Myrmidon: Rewrites (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Other Creative Prose



Message

Crimzon5 -> Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/1/2009 9:58:06)

ORIGINAL VERSION: http://forums2.battleon.com/f/tm.asp?m=15556120


Alexander Novum, a Human soldier, forsakes his real identity and wears the mask known as “The Sentinel.” Believed to be a Demigod, he grows popular among the three nations of Magnagon, but the fact remains that he is overrated.

Meanwhile, a traitor known as Navith vows to change the world, but needs the crown to do so. The Kingdom is strong, forcing Navith to utilize his ace tactic: Diplomacy. Masking his act of illegally harvesting Dragonskin as a mere crime, he secretly sabotages the Human-Dragon relationship, entwining the Kingdom with a new enemy.

Born by a woman and a Dragon disguised as a mortal… The Kingdom faces another treat, masked with the name “Nightgrace.” A Demigod killed his mother and a Human slew his father. His hatred for Humanity, which many have misconceived as not one with the Demigods, takes to the extent that he forgets he is a half-Human.

Navith sees the Sentinel as an obstacle that must be removed and Nightgrace as a valuable trophy to be harvested; Nightgrace, believing Alexander’s façade, sees him and Navith as a Demigod and Human respectively, a representation of all he hates, while Alexander vows to protect the nation from the two threats, for it is his duty as a…

MYRMIDON

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



Additional Information:

Myrmidon comes from Greek Mythology, soldiers send by the gods to aid in the Trojan War against Troy. Right now, the word Myrmidon is used to describe someone with unbending loyalty.

The reasons for the use of this term to refer the elite soldiers are:
spoiler:

  • Myrmidons are god-sent; in the story, the title of Myrmidon is only given to a Demigod, an offspring of a god, and thus, sent by a god to the earth.
  • Myrmidons possess unquestioning loyalty. In later chapters, it is revealed that Myrmidons lose their will when ordered by a member of the royal family of kingdom of their affiliation.






    • Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/1/2009 10:01:19)

    The Author's Note: Myrmidon is a tale of trials and circumstances that befall Alexander from achieving a destiny he chose to create for himself. However, one should be aware that destiny is not written by one person but is rather intertwined with others because of their actions. Thus, this tale cannot be fairly called “complete” until the stories of his companions and enemies are revealed.

    Act One focuses on the account of the main character, and it ends just a brief moment before a fateful encounter. Act Two shifts to a few days before the said encounter, revealing and explaining a villain’s motives. Act Three gives background to a companion not of the army, who happens to take part in the encounter. Act Four will only serve as a beginning.


    Act One: Humanity Divided

    Prologue:

    A man leaned on a corner, holding his first born in his arms. He gazed into the child’s jade eyes, his face streaked with tears shed just recently. Rocking his arms, he could not hold himself from saying what he had to say: what his son should expect in his life, how the world’s architecture would work, and why things were the way they were.

    He knew he was not wasting his time for he knew bystanders were listening.

    “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. Their intelligence was so mighty that they invented tools and weaponry from simple stones and metals. Now, their technology has evolved to an extent wherein they constructed an arsenal of weapons that emitted light which could pierce through a heart of diamond, or so rumor says.”

    “Though not as wise as Dragons, these warriors relied on their numbers to overcome these rough-scaled adversaries, sharing the glory and raising 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 like…” The man paused; perhaps he was searching for a word. “…like those flask bombs. When the glass is broken, the liquids separated by a thin wall are allowed to mix together, creating an explosion. When a woman’s flesh tears open for the Demigod child, it is like the tearing of that thin glass barrier. The woman then dies. A non-divine cannot handle the bearing of a divine being.”

    “Humanity was willing enough to sacrifice hundreds – just a few they say – women to bring greater glory to their race. Not every family had a chance to share a lineage with the divining 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 genesis of their heart of darkness be reasoned by the reality of having no ancestral human mother? No mother to teach them about virtues and morals? Tsk… how I pity the patriarchs for how low they imagined women to be.”

    The man looked into his child’s eyes, the very window of his soul, one more time. His arms stopped swaying, holding the infant in place. “But you, my son, are a Demigod,” he whispered as he sealed his words with a kiss on his forehead.





    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/1/2009 10:35:13)

    One nightfall before the fateful encounter...

    Blood and Tears

    Millions of raindrops poured from the heavens, mimicking the grief of Arkanthor’s loss. The sky turned gray; the disharmony drained the scenery’s bountiful colors. An ocean of tears mixed with battle-shed blood, scarring the green earth with unnatural crimson; such a painful sight could even melt the hearts of those who had no sympathy at all.

    At the center of the grassy field and small hills, heavy drops of water fell on a warrior, bouncing off his armor and skin. If not for his mask, one would have seen the sky in his eyes. From his upward glance, accompanied by a chest-pounding cry, that was as if it were a plea for nature to return what it had taken from him, the soldier dropped his head in despair. Like rain from the heavens, tears fell from them.

    His hair swayed with the wind. Every other part of him, aside from his pounding heart and chest, stayed motionless. His lips ceased its movements; the breath he would have spent on crying was contained.

    He was only a Human. He desired to keep his identity hidden, for he believed that society wouldn't accept him because of his futile race.

    Droplets gathered on his sharp chin before sliding down to his neck. His eyes stayed behind a semitransparent barrier, allowing them to see without being seen. If one were a Demigod, one who possessed divine blood in his veins, a small radius of light would emit from his eyes. If not one’s name or reputation, eyes were used to determine divinity.

    The rain weakened a bit; droplets of silver water continued to bounce off his armor. His plate had minimal design, traced with a golden dragon-shaped trim. A scarlet K-shaped insignia marked the left side of his armor, a symbol of affiliation to his brigade.

    He was a Myrmidon, part of 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.

    Pride could have harbored in his heart, but he couldn’t accept it. Regardless of the fact that he was Human, he was equal with the Demigods. But for a reason he could not explain nor understand, he felt something was wrong. This sensation, however, can be related to a reflective experience.

    The past is only a memory, but it influences the present. That is why the masses make fuss about it…

    Catching his breath, he plunged his weapon deep into the ground and rested his arm on its handle. The earth swallowed a fourth of the two-handed sword. Behind this man, rested the corpse of the creature from where his demise had started. “I… I killed it!” he said to no one. Accompanying his sorrow was uncalled-for anger. The man looked at his weapon. A swift punch knocked it off its standing position. His metal boots then stomped on it, soaking the degraded weapon into the mud.

    “Don’t worry,” a young man of fair complexion and brown hair consoled His face had an undeveloped shape and flat chin, a sign that he was not fully matured. A thin iron plate on his front gathered droplets. The mud smeared a brown color to his leather boots as well the tip of his cloth leggings. “I know it was a great loss – no, a horrible 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. His hand caught the boy by the neck, securing him in place while his other hand aimed a short sword at his neck. “‘In terms of damage,’ what?” he quoted then questioned. “Not much because this was just a Human town?!” The Myrmidon had forsaken his Human identity, but not his love and compassion for his fellowmen, Humans who became only second priorities.

    The lesser of the two men showed a face of total fear – no other emotion could be seen. When the warrior remembered that the young man was a 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?

    “Sir, were you pierced by that thing’s tail? What else could explain the damage on your armor?” The young man’s loyalty was as high as a Myrmidon’s. The two-handed swordsman smiled at that realization, but gave no reply. He was too ashamed to be concerned by someone whom he had just offended.

    The younger Human saw his troubled frown. He suspected the reason to be the casualty that they had failed to prevent, but the aspiring soldier-to-be had no clue that the frown was created to reflect how the Myrmidon accepted the squire’s forgiveness that he was unfit for.

    “Sir,” another squire, this one a Demigod, called out as he made his entrance into the scene. His crimson bangs that were indistinguishable with a portion of his sideburns covered a portion of his left eye and a curve-shaped scar marked his pale skin half an inch below the other. Perhaps it was a burden he had to bear, a punishment he had to undergo for his carelessness in a battle. If not besotted by any particular emotion, a frown would occupy his face. Just seeing him would give a negative first impression, maybe even two.

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

    “Wrong, Koren.” The silver Myrmidon’s words struck like an assassin’s unforeseen dagger in the night. “Koren, send in Katrina. If she wishes to have a word with me, then it is my obligation as a Myrmidon to follow.” The Demigod nodded and dragged his feet as he exited. The mortal’s lips extended to a grin 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 manners,” the Sentinel uttered sighing. “Our records say that his mother was a Human. I don’t know how a Demigod like him ended up as one of the racial extremists.” 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 of sorrow? He detected his weakness, his pride, something which burdened every man. But he couldn’t decipher its meaning. Question was: was it supposed to have a meaning?

    “Sir, you’re poisoned. Should I–?” his companion restated.

    “It is alright; thank you. Now, I need some time with the princess.” The young man gave the Sentinel a salute before he walked away, allowing the fog to consume any physical traces of his presence. 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.

    The creature was a wyvern, a two-legged creature resembling a dragon. It appeared to possess dark scales, but truth be told, 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. Rotten teeth exposed in its inelegant mannerism of display, open wounds with some organs and blood pouring out, and the strong stench that even the rain could not dispel besotted him.

    The dismal downpour continued to rain still, significantly gaining in speed.

    Armengard…this Human town… Its safety was not placed in proper hands! This would have never happened if they were given equal priority!

