three had entered the Kingdom’s territory. In their formation, Aaron was positioned right to Navith, the preferable position of riders to their master. Darius rode on a distant left, cursing the lack of appreciation he had been treated with. For protection under the pounding rain, the small group covered themselves with the hide they had taken from a Wyvern. Aaron’s eyes crossed with an abandoned guard outpost. Is the rain that bad? he asked himself. Or have guards gone off to somewhere else? It doesn’t matter though; they just left the defense open.

Navith gave orders not to camp and to continue for the night instead. Aaron fell asleep while the two men stayed up. A rope hung around the young man’s steed as the two navigated its course.

“What a fragile boy, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my lord,” Darius replied. “But Lord, may I ask? What made you want to bring him along?”

He’s like a son to me. After all, I owe this gifted warrior much for what I did to his parents.” Darius remained silent. His mouth had completely run out of words. Retorts and further questions failed to come to his mind.

The sun rose from the East, feeding the horizon with its luminescence. Darius rubbed his eyes, fighting against the force that wanted to close his eyes to deep slumber. “Sir, may I ask? Does he know?” Darius inquired, knowing that his inquiry would not only satisfy his interest, but also keep his senses awake.

Navith dismounted from his steed, and answered, “He’d kill me in my sleep if he knew.” Those words struck the man. He had never seen Navith as father to anyone. His words were signs that he somewhat feared the boy’s realization of the past. The Navith he knew that was fearless and ruthless was just a mask. Not knowing what to say, Darius kept his mouth shut.

“Get up,” Navith commanded as he splashed a cupful of water on Aaron’s face. As Aaron’s eyes opened, he saw Navith entering the caverns and Darius handing him over a pickaxe.

“Why thank you Darius. Hold onto the pick for a second. I’ll just go get my lantern and hide our mounts in case someone approaches.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/24/2009 22:31:33)

Act Three: Independent Love

Prologue:

My name? My name is Rebecca Zendalin. I hope that sweet name of mine doesn’t stray off from your head. So… about me. I live alone with my mother. My father cheated on my mom, and abandoned us when I was in my early teens. I used to have a brother… but he got into a fight with one of the Divinus… and well… you should be able to make out the rest.

To support what’s left of my broken family, I took employment in the town’s Mercenary Guild. We don’t rely on strength and brute force to finish our errands. Rather, we make use of our dexterity and arsenal of light but fatal weapons. Poison knives, daggers, switchblades, pins, and even chopsticks! No joke.

Knights would often hire us, requesting our aid. As long as their reputation is good, we’ll accept their offer – which is never cheap. I don’t have time to deny any offer, so I usually go for the bid with the largest compensation. Sounds like this is the life, huh? Well, that’s just one thing.

If only those Divinus would leave me alone. I’ve had several suitors, and several forced – not arranged – marriages. So, why would Demigods go for a little Human like little ol’ me? Well, I could say that I’m pretty – which is obviously true – but maybe it’s because I’ve outshone a number of the Kingdom’s knights – with Myrmidons as an exception.

So now what? Oh yeah. I’ve had several arranged marriages, right? Well, to avoid that, I always had to kill my fiancé. Being a Human, it would be my life or his if I slept with him. You know what I’m talking about right? Humans will die if they bore a Divinus.

I’ve had it with those men! If I can keep up with my routine of killing my fiancés, without being caught and charged of murder of course, maybe they’ll think I’m bad luck. After that, they’ll probably leave me alone. Then when a Human that I like courts me, I’ll tell him that I’m not really jinxed. I just… killed the people engaged to me. I hope he doesn’t run away after I tell him that. Oh well…

But hey, I’m almost in my early twenties. Yup. Just two more years to go. That’ll be enough time to find a guy. What?! All I want is a boyfriend… A girl just hates it when she’s alone.




Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/27/2009 3:57:24)

Love is a Curse

“Can’t I be free to love the man I want?” Rebecca asked herself as she equipped a pair of black leather gloves. The young woman stood in front of a mirror. The glass ornament reflected her beauty, a white face illuminate with sparkling, blue eyes, golden hair that reached completely down her back, and a smile embedded within her rose lips. “And shouldn’t those Divinus just stick to other Divinus?” Rebecca placed her hands on her waist and turned her body to a few angles. “Hmm… not bad,” she commented.

The young lady wrapped a yellow cloth around her dark outfit. Tying her hair with a ponytail, she examined herself once more. “Maybe it would look better if I remove the sleeve.” The mercenary lifted her right leg to the level of her head and leaned it on a wall in her room. Her white skirt created an ark. Rebecca pulled a dagger from her boot and sliced off her left sleeve. She kicked the excess cloth aside, and turned her attention back to her image. “Perfect!” she exclaimed, swaying her hips.

Maybe I’m to blame as well. I mean, if I didn’t give so much attention to my appearance, surely others wouldn’t also.

Sighing to herself, the woman attached the final piece of her getup, a right iron shoulder pad. A white cloth hung on the end from where her arm would come out, having no other purpose but to embellish her appearance. “Alright! Finished. Now I’m off to my assignment.”

“Honey, you there?” a manly voice called from across the hall. Rebecca frowned, knowing at least that her fiancé wasn’t seeing her.

Perfect timing, she moaned. “Yes sweety,” she replied with a perky voice. Deep down, she had a dagger waiting in her heart, ready to stab the man when the coast was clear. “I just have to run an errand. You know what they say… you have to work to live.” And not surprisingly, you have to live to work, she mused with herself.

Rebecca attached a sheathed katana to the cloth around her waist, and hastily made her exit. As she ran past the man deeply in love with her, she felt a sudden touch on her wrist. “Wait,” the man called, holding a bouquet of roses in one hand. The man was a blond, a man of noble birth. He was dressed with a white suit and black pants. Atop of it hung a white coat. “Mercenaries pick up assignments, unlike knights who are assigned. That’s how your system works, is it not?”

Rebecca nodded with a frown on her face. “But still, Leonard. My mom needs me to take this assignment. If I don’t go now, the best-paying job would be taken by someone else.”

Her suitor thought quickly and replied, “I could help. After all, she will be family, too, right?”

“Yes but–” Rebecca tried to break free from his hold, but his grip just tightened.

“C’mon. Take the day off,” he insisted. “Would you rather sweat in a battlefield with knights or would you rather want to spend time with me?”

“I… I uhh…” Die, Leonard! I only pretend to love you because I know you could threaten me and my family if I don’t. “Let me go!” she shouted. “Please. I promise… tomorrow we’ll go on a date. Does the Sapphire Falls sound like a good place?” Leonard replied with a nod, and let go off her wrist. Rebecca descended the stairs as fast as she could.

Seeing his loved one depart, Leonard placed the bouquet on an oak table, and walked slowly across the varnished floor. Women… independent as always…

The Kingdom of Amenia was divided into three main territories: the outside fields that stretch out from the Sapphire Lake in the West up to the Eastern Caverns, the local towns and villages, and the Palace. Rebecca lived in one of the houses located in the Palace Walls. One advantage it brought her was the good view her window bestowed. Rebecca would habitually stare at the glittering ocean during sunset, if not her own reflection.

The town was tiled with bright cobblestones of different sizes. A few blades of grass grew in some areas, usually cracks in between two stones. Rebecca’s footsteps resounded as her boots beat on the tiles. She noticed other people starring at her, wondering why she was in a rush.

“Hey, Mommy! Look! A ninja. Can I be one when I grow up?” a very young boy shouted to his mother who accompanied him. The female mercenary was flattered by his words, but was hurt when she saw the boy’s mother tightening her hold and dragging him away from her.

“You’ll grow over that soon, my dear. Once you’re older, you’ll understand that mercenaries do nothing but bathe other people in blood.” The mother’s words hit the girl hard. Rebecca began blinking, trying to hold back as many tears as she could.

Is that what the public think? Is my job disgraceful as being prostitute? How degrading this feels! Should I… quit? No… this is the only thing I could do to support my family. Her pace decelerated. Rebecca slid her finger across her eyes, rubbing the truthful tears off her face.

Leonard’s words echoed in her head. I could help. After all, she will be family, too, right? She didn’t want to her those words again. She paused from her rush, and took the time to recover from fatigue and reevaluate herself.

I can’t rely on anyone. I have to be the one to do this. I can’t rely on Leonard anyway. I plan to kill him tomorrow. But… what if she’s right about me making money by ruthless assassinations? No – I’ll prove her wrong. If she won’t see the honor mercenaries like me have… I could at least show this pride and dignity to myself.

A smile enlightened the assassin’s face. Free from the burden of her heart, Rebecca darted towards the guild with ease.

The woman stopped at a tavern. A bulky guard stood in front of the entrance, both arms fixed with twin halberds. Rebecca greeted him with a taunting smile, flashing her guild card as she entered. “Wait a second,” the man called.

“What?!” Rebecca retorted. “Has it expired or something? Oh by the way, it’s illogical to wield two halberds… that’s just… dumb,” she commented. A mocking grin grew on her face as she entered the building.

“Nice sleeves you got there,” the man replied, not knowing that she had already left.

The tavern was in fact the Mercenaries Guild. Rebecca turned her head and noticed only two people, each taking a seat on a different table, drinking. One was playing with a switchblade, rotating it in his hands. He clad himself in a brown coat, hiding his eyes under the shadows cast by his hat. As she started to approach, the man took a glance on a request form he had held in his hands, and took off.

“What can I do you for?” the bartender asked as she drew near him, her body leaning forward with her arms supporting on the table.

“As always, I don’t want a drink,” she replied.

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot that you’re not a man,” he joked as he polished a glass cup.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothin’… So… you’re here for an assignment, right?” The bartender rolled up the end of mustache with his finger as he spoke.

“Yup. I sure do!” she responded immediately. The man stood aside as Rebecca lifted herself over the counter. A board pinned with papers containing the requests’ information stood next to a shelf racked with unopened bottles. Rebecca lifted a finger as her eyes scanned the reward offers. “Three thousand Gold?!” she exclaimed. Curious to see what sort of task came with a huge compensation, she rolled her eyes upwards.

[image]http://i290.photobucket.com/albums/ll271/g3ev/twillvszorb-2.jpg[/image]

“Garrin, did you write this?” she asked with a giggle as she pointed out her chosen task.

“Yep. Suuuure did. Do you want to see the original? The farmer had a few errors in writing.”

“Assuming that it’s far worse than your penmanship – no! By the way, I spy two missing letters there,” she mocked with an immature smirk as she waggled her finger.

“So you’re taking the one with the Poison Wyvern, huh? Based on what that guy said, even the knights were afraid,” Garrin warned, pouring a cupful of whisky in his personal chalice.

“I’m a master of poison,” she bragged. “I guess this will test my skills – my biggest challenge ever yet.” The young woman placed her finger under her lip and folded her arm as she continued to think.

The clerk raised a brow and said, “And that is why I almost forgot that you were a girl.” The man felt a quick jolt on his face. “Oww… saw that comin’.” He turned back to Rebecca, revealing to himself nothing but her silhouette. Rubbing his check to ease the pain, the man overheard a racket coming from outside. I need better security, he said to himself.

Rebecca left, rereading the paper on her hand as she walked. There’s a town called Armengard near the forest and hills, she informed herself. I should stop by there first.

Shattering the silence, a woman’s scream screeched throughout the streets. Rebecca took into the air, and bent her legs as she jump. Airborne, she drew a short sword from each of her boots. Subsequently landing safely, straight on both feet, she spun the daggers around her fingers. Weapons drawn, she sprinted to investigate the reason for the cry.

Using her sense of hearing, she distinguished the sound to come from a street one intersection away. She dashed, one hand in front of her, the other on her back. A hooded man, shadowed by a dark cloak, ran towards her opposing direction. Paths crossed, Rebecca halted and slid her boots across the street. Taking a full stop, she reignited her speed and pursued her targeted suspect

The victim caught up with her before Rebecca completely released a burst of speed. “Please! Stop him!” she pleaded on her knees. The ninja grinned as she tossed both daggers. The pointed edges cut through the air and swiftly pierced the target’s flesh.

The man tripped as he interjected pain. Examining his leg, he plucked the two daggers out. He could feel a burn in his legs. Poison flowed through his blood vessels. Legs numbed, the man crawled as he desperately attempted to escape.

A shadow appeared in front of him. As he raised his head to reveal what had cast the darkness, Rebecca stomped on his knuckles and crushed them onto the ground. “Enjoying yourself with my poison knives? They say it takes less than a minute for a complete blood circulation. I wonder how long you’ll live once it reaches your heart.” Man, it would so uncool if I was wrong!

The man dropped his head on the ground dead. Picking up her daggers from the floor, she returned them to her boots, placing them inside pockets safely secured by a strap. Rebecca kicked the body over, inspecting his chest if he was still breathing. That was fast… “Hey ma’am, what did this man take from you?”

The woman approached the girl and wrapped her arms around her before answering. “Thank you.” The woman let go. “He stole an engagement ring my boyfriend gave me two days ago. He’s had a tough time at work and I just know he would burst if he discovered that my ring was stolen.”

Rebecca knelt and obtained a golden ring the man kept firmly in his hands. “Here,” she offered, looking straight into the woman’s gleaming emerald eyes. “So, who’s the lucky Divinus?” she inquired.

The woman grabbed the ring from her hands, moving her fingers delicately to avoid dropping it. “No; he’s not a Demigod. I’m engaged to a mortal,” she replied with a smile.

“Wow! Congratulations. Man you’re lucky…” she sobbed.

The woman was curious to see why her sudden smiled degraded into a frown. “What’s the matter, dear?”

Tears falling from her eyes, Rebecca removed her right glove, exposing a ring wrapped around her forth finger. A garnet, igniting with a carnation glow, was fixed on it. “My fiancé gave it to me. Pretty, isn’t it?”

“So what’s the problem? You’re very lucky to have a man like him.”

“I don’t want to get married! There’s a noble who courted me, and I know saying ‘no’ would bring problems to my family. There’s nothing wrong with him, except for the fact that I’m a Human girl and he’s a Demigod.”

“But you’re so young, my dear,” the woman comforted with a soft voice. “He’ll definitely understand if you denied him. But surely your reason to get upset can be fixed, right?”

Rebecca couldn’t hold onto her tears any longer. Hiding her eyes with her blond hair, she put on her glove and ran away. The woman stood there, quiet and still as she pitied her. She cried a few tears for her, watching her disappear with the distance, hoping to see and thank her one day.




Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (3/31/2009 6:49:04)

A weak breeze swept through the forest path, rustling dried leaves as it brushed westwards. The wind’s touch gave the blonde a sense of comfort, relieving her from weariness.

Lifting one leg at a time, bending a knee, and arms swaying back and forth, the mercenary tuook her approach with a calm pace.

She turned her head, hair swaying to the influence of the wind, facing bafck to the Kingdom’s walls over a great distance. It was too late to turn back – not that she had any plans of giving up on the task.

“There it is,” she told herself, rolling her eyes back to the direction she was headed to. Rebecca stood still on her place, looking down upon Armengard from her elevated position. Most of the houses were cabins, built from wood lumbered in the neighboring forest.

She tried to make out every possible detail, narrowing her eyes for a better focus. “Strange… I don’t think anyone’s there.” Rebecca’s chest pounded with panic. Drawing her two knives, both soaked in drying blood, she darted towards the town.

Nearing the end of the grassy slope, she exerted force on her legs, anchoring herself to decelerate. The assassin dropped her daggers out of imbalance. As she bent to pick them up, she lifted her head, noticing dark storm clouds approaching.

The girl withdrew her weapons, and drew near one of the homes. The front door, as well as the entire house, was elevated half a foot above ground. The floor was supported by four wooden pillars, proving its sturdiness over the years.

After ascending the short staircase, she turned the knob, only to find it locked. She took a step backwards and searched for another entrance, preferably a window left open. With luck, she spotted one right away.

The girl placed her legs over the window and entered the rest of her body. As her boots made contact with the wooden floor, she scanned the room, crouching out of suspicion. Her eyes came across an empty swords rack. She twitched an eyebrow. It’s deprived of weapons. Did the entire town go out and look for the Wyvern? But… what about the children?

Having no other purpose to stay inside, the assassin exited through the door, locking herself outside as she left. “It’s too dangerous. You should’ve stayed in the palace,” she overheard.

Rebecca swiftly took shelter from behind a barrel, examining the area for the source of the voice. She turned her head from right to left, sweeping her line of sight across the village.

“The reports of a Wyvern have reached me. And there were also reports of knights failing to do their job in exterminating it. I want to see how you knights are doing your jobs,” a woman responded. The voice was weak and barely heard.

They’re not here. The might be around the house. Rebecca crawled under the elevated cabin she had just exited, dragging her body on the grassy surface. She eyed them from under, keeping her cover within the shadows.

“And didn’t we see a female assassin on our way here? We lost her when she descended the hill. We could use her,” the female voice continued.

“But Princess Karen–” The mercenary’s eyes widened as she heard the woman’s title, biting her lips to stop herself from overreacting.

“What is it?” she interrupted. “The assassin? If she could do the task better than you can, then I’m willing to give her your job.” The knight remained silent and joined the search, leaving the woman isolated from the group.

Eyes narrowing from the aged suspense, the ninja moved from her cover. “Hi!” she waved with a widened smile. Wiping dust off her thighs with one hand, she reached out her other to lady.

The first princess possessed long, evidently-brown hair that covered her shoulders. Shaking her hand, and staring at her lavender eyes, the mercenary introduced herself. “I’m Rebecca Zendalin. Farmer Echnard sent me here on a request to hunt a Wyvern. Have your knights had any luck?”

Hands still shaking, the woman answered, “Not yet. And if they do manage to find it, I doubt that they will kill it.” Rebecca frowned, accepting the inconvenient truth of the knights’ futility.

A signal fire blazed from atop of the hill. “Heading towards Section W477! Princess, please eva–” The man’s voice did not fade into silence. Rather, it was immediately cut, making those who heard it expect the worse.

A knight’s corpse rolled down from the hilltops. Side pieced with two adjacent holes, the man appeared lifeless, blood dripping from his chest plate. His eyes and mouth were open without a sense of movement nor feeling. The expression on his face alone could tell that he was dead.

A creature landed on the dead body, piercing the human’s armor with its razor teeth. Sensing the presence of the two women, the beast withdrew its head from its meal, and screeched a thunderous snarl. Those unfortunate were deafened by the noise.

“Take in shelter,” the blonde commanded. The brunette gave a nod.

Rebecca jumped and pulled her daggers from her boots airborne, landing on a defensive battle stance. As the Wyvern stomped closer, she flung one of her weapons, aiming for the head. The dagger darted through the air. As it made contact, the weapon blunted off. “No way!” she complained, eyes widening with trepidation.

The princess viewed the battle from behind a window frame, wishing the blonde luck. A small brigade of knights reinforced the girl. Heart full of pride, one of the knights boldly rushed towards their target. “Wait for backup!” the captain yelled.

Blood. That was the most pleasant thing one could see in the battlefield.

“Scatter up and survive until the entire brigade arrives,” Rebecca shouted. Drawing her katana, she retreated backwards, dodging the beast’s charge.

An archer crept behind the Wyvern. He drew an arrow and laid it on his bow. String stretched, aim secured, he let go. The arrow pierced the creature’s tail. The man took another arrow and released it in the air, drawing another one for repetition of the process. The creature vigorously swept its tail, bringing the archer into Death’s domain.

“Charge now!”

The knights valiantly abided to the captain’s order. The target was overwhelmed by the brigade’s number. One of the knights led the assault, slashing the threat horizontally.

It is both a bestial and human instinct to fight back. What makes the two different is the reason one has to fight.

The pain stimulated the Wyvern’s anger, who in return grabbed the swordsman with its teeth. The other knights were frozen in place as they watched their companion get ripped into shreds. A spearman shielded his eyes from the bloodlust view; hence he failed to notice that he was the next target.

Blood scattered. Nothing new in this world.

One by one, each knight fell victim to prey. Some demonstrated fierce gallantry, causing as much damage they could while death befell others in their attempt to escape. Tears rushed down from the girl’s eyes, giving her not enough time to hold them back.

I’m a… I’m a coward. I stood back while my companions risked their lives. I’m a disgrace! This beast is too much!

“Stand back! This battle field is not fit for a girl like you,” the dying commander ordered, coughing blood as he spoke. “Only an idiot would choose not to retreat.” The fallen warrior turned his head back to the beast, staring its death bringer for the last time before he would close his eyes for an eternal slumber.

“What?!” Rebecca’s fist shook with anger. Seeing no point in arguing with the man, the blonde aced her last dagger. The blade pierced the creature’s left eye. Blood erupted from the external organ; her weapon remained deep embedded within the beast’s face.

Her attempt to kill the creature failed; partially blinding her target was all she was able to do. The beast took into air, hovering in a low altitude. It extended its tail forward, imitating a scorpion’s venomous maneuver.

It was as if the girl glanced at Death in the eyes. Consumed with fear, she took slow steps backwards, eyes locked on her opponent. Though the weak wind had seemed to be a winter at night, sweat rapidly dripped from her forehead.

Rebecca continued her movement, too stricken to decide her next move. Suddenly, she felt something touch the back of her leg. At the next moment, she found herself on her back, lying over a blood-bathed carcass she had tripped on. Her fear was as cold as ever.

The creature was about to dip its pointed tail on her neck. Pushing her head backwards, eye closed and turned away, Rebecca felt as if time had stilled in place. A few seconds had passed, but she didn’t feel dead at all.

As she slowly opened her eyes, a blur image came to her vision. A man clad in white stood in front of her, his golden hair swaying to the course of the wind. She couldn’t identify what exactly the image was. “An angel…?” she speculated.

“Close,” a familiar voice answered. Rebecca’s senses quickly returned. She bent her legs and pushed them forward, thrusting her body upwards. As she landed on her feet, her eyes were greeted by Leonard, arms and legs caught in enormous thorns.

The Wyvern snarled as it attempted to escape from the earthly prison that held the two. Leonard kept calm, removing right glove as he acknowledged the beast with a straight face.

“What’s going?!” Leonard wasn’t sure about what emotion she conveyed with her words. Giving silence as a reply, the gentleman faced his fiancée, striking her with a cold stare. Rebecca noticed his eyes shimmer emerald for a moment, unsure if a sight that seemed so real could be just an illusion.

“I’ll have to give up on my dream,” the man said, conveying absolutely no emotion. Leonard removed an emerald ring from his finger, and held it tightly.

“W–what dream?” Rebecca asked apprehensively. Her mouth vibrated as she spoke; a pulsating feeling pounded on her chest. Leonard closed his eyes as he refused to see the glint in her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have to give up on my dream,” he repeated. “My dream… my dream to stare on a photo one day, seeing you, me, and our adopted children…” The blond kept his eyes sealed. A flow of tears managed to escape his eyes, but he didn’t care. “Funny that a man wants to hide his tears. Funny that he doesn’t want anyone – even his girl – to comfort him,” he addressed to no one.

“Leonard…?”

“Rebecca!” he called out, tossing the emerald ring. The girl’s automatic reflexes raised her hand and caught the trinket with minimal effort. “This Wyvern has done too much! Let’s end it now! Burn me with this vile creature!”

“Leonard! Don’t be crazy. You don’t need to die. Get out of there now!” Rebecca begged on her knees, hands clutched together. “Please… don’t do this. I promised… we’d–”

The nobleman opened his eyes, releasing a small explosion of tears. He gave the girl another cold stare. Those green eyes… so it wasn’t an illusion. The girl felt an icy stretch of gust, an elliptical sensation draining away part of her well-being.

“Do you…” Leonard bit his lips before continuing. “… love me?” Rebecca hesitated to answer. She did not want to answer. She could not answer. “I thought so…”

A flame-tipped arrow scorched from the sky, commencing the ignition. The fire crept its way upwards from the thorns, spreading its way upwards. Leonard’s voice rushed through his throat, resonating his cries of pain.

Too aggravated with the sudden trauma, the female mercenary gave no effort to investigate the genesis of the emblazing arrow.

Leonard spent his final moments, eyes driven to close by suppressed melancholy, head rested on his shoulders, expressing an incurable scowl. Telling her that I love her would only make things more painful, he reflected.

Rebecca turned away, heartaching to watch the nobleman blaze into his doom. I should be happy, right? I’m a free girl now… The girl strained her lips to smile, but failed miserably. Rebecca dragged her feet as she returned to town, head lowered and uneasy.

A shadow hovered above her head, accompanied by blast of air that swept her off her legs. The blonde, hands and legs on the ground, turned back to Armengard, revealing another sight of a poisonous Wyvern.

A thunderclap signaled the start of the storm. The rain failed to reach the pitch fire in time. Rebecca wept, unable to live down the depressing incident. She gave the Wyvern one last look, knowing that something had done about it. But she knew she stood no chance. What was there to do?

“The Sentinel is approaching!” a knight shouted, carrying the Kingdom’s banner as he marched in formation. Four warriors advanced on foot, surrounding a cavalier armored in silver.

Rebecca took cover from behind a tree, concealing herself from the small army’s line of sight. She returned home, traversing on the forest path, too ashamed to allow herself to be seen.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (4/2/2009 0:10:30)

“Rebecca, this assignment came in for you,” Garrin called out once he perceived her figure approach. The blonde brushed the back of her neck, walking slowly towards the bar.

“Really? I thought picking up these requests was a voluntary service?” she clarified, twitching an eye.

“It wouldn’t be called ‘voluntary’ if we get paid,” the bartender countered. “And when I said that it came just for you, I meant that I know you were going to pick this assignment – it was the only one left.” The two’s eyes parted as the man returned to his hobby of polishing glasses.

“Wow… there was a ton of them yesterday!” Rebecca snatched the last remaining task from the board. After one quick glance, she folded the paper and placed it in her pocket. “No wonder no one wanted to take it – the meeting place is in the Sentinel’s Brigade Room.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Well… the Myrmidons’ Brigade Rooms are in the Castle. And this morning, I heard news of Princess Karen’s death. Go look outside; you’ll see an enormous crowd gathered at her funeral,” she explained apathetically.

“Oh by the way…” Garrin shoved his hands into his pocket, pulling out a parcel. Handing the brown envelope to the young lady, he continued, “You forgot to stop by and pick up your reward.”

Rebecca sighed before accepting the money. “Yeah… about that. The Wyvern was slain alright, but another one came and–”

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “Echnard agreed to pay if you could take care of it. Now spend the money wisely and finish your next task.” Rebecca gave the man a smile before departing.

Most of the palace’s streets were cleared. Vendor stalls and the market place were closed. Street performers were nowhere insight. The town’s outskirts were indeed still. Making her last her turn at a street corner, an explosion of voices pierced the heart silence. So many voices, not a single distinct sound could be drawn out.

Squeezing her way past the crowds, the mercenary rested her hands on biceps, trying her best not to bump into to anyone. As her foot landed near one of the castle’s wooden doors, two guards crossed their halberds. “Halt! This is for royalty and nobles only – not for Human women like you.”

The girl was tempted to unsheathe her katana. Her fingers made contact with her weapon; her grip was firm and ready. Rebecca suddenly released her anger without any violence. Declutching her weapon, she turned her attention to her pocket, reaching out for the signed document.

“Here,” she said, handing over the linen paper. One of the knights grabbed the piece from her, upended it and read. The second bent his body and scanned the words as well. As the knights finished with the last sentence, they inclined their head back to where the girl stood.

She was gone.

Man, these stairs are just endless! Running around is making me dizzy, she complained. Swords of luminescence pierced through the tower’s windows, touching walls in different elevations. Passing through and reentering the darkness, Rebecca shot through the spiral staircase.

Opening the door, startling her eyes with the bright hall, the mercenary turned her head to her side, embracing the light. A scarlet carpet branched into several directions, either in the small gaps under the wooden doors or intersections across the lit hall.

Rebecca shifted her glance from left to right alternately, reading the inscriptions emblazoned on the doors. “Vanguard Flanc,” one of the inscriptions read. Rebecca knocked on the door thrice before entering. The blonde rolled her eyes around, scrutinizing the headquarters.

An arm clutched around her neck. The next thing she knew was that a knife was pointed to her right cheek. The woman tried to push the arm off but the force was too great. “Who are you?” a gruff voice interrogated.

The ninja drew her katana and struck overhead behind her. The target tinted his head to right, keeping his hold on the girl tight. “I said, ‘Who are you?!’” the voice repeated. The man dropped his knife and pressed his fingers onto the woman’s wrist. The blonde was disarmed.

Rebecca twisted her head to the right, catching half a sight of a blond man. She couldn’t work out much of the detail.

The stranger was clad in an armor comprising a combination of a silver chest plate, golden guards, and scarlet trims. A crimson scarf, pierced and torn in several locations, wrapped itself around his neck reaching down to his torso as a cape.

“I… My name is Rebecca, and I am a representative of the Mercenary Guild. Larz hired me and–”

“Larz?!” The armored man tossed the girl forward. Foe disoriented, the Myrmidon crouched to gather the weapons they had dropped. “Yes or no: Were you invited here?” The man’s eyes emitted a brighter ruby radiance. The man remained on the floor.

Those eyes…that strange glow… Leonard? The girl replied with a nod, eyes locked onto fading scarlet glow. The man took a pace backwards as the aura became fainter. “So umm… you must be the second-in-command, huh?” she questioned, finally feeling comforted.

“No, I am not,” he replied with a calm and clear voice. “The Vanguard Flanc is my brigade! Not the Sentinel’s. This crew is under Krey Noelle’s command. That silver Myrmidon is just a shadow.”

“There goes someone’s ego,” she teased, snatching her weapon from the gold-clad Myrmidon.

“There’s nothing wrong about braggin’ if you’re good,” he retorted. After sighing, the man continued, “Obviously, you’ve heard of the news, right?” Rebecca nodded again. “There were two Wyverns. I killed the first one; Ale– the Sentinel killed the other. And even though he failed to protect Karen, he gets to be in the news!”

“You killed a Wyvern? So did I! Well… sorta. So that means there were three.” Rebecca scowled after uttering those words.

“Two? Three? I don’t give a da–” he snapped.

Rebecca cut his words. “Mind your manners! You’re talking to a lady here! Hello?!” Don’t tell me even a stranger can easily forget that I’m a girl!

Krey brushed his bangs with his palm as he stood, ignoring Rebecca’s motherly scolding. “So… what did Larz appoint you for?” The Myrmidon stood in front of the window, facing the Eastern Gates of town.

“Well… he said that I’d be working with the Sentinel in this case and–”

“You mean him?” Krey interrupted, pointing outside the window. “Hey! Is that… Asher? That’s my squire boy! I like that squire boy!”

“Don’t worry Sir, you still have me,” Koren caressed as he entered the room. Rebecca stood aside as the two demigods came closer to each other. “I have our steeds ready to go.” The redhead saluted his superior.

Krey grinned as he acknowledged the salute. Placing his hand down, the blond grabbed the woman and exited the door. “You stay here and… guard the room. Rebecca and I are off to duty...” Koren grunted in reply as the two rushed out of the room.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (4/5/2009 8:23:31)

Act Four: Threefold War

Chapter One: Nothing New

The beast scaled to the size of a wardrobe, one as fine and large as royalty’s. The creature had only two sturdy legs for locomotion, and wings incapable of flying just for the sake of balance. Its jaw vibrated violently as a bull, hence giving it its name.

Asher gritted his teeth, anxiously waiting for the right moment to attack. The squire paced backwards, keeping a fixed distance as the creature stomped forward. A stretch of dust arose as the sturdy foot pounded the earth. Intimidated, sweat drenched his gloves, coloring it with an evidently darker brown.

The Myrmidon steadied his feet’s hold on the earth, then veered his body. As his concealed eyes met with the creature, he released his dagger into the air. The metal penetrated its flesh, piercing the creature’s neck. The aftermath resulted into the Bullwyvern dropping it body and revealing a long sword buried deep within its back.