    A strike on his side was the sole trace of damage, but remembering two other knights’ falling victim to the wyvern’s bladed teeth and venomous tail only made it feel worse. Feeling a sudden pain on his side, he examined his injury, closing his fingers on the wound exposed by the hole cracked in his armor.

    At the instant, the ill-mannered Koren returned with the reigning king’s second daughter, shielding her from the rain by holding her lavender umbrella. Princess Katrina was a girl with fair skin, long brown hair that cascaded down to her torso, and face treasured with sapphires as her eyes and rose lips that embedded a smile. Golden accessories with red jewelry serving as the centerpieces adorned her. But to ruin her heavenly picture, brown boots covered her shins down to her toes. “You may go now, Koren,” the Myrmidon said, giving an indirect order for him to leave. Handing over the royal maiden her parasol signaled that the escort was about to leave her.

    “Thank you,” the princess said softly. All that Koren heard were words drowned by the noise of the rain. The falling waters landed on the Demigod; it would have been a disgrace if he was royalty, but fortunately, the said bias of treatment did not apply to mere squires.

    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 wholeheartedly 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 have done,” Princess Katrina comforted. “Sir,” she called after a short moment of silence. “May I request? Please show me your face.”

    “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. But at that close of a distance, words would be inevitable.

    “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 to 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, please do show me your face. Oh please!”

    The command gave the Sentinel a sudden pulse, an uncontrollable urge to obey. “Yes, my Lady,” 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 took in effect, causing the man to land on his knees. He fell unconscious, unable to perform to princess’ command. His eyes squinted with pain. The poison was spreading.


    The Myrmidon awoke, a blanket rested on him. A bright beam of light pierced through a glass window, partially covered by an orange curtain. The urge to go back to sleep almost persuaded him, but the glimpse of the woman that pleaded to see his face made him remember what had happened. Her lips looked to be heart-shaped from his angle, and her eyes appeared to be shut.

    His course of action was to check if he still had his mask on, and to retrieve it as soon as possible if he did not. He slid his fingers across his face, embracing the lines of his cheekbones.

    Her calm breath caught his attention once more, this time attracting a glimpse that exposed the golden mask under her fingers.

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

    Katrina was not familiar with the man’s face, though she definitely noticed the absence of the divine glow. “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 all right,” 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. “Silence? That just shows how unsure you are of your answer.”

    Alexander formulated a response to show disagreement toward her reasoning. “Climbing the wall between the two races was never easy. I needed a mask to do so. If I remove it, everyone will see my face, and I would be stuck on the Divinus’ side… or in a worse case, I could lose my rank due to discrimination. If the worst were to come, this could encourage Humans to revolt.”

    “So you think that if you keep your identity hidden, you’ll be able to get over to each side whenever you want?” The end of her short pause halted him from replying. “Don’t worry. We are friends now. I can keep your secret.”

    “Your friend?” Alexander paused. “That would be an honor,” he praised. The maiden’s lips grew to a sweet smile.

    “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.” Those words gave the Myrmidon an interest in the conversation. A slight grin that died right away showed that he was eager.

    But before he could allow her to satisfy his yearning mind, he had to satisfy his curiosity. “How… how did you know my name?” the Myrmidon questioned with a slow, careful tone.

    The maiden giggled. “Krey told me.”

    “So he’s back already?” Katrina nodded back. “If only you and your cousin were not that close, you would just be here sitting down and wondering what my name is.” His tone marked the statement with slight laughter.

    “Remember last night? It was stormy, wasn’t?” The man replied with a nod. Her next words were to decide whether his interest would start to fade or not. “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 and raised him.

    “Wait!” Katrina ordered as she grabbed his hand. “I…” The Myrmidon grew impatient. He forced his fingers to slip off. But still, he knew where this was going. Their eyes met for a moment; Alexander returned her request with a fierce, sharp eyes. Fear struck the princess.

    Without waiting for her reply, and not wanting to hear it either, he put on his mask and left through the door.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/2/2009 1:41:46)

    Light Sought in the Caverns

    A man would have taken Katrina’s gestures as a hint of a woman’s admiration. Though the Myrmidon knew the speculation was egoistic, the possibility nonetheless ever remained. However, this man’s interest in the princess failed to attach him in place.

    He wondered why he had to scare her to let him go. Sometimes, a man would commit deeds against his motives, an action without any foreseeable advantages. Storming off was Alexander’s case. Alexander’s pursed lips reflected traces of disdain. Not knowing what his feelings meant, he acted as if they were products of solemn melancholy.

    The Myrmidon’s legs steered him toward the staircase’s gate. “Sir,” a familiar Human voice called. The vocals hinted the Sentinel’s squire, the young man 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. If only he had known a mask was what he needed, his goal would have been achieved much earlier.

    His enthusiasm impressed the Myrmidon. One aspect of the young man Alexander recognized and appreciated about his squire was his readiness to jump into action, something which unfortunately fades with experience. “Thank Arkanthor that I found you! You have been assigned–”

    “Aren’t most missions discussed in the respective Brigade Rooms?” The Sentinel would often condescend himself by openly talking with Humans, or so that’s how many perceived it to be. But seldom was the situation when he would reply or interrupt with a sarcastic remark or rhetorical question. As a matter of fact, his reason for that approach of words was like any another man’s – to pass a point. “That must mean…”

    The squire replied with a nod. “Yes Sir. It’s him. That would be the only reason for a Human such as I being informed first: I was the first person he had seen.”

    “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 accepted the Myrmidon’s overture. “You’re welcome Sir. And thank you,” he replied politely. Instinctively, a broad smile appeared on the Myrmidon’s face. “But Sir, he wants us to meet with him at the Crystal-Lit Path. Or 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,” he told him as he gestured a signal of his departure. “Asher.”

    “Yes,” the young brunet replied.

    “What did ever happen to Karen’s funeral?”

    “To be honest Sir, I hoped that you had forgotten.” Alexander’s eyes widened and shook with a tear. He was lucky to have a mask, something that not only covered his identity, but his weak emotions. “Oh, forgive me for not answering immediately. People have gathered to mourn for her death. Her burial will be in two days.”

    “And still we go on a mission?” The Sentinel clenched his fist. “We should go now. We shall take the back door. Remind me to pick up a flower on the way back.”



    The brick road was tiled with different hues and shapes. Color had faded on a few blocks, while some were darker in shade. Upon exiting the castle’s gates, the Myrmidon and his companion entered a dark corner of the surrounding town. Two steeds grazed behind one of the local taverns. The first was a roan horse; the back of its neck was shaved and covered with steel armor. Uniform to other knights’ mounts was a banner-like 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. Its kind was too valuable to be allowed to escape; regardless of its loyalty, Alexander could not just let it fly freely at will.

    “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 his horse’s ankles. The pegasus’ white feathery wings expanded as soon as Asher mounted it.

    “Sir,” the squire 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.” Alexander spurred his horse to ride off. Asher responded with an awkward smile and followed.

    The warrior and his assistant rode toward the rising sun. The downpour had 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. A thrust from the squire’s hand spurred the pegasus to hover lower. As the white mount’s hooves pounded on the earth, its wings retracted back to its sides.

    When they had approached the entrance, the cavern greeted them 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. The radius of the light was not too large, as he could see its limit through where the darkness still remained.

    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 and stones remained.

    “Sir, do you not 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, or just Larz, claim that its brain failed to develop during the evolutionary process, which is why it would make such an instinctual mistake.”

    “Instincts? One can make a mistake there?” 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 but somewhat annoyed with his redundant start of a sentence.

    “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 no 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. He slid his feet, hoping to find a rock that he could kick, but was without luck. “Now, enough of this trifling discussion. What can we do for you?”

    “Ahh, oh yes.” The professor stood silent for a while, absentmindedly curling strands of his mustache around his fingers. 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. Using them, I was able to produce a weapon that could generate light from these crystals. You heard of the rumors, right? I would love to elaborate on the process, but I know you would fall asleep before I could finish halfway through it. Now, as of the weapon. This kind of light can cut through armor like a butter knife through melted butter. However, with the expense of the required gems, it would be impossible to provide the entire army with them… for now.”

    “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 are close.” At a sudden instant, a green twirling 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. Asher was not surprised to see a man of his age carry such a heavy weapon. Larz was a Demigod no doubt. 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 light radiated from the small gap between the two edged regions. Its design was similar to Alexander’s two-handed sword, but held a few slots that were accessorized with emerald-colored stones on the edges of the blades.

    “Ahh, now I remember what the light feels like…”

    “If you could not see, you should have 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.

    Why is Larz’s eye emission brighter than most Demigods? Alexander thought in his head.

    “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 device grew as the green laser swirled like a pillar of flame caught within a plague-sent vortex. So these are the weapons of light my drunk superior was talking about. Demigods… give them a drink or let them get one themselves and all their secrets are exposed. A shame that most drunkards would spill anything to anyone.

    “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. Oh wait, reward makes it sound as if this was not a selfless service. Take it as a gift instead. Now, 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. One the nest is cleared, I can hire mine workers to help.”

    “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 eyes enlightened the area as if they were torches with a wider reach than Asher’s lamp. “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, something that was beyond repair. 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.