Asher flinched. It only took an instant for them to realize they were not alone. Whoever it was, they knew to proceed with caution. But to what extent would be the question.

“I told you I could hit its back and immobilize it by piercing its spinal cord,” a lively voiced echoed. Asher and Alexander readied their weapons, anticipating the owner of the sound to reveal himself.

A group of three, two men estimated to be in their thirties and a much younger man, emerged from the darkness, faces revealed by an illuminating lantern. Aaron kept hold on the flickering light, carrying a quiver-sized stone with his folded arm. His two companions stood behind, arms preoccupied onto a handful of crystals.

“Technically, we killed it,” Asher bragged, brandishing his sword forward.

“Well… I guess the Wyvern’s been taken care off,” Alexander commented, unconcerned with the presence of the strangers.

“But we can’t let those three go. These mines are strictly prohibi– is that – no… it can’t be! Navith?!” Larz added.

“Glad that you know me,” Navith replied with a mischievous grin. “Darius, Aaron, draw your weapons. There are three of us – and three of them.”

“But Sir, that would be a problem. We have our hands loaded. Can we really forsake these crystals and fight?”

If we flee now, we’d have one half of the weapons of light. If we fight, there’s a chance we’ll lose to those two Demigods and that squire boy, and we’ll be forced to flee even more empty-handed. But if we win… we’ll have both the gems, and the conductor. Navith dropped his load and unsheathed his weapon. “Darius, the answer is: we stay and fight!”

“Navith, aye?” Asher twitched an eyebrow. “Isn’t he that renegade leader? Wow! If we manage to arrest him right here and right now, then…”

“Don’t count the chicks until the eggs hatch,” Alexander discoursed, putting one foot forward as he readied his battle stance.

“Darius, the old man is all yours!” The officer spun his trident around his body as he nodded in reply. “Aaron, the kid will be your ‘playmate’. The Sentinel’s mine.” Navith led the charge, carrying his sword over his shoulder. Sparks discharged as the blade fractioned with the air.

Alexander swallowed his breath, anticipating the attack with restrain. The two swords collided, resulting to only one left in a single piece; the Myrmidon’s shattered into two. The bladed half descended to the ground, resonating the sound of two swords clashing.

Silhouette, you failed me again!

Alexander tossed the weapon’s handle aimlessly at the ground as he knelt in defeat. The renegade drew closer, moving in a walk’s pace. Navith raised his leg; a quick moment later, he was stomping the back of the Myrmidon’s neck. “Maybe you’re right, Darius. Maybe we can overthrow the Kingdom right now.” Navith pressed his legs with growing force.

A stern tone pierced the silence. “Overthrow the Kingdom? Now? Recalculate again!” Reacting, the six turned their heads. Twin spheres of red light flashed amidst the darkness, disclosing a figure’s silhouette.

A man with golden hair entered the skirmish, the area where light had overcome the shadows. “Five on three. Still think you’ll win?” he continued.

Rebecca stepped out of darkness, hands equipped with silver throwing stars. “What he said!” Resting her arm on her companion’s shoulder, she winked an eyebrow.

Krey shrugged her hand off; grinning with a little trace of laughter. Rebecca responded to his actions by pushing him playfully.

“Krey!” Alexander shouted in relief, regaining strength to lift his head. The fellow Myrmidon grunted comradely in response, releasing his weapons into the air and inserting his wrists into their sockets. His sword-tipped armaments literally served as an extension of his arms rather than weapons wielded by the handle.

“Your presence doesn’t matter. I will rid the Sentinel of this world!” Navith wielded his sword’s handle under his fifth finger’s side, driving his blade downwards towards Alexander’s neck.

His stab was intercepted. Asher grabbed the renegade from his back, pulling his weapon astray from the Myrmidon. “Aaron, get this pathetic squire off me!” the warlord commanded.

Krey seized the young man, arms stretched out in opposite directions as he blocked the path. Aaron struck forward. The Demigod dropped his body, and swept his leg, dodging the blow and forcing the boy off his legs.

“You wouldn’t hit a girl, now would you?” Rebecca taunted, throwing mocking gestures at Darius. The man swung his trident. Rebecca batted his weapon with her own. Withdrawing her katana, the mercenary grabbed onto the spear’s fulcrum, grinning as she tossed her throwing star with minimal hand movement. The projectile stuck onto the azure scales on Darius’ plate, but failed to cut deep enough to harm him.

Rebecca leapt backwards into a secure position, curling a strand of golden hair with her finger. She turned her eyes to her companion, heedless of her own battle’s presence.

Krey exhaled a bitter laugh, tolerating the pitiful sight of Aaron lying on his back. The Demigod pointed his weapon at the young man. “Now is your end…” the Myrmidon declared, igniting his weapons on fire. A spectrum of flames gyrated around his body; an invisible essence of a storm brushed his hair in a circular motion. Small bits of fire scorched off, eventually dying as it reached the ground.

“Aaron!” Navith shouted, locked within Asher’s arms, sweat dripping between his widened eyes.

Alexander stood, arming himself with Larz’s prototype weapon. A strange sound emitted from the weapon, signaling its activation. Navith turned his head back to previously-defeated Myrmidon, catching sight of his Dragon-made weapon cut into two. The warlord panicked for once.

Rebecca heard Darius approach. Regaining alertness, she caught the weapon once it availed to her range. The two tried and failed to disarm the other, yanking the trident from the other one’s hands.

Dipping his hands into his pocket, Navith pulled out a smoke bomb. He thrust Asher with his shoulders, breaking away from his grip. “Darius, bring what you can. Aaron, get out of there!” Navith triggered the device, quickly concealing his and Asher’s presence.

Both Myrmidon’s struck their weapon forward in hopes of hitting their target before he could escape. Krey grunted as he heard his weapon collide with the rocky surface. He’s quick!

Hearing the orders to retreat, Darius tugged his trident from the girl, pushing her to the ground as he fled and entered the concealment.

The layer of obscuring of smoke soon completely clouded their vision. Alexander remained calm; his mask’s visualization penetrated through the smoldering substance.

Rebecca sealed her eyes, sensing the enemies’ movements. Relying on her memory, she visualized her allies’ positions. “Krey, it’s me,” she informed, grabbing onto the Myrmidon’s arm. “The smoke won’t clear in a place like this. Find the other three and let’s get out of here.”

The Sentinel clutched his hand around the mercenary’s wrist. “No need – I have them. Now let’s lead the way.” Rebecca nodded as they pursued their targets. Krey silently rumbled, finding it hard to accept that he had to rely on help.

The brigade traveled slowly until they escaped the smoke’s area of effect. Krey released himself from the blonde’s grip, chasing the small traces of light released by Aaron’s lantern.

Asher declutched himself from his superior. “I don’t want you to miss out on the action, Sir. Catch up with Krey.” The Sentinel nodded and separated himself from the other three.

Krey rolled his eyes to his left, gritting his teeth as Alexander passed him. The scarlet-eyed Myrmidon detached his left weapon and cape in a desperate attempt to accelerate.

The Demigod and Human emerged from caverns, the former shielding his naked eyes from the sun’s rays. Alexander plunged his weapon three feet into the ground, resting his foot on the hilt. “How far are they?” the blond asked.

Alexander gave no specific answer. “I failed…” he mourned. I failed again.

Krey, too preoccupied with his own concerns, failed to notice his companion’s torment. Without a word, Alexander unsheathed his new weapon from the earth, resting its flat side on his shoulder as he walked away.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (4/12/2009 9:46:58)

Chapter Two: What Makes a Memory

Alexander peered out the Vanguard Flanc’s window. Leaning his arm on the glass surface, he felt emptiness in his existence. It was as if when he had lost everything, his purpose – his duty to protect, as it was connoted to his name, the Sentinel – was put to vain.

Only a thin sheet of glass separated him from the outside world, the realm where most his memories were created.

The door’s creak shattered the silence. The Sentinel responsively laid his hands on his golden mask. “No need to put it on,” Krey alerted once he caught eye of his movement. “It’s just me.”

Sighing in relief, Alexander returned his gaze to the window, placing his fingers once again on the window. Krey approached, landing eye of an empty wineglass streaked with traces of crimson wine. “Been drinking?” he asked, placing his hand over the silver-haired Myrmidon’s shoulder.

“No,” Alexander replied, shrugging his hand off. “The glass over there must be yours.”

Krey chuckled before replying, forcing his arm back on the fellow Myrmidon’s shoulder. “Women and wine, the two W’s of this world.” Alexander jerked Krey’s hand off. “I don’t know about the women, but I could give you a drink,” he continued, reaching out for a half-empty bottle.

“Offering one a drink when there is no occasion is a tactic to drain information. You already know my real name, my real face. What more could you possibly want?” Alexander interrogated in suspicion, staring with unwavering eyes.

Krey grinned in reply, pouring the drink into a glass cup. “To be honest, there is something I wanted to ask you.” Handing the glass over, but failing to get it accepted, the blond resumed to his statement. “I’ve heard the news about your Wyvern-slaying.” Waiting for a reply, the blond gestured his left arm onto wall, using it as support as he leaned.

“You killed one too, right?” Alexander confirmed, concealing his sorrow with a masquerade of interest.

Krey gritted his teeth before answering. “Uhh… of course I did,” he replied with hesitation. “Now answer me. What exactly happened?” Krey took his seat on a couch; Alexander followed. Offering the wine once more, the blond attempted and succeed in resting his shoulder on his comrade.

Moaning silently and repeating the rejection of the offer, Alexander started. “Everything seemed–”

“I have no time for the scenery and drama. Just cut to the chase!” his companion cut in and demanded. Alexander scowled, clasping his hands behind his neck. Visions resurfaced from his cursed memories.

He began narrating.

The rain had beaten him in reaching Armengard. No one was there to greet him. No one. Waves of blood streamed towards him. Apathetic with the crimson water, he scattered his brigade, hand signaling them to different locations.

Crouching to identify the owner of a corpse, he sensed a presence, a presence of something breathing. Alexander turned his head. Again, no one was there to greet him. Silence reigned the area. Eyes fixed on the crimson earth, the Myrmidon noticed another wave of red crashing upon his feet.

“Sir,” a member of the brigade called out. Instinctively, Alexander sprung to his feet, responding to the voice. The man’s eyes widened conspicuously. The image of ashes and a burned corpse, zombified into a grotesque figure, shot through his vision. Repulsed immediately, the Sentinel wish he had barely enough time to make out any picture.

Krey choked on his breath. Detecting his companion’s sudden gesture, Alexander took a pause, recovering his speech. His disbelief grew as he pretended to not have noticed. But why his companion flinched, he couldn’t discern.

“Here, a drink should quench your thirst,” Krey recommended, landing the tip of the glass on his dried lips. Alexander chose not to refuse this time, starting with a sip and finishing with one big gulp. The drink burned his throat, scratching the inside of his mouth as it entered. Exhaling the tenderness, he continued.

“What do think happened?” the Sentinel asked. The subordinate’s mouth gave no reply; the knight could only shake his head. Cursing under his breath, the Myrmidon walked away, examining another area. Once he turned around the corner, such an unfathomable dismay struck him.

It was too precious to be a thousand lost lives.

In a world of sovereigns, one life could match a million’s worth.

The Myrmidon knelt, staring eye to eye with another’s precious face, knowing it would her last. “Alex…” Karen repeated, forcing words to come out from her blood-bathed body. Alexander sealed her lips with his finger; her eyes soon followed. The princess’ head rested on his knee, leveled to his chest, her back supported by his arms.

Alexander remained in that position, tears slipping off his mask. His eyes wandered downwards, observing the details of Karen’s body, her svelte figure which remained beautiful and unblemished. She was lucky, fortunate enough to have died without a disfigured body.

“Jhason’s been attacked!” a young man shouted, successfully driving the Myrmidon’s gaze away from the woman. Alexander cascaded the body slowly, returning her to the ground, the earthen sanctuary of graves.

Narrowing his eyes in a search, in hopes of piercing through the moist veil, he splashed across puddles of blood. The blood on his armor didn’t matter to him; the rain could wash it away.

Something emerged from concealment.

Koren and Asher stared down a raven-haired, securing his arms and legs on the ground. A freezing poison vibrated his body, piercing his inside with toxic blades. “I don’t want to die!” Jhason shouted crying.

“It’s going to be okay,” Asher caressed, rubbing his pale, blanched forehead. Koren grunted silently, hinting his skepticism on the knight’s chances of survival.

Alexander halted. “Where were you that time anyway?” Alexander interrogated, raising an eyebrow. Krey harrumphed, stalling for time. Alexander caught him off guard.

“I thought there was only one. I killed it. Then I left,” he answered slowly, considering a pace wherein he could easily control his words.

“How sure are you that it died?!” Alexander raised his voice, tempted to pass the blame.

Krey stood up. Placing his fingers on his waist, he inspected his belt for any kind of weapon he carried. Then he raised his head, only to be greeted by a cutlass pointed at his face.

“Answer me Krey. Where were you?” The blond took his seat, cascading the weapon from his hand. Alexander sheathed the sword, staying on his legs.

“To be honest, when I killed the Wyvern…” Alexander clenched his fists, anticipating his companion to admit his faulty accomplishment. “I killed it after someone weakened it. Remember that pile of ash? A geomancer imprisoned himself in thorns with a Wyvern. I seized the opportunity to kill it. So I fired a flame-tipped arrow. I burned the two together”

Alexander was baffled by the confession.

Noticing a scowl on his friend, he took leaned his back on the sofa, resting his elbow on the blond’s shoulder pad. “If only you stayed. You were there while the princess was. No – you’re not to blame. I failed to protect her.”

“Based on your little storytelling, you arrived when she was already dead,” Krey argued, flexing his fingers.

Upset and rage flared up in Alexander’s face. “If you paid attention, you should’ve known that she was dying – not dead!”

Anger stimulated, Krey slammed the table with his metallic boots. “You’re hiding something!” he accused, striking his finger at his comrade’s face. “Losing time’s favor won’t torment someone like that. That’s too low, even for you!” The Myrmidon gave Alexander a freezing glare, eyes blazing with an abnormal scarlet hue. “Tell me what really happened!”

Alexander did not answer to that. “The details don’t matter. Please, just don’t talk about it. I want to forget about it!” he begged, eyes glinting with developing tears.

“Damn! Don’t go all emotional on me! Be a man.” Grumping, he lowered his tone and continued. “Memories? Heh, don’t give damn about it. Whether or not you remember, it doesn’t change whether something happened or not.” The argument started a scuffle, an informal debate wherein victory would be determined by the silence of the other.

“And since that something has already happened and will always have been happened, I can never forgive myself. I’m such a weakling! Just a human…” he admitted, more to himself than Krey.

Krey hardened and drove his fist into Alexander’s face. The silver-clad Myrmidon did not turn his head back after the impact. “Don’t say things like that!” Krey retracted his arm pointing his finger at the window. “See that? See the Kingdom of Amenia? There are people there who look up to you. There are people there who are weaker than you! If you call yourself a weakling, wouldn’t that be an insult to them?!” Alexander tensed; Krey knew he had him. “I even deem you an equal of mine. I mean, you?! A Human in rank with a Demigod who’s only a quarter Human?”

“I’m flattered, Krey,” Alexander replied in a weak, tranquil tone. A swish of cloth indicated he was sweating, weary of their quarrel. “I…”

“Don’t know what to say?” Krey finished off, giving Alexander not enough time to contemplate himself, knowing his chances of proper discernment were hopeless. Alexander nodded and bent forward, creeping his eyes into the shadows.

The blond’s forehead furrowed in stress, his will to resolve his companion shattered. “It’s almost dusk. Care to join me at the nightspot?”

Alexander smiled at the offer. “No need to wear my mask, right?” Krey grinned, and left the room, keeping the door open for Alexander to follow.

It’s a shame, Alexander. A shame that you value memories. A shame that sorrow is what makes a moment a memory of yours.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (4/19/2009 4:41:28)

Chapter Three: War Approaches

Candles and torches flickered across the room. The sky had recently given birth to the night and the moon, and it had not been long since the sun sunk behind the teeth of the Western Canyons, a very distant sight that can be viewed in Amenia only from a great height.

“My Lord, King Garif of the Northern Abisal Kingdom, has sent a messenger,” a palace guard reported, fingers pressed against the scarlet carpet which he had knelt on.

This late at night? “Bring him in!” the king permitted. The man seated on the throne rubbed his aged and silver beard, eyes fixed on the titanic steel doors that accessed the only entrance to the Throne Room.

Leaning on a pillar, hiding his face in the light-ridden portion of the room, a man widened his grin. The man possessed straight black hair, stretching down to below his shoulders. His figure was slender, a bit feminine at a first glance, especially if one failed to notice his absence of larger breasts. But his face, his pallor skin, complementary to what the darkness has done to it, was clearly that of a man’s. His smile was perfect, charming to those who’d pay attention. But his fierce, piercing eyes, embellished with a lavender hue, would surely cause an uncertainty regarding his character – if one could judge by looks that is.

The courier approached, bowing in front of the throne before addressing any issues. “Your majesty, good King Kaliphas of the Eastern Amenia. I bear a message from my Lord, Garif,” he addressed with a loud and fervent voice.

“Before you continue to speak, tell me, how did you get here?”

“On foot, your majesty,” he replied immediately, reluctant to continue an insignificant topic.

The messenger then straightened his legs, unrolling a scroll as he cleared his throat in preparation of the message-bearing. Unfortunately, the gifted man’s vocal talent went to waste; as he spoke, the king’s mind dawdled away, weary of drowsiness and other desires. He was hearing without listening.

Less than the expected time had elapsed when the man halted and waited for the king’s reply. King Kaliphas was startled, jaw slightly dropped as he called for his advisor’s attention. “Where is Julian?”

A raven-haired man emerged from the shadows and approached the throne, bowing faintly and kissing the king’s fingers. “What is it, your majesty?” His gracious tone was accompanied by a bit of false curiosity as he had already known why he was summoned.

“Julian,” the king addressed, eyes meeting with the advisor’s charming but dread eyes. The slender man remained quiet, eyeing with anticipation. Kaliphas planned his words with uncertainty, coerced by a face that feared him, but ironically, a face that he could trust. “Did you listen to the message?”

The man known as Julian Scarclet nodded, suspecting that the king gave no proper attention to the letter, as he would often rely on his advisors. “What do you think of it?” he questioned, testing his hypothesis.

The king drove his head back. “It was… rather short. Not well written, I guess.” At that moment, Julian knew his hunch was accurate.

“Length has nothing to do with the grade a scholar earns when writing an essay. If you asked me, the letter was really impressive. And the fact that it was written with minimal wording means that it is urgent.” The king placed his finger under his lips, rotating his other hand as a sign for him to proceed.

“Your old friend Garif needs assistance in the counterattack against the Frost Giants. For diplomatic reasons, I would recommend sending half an army, consisting of no less than a hundred Myrmidons,” Julian continued, finding it a method to inform the king of the news. “‘Why half?’ in case you ask: half because it is your duty to keep your own kingdom’s defense ready at all times as well. The Pyromancer, Krey Noelle, of the Vanguard Flanc would be of good use. He happens to be your nephew, does he not?”

So this was about the war? My apologies Garif… Kaliphas pondered to himself.

“Julian, give the man a gold piece, tell him to buy himself a horse and tell him to inform Garif of our plans. Kilias, I want you to send a letter to a hundred brigades, telling them that they must assemble here at morning. Make sure Noelle’s is one of them,” the king ordered with a strong, confident voice.

The advisor and secretary bowed and went to their respective tasks. The king leaned back, sliding his torso forward on the throne seat.

“A gift from the king,” Julian said, passing the courier a golden stone. “Treat yourself with a horse or something. And tell your king that reinforcements will be there in four days at most.”

The messenger opened his palm. “I am honored. But I cannot buy a steed. I would rather save this for my children.”

“The choice is yours. Do what ever you want with it,” Julian replied apathetically, dropping the piece on his palm before leaving. The guest furrowed his brows and tightened his fists as the advisor knew he would. “Oh by the way, I suggest you and your escorts buy a carriage instead,” he continued, startling the man as he tossed a pouch of silver coins.

The slender man returned to the throne, bowing once more before addressing his concerns. “As the knights and Myrmidons go, so must I. There is a mission I have to accomplish.” His tone was dead, calm and without emotion.

“And where would my favorite Oracle be going?” the two remained silent for a short instant. “And when will he be back?” the king further interrogated.

“I assume that you are referring to me in the third person. Regardless, all that I will say is that I will leave for the sake of justice, and will return… to bring it.” Without a word, he approached the metallic doors and exited, leaving the king baffled with his statement that seemed like a riddle.

Krey landed his feet on a circular wooden table, rattling the mugs and bottles that had been served on it. He had his eyes glued onto the stage performers, a small group consisting of five women. Most of their body was exposed, arms and legs unveiled by their black costumes. Frequently they would approach a man isolated from a woman, rubbing their soft and smooth skin across the side of his arms, swaying their round hips and body to lure the man’s desire. Lust overcame those who tried to resist; it was a temptation that could shatter one’s will.

Returning to his senses, he looked Alexander in the eye. “Don’t fall for women like those. They were paid to flirt,” he advised. “If you ever think that you’ll have a chance with them, in your dreams!”

The silver-haired chuckled after taking a sip. “But I reckon you were looking at them a moment ago.”

Krey planted his boot back the floor, replying with a proper approach. “I was getting drunk. That is when I am most vulnerable to idiotic decisions.” Alexander raised an eyebrow, giving him a face saying that he was not buying it.

“Whatever you say, Boss,” he replied sarcastically. “Just remember, you just made a record-breaking time for becoming sober at an instant.” The human placed his elbow on the table and dropped his head on his hand.

Noticing his companion unsatisfied, Krey shifted his eyes, observing that the performers were leaving. He then turned to the stage. A special powder was tossed at the flames that lit the area, creating a purple fog that contributed to the nightly effect.

A man, a Demigod, approached the stage. Krey wondered what was going on. Is there some kind of announcement or anything? As the Divinus on the stage spoke, the Myrmidon had his answer.

“Good evening my fellow Demigods and Humans. You know, just the other day, a knight and I stormed a Dragon’s camp. You know what found?” The man grabbed a red cloth from his pocket and unfolded it. The ragged fabric was actually a flag marked with a stickman behind a cross of two swords.

The audience laughed until they had ran out of breath. Oh, he’s just a comedian…

The humorist grinned before continuing. “Then on our way out, we were ambushed a squadron. I told them, ‘Hey! What gives with this flag?!’” The audience chuckled.

Alexander raised his head in response to the laughter. “This guy’s great!” Krey commented. Alexander smiled and gave his full attention.

“Then one of them replied, ‘Now do you know how it feels when your race is behind two weapons on a nation’s flag?’

Then I said, ‘I’m okay with that actually. But a stickman?!’

‘Sorry, no thumbs.’”

The audience cackled at the punch line. Pleased with the performance, Alexander smiled and clapped his hands softly. The amusement made him forget his worries, but the symphony of happiness could not and will not last long. He will remember eventually.

Krey fell to his table, banging the board with uncontrollable laughter. Discomfited by his companion, Alexander sighed and mused with himself.

The Dragons have been on the move lately… thanks to Navith, Alexander bore in mind, memories recurred by the mention of Dragon-kind. Kudos, Navith. You seem to have placed the four Human Kingdoms into a war of races by destroying our diplomacy.

The lights continued to scorch, pushing the darkness back to the tiny corners they had left. Stone walls were required for protection, but for the light, they had to utilize the stars made from wax.

“My Lord, may I ask?” Kilias asked, sitting on the floor as he wrote the letters on his lap. Kaliphas nodded slightly, cheek rested on his palm. The secretary grinned as he dipped his writing feather in a bowl of ink. “How are you? It has been a day since Karen passed away.”

“I’m fine, Kilias. Death is nothing new to me,” the king replied. The scribe could detect the lack of truth in his words, the lies that easily magnetized doubt and speculation. Kilias prevented himself from continuing, not to express his condolence through silence, but because he had already satisfied his curiosity.




Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (5/11/2009 4:34:30)

Chapter Four: The Wooden Pit

Light pierced his eyes as the mercenary opened the door, stimulating his attention away from his nearby client. Startled by her presence, a redhead assassin retracted her arms from the counter, clutching her hands on her chosen task. Garrin sighed, hiding his face in the residing shadows, and poising his ears to listen.

“Why, Boss, I didn’t know you did flirting with other girls,” Rebecca teased, voice and accent oblivious to whatever feelings her companion possessed. Garrin lifted his head, revealing a miserable scowl, and a face with lowly eyes. “Aww… did I make your girlfriend go away? Speaking of which, who was that redhead?” she continued, leaning her body to one side and placing her right knuckles on her waist.

The man dropped his head in reply, banging his head on the counter. Rebecca laughed; one could see her cheeks bloom red. Moments passed, but the one-sided silence still flourished. “Garrin…?”

“Gotcha!” the bartender exclaimed. The sudden gesture swiped the girl off her legs. Offering his hand to help her up, Garrin grinned at the girl’s pathetic position. “So… here to claim the highest paying job? Too bad, my ‘girlfriend’ just took it.”

Rebecca pouted playfully, expecting to hear more. Garrin could detect that his client had no witty comebacks prepared; therefore he continued. “So now, the highest paying offer is worth Twenty K.” The assassin widened her eyes, narrowing them an instant later after suspecting it was a gag. “No joke. Some Asher Justyne guy came over this morning,” he finished, pulling a paper from his pocket.

The girl grinned, snatching the paper from the man’s hands. “I’ll take it!” she said, storming off. Rebecca knew the bartender was calling her, wishing to inform her of the task himself. Giving no head to him, she detached the ribbon from the scroll and read the information.

Ooo… an all expense paid trip to the Abisal Kingdom. How tempting… It sure is a good thing that I look into the details not like those girls who just go in there tell Garrin to give them the highest paying reward.



The birds of the sea squalled around the docks, circling around the harbor as if it were a ring of white fire. Their calls could hardly be noticed; cannon fire engulfed their sounds with its own monstrous roar. Standing on the port, Navith placed his finger under his chin, entertaining himself with the minimal sightings of naval combat.

Was it a natural fog, a sailor’s death upon sea? Or an artificial cloud, smoke emitted by man-made weapons? Obscuring air, monstrous snarls, and moisture in the lowly clouds surrounded the battlefield.

Not much was there for the audience to witness.

Fire erupted, escaping the clutches of the concealing winds. Flames gestured on both sides, both feeding and killing itself as it lessened its medium.

“Those… weapons?! Th-they spit out fire!” Gramisk exclaimed, bewildered by the prospect of the battlefield. Only an explosion replied to him, returning his words with a sound of its own.

“It’s a shame our allies were cut off. We can only pray that they sink the enemy before the opposite happens,” Aaron uttered, addressing to no one.

They spoke as if they were talking tot themselves, expecting no one to respond, and having their expectations become a reality.

The five rolled their eyes to the ships’ sails, or what was what left for the fog to engulf. The vessels bore the same flag, a banner decorated with stripes of three colors. The warlord stared at the hijacked ship, narrowing his eyes for a clearer focus.

“It’ll be over soon…”



“You’re sacrificing her? But she’s the most precious one you have.”

“But her sacrifice can lead me to an essential advantage,” a confident, gruff voice replied. “We’re used to this. Whether in war, like the one upcoming, or in another chess game…” Krey grinned as he grabbed his queen, dashing it forward to take the life of the other.

Kaliphas retaliated, knocking his nephew’s queen off with his king. “Why didn’t you say ‘check’?”

“That’s because I didn’t want to waste my breath, Uncle. A king standing next to an enemy queen is obviously under check. One who fails to noticed that is as good as dead in a battle,” Krey replied, slouching forward as he placed his chin atop his knuckles.

Grinning again, he advanced a pawn. The game lasted for a few more turns, the king making the last move. “Your turn, Krey.”

The titanic doors creaked open, echoing throughout the Throne Room. Kilias emerged from outside, speaking with a soft but loud voice. “My king… the brigade captains have arrived.”

“Sorry, Krey, but we’ll have to play some other time.”

“Oh, just one move, your majesty,” the Myrmidon replied, landing his bishop with a tremendous force, strong enough to resound within the stone domain. “Checkmate…”

Krey turned his back on the king, descending the staircase that elevated the seat. As he boots made contact with floor, he veered his body around, bowing with courtesy and gallantry. The Myrmidon’s right hand clutched onto his cape, concealing his arms and chest plate as the cape arched in front of him.

After acknowledging his nephew’s gesture, Kaliphas focused his line of sight on his secretary. “Let them in. Oh, and Kilias…” he called as the secretary was about to summon the captains.

“Yes my Lord…?”

“I’m impressed. You managed to inform a hundred brigades overnight.”

“I’m honored by your complement. However, I found it easier to spread the news regarding the war by the way of the mouth. When the captains gathered, I sent the excess away until there were a only hundred,” Kilias explained.

The king took no offense in his usage of another yet necessary method.

“Now, I shall summon the ninety-nine, knowing that the one hundredth is already here,” the scribe said before being dismissed. Kilias closed the door upon his exit.

“Krey, take a step closer to the throne please,” the king requested while the two waited for the small army to arrive. The warrior abided to his uncle’s desire.

The one hundred, including Kilias, marched in two lines. The scarlet carpet was their fixed distance, serving as a separator for the two lines. Each Myrmidon stood like a statue, venturing their eyes into the person’s on the opposite side of the carpet. The captain positioned on first row of the left line faced to his right, keeping uniformity despite the absence of Krey on the right column.

Without a word uttered, without a signal of any sort made, the knights turned to the throne with synchronization, kneeling to their king. The Lord of Amenia stood up, arms raised as he recited impassioned words.

“For so long has our kind played defense. For so long has the other races attacked us, seeking glory of its own, seeking unimaginable wealth!” The crowd echoed with their applause; their cheers blended with one another as if they were a choir of deep voices. “But things will change now! While will retain on our throne as the kings of the races, we will now push forward with a counterattack! Our brothers in arms from the Northern Kingdom have lived through the turmoil created by the unsatisfied desires of their enemy. If the enemy wants glory, we will it give it to them: an honorable death will await them.”

Krey sighed as he couldn’t feel what the message was conveying. Are inspirational words really needed? If we know what we–

“Krey!” The mentioning of his name swiped his attention from his own personal musings. “Come up here,” the king ordered. Astonished, the blond nearly tripped as he ascended the staircase.

As he was close enough, his uncle grabbed him by the arm, then raised it with his. “My nephew here will lead the way! Onwards to victory!” The Myrmidon cheered, masking his insecurity with his special mention. Though expectations on him were remarkably high, it only served as an annoyance to him.

The captains marched out once the gathering ended, crying and yelling shouts that boosted their morale. It was never quieter than before.

Krey was the last to exit, but rather than assembling with his own subordinates, the Myrmidon dashed off to a different direction, indifferent to the possibility if he was being watched or not.

He had plans of returning, but there was one farewell he had to bid.

The knights boarded their siege towers, wooden siege engines designed to serve as protection for a charging unit. As the name suggests, the vehicle had the rectangular framework of a tower. On each corner, a wheel was positioned to allow locomotion.

Asher grabbed onto the sides of a ladder positioned at the tower’s rear end. After ascending what had seemed to be a wall, he took a step forward, then crouched before descending the hole, the entrance fixed atop the siege’s roof.

“There’s a front door, Asher. I suggest you use it next time when garrisoning into the siege tower,” the Sentinel informed, expressing a bit of laughter as he enlightened the boy.

“I know that. But descending from the height is even more fun! It’s like… falling in a wooden pit,” the squire said. “By the way, where’s Krey?”