    The Myrmidon chose not to turn around for it seemed purposeless as he already knew what kind of beast produced that kind of sound. He 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. Without Silhouette, I am without a main weapon. Weapons are only an asset; it is the warrior who truly matters. However, I should not forget that weapons are assets that can make a difference…



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/8/2009 9:02:16)

    Act Two: Dragon Slain
    In the snowy mountains in the Abisal Region...

    A Common Enemy

    A creature that stood on two legs approached a gray throne. His skin was flesh; his ebony hair reached down midway his neck. His eyes’ hue glittered with a simple lavender display – a Demigod he was not. His clothing was a mere between-white-and-black robe; a hood touched the back of his neck. His sleeves only exposed fingers in the light, but his tight grip on his wooden staff was manifest.

    The Human-looking figure bowed at a five-yard’s distance. The person seated on the throne of rock was not Human – much not a Demigod either. The visitor’s eyes were fixed on the ground; he could not see the king’s face. But it did not matter, for one only needs his ears and not his eyes to listen.

    “Your Excellency… 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 Dragons. Humans… those disgusting creatures are just self-proclaimed kings! They are the reason why my home houses chaos!

    "Ah – forgive me for such an unusual introduction."

    "It started… not long ago. Creatures without wings, creatures without claws nor fangs, creatures that stood on two legs, creatures that wielded weapons and wore clothes 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 always 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. Idiots will never be understood by a superior mind, such as it is hard for one to convince the drunken man."

    "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!"

    "Messengers would report back that the 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.” The guest exhaled a bitter laugh, a laugh so bitter that no one could believe that it was not forced.

    “Humans believe that we are still outnumbered. They are 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 that advantage is only a mere rumor. If this is a façade to deceive us, an attempt to strike fear amongst our lands, then they are without hope."

    "Once unarmed and sabotaged, we’ll have them cornered like the rats they truly are! They require tools, weapons and armor. Races such ours were born with our strengths, it is a god-given advantage we have!"

    "Navith, you’ll pay for your crimes. Oceans of blood you’ve spilled. Seeds of chaos you have sown. I swear, I will live to see the day when that smirk of yours wiped off your face.” The Dragon rose from kneeling, head still bowed and feet still bounded to the earth.

    “Please Lord Jharassal, king and champion of the Giant’s Triangle, the Dragons need your help. Purity through purge: We will lay siege on Karlana-Nur. The Abisal Kingdom, a Demigod territory whom you share this region with, must be eliminated alongside the Humans. Amenia… will wait.”



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (8/29/2009 0:08:19)

    Three days before the fateful encounter...

    Left to Rot

    Screams roared and echoed throughout the pitiful land. A small azure flower thirsted for sunlight. Its weak and brittle stem held its leaves loose like an elderly man’s grip on a glass polished with butter. A boot landed on this flower, quenching its thirst with not water, but death.

    A young man saw this. It was a sentimental pain to see such a thing drowned in blood, blood shed for no other reason than greed, blood spilled in vain. If a mere plant could melt one to tears, how much more would the corpses of thousands? Not much to some. Not much to many.

    This young man continued to march in the formation. He was fortunate enough to be one of the last-liners but, but he could already smell the stench of the previous battalions sent.

    Fleets of Dragons fled towards South.

    Rain of arrows fletched with the feathers taken from the targets’ kind ascended from the earth – an irony to call it rain. The sky turned dark for a few moments, as if the moon and sun had crossed paths. Mere metal was not the ingredient of their projectiles. The tipped edges were not of those inorganic substances found within the earth; rather they were part of something once alive, creatures whose bodies they would harvest for materials.

    The arrows completely pierced the beasts’ skin, entering at one point and exiting through another. They would reach the clouds before submitting to gravity’s pull. Formations were broken as corpses anchored and crashed from the heights. A Dragon, stretching her crimson wings with scarlet feathers, died with a smirk on her face, realizing that the descent of her life and body brought demise to her foes.

    Only a few managed to escape, but the number was less compared to what a man could count by looking at his fingers.

    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. Screams of pain from those dying served as farewells.

    Blood… blood everywhere. Blood of the enemy… the most pleasant thing to see in the battlefield.

    Two men pushed their backs against each other. The two turned to each other to see whom they had bumped; to their relief, it was a friend. The taller of the two wielded a trident. He was a bald man, six-and-a-half feet in height. In spite of wrinkles developing on his forehead, he had seemed to conserve his vigor and robustness.

    The second man’s sudden grip signaled the former to swing the weapon, along with the latter who did not let go. Airborne, Navith curled his legs and extended upon landing on a Dragon’s rear side to gain acceleration for a different target. Airborne once again, this time from a greater falling-height, and thus with more speed, he unsheathed his twin swords and allowed them to fly through a pair of beasts’ side of whom he flew in between.

    His olive eyes, lined with ebony shadows, commanded a threatening glare. His armor resembled much to his victims. His pauldron had the shape of red Dragon’s claw, nails scratched and one cut. A thin sheet of metal, overlapped with crimson Dragon scales whose bloody color reflected dread fear and panic, protected his broad chest. His narrow face, portions covered by his raven hair, possessed a grin much sharper than his chin. His weapons were a part of him, an extension of his arm. His grip was an unbreakable bond between the two. For him, killing was his only purpose, for that was required to attain his goal.

    He advanced hastily, pausing only to kill enemies within his reach. Lightning discharged from one weapon, as if it were created by the friction between the blade and air. Small fires erupted from out of the wounded necks, and blood scattered with every hit.

    A Dragon crept to his side. Navith’s senses, which others noticed to be an unnatural endowment of something similar to omniscience yet with an estimated but unmeasured limit, caught hint of its movements. Ducking to dodge the underhand attack, Navith returned the blow with a decapitating strike. In the skirmish, the warlord slew six dragons in less than a minute.

    His movements prevented the blood of his enemy from drying on his cheeks. But at the end of every war, solidified blood would crack on his face before he would wash it off.

    The vicious man’s smirk faded as his senses detected the presence of a Human. Some enigmatic feeling told him he was not of his army. Navith turned to the source of his declining relief. “A traitor? No – he is not part of my army. What is he doing here then?” he asked himself.

    A cloak figure approached him. Holding a scythe with its fleshy hands, the entity appeared to Navith as the Reaper himself. The tail of its clothing made no contact with the ground as if a cloth worn by a ghost to appear visible. Judging his own power to be stronger than the unnamed Human’s, the swordsman sheathed one sword and banged his sword against the weapon’s wooden handle.

    Just a scratch?! My weapon should have sliced through… A small beam of light revealed a grin on the reaper’s face. Navith’s eyes widened; only his eyes were fixed to a point while every other part of his body failed to resist trembling.

    A breath of fire exhaled from the cloak’s black hood. The warlord detected the rise in temperature and rolled away before the blazing light could lay its vicious touch on him. The shadowed figure paced a huge leap backwards in preparation of Navith’s counterattack.

    The raven-haired man drove his weapon, avoiding contact with the scythe while aiming for its wielder instead.

    Two instances happened at that moment; the first being Navith’s fingers grasping onto the scythe to prevent its blade from advancing, and the second being a cut that appeared on the anonymous man’s sleeve.

    The scythe’s wielder tucked the weapon from him and drove it back to the swordsman. Navith parried the blow, creating a deadlock between the two. “Who are you?” he asked as if he had the authority to force an answer.

    The hooded man morphed his arm into a Draconic claw. “We lurk among you, Human,” the mystique man told him. Navith flinched, every bone in his body trembled. “You think you have us outnumbered. But let me ask you, do you know who your real men are?” He spoke as if his voice was of the darkness, filled with brutal intentions.

    “Look…” Navith followed his opponent’s fingers, and glanced upon his army; its ranks filled with countless soldiers whose names he never knew. Nothing seemed to change from when he last took the time to glance at the dying armies. Dead men were growing in numbers. The grim thought revealed neither care nor condolence from him, only the shuddering feeling that he might be in a disadvantage.

    Humans killing Humans stood out above everything his eyes conceived. With a clap of thunder and scarlet lightning, leathery wings erupted from their backs, piercing both flesh and armor.

    Navith turned back to his opponent. He could feel the coldness of steel on his cheeks. A scythe slowly descended on his shoulder, incising his flesh. As blood emerged from the shallow cut, his eyes lost senses with second flash of red lightning.

    His view steadily focused from what was once blurred. All his wounds had healed. The half-Humans were gone. Their disappearance would’ve made him feel awake, but this nightmare existed not in his dreams. Unsheathing one weapon, thinking he could fight off his fear, Navith could feel his chest shudder. He knew if he wanted to breathe, he would have to keep his mouth open for the time being.

    He had the upper hand; why would he just vanish with his army?

    Navith returned his deadly gaze to the army. A sense of peace surrounded him despite the war. The irony this killer had! “Your hero is gone!” Navith laughed, flaunting his second edge. Dying creatures stared at him, wishing for Death’s embrace to end their moments of pain. But what else was there to do? Knowing that their one and only hope has forsaken them…



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (9/15/2009 9:00:51)

    Journey to the Caverns

    Beasts of burden such as oxen hurled carts loaded with the bodies of fallen Dragons. At campsites, men were aided and mended as priority; arrows were plucked out of their chests, and strange medicines were applied on their open wounds, triggering screams as loud as one’s inside a torture room. 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 room-sized tent, Navith and four other men of different ages and skin discussed their plans around a table. Darius, the wielder of the trident, was one of them. Uniform to everyone in the tent, his armor was made from Dragonskin. Light failed to penetrate to their area, therefore concealing the true azure scales of his corselet. A Dragon’s horn was mounted as the center piece of the three-pronged spear. Never did he let go of it after the slaughtering.