“Koren seems to be absent as well. It would be impossible for us to be a brigade with only two people,” Alexander added.

The young man climbed the inner ladder, exiting his head and upper body from the tower. Landing his arms on the roof’s surface, Asher replied, “Well, if the two come…” But hopefully only Krey… “…we would be four. Plus, I used our brigade budget for once and hired one of those mercenaries. So that makes five.”

“How much was the compensation you offered?”

“Twenty thousand,” Asher responded. “It doesn’t matter though. The mercenary is bound to die anyway,” he joked.

Alexander widened his grin. The Myrmidon bent his legs, then sprang up, grabbing onto the siege engine’s wooden ram, a tree trunk carved, giving it a design and smoothness. From that point, he pivoted his body, and sprang from his arms, eventually reaching the squire’s elevation.

“You have to teach me that someday,” Asher said. The superior remained silent, but approached with a mischievous smile.

Thud!

The Sentinel laughed at the young man crashing downwards. “Don’t worry. You’re not being punished for the twenty K. It was tempting and fun watching you fall in that ‘wooden pit’ of yours,” he chuckled.

Riding with the flow of the gag, the squire moaned, then joined his laughter.

“Hey, sorry for being late,” a familiar voice entered. Recognizing that gruff tone, the young man eagerly rose from the wooden engine, eyes eagerly awaiting the sight of his companion. “Koren and I had a… detour,” Krey announced to the brigade. With a swift glance, he caught the Human scowl.

“I’m expecting there will ‘tryouts’ to join the Vanguard Flanc soon. Not all of us might survive this battle,” the crimson-haired squire demoralized.

“Don’t worry Koren, I know you won’t die in this war,” Krey commented, tapping him on the shoulder.

“You mean it?” Krey nodded in reply. “Hear that, Asher! It looks like I’m his–”

“You know what, Sentinel? I think it’s about time Koren here became a Myrmidon. What do you think?” Krey suggested.

Alexander noticed the blond’s eye twitch. He knew where this was going. Hiding his grin with his mask, he played along. “I agree. He might even rise in ranks and control a brigade of his own,” he adlibbed.

“Though… he’ll have to skip this war and train here,” Krey said, slowly approaching the siege tower with an unusual maneuver. Koren opened his mouth, either about to protest or comment. Alexander came to his side, cutting his words off.

Landing his arm around Koren’s neck, Alexander continued his praising. Preoccupied with the never-ending lauds, Koren subconsciously followed the Myrmidon as he gestured back to the castle.

“You don’t like him either, do you?” Asher inquired.

Krey chose not to answer directly. “He has an attitude problem. And if you do want him to get out of this brigade, then pray that he gets his own one.” The squire replied with a smile before entering his “wooden pit” once more.

Reclining on one side of their war vehicle, the Myrmidon apathetically waited, brushing his fingers against each other.

Instinctively, he raised his head. A young woman stood out in his vision, mainly because her clothing was not of uniform with anyone in the area. To his surprise, she approached him.

“Hey, where’s Asher?” Rebecca asked, keeping her eyes away from Krey’s.

“He’s in here,” Krey answered. “Now tell me, how did you get passed the guards and what are you doing here?”

“Aww, why so surprised? I’m an experienced ninja, assassin, and mercenary! Alert guards are like sleeping ones to me. And sleeping guards are like nothing,” she bragged. Though nothing makes me paranoid and makes me think that there is something. Ah well... “Also, didn’t Asher tell you that he hired someone?”

“Oh. How much of our budget did he allot for you then?”

“Twenty K,” she replied as it was not much.

Krey did not seem to show much of a reaction. “Asher, get out of there. Your mercenary is here!” he shouted. The young man eagerly responded to his voice. At the instant he poked his head out of his “wooden pit”, Krey shoved his hand onto Asher’s head, knocking the squire down.

“Aw! If it’s about the twenty K, don’t worry. If the mercenary dies, we don’t have to pay him.”

“I’m not punishing you, Asher. It was just tempting to do that,” Krey replied.

“Oh. I get that a lot,” Asher said.

“Umm, excuse me,” Rebecca interrupted her way into the conversation. “But I’m a girl. And second, what did you say about dying?” she continued with an agitated tone.

Asher exited through the vehicle’s front door. “Rebecca?! Uhh, it was just a joke. Of course we value reinforcements.” Rebecca gave in to the alibi, but still knowing it was just a pathetic excuse.

“Okay then!” she exclaimed with a smile. “Girl coming through; make way.” The female ninja dashed forward and went airborne. Her hands landed on the wooden ram, allowing her spring her arms for her to land on the summit. Rebecca took a peak through the hole. “Wow, this feels like being placed in a pit… but wooden.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Asher uttered.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (5/25/2009 7:41:58)

Chapter Five: Fit to Rule

“Look. There goes that masked Myrmidon. What is it with that guy anyway?” a knight gossiped to another. The fellow soldier lazily trailed his eyes upon the Sentinel before he responded.

“I dunno,” he replied without much an effort. Turning his head toward the flashing scenery, he continued. “Maybe he wants attention. It’s been two years since the mystery of his identity has been in the news. Think about it… All those interviews, crowds chasing him… you’know… the works.”

“That can’t be it,” the first knight retorted. “If he really wanted the attention, he should’ve revealed his identity about now. While he is wearing his mask, there’s really not much benefit to him.”

The soldier’s companion sighed and descended his body to the floor. Crossing his legs, topping one over the other, he replied. “Then… maybe he’s hiding something.” The man’s words arose to more speculations. “But why? What does his identity have to hidden? Why would he want to hide his face?”

“You know what this means, right?” the companion answered immediately.

Giving each other a look that could have served as words to the other, they said simultaneously, “He’s ugly. Yeah, that’s obviously it.”

Alexander, oblivious to the hearsays and rumors, stood atop his brigade’s tower, embracing the wind shoot through his silver hair. His platform rattled as the horses that hauled it traveled on uneven terrain. But it was worth it. The fiery sunset painted the landscape with a tint of orange. Evergreen, long-lived, redwood trees clutched for the endless sky. The titanic trees were the trademark of Amenia; once they leave one’s side in travel, one is no longer in the Eastern Kingdom.

“You might want to get in here,” Krey said, sticking out half his body from the wooden construct’s anterior opening. “If you fall of this tower, we are not going back for you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Myrmidon replied without the slightest of any gesture. “The sun is almost down; we’ll set camp soon. If I fall off, I can catch up easily,” Smiling for no reason, Alexander sealed his eyes upon laying his finger as he heard him companion shut the hatch.

“I got it! We’ll make the towers move faster!” Krey’s voice barely passed through the room, but it was loud enough for the silver-haired Myrmidon to eavesdrop upon. “Not only will it make him fall. But it’ll prevent him from catching up, too!” Alexander sighed to himself as a reply to the badly-constructed plot.

“Forget it, Krey. When he comes in, there is no way the ‘trap’ you set would get him. If you’ve failed to notice, you put it on the wrong entrance. He’s on the roof right now; what makes you think he’ll use the front door?” the assassin criticized, looking back at a mixture of ropes and gears Krey had set.

“Not only that, but he’ll use the roof’s entrance for sure because of the ‘falling in a wooden pit effect’!” the squire added. “And when you tried to get him in, didn’t you notice that the booby trap didn’t activate? It’s defective.”

“Maybe you’re right… I’m not good with these ‘toys’. I think I should go refund it when we get back,” Krey replied, landing his palms onto the back of his head.

“Krey, it was a gift, remember?” the young man remarked as he drove his palm towards his forehead.

“That reminds me,” Krey muttered, leaning back on the wall. “When I came through that exit, why didn’t you stop me, knowing the trap could’ve triggered on me?”

“Uhh…” the two companions stalled, twiddling their fingers as they attempted to formulate an answer. “It’s simple really,” Asher replied, nodding his head. “Rebecca, you tell him why.”

“Hey! Not me. He’ll get it clearly if you tell him. I’m not good at explaining” the blonde argued as she reclined her head far from Krey as possible.

“We uhh… wanted to you get caught by your own trap…” Asher uttered with a big smile.

Still enjoying the sun-painted scenery, everything seemed fixed into place for the Human Myrmidon. Everything seemed peaceful until a thud and an aw sound came from within inside the tower.

“Hmm… the usual scuffle took longer than expected,” he murmured silently.

It wasn’t long until the waves of purple darkness drenched upon the shores of the orange sky. A hundred bonfires were set, one for each brigade. About two men from each attended to the flame’s needs, shielding it from the nightly gusts and providing more for it to burn.

Krey sat motionless atop the tower, entwining his army with the guidance of his watchful eyes. Stricken by nature’s freezing howl, the pyromancer lit the air around his gauntlet aflame. It’ll be colder in the mountains. I deny any possibility for my men to endure it.

Watching the flame flicker at the tip of his finger as if it were a candle, he remained silent as he tried to create a way.

“Tents set up! I didn’t waste my time standing the fourth because I’m spending the night in the ‘wooden pit’!” Asher announced. Bringing his attention toward his beloved “wooden pit”, he noticed Krey descend, heading towards one of the cone-shaped encampments. “Krey, Alexander’s almost done with dinner. Don’t you want to stay up?”

“I’m not hungry,” he replied, snatching an oval fruit from a barrel placed at the entrance. Taking one bite, he dropped his body on the mat and discarded the remaining of the fruit. I need to find a way to endure the cold. My pyromancy cannot extend to everyone’s aid, he said in his head while detaching his right gauntlet.

That’s it! Raising his body, he used his arms to search around him. A round object was sensed. Clutching his fingers around it, he brought it closer to his face. “Good fruit,” he complimented as he took another bite.



Now that you’ve seen my face… I can’t let you live.

A flash of white light was the last thing she saw before the opening of her eyes dismissed the fantasies of her nightmare. With a sudden thrust, she propelled her body upwards as she then breathed heavily.

Fortunately for her, the voice she heard wasn’t real. Neither were the visions she saw.

It’s only the second night, but I’ve already had the same nightmare twice. For some reason, I don’t feel comfortable knowing that Alexander is the Sentinel, Princess Katrina Daveth said in her head as she removed the cloth wrapped around the glass covering of her lamp.

The light extended across the room, exposing a set of candles caged inside the glass prison. The room was filled with night-black darkness and radiating orange. The latter was less dominant, but it was enough for her eyes to detect any objects.

Bending her legs, she softly placed her arms on her knees.

“Is anything wrong?” a young girl asked as she creaked the door open.

“Oh. Did the light wake you up, Charlette?” she asked, startled.

“No, Aunt Katrina…” the six-year-old answered. “I couldn’t sleep, too.” The child climb the bed and came to the woman’s side. “When’s Daddy coming back?”

“When the war’s over, dear,” she answered, combing the girl’s hair with her fingernails.

“What about Mom?” her niece further questioned, swinging her legs.

Hearing her innocent voice made her choke her breath before she could answer right away. “She left. And like your Aunt Karen… you’ll see her again… soon.” The woman scowled at her own lies, regretting to continue hiding the truth from the child.

Wrapping her arm around the child’s head, she laid back as she tucked both herself and her niece to bed. “Good night,” she whispered as she gave her forehead a kiss.

“Auntie, will Daddy take as long as Mom to come back?”

Hiding her tears in the veil of darkness, Katrina replied, “Pray that he doesn’t…”



An explosion drove the silence away that morning. One could witness a ring of pigeons flocked away from the canopies. The entire army instinctively awakened and investigated.

As they exited their individual shelters, their eyes were driven to one same direction. A pillar of smoke towering to the sky emitted from Krey’s heavenward hand as he stood above one of the wooden towers.

“Good morning men,” he started. “In two days from now, we’re going to be in war! But the skill of the sword is not the most important thing we will need. Where we’re going, it much far complicated. Tell me… what is it then?!” he shouted, scratching his throat with his rough voice, to be sure that the farthest man in the area could hear him.

Keeping the answer to himself, Alexander folded his arms while the army replied with silence. Rolling his eyes across their garrison, the Myrmidon attempted to decipher the expressions on their faces.

Confusion, fear, and irritation are three different things, but they can hardly be told apart when seen on one’s face.

“I’ll answer it for you,” he continued, a bit calmer than moments ago. “But first, answer me... can you bear the cold?” The army could only reply with another choir of silence. “Of course not! Now this… is what we’re going to do.”

Detaching his chest plate from the rest of his armor, he pointed at one of the brigade captains – Alexander to be exact. “Where is the 101st siege tower?”

“There are a hundred and one wooden pits?!” Asher exclaimed.

“Yes. There are more than a hundred, Asher. The storage tower is over there – marked with a blue flag,” the masked Myrmidon replied apathetically.

Without an acknowledgement, the pyromancer signaled two men to bring to him the siege engine. “We’ll be in the cold during our fight. I have a plan. But to do so, we’ll need to endure the cold. And that… is where the 101st tower will come in.”

The army stood to the side as the tower’s steeds hauled it across their encampment. Predicting that Krey wanted it opened, they unbolted the door’s wooden look without his orders, releasing a stream of hay in the process.

“We’ll stuff our armor with hay…”

Hay?! Eww… It’s a good thing I brought a jacket, Rebecca said silently in her head.




Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (5/28/2009 2:27:37)

Author's Note: Wow! I finally get to write an author's note... in the story thread! Anyway, if you've noticed, a bit of humor has stirred up from the dramatic miseries and realities in the first portion of the story. Well, it ends for now in this very short chapter. Pay close attention though, a bit will be revealed about one of the character’s background... but it will be very blurry (try spotting a connection with a previous chapter... that'll unblur it).

Chapter Six: Drunken Absurdity

Night fell the second night – nothing new. The Vanguard Flanc gathered around their bonfire, taking their seat on logs which they had rolled over. Skipping the meal with his crew, leaving them dumbfounded and worried about him, Krey proceeded without a word to his tent.

Asher scowled, slouching forward as his eyes miserably laid upon his meal. “Anything wrong, Asher?” the assassin caressed, sliding herself toward his end of their log.

Sighing, Alexander lifted his legs from the ground and landed them to his left, occupying the remaining space on his wooden bench. “It’s Krey, is it not? He has me worried too…” Crossing his legs, the Myrmidon’s turned his face as he entered into a silhouette. I hope our “commander” will get things fixed by tomorrow.

“Is he usually like that?” Rebecca inquired out of her own curiosity. “I’m kinda new here… obviously.” Surveying the area around, she took a bite of her meal.

“Well, we really haven’t taken any another missions since you helped us the other day. But before that, Krey left the brigade into the Sentinel’s care,” the squire answered, eyes still opened narrowly. “We don’t know why he left – and we just couldn’t ask him why when he came back.”

“Let me guess. You didn’t ask him because you forgot to,” she remarked, attempting to stir a little bit of laughter into the conversation.

The Human boy gave no reply, ending the conversation with slight insecurity with one another. Sighing, the mercenary slouched forward and regretted the moment.



“Dang! If only I could do something about it,” Krey cursed in a tone of voice wherein only he could hear himself. Forcing a hard landing, the Myrmidon tossed his back to the ground. His armor rattled upon impact.

“I wish… there was something I could do,” he uttered as he plucked a cork off a wine bottle. At that instant, smoke arose from the inside of the bottle. “What’ta?!” His vision obscured, Krey was able to detect the presence of another.

“You seek to fix the past? Have faith in me, I can help you do it,” a womanly voice echoed.

“Knowing that you came out of a bottle and that you want to grant my ‘wish’, you must be a genie, no doubt. Or maybe I’m drunk.”

“Oh please. I want to help you,” the voice replied. “Please, have faith in me.”

Krey chose not to reply right away. Peeking a bit into the bottle, the Myrmidon protested, “Aww great! Since you were in there, there was never any wine!”

With a snap of her finger, the genie filled half of the bottle with crimson wine. “Only a genie can do that,” she commented, twirling a strand of her raven hair around her finger.

Krey’s disbelief grew stronger. “Anyone can do that – even my daughter… as long as I’m drunk that is.” After uttering those words, he helped himself with a drink.