    A bang on the table startled the half-absent minds of his companions. A map inked with Magnagon’s map rolled open once the major released it from his hand. “We are here, my Lord. It would take five days to reach the kingdom on foot,” he pointed.

    “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. “What about the appearance of the Reaper? No one else claims to have seen it. But it was there. He revealed to me the morphing ability before the enemy spies blew their cover.”

    “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. His straight brown hair had grown to a nine-month’s length, covering the back of his neck as well as his ears.

    His chest plate was indistinguishable from the mass-produced metal armors which the non-favored soldiers of Navith’s army wore. However, his tasset was decorated with overlapping emerald Dragon scales, something which many envied. Often times, those too impatient to wait for their turn in receiving an armor made from the harvest would moan, and if their desires were not satisfied, they would quest for their own. Not a single one had yet returned. But what was there to lust for in a material which their own weapons would already pierce? If they lacked the knowledge to know that alchemy could harden and compress the scales together, something which would render a Dragon immobile while still attached to its skin, then what else would fuel their desire if not envy of those already gifted?

    “Go on then; tell us what those Vand’ik have discovered,” Navith insisted, folding his arms as he listened. He stopped crouching and straightened his back, giving his full interest to the young man.

    The other three stared at the two. Hoarding their attention from the boy, for reasons not of greed but rather of insecurity, they started to speculate about Navith’s favorite. Of the four, it appeared to be the young brunet whose level of skill served as their passing standard; if one was to be proven weaker against him, he would be considered pathetic.

    “What he has to say is nonsense and is of no importance,” Ivand, a man with small eyes and whose whiskers were thin black lines whispered to Darius.

    “Let him be. It’s his fault for wasting Lord Navith’s time,” the third responded. “Think of it this way. The credit of his report belongs to the Vand’ik, those faceless creatures. An abomination that is strangely attached to the boy.”

    “I can hear you!” irritated, the key player of the group shouted. The three sealed their lips and surrendered 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 if we would somehow manage to obtain an incredibly large amount of those crystals, the technology to utilize the chemical properties of the stones is far 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 hastily replied with a stiffened posture upon hearing their names. “You two will take charge until I return. I cannot 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 created a slight upward 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, hugged his right leg with his arm and rested his chin on it. Aaron glanced upon him, somewhat uncomfortable with his position. It was a hobby for Navith to forget his manners and 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!”

    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 stare at the warming light or look at everything surrounding him except for the people. “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, savoring 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. Fear of disturbing Navith shook Darius’ hand with every strike. 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, having nothing left to burn. He walked closer to the ash, and picked up his cup which he had left on the floor during the other night.

    Darius hoped to be the first to rise from slumber. Fortunately for him, Navith did not have to wait for him; he had preceded his master in rising, but envy struck him once he noticed that Aaron was the first. 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, is not it rude not to reply to a warm greeting like that?” served as Navith’s greeting. Darius’ thoughts froze; hammering heartbeats escaped from his chest.

    “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 will certainly help.”

    Settled on the floor, Navith bent one leg, and rested his other on his knee.

    Aaron approached one of the tents, and removed the lids off two barrels. One was filled with water, which he gathered into his joint palms 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. 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 fourth, 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 as Navith’s grew on his face. Darius could no longer recognize the person he had known.

    The sound of an air cutter manifested something’s presence. Two trails from opposite directions intersected a point, underneath the young man’s feet. Two figures appeared, emerging from behind the young man. They were called monsters because they were besotting, have a no face, nothing but a head atop a body with overlapping layers of uneven and disharmonized skin.

    They move in rhythm, beating legs as if they were ready to kill something. The only sounds they would produce were the unpleasant moans and snarls whose strange vocals haunted the night and gave spook to the abandoned, dilapidated ruins in the forest. The two looked at the young one who was between them. The one on the left emitted a screech.

    “I won’t need your assistance. Just adhere to my requests whenever I plea for your aid in either combat or spying,” he replied, strangely understanding them. Black fire emerged from the surface of their skin; then they disappeared, leaving their recent emissions as their only trace.

    “The Vand’ik seem to like you, Aaron. Tell me again, how was it that you met?” his superior queried, rubbing his chin.

    “Forgive me for I cannot remember,” he replied. “It is as if my earliest recollection already included them, as if these – monsters our companions would call them – have been my longest companions.

    “Do you not remember anything about your life with your parents before you encountered the Vand’ik?” Navith threw at him. His eyes were unstable for a moment, but no one present realized it.

    “My parents?” Aaron, lowering his head, paused briefly. “I appreciate the love they may have shown me while they were still alive, but I really do not remember them. I know blood alone does not make one family, and it seems that you have been a father to me ever since.” Aaron relaxed his chest upon uttering the last sentence. Navith did not blush nor look away.

    Navith ordered the two to proceed. Aaron ignited the spark of the first action. His hands, unequipped with his weapon which he had left hanging on his back, allowed 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. A gold line bisected the shield into two regions, forking into two curved ends downwards, creating a small triangle between the mentioned regions.

    Aaron retracted his right arm. Darius, expecting his opponent to throw a solid punch, held his trident with the posture of an archer to a ballista, escaping the reach of Aaron’s fists by pushing the latter’s chest away. As the boy approached him however, 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 delivered a quick horizontal slash, 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 then did not continue.

    The two sparred for a moment before their weapons locked onto each other. The spectator then used the moment to comment. “The blade of Aaron’s sword is also made of an Elder Dragon’s horn. I would have kept that weapon if I had three hands.”

    “If you’ve noticed, his weapon’s sharp side is not 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 added to his tension.

    Gritting his teeth, Aaron weakened his push, subsequently he 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 this time, but that action only led to the same response his other strikes had received. But instead of continuing his weapon’s path downwards, he quickly withdrew his sword, and struck Darius’ torso. Still, no new result.

    Aaron cut his shield’s strap, and threw the buckler like a boomerang which did not return. The shield obscured Darius’ vision. As the latter 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 threw a stab at the area he had previously laid his feet on.

    Aaron’s sword became stuck between two of the trident’s heads. A grin appeared on the older man’s face. He swung his spear to the left; his purpose was to disarm the boy. But Aaron did not let go off his weapon, resulting into being tossed away with it as he turned the hilt, allowing the blade to slip out. 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 weapons were at the same position they were in before the boy was thrown to the ground.

    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 loosened his hold. Aaron grinned as he released himself. Spitting once more, targeting the man’s face, the warrior struck the chest plate with his weapon, using his ill manners 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.

    Darius observed his foe. Heavy breathing had replaced his aggravating war cries. The gesture served as a sign that the latter 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 shouted. Startled, Darius’ grip on the boy faltered. 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 have ordered him to finish you off, leaving you there to rot. Please, don’t disappoint me.” Darius bowed, showing his loyalty despite the unpleasant words he just heard.

    Aaron knew he was not part of that short discussion, but he was there to hear it nonetheless. He bit his teeth, not knowing how to blend his disappointment, sincerity, and fright into one emotion.

    Navith approached the fallen warrior. He stretched out his hand, offering to help him stand. Darius held his gesture in place. 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 if he was an unwanted item... being left to rot.



    A storm arose the following night. Thundered roared, intimidating the other elements who would dare to challenge its role as the majestic golden beast of the sky. Clouds gathered up in darkness, a celestial essence turned to gloom. Lightning appeared underneath it, forking as if it were a crack on the vast dome which all knew had no limit.

    The three 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 parts of a 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, for the cruel fate which I sentenced them to.” Darius remained silent. His mouth had completely run out of words. Retorts and further questions failed to come to his mind.

    The sun eventually rose from the East as a product of time, feeding the horizon with its luminescence. Darius rubbed his eye, fighting against the force that wanted to close his eyes to deep slumber. “My lord, 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 served as a sign that he trembled at the possibility of the boy’s regaining of the past. The Navith he knew that was fearless and ruthless was just a mask, only to be worn when without the young one. Darius did not reply.

    “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 short while. I will just go get my lantern and hide our mounts in case someone approaches.”



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (9/26/2009 6:28:38)

    Act Three: Rebecca Zendalin

    Prologue:

    A young brunet dragged and pounded his feet in an indolent effort to arrive home. The strands of an empty brown pouch burdened his shoulder with its weight. He had sold three dozens of milk bottles early that morning, and was on his way back to collect more.

    Often, the windows of the residence next to his would open, giving a young woman a bath of sunlight and rejuvenating air in exchange for her lovely appearance being exposed. The milk vendor would judge his day’s luck, conditioned by whether he saw the maiden or not. However, the word maiden could not be a befitting word to describe her or even be a substitute to her name.

    The young man was fortunate this morning, but only captured her appeal for a second before she retreated into her room. He had always been too shy to interact with the person of his affection; he could not even gesture a wave of a hand at her. Every day when the vendor would do his regular routine, he would tell himself that he was going to knock on her door and try to persuade her to buy from his stock, but always backed out when a feet away from the door. This day was no different.

    If the girl was not wondering why no one sold milk to her home, then maybe it would be because she did not know that there was actually someone selling it.

    The girl, whom the young fellow had managed to glance at for a moment, took a seat on a wooden stool, dipped a feather’s end in a porcelain cup filled with ink, and began to write. The feather landed on the first page of the book, the only page to have been used so far.

    Dear Diary,

    Hi there. My name is Rebecca Zendalin. I hope that sweet name of mine doesn’t stray off from your head. As long as you remember my name, or be stained with whatever I write on you, I might as well continue what we’re doing until you run out of space like with what happened to my other two diaries.

    So… about me. I live alone with my mother. My father cheated on my mom, and abandoned us when I was about thirteen. 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.

    Sometimes, a knight or two would hire some of us. As long as their reputation is good, we’ll accept their offer – which is never cheap. I don’t have time to deny any offers, 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 four 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: Rewrites (10/1/2009 8:07:00)

    A pair of days before the fateful encounter...

    Before Love Turns to Hate

    “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 caressing smile for show. “And shouldn’t those Divinus just stick to other Divinus?” Rebecca placed her hands on her waist and turned her body by forty-five angles. “Hmm… not bad,” she commented.

    It has been two years since she first wrote on her third diary. She was seldom given the luxury of free time in her hands, and not always were those moments with memories she wanted to immortalize on paper.

    It has been two years, two years since she spoke of what little remained in her family. Her situation was different now; her mother had passed away because of an incurable decease, and now, Josephine, her grandmother, took – more like seized – the liberty of taking care of her. The old woman was not a hag, fairly on her sixties.

    However, like Rebecca’s father, she had a bad reputation in the family. She rejected taking responsibility for her children, and left them to her parents who were kind enough to raise them. As time ordains, Humans will eventually become weak and brittle. Josephine had to rely on her children, save Rebecca’s mother who was already dead, for financial support. Rebecca’s uncles would give a small charitable amount, but only did so because they felt obliged, yet burdened, to.

    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 satisfy her fashion sense. “Alright! Finished. Now I’m off to my assignment.”

    “Honey, you there?” a manly voice called from across the hall. Rebecca frowned, taking advantage of the fact that her fiancé could not see 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 who would dream of her every night – or so he said in his cheesy lines – she felt a sudden touch on her wrist. “Wait,” the man called, holding a bouquet of strong-stemmed flowers in one hand. The man was a blond, and a man of noble birth. He was dressed with a turquoise shirt underneath a white coat and black pants. “Mercenaries pick up assignments, unlike knights who are assigned. That is how your system works, is it not?”

    Rebecca nodded with a frown on her face. “But still, Leonard. My grandma needs me to take this assignment. If I don’t go now, the best-paying job might 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 as if something was chasing her, and in fact, that something could have been him.

    Seeing his loved one depart, Leonard placed the bouquet on an oak table, and walked slowly across the varnished floor. Women… trying to be 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 until the Eastern Caverns, the neighboring towns and villages, and the Palace located in the North of its boundary.

    Rebecca started living in one of the houses located in the Palace Walls when she moved in with Josephine. 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 a 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 did not want to hear 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 the woman’s right about me making money by ruthless assassinations? Rebecca gritted her teeth, accompanied by a clench of her fist. 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 a raised chin and increasing velocity.

    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 I.D. of some sort 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 threw back, not knowing that she had already left.

    The foundation served as a pub that served only guild members of Mercenary Guild, atop of that, mercenaries gather in that hall to claim their dibs on jobs. Knights had always been more selfless and offered the services with no charge, but they often been too sluggish to reply to small yet urgent matters.

    Rebecca turned her head and saw two people seated on different tables. She fixed her eyes on one who was playing with a switchblade between his fingers. He clad himself in a brown coat, hiding his eyes under the shadows cast by his hood. As she came nearer, 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 when the noise made by the leaving man led his eyes to her.

    Rebecca came to the table and leaned forward, leaving a small gap of eight inches between their faces. “As always, it’s not by giving me 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 am!” she responded immediately. The man stood aside as Rebecca boosted herself, legs before anything else, 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?!” she exclaimed. Curious to see what sort of task came with a huge compensation, she rolled her eyes upwards.

    “Farmer Echnard Witken spotted a wyvern with a stinger on its tail? It also says here that he asked for the knights’ help in exterminating it. And uhh… ‘knight’ here is spelled without a k. Garrin, did you write this?” she asked with a giggle as she pointed out the misspelled word.

    “Yep. Suuuure did,” he replied hinting no trace of embarrassment with his error. “Do you want to see the original? The farmer had a few errors in writing.”

    “After enduring your penmanship, I do not want to see any other text, so… no!” she answered with a gleaming smirk.

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

    “See the poison I use with my weapons? It comes from the same kind of wyvern I’m supposed to hunt down,” the blonde enlightened. Rebecca raised her leg to the counter and placed her palm on the dagger sheathed in her left boot.

    “So you haven’t really killed one yet, huh?”

    “Well… I buy my poisons,” she replied. “And once I lay my hands… err… gloves on a sample that I’ll snatch from the target, I’m going to compare them. I don’t know why but I just want to sue someone for no reason at all.”

    “And how will you compare?” Garrin questioned, smirking at her ambitious scheme.

    “If the colors are different then there will be a sure giveaway. If not, then I could experiment with rats… or something less gross like maybe a cat?” The mercenary’s fluid tone hinted that she was only joking. “I guess this wyvern 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 cheek 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 in 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 jumped. 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’s voice caught up with her before Rebecca completely gained a burst from her acceleration. “Please! Stop him!” she pleaded on her knees. The mercenary grinned as if she were a young child ambitiously playing the heroine while she tossed both daggers. The pointed edges cut through the air and swiftly pierced the target’s clothes and flesh.

    The man tripped as he interjected pain. Examining his leg, he plucked the two daggers out. He could feel a burning sensation in his legs and knew that it would be far worse if the afterlife really did exist. He knew poison was flowing through his blood vessels but there was nothing to do.

    The man crawled in a desperate attempted to escape, but his numbed legs hindered swift movements.

    A soft yet intimidating shadow appeared in front of the bandit. As he raised his head to reveal what had cast the darkness, Rebecca stomped on his knuckles and crushed them on 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 gave no struggle, realizing it was useless. Rebecca assumed he was dead and plucked her daggers out. The thief nudged at that instant, but the assassin continued returning her weapons into boots, placing them inside pockets safely secured by a strap.

    Rebecca kicked the body over, inspecting his chest if he was still breathing. “That’s e…nough. Please l-let me… be,” the dying man whispered before fainting. Rebecca’s senses sharpened, yet her system felt a weak trauma from the death she had caused.

    After a brief silence, sounds of rushed footsteps flew through the air surrounding her. Rebecca concluded it was the victim. “Hey ma’am, what did this man take from you?”

    The woman approached the girl and wrapped her arms around the mercenary 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 fell in love with a Human,” she replied with a smile.

    “Wow! Congratulations. Man you’re lucky…” she sobbed, rubbing her eyes to create a façade of tearless emotion.

    The woman was curious to see why her sudden smile 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 whispered a silent thanks. The woman cried a few tears for the child, laying her eye on her until she disappeared where the roads bended.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (10/25/2009 7:13:05)

    Love is a Curse

    The colors of the wind could be seen as its watchers would tend to relate the leaves and butterfly wings scattered in the air as the visible manifestation of the breeze itself.

    The blonde mercenary clad in mostly black traversed smoothly like a ship’s sails in favor of the vigorous winds. She turned her head then tilted it continuously to toss her strands of golden hair behind her ears.

    “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 heard herself breathing and felt a rapid heartbeat. She tried to ignore them, but could not help noticing them all the time.

    Drawing her two knives, both still streaked with crimson paths of dried 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 cautiously as if stalking a prey. The front door, as well as the entire house, was elevated two feet 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 inserted her legs in 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. Rebecca overheard a man’s voice. “It’s too dangerous. You should’ve stayed in the palace.”

    Rebecca swiftly took shelter 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 came here to see how you knights perform your duties,” a woman responded. The voice was weak and was barely heard, yet filled with ferocity that was born with authority.

    They’re not here. They might be around the house, the mercenary thought. 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: your responsibilities and especially your benefits.” The knight remained silent and joined the search, leaving the woman isolated from the group.

    And here I am with without an escort nor a guard…she sighed.

    Eyes narrowing from the aged suspense, the ninja moved from her cover. “Hi!” she waved with a widened smile despite the startled princess’ first warded reaction. 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. Taking the left hand that Rebecca had left withdrawn, which also appeared to be physically cleaner, Karen returned her gesture with a smile.

    While enthralled by the Demigoddess’ embellished lavender eyes, the mercenary introduced herself. “I’m Rebecca Zendalin; it was hard to not overhear your mentioning of me. Farmer Echnard sent me here on a request to hunt a wyvern. Have your knights had any luck?”

    The palms of their hands remained joined by the lock of their fingers. 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 scorched arrow rocketed from the summit of the hill. “My partner has been killed! The creature is headed towards the Town Square! Princess, please eva–” The man’s voice did not fade into silence. Rather, it was immediately cut, making those who heard it expect the worst.

    A knight’s corpse rolled down from the summit. Blood poured from two holes on his breastplate with a distance in between of four inches. His chin was covered with what had used to be running through his veins. The expression on his still eyes left traces of the horror of his last sight.

    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 instructed. 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 weapon blunted off rather than injecting itself as the mercenary had hoped. “No way!” she complained, eyes widening with trepidation.