“Just make three wishes. There’s nothing wrong with it, now is there?”

Slamming the bottle on the floor, the man finally gave up. “Alright. I wish this bottle of wine was refilled.” At that instant, the Myrmidon noticed his item’s weight increase. “Next wish: I wish I had another bottle of wine.”

A bottle rolled from the sight-entangling smoke toward his direction. Halting its movement with his hand, Krey took a deep breath before his final wish. The genie eyed upon his troubled face, anticipating him to ease his troubled heart with one final command.

“I wish…” Krey uttered slowly. “That I had another bottle of wine that would never run out of its content.” Another sealed bottle drew closer to him. “You may go, now.”

“B-but… I thought you wanted to do something about her?” the genie asked, flabbergasted by his pointless wishes. The spirit harrumphed. “And why didn’t you use your third wish right away? You could’ve saved two wishes like that!” Her tone of voice was different. The calm, sincere voice was replaced by an irritated response.

“It’s simple really,” he answered. “The first wish was to make sure you were real. The second was to test your power, and the third was to fulfill my desire.”

“Oh my! You are drunk!”

Krey gave no reply and allowed his tiredness to seal his eyes. Curse you Alexander… you’re regret of the past is a contagious virus. And I’ve been infected.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (5/31/2009 5:25:31)

Author's Note: Okay, Krey and Genie with no doubt cannot be Chapter 6. Let's just call it a short chapter, okay? Or a mini-chapter. So yeah, Chapter 7 will be the "real" Chapter 6. Hmm... that means Chapter 8 would be 7. Tch... ah well.
Chapter Seven: Fire and Ice

A crash of water signaled the tide rising. Droplets clung desperately, remnants of waves after they subsided, then were replaced by another fold of water. Some waves were larger, others were significantly smaller, but one thing remained the same. It was never quiet.

The warlord applauded as the pirate commander begun stepping foot off the ship’s ramp. His four advisers stood around him, a pair of officers on each side. “My! Ginchicko, I’m glad you could make it,” he greeted with minimal gestures.

Aaron had not a single option; waiting was the only act he could accomplish at that moment. Parting the time with a slight frown on his face, the young swordsman glanced upon the pirate lord as she moved out from the vessel. The woman’s image reflected through his eyes.

Ginchicko resembled much more of a man, typical for those who would try so hard to equal them out. Her face and body were feminine indeed, staring into the size and shape could easily justify that fact. Her brown eyes however, struck a rather negative sensation. It was lighter than fear, but still intimidating. The boy could not withstand a frequent swallow of breath.

The woman approached, eyes stiffly shifting points of sight. Aaron’s keen observation noticed a triumvirate of her features. The long sleeves of her black raiment failed to completely seal a hint of her metallic gauntlets. A thin sheet of metal was exposed through an unbuttoned portion of her clothing, and a smaller version of the fire-erupting weapon they had seen on the ship hung by her belt strap.

“I nearly lost my crew there, Navith. Your reason of summoning me must be of great importance or else!” she responded, clenching her fist upon the man’s collar. Her offensive triggered Aaron to draw his weapon. The woman aimed her firearm in action against his immediate movement. “I am not here to fight,” she said, gritting her teeth.

The boy spat air from his mouth with disbelief.

Aaron was ramrodded to sheath his blade. Navith laid his hand on the woman’s, and released himself from her grip. “We heard that you have something that we want,” he informed, locking his fingers around her firearm. “I will propose to make a trade. A supply of weapons such as yours for a cargo filled with what we’ve harvested.”

Ginchicko removed her clutch from the weapon. “Keep that one. It is out of powder.”

“Is it, useless?” Navith inquired as he scrutinized its details.

“No. Similar to your bows, it requires ammunition. We’ll be happy to accept your offer. But the powder comes in another bargain.”

“And that would be…?”



The Sentinel could feel the temperature change in the environment around him. They were entering the domain of ice. Sightings of dead, leafless trees appeared before him. The cold’s touch advanced, greedily taking the lives of whatever it could reach. The men here and the trees are no different. They came from Amenia alive, and will enter Abisal to die, he thought.

“Krey, I’m still shivering. I might need more hay,” Asher said as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“The hay’s purpose was to lessen the coldness. The freezing effect is inevitable,” Rebecca replied in behalf of Krey. “But maybe I could add hay to my coat,” she continued on. “You should have brought a jacket; won’t the hay feel a bit itchy?”

“If you actually wore an armor,” Asher remarked, “you would know that it had two layers: the mail and the plate.” The squire did not elaborate any further, knowing the assassin could make out the rest.

The gilded Myrmidon sighed.

The ceiling banged open as Alexander allowed himself to pass. Shutting the secondary gate to the siege tower, the Myrmidon reported. “We should be there in a quarter of an hour.”

The multitude of towers alerted the Northern Kingdom’s guards. “Is this… an invasion?” a halberd-wielder said to another.

Seeking a better sight, his companion raised the tinted mask of his heaume. After one quick glance, he reequipped his eyewear immediately to avoid the snow-blinding atmosphere. “They carry Amenia’s banner. I don’t recall the king giving orders about letting them in. Did they just invite themselves to help us?! I find that an insult!”

Eventually, the army reached the Kingdom’s Southern Gate. Krey was the first to dismount from their siege engine. As his boots touched the snowbound earth, the guards aimed their weapons at him. Krey stiffened his arms and legs. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Sorry to let your efforts go to waste, but you’re unwanted here,” the guard taunted. Krey set aside his anger for that moment.

“We were invited here!” he argued. “Let me see the king. I need to–” The second guard threw a swift solid punch across the air, cutting the Myrmidon off his words. As his body feel to the ground, the two guards secured his arms.

A dozen navy blue knights reinforced the two, but stood at a distant back.

“We bet that you plot to kill him,” the soldier interrupted. Drawing a dagger, they secured Krey’s neck around one of their arms.

“We’ve been deceived! Attack!” Krey ordered as he ignited the air around him. The accelerated heat forced his captor to release him.

The frontlines of the army heard his cry and gathered to his side. Rebecca stood on the tower’s roof, hands dexterously equipped with knives to rain upon the enemy. Asher took seat upon a steed of their tower’s, and piloted them to rush forward. As the tower came close enough to the wall, the Sentinel tucked his arms onto the ram and continuously battered the wooden gate. Two other ram-equipped towers followed.

A small-scale affray grew from the chaos. Fortunately for both sides, not a single life was taken.

“What is the meaning of this?” one of three horsemen asked, surprised by what seemed to be a minor invasion. Krey turned his head to the trio of late arrivers, a bit enthralled with their uniform. They were protected with an armor forged of black metal and a round helmet with a tinted glass. The features of their faces were concealed, except for their mouth and lips which they used to communicate.

“I just asked that,” he said as he clenched his fist. “After what they did to me, I was left with just half a heart to attack your walls.” His voice was aggravated by the outrageous welcome he had received.

“Please. This can be settled. What is it that you want most?” the second horseman said.

“I just drank, so I won’t say wine,” Krey answered. A ball of fire formed on his palm. As the third horseman lifted his lip, about to utter his reply, the sphere of flame flew to one of the guards, killing him in the process. “That was what I wanted most.”

Ignoring the horsemen, Krey excused himself from the minor conference, heading toward the opening Alexander had created. The townsfolk stared at him. “What was that fuss about. Was he the cause?” one whispered to another.

“What is he doing here? Did he bring reinforcements?

“Is he an enemy?”

Krey noticed half a dozen Demigods trailing from behind. They’re after me, he concluded after seeing their uniform. The Myrmidon kept his walking pace, then subsequently ignited into acceleration.

Guards appeared in front of him. The Myrmidon was not in the mood to kill. As he dashed toward the castle, he took into action evasive maneuvers as his enemies darted toward him.

It only took a matter of moments for him to reach his desired destination. As he was a door away from the throne room, he created wall of fire around him, repelling his persecutors as he opened the door.

“Garif!” he shouted upon entering. The king only turned to face him as a reply. “Explain what’s going on!”

Guards appeared from his back and locked his arms on their soldiers. The king made his move and ordered the guards to dismiss. As their grip loosened, the Myrmidon grabbed one and threw him on another. Out of respect to the king’s decision, the two guards acted as if nothing had happened.

“So the king has sent his champion to aid us,” the king uttered. Krey was surprised by the man’s clothes. Instead of a kingly robe, the man wore a plain white cloak. As with his hair, his aged beard reached down halfway to the floor.

“And you treat his army with such… garbage!” he interrupted.

“I was surprised as much as you, Krey. My guards never let you in because they had no idea you were coming. We never received word from King Daveth. We suspected that our messenger died on his way, so I sent another the other day.”

“Thank Arkanthor that is just one big misunderstanding. I would’ve killed you, and died with you – you being king after all,” Krey replied, still upset and enraged.

“Please accept my humblest of apologies.” Krey’s frown and puckered brow disintegrated as he was satisfied by the king’s sincerity. “I shall deal with the man who dishonored you at an instant.”

“No need!” Krey’s voice shot straight through the area as if it were a dagger thrown by such skillful hands. “I killed him myself.

“With that settled, please help yourselves at one of our fine inns. I would suggest the one next to the temple a few blocks from here. Tomorrow, one of my generals can discuss his plans with you and your army.” The latter statement deeply caught the soldier’s attention.

“Sorry. But I have my own plan. And I have brought the necessary tools to accomplish it. The grand architecture of their work would be our victory with minimal casualties.”

“Is that so?” a deep but clear voice dared to question. Krey awaited the Divinus to approach as he saw no reason for his eyes to seek the musician who strung the tune that was brave enough to confront him. “Allow me to introduce myself. The royal prince himself, Garrin Atherglaze.”

The Myrmidon licked his lips as the noble continued on. “Arkanthor favors the strong. That is why he gave our ancestors an offer – a portion his heritage. May he guide the stronger of his two opposing children in a duel one is about to offer to the other.”

“If Arkanthor favors his children who without a doubt are the superiors, then why do we still suffer oppression from enemies and traitors such as Navith?” Krey retorted. Enthralled by his counter, the prince sauntered into his line of sight, chin rested upon his knuckles. Garrin wore a white raiment, much to Krey’s surprise as both he and his father were unaffected by the cold. His brown hair reached down to the back of his neck, and his sides were recently given a clean cut.

“And if those two children you had recently spoken of are you and I, see that the victor won’t prove to be the greater of the two commanders,” Krey concluded with his argument.

“I beg your pardon.” Those words were his only reply. Krey smirked at his victory; the absence of Garrin’s effective contradiction was a sheer sign that he had not the words to say.

“A duel, a battle between just two, won’t prove who the better commander is. I suggest a brawl, a battle between our brigades. May the better tactician win.”

At that moment, the doors bolted open. Alexander was the first to set foot into the throne room. The rest of the Vanguard Flanc and a few other brigades stood behind him, accompanied by a larger squad of the Abisal Kingdom’s elite soldiers.

“I see that you have settled the problem, Krey,” the silver-appareled Myrmidon commented.

“A brawl it is,” Garrin affirmed, striking into Alexander’s curiosity. With a small hand gesture, the three black horsemen, now dismounted, gathered to his side.

Krey twitched an eye, accompanied by neck movement. The Sentinel saw the sign, and tapped the other two by their shoulder before he walked closer to Krey.

“Look, they plan to fight with two humans,” one man from the crowd laughed, failing to not notice the young couple who accompanied the masked Myrmidon. “Are they nuts?” The Sentinel picked onto those words.

Among the three “Human” Kingdoms, the Northern Abisal is inhabited by Demigods only. Compared to Amenia, the discrimination here is far more intense, Alexander mused in his head. Grinning, he grew the desire to win.

The Vanguard Flanc huddled, arms rested on their adjacent teammates’ shoulders. "The rules of a duel state that if the two parties are not of enemy nations, a death would be a punishable crime,” the scarlet-eyed Myrmidon informed. “I’m sorry, Assassin, but you not allowed to throw any daggers or any other pointy toys you have in your pocket.”

“How about ‘toys’ I have in my boots?” the young blonde intruded.

“Now is not a time for jokes, Rebecca,” Asher scolded. “We could risk total humiliation in this battle. Usually, swords are used in this type of battle. If one can lock his opponent in a good-as-dead position, he would be declared the winner.”

“However, you and Rebecca – especially Rebecca – are in a disadvantage in swordplay,” Alexander discussed. “Asher, don’t rush into combat. Keep your distance and time your movements.”

“Umm… as much as this tactical discussion sounds fun, I’m out.” Rebecca raised her arms from the huddle and took a step from the circle the group had formed. “Sorry, but I’m useless in a fight like this.” Drawing and splitting a pair of chopsticks from the cloth wrapped around her waste, she said, “Now, does anyone know where the nearest diner is?”

The three stared at the girl and her sticks, grinning at the idea that rushed to their mind.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (6/3/2009 0:48:07)

Chapter Eight: Brothers-in-Arms

Small plants and trees were set ablaze, victim to the battle’s crossfire. The grass and rough soil were powdered to black ashes, now charred remains in the open field. Nothing could distinguish the two apart anymore. Surviving palm trees whooshed to the east, leaves branched open in prayer, returning the blessing of their survival.

Bang! Aaron stared at the firearm with a nostalgic feeling. It was cleverly designed and new, something that had seemed anachronistic. But what it appeared to be was object to the truth. The weapon was indeed of that time, but for the world to realize it, it would have to accept change and the possibility of a new era in warfare.

A Dragon laid its body down to the dust-filled earth, head punctured, and killed. Stepping on the creature’s head, crushing it against the cold, life-taken ground, Navith landed his finger on his carving knife.

“Darius, with the mother slain, I want you and Aaron to steal the hatchlings,” he commanded. The trident-wielder nodded and dashed into the entrance of the Dragon’s nest. The boy followed his trail into the cavern, but proceeded cautiously without haste.

Noticing her companion’s legs bent to the ground, fingers pressed around his knife, Ginchicko found it impossible to resist commenting on his actions. “You’re going to harvest that, too? I know what you’re doing right now is what labeled you as a criminal, but I never thought you had so much dedication to it.”

Navith ignored her for that moment and pierced the beast’s skin, dipping the blade into its blood. As the metal was deep enough, he sliced the skin toward his direction, then retracted the wedge. He stabbed the hide once more, repeating the process with rapid succession.

The pirate rolled her eyes away and smirked, fingers playing around the trigger while awaiting the return of the two.



A space wide enough for the fray extended from the entrance to as far as the steps to the throne. There were no walls and pillars to take cover, nor were their tables and plants for them to toy with. The battlefield was open. The guards and the relief force from Amenia paced to a safe distance, wishing to enjoy the performance, a dance of death.

The two teams of four exchanged stares at one another, arms readied with their weapons. To their surprise – but more to their amusement, both brigades positioned themselves in the same formation. Both brigade captains stood behind his three subordinates, safe behind the lines of defense.

In relation to the mercenary and the silver-haired Sentinel whom he glanced upon at his right, Krey was on the vertex of the acute angle they had formed. The distance between him and the squire bisected their quadrilateral formation.

[image]http://i290.photobucket.com/albums/ll271/g3ev/formation.jpg[/image]

The first black knight analyzed the details of the Vanguard Flanc. “The masked man should be our only problem. Once he is cleared, Krey is open for Garrin to attack,” he reported.

Across the room, the Sentinel held his grunt back as he read the knight’s lips. He developed an arrogant urge to criticize his opponents out loud, but restrained himself from such bold actions.

“Their frontline is with no doubt harmless. Their second line is composed of a Myrmidon on one side, and a Human girl on the other. Never let your guard down; she appears to be unarmed. I am positive that she is an assassin. Unfortunately for her, her cheap and lethal tricks are of no use in this fight,” the second knight discussed.

“Our swords are yours to command, sir!” The three swordsmen straightened their posture, then slid their left foot backward. With trained synchronization and unbending discipline, the soldiers formed a horizontal slice in the air. They remained motionless in their final, arm-stretched position.