    The princess viewed the battle from behind a window frame, crossing her fingers that the blonde may find favor with luck. A small brigade of knights reinforced the girl. Disregarding orders, one of the knights, a Demigod, boldly rushed towards the target. “Wait for backup!” the captain yelled.

    Blood. That was the most pleasant thing one could see in the battlefield. Death, especially murder, was not new to her. But that same thing felt completely new, for she was not experienced in watching deaths not caused by her. Is this how terrible death really is? Witnessing everything from a near distance rather than a mere certain point inches away…

    “Scatter up and survive until the Cornerstone Brigade arrives,” the acting commander shouted. Rebecca sheathed her knives and hid behind a fountain.

    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.

    Five helmed horsemen descended from the hill. The cavaliers circled the wyvern, piercing the beast with their spears. The cavalry, popular to the public with their title of the Prodromos, were known for their synchronized attack pattern, the Penta-Star of Depredation. “Bright Cornerstone: the Prodromos have arrived!”

    “Your introduction never fades of its glory, Bright. Now we can take this beast out then,” the previous brigade captain praised.

    The knights valiantly abided to the captain’s order to attack while Rebecca resumed in her cover. The wyvern was overwhelmed by the brigade’s number, but their weapons were but as an arrow to a building.

    A roar erupted from the creature’s mouth when the cavalry dispatched their tactic; their spears were dipped from five different angles, Capt. Bright striking from the front side.

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

    The wyvern’s pain fed its rage; raising its tail and striking one of the horsemen with its two stingers. One of the sharp organs pierced the rider’s neck; the other landed on his chest. The other knights froze in place as they watched their companion get ripped into shreds. A second rider 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.

    “Levon and Abraitor have… been killed already…?!” Bright crushed whatever his fist could grasp, be it just the air or unseen particles. Subsequently, more knights became fallen to prey. Some demonstrated fierce gallantry, causing as much damage they could while death befell others in their attempt to escape.

    “We have never encountered this problem before! Why is this becoming so hard?! We are knights; we have Demigods such as I amongst us!” Bright dismounted his steed and raised his buckler to parry a pound. Tears rushed down from the girl’s eyes, giving her not enough time to hold them back.

    The wyvern’s tail then swept the grassy ground, knocking the dismounted soldier. The pincer landed on his torso.

    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! Rebecca abandoned her cover and equipped her hands with her two favored weapons.

    “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, yet became completely drowned with fear seconds later. Seeing no point in arguing with the man, the blonde aced both daggers. The blades 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 accomplished. The beast took into air, hovering in a low altitude. It extended its tail upward and forward, imitating a scorpion’s venomous maneuver.

    It was as if the girl glanced at Death in the eyes. Consumed with terror, 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, eyes 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. That triggered Rebecca’s regaining of her senses. She bent her legs and pushed them forward, thrusting her body upwards. As she landed on her feet, her eyes were greeted by Leonard’s fixed gaze – his 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 his right glove as he acknowledged the beast with a straight face.

    “What’s going on?!” Leonard was not 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 was 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 family portrait one day, seeing you, me, and our children…” The blond kept his eyes sealed.

    “Leonard, a Human dies if she bears a child to a Divinus,” Rebecca retorted, forgetting to worry about Leonard’s imprisoned state.

    “I… I can make a way…” A flow of tears managed to pass in the small gap of his eyelids; he allowed them to pass with ease. “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 fixed on 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. “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. She just stared at the flames, its bright luminescence reflecting off the wet layer of her eyes.

    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. 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. She could only hope that the smoke would choke him before the fire touches him.

    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 to be 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 hid 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 coming from a place where trouble was only rising.

    The rain began to fall, and reminded her nothing of Princess Karen.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (11/9/2009 8:37:46)

    Not Everything Out of Love

    A man with a comparable and brighter shade of hair than the two lovers – as if that was the term to call the couple that had just parted – crouched on an enormous tree branch about fifty feet away from the prison of thorns. His right arm was stretched out forward while his left bended at its elbow, resting two of his fingers on the former arm.

    Breathing heavily and soundly as if he recently exerted a lot of effort in something, he turned his head in reply to a lurking disturbance he had sensed. The intense glow of his scarlet eyes, a sign that he was a Demigod, was revealed to the stalker, though the latter with no regard to his or its manners remained concealed.

    The enigmatic one spoke; his – though one should be reminded of the possibility of "him" being an it – voice was well disguised with a smooth tone filled with a calm, gentle, and justifiable conviction in contrast to his dark intentions. It was a voice that tempted listeners to engage in the conversation with a yearning introspection and deliverance of interrogations, but at the same time a tryst that would cast nightmares in the succeeding nights. “I send in a creature born of pure magic in hopes of luring out one magician, and I manage to draw the attention and revelation of two!”

    The Divinus’ gaze withdrew to the site of Armengard and all those that perished within it. “The wyvern… it was your doing then, huh?” The man concluded that his companion grinned at those words.

    “Of course… Things are going well. It has only been my twelfth attempt, and I have discovered five,”     the voice replied. “Oh, but how am I to say that this has gone well for I have no one else’s attempt to compare mine with? A shame for those others who are unaware of the rumor and truth of your existences…”

    “And all those lives were put to waste even though there was no magician in the scene! when there was no benefit to you!” The man noticed that his emotions had merged with his words. Was it then, a sign of weakness?

    The unseen being let out a bitter laughter. “Those murders were never not to my advantage. It limits the search; what remains is, thus, the magicians… and a few more normal beings who manage to get in the way.”

    “You…” the man with golden hair shook his fist. His green veins – unless those were arteries, and green was not really the color – in his hand became evident, appearing as if they were about to pop out and explode.

    “Oh, I almost forgot to inform you – I encountered Navith the other day…” The Demigod’s fist stabilized. “He had one half of what I was looking for, unlike you who seems to be complete.” There was a short pause, as if the listener knew he – or it – was about to resume. “He’s alive by the way. If I allowed my mercenary to kill him, someone else would have absorbed his power. And I would have to look for it again.”

    “You could’ve put an end to him!” Words stirred by a union of heart and mind laid by the tip of the man’s tongue but were never exclaimed after his enigmatic companion interrupted.

    “But that would be a benefit to the public, and not to me a single bit.”

    “What about the rich nobleman? Is he not dead?” The voice did not reply right away. The man was hoping the optimist could not find any bright side in the situation.

    “It doesn’t matter. Both the Vision and the Material are with the girl now. I saw everything… Krey.” The Demigod paced backwards upon hearing his name. “Count your days as you should value them. I can assure you that I won’t kill you today – but I will, as I plan to do nothing different from what will befall the other four… and the others yet to be revealed.”

    An echoing laughter followed, which grew weaker and weaker as leaves rattled, hinting the departure of Krey’s companion. The magician remained silent. After an introspection of his fear and hatred, he dove down from the gigantic, cliff-sized branch headfirst. A few yards before reaching the ground, he bent his body upward, inverting his position, while he created a jet-like flame under his feet to lessen propelling of his descent.

    Without a doubt he was going to sleep through the night undisturbed, knowing sure that he still had his tomorrow. But like the mercenary, he left the scene without seeing to the princess. The rain fell and killed the fire, and the Sentinel’s story was about to begin… but its outcome has already once been foretold.



    The following day came. In the Mercenary’s Guild, new and unopened bottles of wine were ready to be uncorked and consumed. But aside from that, nothing much changed.

    “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, now did it?” 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. Imagine that it came for you because it was meant to be.” The two’s eyes parted as the man returned to his hobby of polishing glasses.

    “There was a ton of them yesterday!” Rebecca gently took the last remaining task from the board, unhurried because of regretting something involved in the act.

    “Many of them were addressed by the knights. A shame that those opportunities for some money went to waste.”

    “How do you know that they saw to it?” she asked before reading the paper.

    “Our guild cannot exist without leads and information. Let’s just say… I have my sources.”

    Rebecca did not reply to that. “Hmm…” The mercenary 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?” Garrin did not cease from his leisure-like hobby.

    “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 in a pathetic attempt of apathy. The bartender failed to read the emotions that came with those words.

    “Leonard and Prodromos are dead, too…” she uttered inconspicuously.

    “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 come yesterday 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 rudely. “Echnard agreed to pay if you could take care of it. Now spend the money wisely unless the Sentinel or whoever the client is pays well. Hoarding money prevents one from using it and letting it circulate from one’s hand to another and another,” he lectured. Rebecca gave the man a smile before departing.


    Most of the palace’s streets were cleared. Vendor stalls and the market place were closed. Beggars had peeked in the wooden containers and wagons, hoping for a fruit left there by mistake; unfortunately, there were never any.

    Street performers were nowhere in sight. The outer circles of the town were indeed still. Making her last turn at a street corner, an explosion of voices pierced the heart of silence. So many voices drowned one another, and not a single distinct sound could be drawn out.

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

    The girl was tempted to unsheathe anything sharp from her pockets or straps. But being aware that if any shiny object were to flash would only stimulate the restraining actions of the guards, Rebecca suppressed her anger by exhaling and pressing her breath upon her lower lip. Skipping her weapon while dipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out 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 and confirmed the signature, they inclined their head back to where the girl stood.

    She was gone.

    Passing through and reentering into darkness, Rebecca shot through a spiral staircase. 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.