“The Blacklust Winter is ready, Krey. Show us your Vanguard’s potential,” came Garrin’s voice from across the room.

“You know the strategy?” The three looked back at their commander and nodded. “Asher, don’t let us down.”

The Human’s long sword nearly slipped from his grip.

Krey replied to his contester with a simple thumb gesture. I hope that gets his nerves, he wished silently. The Northern Prince gritted his teeth before raising his sword which commenced their aggression.

Both captains made no movement of his own, just issues of commands as if they were kings on the chess board. The three knights advanced, sharing the same target: the Human boy.

You are predictable as the direction of the sunrise, Garrin.

Alexander dashed to his left, and aligned himself between the two other men of his brigade while Rebecca remained in her spot. As the first knight drew close to the young man, Asher retreated to the Sentinel and grabbed onto his hand. As the link was forged between their two hands, Alexander hauled the boy overhead without ever separating their link. Asher landed perfectly unscratched on the tiled floor.

The target was no longer within their reach, now behind the barrier of the Sentinel’s presence. The stunt was a bold and risky move, but it proved successful. The first of the black swordsmen decelerated, disoriented as a result of the change in the battle’s flow and formation.

“Gotcha!” Rebecca shouted as she sprinted and slithered forward. As she crossed paths with her target, she struck the man’s neck lightly with her pair of chopsticks. Technically, you’re as good as dead,” she sneered, sticking her tongue out.

The blonde bumped into the legs of the second knight, causing her displacement to reach its inertial end. The black swordsman placed his sword’s tip an inch away from her cerulean eyes.

Fear struck the assassin. For once a weapon reached that close to her. If it were not for the rules of the game, the Demigod would have been tempted to drive his weapon into her round face. “And so are you,” he said before leaping into further combat.

Assassin stood up, wiping some dust off her dark clothing. “To the diner, I guess,” she uttered upon her exit.

The Sentinel ducked as the third knight swung his sword at a moderate height. As his opponent’s weapon headed back toward the wielder, the Myrmidon struck and aimed for his crown.

The knight blocked with the flat side of his sword. “A sword as fine as yours should have a name,” the black knight complimented once he saw the beauty of their crossed blades.

Alexander withdrew his weapon from the collision. The Myrmidon grinned, twisting his body to his left. “It’s named ‘Twilight’, something both darker and brighter than a mere Silhouette,” his voice returned as he untwisted to the right and swung his blade with assistive force.

The shadowed soldier raised his lips with a small smile. Lowering his body to dodge the blow, he swung his weapon across the floor in counterattack. Alexander plunged his blade into the carpet-ceiled floor, intercepting the low-leveled slash.

As he drew the weapon from the crack he created, unearthing it as if it were the sword stuck in the fabled stone of old legend, he sensed the approach of another knight from behind him. Alexander veered his body and blocked underhand attack.

The former knight irrupted. Alexander’s sword was too far to be of any effective use. Thrusting his body forward, he tackled the knight, utilizing his wide shoulder pad as a shield for his neck.

The two knights succeedingly attacked from different elevations and perspectives, withdrawing their weapon afterwards in preparation for another blow. Alexander relied on evasion rather than defending with his sword as struggled to avoid a single scratch from the two-pronged onslaught.

One knight raised his sword overhead, recovering his balance and orientation from an attack the Myrmidon shielded. The other held his weapon firmly as he threw a stab.

Alexander discerned his next action. The two-handed swordsman arched his Twilight to the neck of passive warrior, but was consequentially taken out when the last of the triumvirate knights secured him in a dire position.

Garrin took a step forward. It was time for him to advance. “Take care of the last Human. And leave the commander to me.” The last knight nodded as chased the boy.

Asher swung his weapon downward as his enemy approached, but missed entirely. The Demigod held the Human’s hands to floor, rendering his arms and weapon useless. Slashing the invisible air in front of the young brunet’s neck with his free hand, the knight eliminated him from the game.

Consequentially, Asher approached the Sentinel. “To the diner?” the Myrmidon suggested. Asher nodded and followed him exit, trying to avoid eye contact with any of the spectators.

He had not a single piece left to command.

A translucent quintessence of scarlet energy twirled around Krey’s fingers. He compressed a portion of air and ignited it into a visible curve of fire, arming himself with a bow formed out of pure magic. A ray of light beamed off toward the helmed soldier, depleting the bow to dusts of fading light. The lucid shaft of shaped power detonated into harmless smoke before laying touch on the target. “Out,” he declared stoically.

“You could have fought and saved your comrades. But instead you chose to stand behind and watch them,” the captain of the Blacklust Winter affronted, amazed but disappointed with his tide-turning actions. “A commander like that has no right to lead an army.”

Krey stretched another bow and fletched an arrow with flames before sharing his reaction. “Who are you to talk, coward? You’ve heard of the Sentinel, and only wished to tackle me when he was no longer in your way.”

“That still does not justify you,” Garrin retorted, unaffected by the insult thrown at him. Krey released another beam and spark it off to smoke before reaching the intended destination.

The pillar of black wind subsided and diffused to the side. The archer’s eyes widened at the revelation. A thick, solid wall of compact ice stood between the two confronters, glittering with small fragments of enhanced particles. Garrin smirked, freezing the air molecules into frozen platforms.

Krey hurled an ardent dagger at the platform. Once it attached itself deep into the block of ice, it flared into a larger, clutching flame. Garrin leapt onto another, gaining a distance closer to the golden-haired warrior.

The pyromancer ignited jet-like flame from his boots, propelling toward his opponent. Shouts of admirations were thrown while the two exchanged strikes in midair. Accompanying his attack, a downpour of fire streamed with the movement of his arm. Garrin’s platform completely dissolved.

Grinning, the cyromancer refroze the liquid substance before it reached the ground, entangling the Myrmidon’s legs within the prison of ice. The captain of the Vanguard Flanc felt the frostbite burn his legs.

Krey shot his glance at brunet, watching him throwing his guard away. He ignited the surrounding atmosphere and broke from the solid prison.

Garrin created a staircase of several platforms while Krey returned to the ground. A large puddle of water caught his attention as it drenched his footwear.

The Myrmidon readied his bow once more. He took aim from his position, but his target was not a person. Rays of light blazed from his side of the battlefield; each projectile hit and permeated through its own target, a frozen dais.

The white-clad prince slid down through a chain of connected platforms, flinging darts of frozen water. Krey stood his ground and countered the glacial bullets with his own.

Garrin descended to the ground.

Concealing his smile with his shoulder pads, Krey conjured a monstrous arc of infernos. Vapor arose from the flooded floor, but barely obscured their visions.

Sweat dripped down from their faces.

The pyromancer reformed his bow and fletched another projectile – hopefully the last, he wished – but did not let it go just yet. A glittering essence enclosed around Garrin’s arid hands. The sapphire radiance diffused to a surrounding area – but that was all it had seemed to do.

“You are out of walls – good as dead,” Krey finished off. The cyromancer flinched, realizing he was outwitted. “Magic does not create things. Rather, it shapes and reforms them. Good lucking freezing hot air.” Garrin stared away from the lecture.
The prince’s eyes subsequently pursued the Myrmidon who in turn headed out from the room. “Where are you going?” he asked, insecure and sore from his defeat.

Krey sighed and furrowed his forehead. “To the diner, where else?”

“No one is stronger than me. I won’t accept this…”

The archer became irritated. Clutching his fists tight, he changed course to fallen prince. “Like I give a damn if you accept it or not,” he spat.

“Your father! He was a murderer; he killed your wife and mother!” Garrin roared inappropriately in a desperate effort to depose him from his glorious triumph.

“That’s enough!” the king intervened. The Myrmidon ignored his attempt to help, but appreciated it nonetheless.

Krey drew his weapon, but halted himself from attacking. “I… I don’t care. My father has nothing to do with who I am.” Krey turned away, sheathing his sword and hiding a glinted eye.

“But you are his spawn!” Garrin pressed on. One of his own subordinates punched him below the chest while the other two secured his arms. The three knights continued the beat until his mouth was put to a stop.

“My mother was a real Demigod, fifty percent Human, fifty percent divine. I am only quarter of a Human…” The spectators broadened their eyes. A few dozen soldiers eyed him with skepticism, while those convinced by Krey’s display of prowess stared in awe.

A brief silence shot through the room, passing by as a mere swift gust.

“Krey,” Garif called. The Myrmidon turned to him for an instant, allowing a tear to crash before heading on his way out.



Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (6/12/2009 3:29:21)

Chapter Nine: Using the Enemy

“Dragons are people, too!” Aaron argued, lunging his face to a mere foot away from the pirate lord. The woman gripped her weapon. “These hatchlings won’t be any use to us – they know that what we did was harming them!”

“It’s true, Ginchicko. Even at their age, they are mature enough to judge your actions,” Navith supported, throwing his voice two meters away from the two. His tone seemed indifferent, but his reason and the words’ significance proved otherwise.

The woman drew her gun. Aaron could tell the firearm was pointed at his direction accusingly. He did not want to suffer the cruel fate of being an authoritative officer’s personal punching bag, but he lacked the power to do anything about it.

Her hands pressed on the trigger.

The boy couldn’t see himself, but either way, he felt nothing hurt him. Only the fear-stricken wind touched him, something that felt like a ghost passing through his body. Is death this painless? The boy could feel his fingers. He moved them stiffly and slowly with bemused discomfort. She’s too close to have missed. I was not her target… The hatchlings?!

The gunslinger cooled her weapon off with a warm blow. Aaron gritted his teeth, grinding them slowly and hardly against each other. “Then I will manipulate them through fear. Fear is as good as loyalty as long as you remain stronger than your subordinates,” she discoursed. Aaron said nothing to her.

The babies… The thought of the infant’s death was enough to deter the boy from letting himself look. A seed of hatred sprouted within his heart, a vine whose thorns lusted to imprison the pirate within a castle of spines. But again, he was neither in the position nor power to do anything.

“Navith, another Dragon has been spotted! Over the hills,” Gramisk yelled out. “My!” The sight of a dead mother and child crossed with his eyes. “Its wrath will be upon us shortly!”

“Your reward,” Ginchicko said, handing over the warlord his own firearm. Navith accepted the weapon with not much thanks in mind. “It must be the father,” she continued. Navith noticed the woman about to reload her firearm. Her fingers pinched a small pouch while its contents poured into the weapon.

“We don’t have to kill it. Amenia’s army is the mountains right now,” he notified while holding her hand back.

“So you plan to attack now? What does the Dragon have to with this?” Ginchicko interrogated, returning the powder into the sac. The woman then sheathed her weapon into a holster.

Navith answered before a swift second passed; it had seemed he already prepared an answer. “We’re not attacking the Kingdom. Just the army. The Dragon will help me bring a mountain down.” The renegade turned to his men. “Darius, where’s the nearest train station?”

“West, Sir. We can reach it in half an hour on horseback.” Darius would have insisted on asking him for his reason, but fear of rejection kept his mouth shut after serving the purpose his master wanted. At that moment, Ginchicko’s statement about fear and loyalty came to a realization of his.

“Ginchicko, Darius, Gramisk, make sure the Dragon stays here – alive! Just don’t forget to survive. The rest, follow me.”

Ginchicko resented his unexplained actions. But her curiosity and a small, growing admiration restored her from aggravation. “Bring a mountain down, huh? Navith, what are you up to?”

The three mounted on their steeds and rode off, while the other half of the group stayed and stalled for time. Their allies shrunk in the rising distance. “Navith, why are we headed to the station?” Aaron asked, turning his face away from the waves of heavy wind.

Navith’s answer was a supplementary question. “What powers a train?”

“Well…” Aaron paused to recall the facts. “A device is placed on a Wyvern or two, allowing Humans to control it. After attaching the beast to a crate or carriage, it will haul it over the tracks that guide its path.” Navith was satisfied with the boy’s answer.

“We’ll take one of those devices from a Wyvern. Then we’ll collar it around the Dragon’s neck.” Navith turned his head to the other adviser. “How far is the Abisal Kingdom from where we are?”

Ivand rode closer to the raven-haired. “A Dragon can outspeed a horse threefold. If it takes us half an hour to get to our current destination and another back here, we would reach the Northern Kingdom four hours before midnight – over the estimated times for acquiring the device and capturing the Dragon already added. ”

“Thank you for calculating. You saved me time.”



“Hey, look who finally showed up!” Rebecca’s voice possessed a smooth yet lively tone. Her legs rested on a wooden table while her head leaned on her hands which overlapped on her seat.

Krey approached his brigade’s table, taking a seat between the two other men. “So, how’d it go?” Asher asked, resting his arm on the Myrmidon’s soldier.

The mercenary interrupted, slamming her fist on the table. “You wouldn’t have needed to ask that if you stayed there and watch.”

The young man threw a stare on the girl. “Hypocrite,” he retorted. “You left too, after you were defeated first.”

The blonde reclined to a lower slope. “At least I was able to take someone out instead of being just a decoy.” Her voice was filled with ease and confidence, much to the annoyance of the squire. “And besides, I did not leave Krey all alone. You did when you were the last to abandon him. There’s a same misconception when it comes to the consumption of things. Take food for instance. Let’s say you and the Sentinel are eating uhh… ten bacon strips. Let’s say he eats eight and then you eat the last two. Even though he ate almost all of it, he did not finish it all up… as long as he did not eat the last piece. You get what I’m saying, right?”

Asher shook his head and did not reply to her. “So,” he said trying to return to the earlier and more comfortable topic. “Did you win?”

“Yes.” Krey gave no elaboration. The Myrmidon then pounded his elbows on the table. The cups and plates rattled, but their displacement was minimal. The other three could feel his atmosphere of insecurity. It was a familiar pain, bit still unbearable.

Rebecca held any further insults from being thrown at the squire for the time being. She sealed her lips with self-resentment. When a problem isn’t my fault, I should be happy in a way, right? But if the problem isn’t my fault, then there’s no way I can fix it.

Krey… I know sorrow. What happened there? Alexander paused his thoughts for a while. There’s no use in kidding myself, is there? It was in his psychology to relate his feelings with his own troubled past. But using Krey’s name was only a feeble attempt to fool himself from thinking about himself. It was a sentimental statement, and the cause was sentimental as well. If he had the will and reason to confront him, he would’ve had.



The three-meter-wide tracks rode on their side, serving as a field marker. The railway stretched all the way to a mountain’s foot while the other end was unconceivable from their position. The grass was still green, unharmed and untouched by the flames.

An infrastructure, still small from their perspective, appeared from the obscured distance. The building had two major rooms, a control room and a manger where the Wyverns stayed, which also served as a hanger for the carriages. The workers there would have noticed the smoke, if it were not for the hills that covered the sight.

Navith’s well-known grin reappeared on his face. “We’re almost there. I wonder how much they will raise the price on my head this time.” The renegade scrutinized the area. Watch towers and guard outposts were out of the sight. The calmness did not give him the enigmatic sense of suspicion – only the impression that all his victims were weak. “There will still be guards when we get there. Fortunately, they won’t be there to notice our arrival.”

The horsemen arrived at their destination in what they estimated to be a time of five minutes, an overused and common estimation. High head on their steeds, they rushed into the manger. Navith elicited his gun while the other two men picked their bows.

The warlord narrowed his eye and laid his finger on the trigger. Bang!



“Your order, Sir.” A man in a black suit approached the Vanguard Flanc’s table with two silver platters, one atop his fingers and the other supported by his right shoulder and arm. The Sentinel acknowledged him with a small gesture.

Krey lifted his head when he caught the scent of the meal. He could feel its temperature; it was cold and smelled like seafood. It was not remarkable in any way, but still appealed to him. Chilled but unhardened rice, fruit bits, and small pieces of fish wrapped around seaweed stood atop the metal plate. “Feasting today because it might be your last, Alexander?”

The three were driven to smile at that moment. “According to a contract that neither you nor I wrote nor signed on… nor read, we must pay for the expense of our guest during this trip before we pay her an additional twenty thousand pieces of gold,” Alexander replied. Krey looked at the girl expectantly.

“Blame it on the squire boy,” she replied hastily. “If I die, you don’t have to pay me.” A grin grew on the Myrmidon’s face. “Umm… but hey! Don’t put me in the frontlines or anything. I’m too young and pretty to die!” The mercenary grabbed a sushi roll with her chopsticks.

“Vain!” the squire remarked. “You know, if you eat that much you wont be ‘young and pretty’ anymore.” The young man leaned back and glanced at the diner. The waiters and waitresses gave neither assistance nor service to the Human relief force. Rank did not matter anymore; even Myrmidons that were not Demigods were ignored.

Rebecca swallowed her meal before replying. “I’ve had a quite a number of dates and parties attended thanks to my dazzling charms.” The blonde turned her head, forcing her stands of hair to cascade in the same motion. “And I’ve eaten a lot every time. Yet I still look pretty and slim,” she finished while snatching another roll from the platter.

Her three companions sighed.



Navith returned to the fields surrounding the Dragon’s nest. From a distance he could already see the winged titan in the area, roaring out an inferno from its altitude. Its wings created a sweeping gust, one as strong as nature’s calamities. Fires had spread to larger fields, while its former mediums charred off into mere dust.

He turned his eyes to his companions. Someone was missing. “Where’s Gramisk?!”

“With the ashes.” Darius gave his efforts to remain stoic. Only the weak give into their emotions, or so he believed.

Hiding his bitterness, he masked himself with anger. Navith stripped off his belt of arsenals. He removed whatever excess weight he carried with his body, which included his armor of scales. “Aaron, hand me over the collar.”

The boy approached and handed a metallic ring. The device had the same radius as a jouster’s shield. Details and decor were minimal, allowing more space for configurations. The inside of the ring had two spikes on opposite sides.

Noticing that detail reminded him of the marks he had seen on the Wyvern’s neck. Attaching the device would kill the creature’s senses, allowing emissions of energy to control its body. However, the removal of the device would open the creature’s wound, preventing its systems from functioning, killing it and rendering it useless.

Such method was too “clean” to be classified as Nercomancy.

Aaron felt a pulse of force when the weapon was grabbed from his hands. It was as if a child succeeded in tugging a toy off another. The pulsation was a sign enough that the warlord was in a bloodlust.

Inserting his right arm through the collar, Navith prepared the execution of his actions. If he plans to put that on the Dragon, he must have thought of a way to bring the creature down, Ginchicko uttered in her head.

Navith picked his dagger from the floor and grabbed one of the hatchlings by its leathery wings. The short sword was placed an inch from its vital neck. “Genius!” Aaron commented.

Navith grinned once he saw the Dragon gesture down to sweep across him. “By holding the child as a hostage, he has ensured that the Dragon will not use his fiery breath,” Darius remarked in awe. Navith leapt and crashed to his left to avoid the attack.

The Dragon prepared its attack once again and formed an arch with its position. Navith took that moment to let go off the hatchling and ready the collar. “While the Dragon is blind in midair because of its summersault, it gives Navith enough time to make furtive change of equipment,” Ivand said before Navith’s actions could speak for themselves.

The titan expanded its bladed wings upon descent. The wingspan of eighteen feet created a larger range of effect. Navith grinned. That makes my job easier. Navith leapt to his left once more. As he came in contact with the creature’s right wing, he grabbed onto its leathery surface and pivoted himself to the creature’s back.

Legs wrapped around the Dragons’ neck, the warlord opened the collar and fastened it onto the creature. Subsequently, the beast immobilized and resulted into crashing onto the grass-filled ground. The rider failed to escape before the collision. The Dragon served as cushion for the fall, but failed to protect him from being scratched.

“So, how does this work?” Ivand inquired, extending his arm as support for Navith to stand up.

“It’s lost its senses now. It won’t act unless told to,” he replied with a pain-driven frown and narrowed eyes as he clutched onto the adviser’s hand. Ivand turned his attention to the fallen beast. It stayed motionless in a crashed position: chest lying on the ground while its arms, legs, and neck were bent.

“Looks dead,” Ginchicko commented. “Get up!” she commanded with a kick on its ribcage. The Dragon gave no response.

“Don’t rush, Pirate.” Navith approached the gadget around the creature’s neck. “It will only respond to a certain voice. To reset whose voice it will listen to, a three-digit code has to be entered on the device. After which, a voice demonstration would be recorded.” The warlord pointed as his men. “Get to work. There are only a thousand combinations.”




Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon (7/8/2009 8:05:00)

Chapter Ten: To Predict the Future

The wind blew harder and harder, overcastting a light forest. The trees’ barks lost their earthly hold on their feathery leaves, watching them give color to unconceivable air.

“Ha! The combination is 222. I told you we should have tried to use the simple ones instead of starting from 000 then 001, then 002…” Aaron’s voice was filled with enthusiasm, much opposite to the older men who took their task for granted. Sweat started to drip from their faces, resulted from the displacement of the sun from behind a wide tree.

“We get your point, Aaron,” Darius replied, hinting his aggravation while he snatched the device from the boy. The young man easily caught trace of his negative emotion. How he should react was unknown to him. “My lord, it is ready,” he said, waving a hand from the small distance.

Navith approached limping, head in level with his chest. His legs ached whenever one of his feet touchws the ground. As he lifted a leg, he stretched it as far as he could, minimizing the number of his steps. “I’ll get the preparations ready. In the meantime, go find a cloak. Our faces cannot be seen.”

The pirate leaned back on a tree and rolled her shoulders once. “There’s a nearby inn, if not mistaken. While you go do whatever it is you have planned, I’ll be here.” Hugging her knees to her chest and crossing her arms, she raised her head and watched the dispersed clouds streak the azure sky.



The diner was consumed with a crowd of separate activities. The relief force had arrived, but the next course of actions was yet to be determined.

Alexander wrapped a cloth around his weapon, starting from the butt of the handle. The weapon had but one color, gray as if it were a stone or a poorly-burnished steel. An emerald gem the size of a locket was fixed in the center of the hilt. Upon the activation of the sword’s laser, the crystal would reveal the weapon’s true color and design.

Alexander remembered his first encounter with his Weapon of Light. Fiery gems were transfixed on the blade, gleaming like scarlet starlight within reach. He had not used the Light System ever since that experience, which was good because the gem or power supply would crack upon overuse or expiration.

“You must love your sword, don’t you?” the assassin asked, wishing to transcend from that time of monotony. It had been four hours since they had entered, and night was beginning to overthrown the day.

“Of course he does,” Asher interrupted. The Sentinel smirked; since someone had answered the question, it would not have been rude to continue sheathing the weapon. The Myrmidon eventually reached the two separate blade halves of his weapon. There was a long pause.

“Heh,” Krey interjected as he stood from his seat. “Good luck on deciding which blade you are going to wrap first.” Hearing his fellow Myrmidon grunt, the blond signaled the squire to follow him. “We’ll be heading to the dorms. Meet up with us once you’re done with that,” he teased. Rebecca followed.

“How good are the rooms in this inn?” the squire asked, wondering why the staircases were empty. Krey replied only after receiving the keys from the innkeeper behind a counter.

“It appears that Garif has reserved a room for us. The best room he claims. It’s located in one of the building’s corners, facing both Amenia in the south and west where the sun sets.” The information Krey provided caught the blonde’s interest.

Faces west? she mused with herself. Just like home…

Krey spun the ring around his fingers while his boots rattled on the staircase. The area was empty, only one for every two candles was lit to conserve wax. Nothing else was to be heard aside from their footsteps.

Asher’s heartbeat hammered as the three finished their trip through the flight of staircases. His lungs desired air as a fish out of water, causing him to struggle until his ease of breathing would return.

Krey entered the key and turned it. Garif’s words proved true at that moment. Two enormous windows behind scarlet curtains stood by the walls; a corked bottle of wine was placed ready on the wooden table for four or five. Three doors located at the east side of the room each led into a private room, presumably the dorms and beds.

The Myrmidon was the first to enter, landing on his destination as he took a seat and placed his hand around the bottle.

“Wow, almost feels like our brigade room,” Asher commented as he made a rather slow, field-embracing entrance. “Oh Krey, can I have some wine, too?”

“You’re too young, kid,” Krey replied hastily while uncorking the bottle with a pocketknife.

“But I’m already eighteen,” Asher protested. “And didn’t you say you have a magic wine bottle that would never run out?”

“Yeah, I do. But since I’m drunk, I’m going to tell you that if we count backwards from infinity, we’ll eventually reach zero.” Krey’s tone was not very convincing.

“So?”

“I am not sharing.”

“Fine,” the young man sighed. “So, there’re only three rooms. Do I get the sofa again?”

“What do you mean? There’s three of us, and three rooms,” Krey replied, starring at the window.

“Does that mean Alexander is gonna stay out?” the blonde intruded her way into the conversation.

“No.” Krey shook his head and separated a key from the silver ring. “Catch!” The young woman’s reflexes made her twitch and arm without much of a conscious thought. “This room is for Vanguard Flanc members only. You’ll have to stay in the third floor.”

“Hey! Aren’t I part of this brigade?” she insisted as she slammed the table with her fist.

“I’m sorry,” Krey replied. “Two missions with us does not lead membership. You have to be a noble, who then chooses to serve under the military. Then you have to be either assigned to us or drafted.”

“B-but!”

Krey cutoff her words before she could continue. “We can’t exactly trust you. You could kill us in our sleep and then collect payment from someone. You might even have contacts with Navith. If you do by the way, how much is he paying you?”

“Hey!” Rebecca looked at Asher who returned her gaze with a frown. “I would never serve Navith! He’s a traitor to this nation!” Krey nodded. “I guess I’ll be going now then, huh.” A tear itched the mercenary’s eyes. The wiping of her eyes gave a bad hint.

Rebecca slammed the door upon exit. Asher gritted his teeth. “I’m going to talk to her. She isn’t contented yet.” Krey didn’t seem to give much of a reply. Asher started to get annoyed. How could Krey seem so unreasonable, he thought silently. “I’m going then.”

“Take a quiver and bow with you in case she decides to take her anger out on you.” Asher raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “This is not a joke. This is a direct order.” The door slammed closed once again. Krey did not bother to inspect whether the quiver was taken or not; there was drink waiting for him.



Rebecca descended the staircase hastily as if someone was chasing her. But she was alone, was she not? Like on her way up the stairs, no one was present on her way down. “Rebecca…” a voice whispered. Its sound was familiar, but at the same time felt as if it were within the darkness, a voice that might have been brought out by one’s imagination. “Assassin…” the voice continued.

Rebecca leapt in place and bent her legs. Airborne, she drew a pair of short swords from her boots and landed with legs bent, and arms in a defensive stance. “Who’s there?”

“It’s only been a week,” a young man answered back as he exposed himself from the shadows of a hall intersection. The voice was clearer than the whisper. His face clung in the darkness of his gray hood, but Rebecca had recognized him.

“You’re that boy we saw with Navith. Sorry, but this best of three ends in Round Two!”

“I’m not here to fight.” Aaron lowered his hood. But before the conversation could press forward, a metal boot pounded the floor.

“Rebecca?!” Asher was filled with astonishment as he saw the two together. “What is he doing here? Where’s Navith?”

“Asher, wait!” the blonde pleaded as she placed herself between the two, arms stretched out on opposing directions. The squire ignored her and aimed an arrow above her arm and straight to intruder.

In response to his actions, Aaron drew a firearm. “Like my toy? One press on this trigger and you’re dead,” he threatened.

Is this a bluff? I better not let my guard down. I need to pose a threat, too. Asher stiffened his arms. “Kill me or even give a sign that you’re about to fire, and I’ll let go off this arrow. I cannot possibly miss at this close of a range.” The boy grounded his teeth; he drew closer and closer.

Rebecca started to sweat; she was in the middle of the stalemate. Neither of the two was willing to make the next move for it could mean the end of them both. “Wait,” she said, this time catching Asher’s attention. “He came here to inform us that Navith’s here,” she said.

The two lowered their weapons. Why is she defending me, Aaron said in his head. Asher remained quiet, retreating by a small step closer to the staircase.

“Where is he then? And why are you helping us?” Asher threw at him, wishing to satisfy his own curiosity. Aaron believed that his interrogation was a test, a trap set to spring at the signal of any suspicious gesture.

“My loved ones are in stake. Secretly helping you is the only way I can protect them and those who are to be his victims.” The young man reflected after uttering those lies. His comrades would frown at his presence and even show unsatisfactory expressions. To top that, Navith’s methods began to sound questionable.

“Only I can change the world… but I need the throne.” Navith’s words resounded in his head.

“So what other information can you provide us with,” Rebecca played along, insecure with her actions. A sense of betrayal and truth to Krey’s accusations which she had believed to be false troubled her. She could not understand her actions and even her reasons as to why she was helping the enemy.

“I was not told much about the operation. All I know is that he will strike when the army marches for the Giant’s Triangle.” Aaron’s statement was a half-truth, something far more deadly than a lie.

The squire turned around and placed his weapons in the quiver. “Thank you,” he said. “When those whom are you trying to protect are safe, join us.” Aaron nodded as Asher disappeared from his sight.

The hooded man turned to the mercenary. “What was that for?”

“You were not here to fight,” she replied with a smile. “Showing yourself means that you were here to inform us about Navith.” Rebecca kept eye contact as she started lifting her feet and descending the staircase. A grin masked on her face.



The cycle of light and darkness upon the land eventually reached to sunrise. Asher woke up, rising from bed while still in his armor. He did not give much attention to his surroundings; a painting hung by the wall, depicting the Abisal nation. Asher gave one quick stare at it before leaving the room. His bed was left unfixed.

The brunet placed his ear by the door of the Myrmidons’. Snoring indicated that they were still asleep. The young man then nudged his left hand with his nose while he combed his brown hair with the other.

Asher opened the door and locked it again before shutting it close. During the entire night, his mind was clogged with concerns about Rebecca. He could not inspect her because he did not know which room she was in. Desperate, he rushed to the innkeeper in hopes of obtaining information.

“Good morning,” a female voice greeted him as he reached the ground floor. From the nearest table, Rebecca exchanged eye contact with the young man. In front of her, lay a silver platter with her meal on it.

“Good morning, too,” he replied as he approached. Asher hardly noticed her blush as he took his seat. “How were you able to get a meal here? Aren’t Humans ignored by the waitresses?”

“I’m glad that you asked,” she said. Asher was curious to why she had said that. “See that guy over there?” The mercenary pointed to a black-clad knight. His armor was distinguishable from the rest; it was obtrusive that he was a member of the Blacklust Winter. Asher nodded in reply, mind half absent. “He noticed me alone on this table without a meal so he ordered one for me. I think he has a thing for me.”

Asher rose from his seat and looked at her, gesturing a bit of repulsion. “I have this friend who’s dense when it comes to girls, but you are just his complete opposite.” The two exchanged a few seconds of laughter before the young man continued. “I guess not all Demigods here discriminate Humans.”

A loud noise erupted all of a sudden. Are we under attack? Has Navith made his move already? Asher thought. All men, except for the deaf man by the corner of the room, turned their heads to where they believed the sound had originated from. Smoke streaked the air around him; Krey grinned once he had caught their attention.

“I am aware, though I find hard to believe, that the entire relief force and Abisal Nation’s forces are gathered in this hall. Right now, we are about to discuss something we should have done yesterday, if it were not for the chaos created by a misunderstanding.” Krey’s voice was loud and clear. People from the far end of the hall could hear him, his voice bounced of the beams and walls of the diner. “We will now begin the strategy phase of the counterattack. I promise, not a single man of ours will die in this attack. Tell your families that they need not to worry!”

The crowd banged their fists and mugs on the table with a continuous rhythm. It was not in Rebecca’s nature to do so, but she imitated men for the fun of it. “I can see it already, sir. The future, lead us to it!” a man on the third row of tables shouted.

“Very well. You say you’ve predicted the future?” The crowd silenced as Krey gave his words. “I say: the best way to predict the future… is to create it.”






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