    She perceived an unbolted wooden entrance. Opening the door and startling her eyes with the bright hall, the mercenary turned her head to avoid the unbearable embracement of 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,” read one of the inscriptions. 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 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 could not 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. Such rich materials were fit only for Myrmidons and generals. A crimson scarf, pierced and torn in several locations, wrapped itself around his neck reaching down to his torso as a cape.

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

    “Larz?!” The armored man tossed the girl forward. Safe because of the vistor's disorientation, the Myrmidon crouched to gather the weapons they had dropped. “Yes or no: Were you invited here?” The man’s eyes emitted a bright ruby radiance while he remained low 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; his eyes retained the same hue despite the absence of its glow. “You know, I did knock…”

    The man replied with a humph. “So umm… you must be the second-in-command, huh?” she questioned, feeling comfortable.

    “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,” Krey 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 a 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 stated as he entered the room. Rebecca stood aside as the young Demigod came closer to his superior. “I have our steeds ready to go.” The redhead saluted his superior as he talked.

    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. This young woman and I are off to duty...” Koren grunted in reply as the two rushed out of the room.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (11/24/2009 5:43:26)

    Act Four: A Heart of Ice

    And it all falls into place...

    Chapter One: Nothing New

    The cavern’s walls were painted with a turquoise tint of light. The divine emission of illuminated particles from Larz’s eyes, channeled and reflected by green crystals that hung on the rocky surfaces, was enough to reveal what the Humans – though many were very unaware that Demigods were in fact Human, too – what they needed to see.

    A beast scaled to the size of a wardrobe that could fittingly be described as one owned by royalty. The creature had only two sturdy legs for locomotion and wings incapable of flying that were present or given by the generosity of evolution – if at least an essential part of its concept was true – just for the sake of balance. Its jaw vibrated violently as a bull’s, hence, giving it its name.

    Asher gritted his teeth, anxiously awaiting the right moment to attack. The squire paced backwards, keeping a fixed distance as the creature stomped forward. Larz pulled back, taking much bigger steps than the previously mentioned young man and entrusting the safety of his life to the hands of his two escorts. A stretch of dust arose as the sturdy foot pounded the earth. Intimidated, sweat drenched Asher’s gloves, coloring it with an evidently darker brown.

    The Myrmidon steadied his feet’s hold on the earth, then veered his body around. 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 its body and revealing a long sword buried deep within its spiked hind.

    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 voice echoed. Asher and Alexander readied their weapons, anticipating the owner of the sound and of the sword 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, their arms preoccupied on a handful of crystals.

    The yellow light of his lantern contrasted with the sapphire background. Behind him was the darkness untouched by the light. The zone of the evident transition between the two colors served as a separator for the two teams. Each gave the other a stare, examining the facial and muscular figures and clothing in an attempt to recognize them.

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

    “Actually, I killed it. Well… I guess the wyvern’s been taken care off then,” Alexander commented, unconcerned in regards to the presence of the strangers.

    “But we can’t let those three go,” Larz added. “These mines are strictly prohibi– is that – no… it can’t be! Navith?!” The Sentinel’s senses sharpened upon hearing that name.

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

    “But my Lord, there is a Demigod among them – the Masked Sentinel to be exact. Can we really forsake these crystals and fight?”

    Navith dropped his load and unsheathed his weapons. “Darius, the answer is: we stay and fight!”

    “Navith, you say? You mean Navith?!” Asher twitched an eyebrow. “Is he not the 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’s troop seemed to play white in this game of chess. Though it appeared the king was not only the most powerful unit in the army but also capable of making the first move – not to mention that each side had only three units to spend.

    The renegade leader with a pair of monstrous blades favored by the elementals executed the first move, checking Alexander.

    Alexander swallowed his breath, anticipating the attack with restrain. When Navith was close, he unsheathed an unnamed sword to parry the attack. The two swords collided against one, resulting to utter destruction of the one that fought alone. Two blade shards descended to the ground, reverberating the sound of swords clashing.

    Weakness ordained by the weapon bothered and pissed the Sentinel. His mind became unstable and prevented him from at least fighting back unarmed. Mixed emotions, anger with sorrow and hatred upon himself and his weapon, disturbed his well-being. He entered the state wherein a man, because of insecurity, would do things which he knew he would only regret if not correct nor forget.

    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? Aren’t you off by a century? Oh, I meant an eternity.” Reacting, the six turned their heads. Twin spheres of red light flashed amidst the darkness, disclosing a figure’s silhouette. Scarlet light intersected with the azure. The argument of the lights transformed into a concord, a shift from golden to blue then crimson and red.

    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.

    “Four – not five,” Larz added.

    Rebecca stepped out of darkness, her hands equipped with silver throwing stars. “What he said! …minus one of course.” 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 back 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.

    There was a pyrite tube-like insertion point for his hands long enough for half of his lower arm on each offensive armament. At the end, where his hands could freely grip on, were gloves fixed to the interior of weapon, serving as a tight bond between the weapon and Demigod.

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

    His stabs were 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. Aaron struck forward. The Demigod dropped his body, and swept his leg, dodging the blow and forcing the boy off his legs.

    The Myrmidon with the less faint shade of yellow hair 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 the previously-defeated Myrmidon, catching sight of both Dragon-made weapons, each cut into two.

    Dipping his hands into his pocket, Navith pulled out a sac of powder and threw it at the Myrmidon who had bathed himself in flames. His adrenaline allowed him to thrust Asher with his shoulders and to break away from his grip. “Darius, bring what you can. Aaron, get out of there!”

    Smoke arose from the reaction of fire and the weird dust, quickly concealing his and Asher’s presence. Both Myrmidons 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. The boy’s quick!

    The layer of obscuring gas 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 he was useless for the time being.

    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 brigade captain 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: Rewrites (11/29/2009 22:03:50)

    Chapter Two: What Makes a Memory

    Alexander peered out the Vanguard Flanc’s window. The Myrmidon’s breath was visualized as it condensed from what had appeared to be dew-like droplets of water that clung on the 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. There, the rising darkness dyed the sky crimson. Transient lights of early stars sparkled like tears and faded upon the approach of a shooting star that left traces of glittering stardust.

    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 an 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 forced a chuckle before replying, placing back his arm 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 have it accepted, the blond resumed to his statement. “I’ve heard the news about your wyvern-slaying.” Waiting for a reply, the brigade captain gestured his left arm onto a wall, using it as support as he leaned.

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

    Krey rubbed his teeth against each other before answering. “Uhh… of course I did,” he replied with hesitation. “Now answer me. What exactly happened?” Krey went near a table; 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.

    “Jhason was eagerly shouting my arrival. Like a child, as reflected by his age, he would take pride in whatever he could. We arrived in Armengard after the rain had started and learned that possibly no one heard his announcements.”

    “Waves of blood streamed toward us. The rain lessened the foul odor of the stench, but even though it had not, I still would have given the order to investigate. And so I did. We divided and agreed to rendezvous in the town square. I came across a dead man with his horse on top of him, but at that same time, I felt the presence of something… something breathing.”

    “And could not that be yourself?” Krey interrupted while laughing.

    Alexander did not make any other movement than lowering his head. “I could tell it was an animal. And I was right.” Krey created a distance between them, taking a seat on a sofa not too far away. The Myrmidon with a faint hue of yellow hair continued.

    “As another wave of blood drowned my boots, one of the squires called for me. I picked up his location, and when we had met, I was shocked by what saw…”

    “There was a pile of ashes covering certain parts of a burnt body. It was a zombified image. His hair was all gone, and his body was… –– I cannot find a term to describe it. The rain must have quenched the flame before it erased the details of his figure. And I wish that it had.”

    Krey choked from his drink. Detecting his companion’s sudden gesture, Alexander took a pause, recovering his speech. His disbelief grew as he pretended to not have noticed. Maybe it was because of disgust, but he could not tell for sure.

    “Here, a drink should quench your thirst,” Krey recommended, landing the tip of the glass on the sergeant’s dried lips. Alexander chose not to refuse this time, starting with a sip and finishing with one big gulp. Krey slipped his hand off as the Human finally held it for himself. The drink bubbled and scratched the inside of his throat as it passed down. Exhaling the tenderness, he continued.

    “I asked, ‘What do you think happened?’ but his mouth remained still. Something was indeed wrong. I then left Brandeth to do some more investigating. I turned around a corner or two I think… and what I saw…” The Sentinel struggled to dry his eyes until he was sure that not a single tear was going to fall. “Such an unfathomable dismay…”

    “It was too precious to be a thousand lost lives. Krey, you agree that in a world of sovereigns, one life could match a million’s worth, do you not?”

    Krey replied with a grunt. “Everyone innocent has the right to be protected. But those who are fortunate are cared for by those with power. Cared to the point that if a hero had to choose whom to save, it would be that fortunate person.”

    Alexander gave little reflection, knowing that Krey’s words served as a mere realization of something already eminent. “Krey…” The Myrmidon’s succeeding words vibrated with tears. “I found her dying, Krey… I couldn’t… protect her. I felt so useless while I stared at her eyes, knowing it would be the last time. As her head rested on my knees, she said my name with a tone hinting she was about to say more. But she died at that moment.”

    “K-Karen…?” Krey uttered in a weak voice with widened eyes. “She died in Armengard? She was there?” The memory of his encounter with the voice that held much semblance with darkness itself resurfaced.

    “At least she was lucky to have died with a svelte figure which remained beautiful and unblemished,” Alexander continued.

    “You mean… she did not lose a limb or anything?” Krey interrupted. Alexander looked at him with an irritated glance. The former noticed that it was as if he “wanted something bad to have happened” with the tone he used to query. He quickly explained himself. “What I meant was… were there any traces of the killer being the wyvern?”

    “I do not recall seeing any. She could have suffered from a venomous sting that left a mark I did not see.” It was apparent Alexander failed to notice Krey’s attention toward that detail.

    “And then I heard Asher shout that Jhason’s been attacked. I returned her body to the ground, and rushed toward my squires in hopes of preventing another death.”

    “And I heard him cry ‘I don’t want to die!’ But there was nothing I could do about it. Asher was comforting him while Koren remained silent and gave a look that showed his skepticism of Jhason’s chances of survival. And before I knew it, the same killer had taken out Brandeth.”

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

    “I was there. 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, the latter 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 Divinus took his seat, cascading a knife from his hand. Alexander sheathed the sword in a rack, keeping his legs straight.

    “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 leaned his back on the sofa, resting his elbow on the gilded warrior’s shoulder pad. “If only you stayed. You were there when the princess was. No – you’re not to blame. I was the one who 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 had paid attention, you should have known that she was dying – not dead!”

    Responsive to Alexander’s indictment, Krey slammed a table with his metallic boots. “You’re hiding something!” the latter 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 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 and subsequently pointed 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 for the time being 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. You’ve protected Karen in several occasions. If it were not for you, she would have never lived the moment to die in Armengard. But I wonder… why did you lie to me just now?



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (11/30/2009 3:37:51)

    Chapter Three: Motives

    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. There was an aged man, a Demigod, leaning his back on a majestic seat ornamented with ruby crystals and golden materials if not gilded. The distinct color of his eyes was orange like the sunset’s. On his distant left was another one of his race, slightly younger more or less.

    “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. “I have done nothing for the past hour but rest on my throne.” The man seated on the throne rubbed his aged and silver beard, eyes fixed on the titanic steel doors that accessed the 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 truly judge by looks, that is.

    The courier approached, followed by two soldiers with dark steel as the material of their armor as opposed to the gold and silver color scheme of Amenia’s warriors. The three bowed in front of the throne before the messenger addressed any issues. “Your majesty, good King Kaliphas of the Eastern Amenia, I bear a message from my Lord, King Garif of the Northern Abisal,” 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 or because his mission was of dire urgency.

    The messenger then straightened his legs, unrolling a scroll as he cleared his throat in preparation of the message-bearing. Kaliphas recognized the man’s gifted voice filled with splendor and conviction, but his mind dawdled away shortly like most people in a crowd during speeches and lectures that could repulse them into either drowsiness or memories worth looking back at.

    When his ears conceived that disappearance of the sound he had been subconsciously hearing without listening, the king called for an advisor.

    A raven-haired man emerged from the shadows and approached the throne, bowing faintly and kissing the king’s fingers. With his features, he could be recognized as the man who hid behind the pillars. “What is it, your majesty?” His gracious tone was accompanied by a bit of false curiosity, for the reason was quite obvious.

    “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. There was not much to say.” At that moment, Julian knew his hunch was accurate.

    “Length has nothing to do with the grade a scholar earns when writing an essay, my King. 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 Julian 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 D. 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.” Turning to his scribe near the throne, he said, “Ravendor, I want you to send a letter to a hundred brigades, telling them that they must assemble here at morning. Make sure the gracious Noelle’s is one of them.”

    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 mixed with a few jewels.

    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 my own personal goal, and will return… to show you what will have happened of it.” Without a word, he approached the metallic doors and exited, leaving the king baffled with his statement that seemed like a riddle.



    While the conversations within the room behind titanic doors roused emotions and curiosities, Krey and Alexander arrived at the nightspot. It had been hours since they first entered through its doors. Surrounding a rectangular table large enough for eight, three other soldiers were present with them.

    Claiming to be a childhood friend of Krey, Alexander kept hidden his identity as a soldier, and more importantly, his affiliation to the Vanguard Flanc.

    Krey landed his feet on a circular wooden table, rattling the mugs and bottles that had been served and placed on it. He had his eyes glued onto the performers, a small group consisting of five women. The one in the center, if not all, was remarkably beautiful, carrying a smile that complemented her well-defined cheek bones. The Myrmidon stared at her face, her lavender eyes and golden hair that fell freely on her shoulders and back. Her moves were as gracious as a glissade should have been, despite the different genre yet similarly fast-paced dance.

    A customer, always a drunken man to be less general, would frequently shout in a voice louder than the music and call for one of the performers to flirt with him. That kind of man when sober would be shaken at the thought of his wife being there to witness it all; however, coming to the nightspot was a temptation that could easily shatter one’s will. Fortunately, both for the customers and performers, such the type of man was not present.

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

    The flames were turned off, depleting the colored fog of its source and allowing it to slowly diffuse into separate particles that if apart could not be seen. A man, a Demigod in armor as shown by his bluish gray emission of light and metallic guards respectively, approached the table of five, wielding a chalice in hand.

    “Good evening my fellow Demigods and you there, Human,” he said while gesturing a finger at the unmasked Sentinel. Krey snapped his fingers and ignited a small flame just enough for him to recognize the newcomer.

    Sir Nyles Fideas was his name. He was a Myrmidon captain of his own brigade, possessing as much fame as the Myrmidons of the Vanguard Flanc. He had a tall, strong, and compact build, and a picturesque face that won him his wife’s affection during a distant past. Rumors spread about him possessing the talent to wield and shape certain elements when he was young, but now only those who can recall those golden days had faith in those words.

    “Sir Nyles, what brings you here?” Krey asked casually, tapping the back of the newcomer.

    “Ah, so the gracious Noelle has returned already?” he replied smiling. “When the dusk was at its earliest, the king received a letter. I was given the duty to get the attention of three squad captains and tell them of the upcoming war. As long as everyone follows the system, we should have exactly a hundred brigades readily informed.”

    “Only one hundred?” Alexander butted in. He developed the thoughts of asking for what the system was and how it worked, but he responded to the low number much more attention.

    Sir Nyles examined his facial features for a moment with an attentive look. “Do I… know you?”

    Alexander shook his head in reply. “Oh, sorry. My name is Alexander Novum, a close friend of Sir Krey,” he said making an overture of his arm.

    After shaking hands with the Human, Nyles turned back to the first person he was entertaining questions with. “I was told that if I happened to run into anyone of your brigade, I should inform that person that the Vanguard Flanc is required to participate. At first I thought it was because of the Sentinel, but it makes sense now because of your pyromancy and the environment of battlefield.”

    Krey chuckled in reply. The conversation of the two carried on for a few minutes. Alexander heard their words blurredly as his attention slid to a young couple who had seated themselves around an adjacent table. The woman was about in her late teens while the man looked like he was a year older.

    The young woman leaned to the man’s chest, wrapping an arm around his neck while the latter gave a caressing smile with eyes to go with it that gazed into her eyes. “You know, Darling? I finally managed to become a knight-in-training! Unlike squires, we do not have any chores or stressful duties.” He did not mention any downside because it had seemed nothing to him. But what else could there be aside from risking one’s life in battle?

    After a grin and a second thought, the girl replied. “That’s great, but…”

    “What’s wrong?” he replied to the hesitation.

    “You’re a soldier too now,” she sobbed. Pride consumed much of the man’s heart; knowing such, the girl believed he had forgotten about staying alive for her or maybe even realizing the stress of worrying he would cause.
    “I would die, knowing that I am giving up my life for you,” he finished off, wrapping his arms around the girl. Comforting her with gesture he had just pulled off was a indeed a privilege.

    Alexander reflected on the conversation. The fact that he was eavesdropping was not what bothered him, but it was his critical analysis of the information. “If they’re only sending a hundred brigades… then they’re not fighting for Amenia. They’ll serve as reinforcements,” he said in a moderate voice to himself while allowing Krey to hear it as well.

    How many of us know what are we fighting for…?



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (12/15/2009 9:21:30)

    Chapter Four: The Card Game

    Like an epidemic, the news of the upcoming war spread overnight quickly. However, the former word of the comparison not only stood for the rapid outstretch of information but also the panic and explosion of words and vulgar curses that resulted. Captains volunteered their brigades for the recognition, which lead to quarrels of squads amongst their members. War in a world filled with imperfection was – and perhaps will forever be – impossible to completely avoid. With this idea in mind, most soldiers found it wise to stay behind when there was no obligation to fight.

    While the troops were making final preparations, and while others were settling their arguments, a certain brigade with a lacking number sent forth an invitation of recruitment to the Mercenary Guild. The compensation was astoundingly valuable to the point it could not be taken through a mere first-come-first-served basis. The young assassin Rebecca Zendalin was one of the dozens aspiring for the said opportunity.

    As of that moment, she and four other members had gathered at a circular table inside the guild’s tavern. On her left was Garrin who was serving as the dealer for the game. Five round flasks filled with either juice or wine, which depended on the choice of the drinker, stood on the table that was to receive cards from the man’s hands. There were small plates about a third of the standard size and utensils; however, there was nothing to use them for. The table was clear of everything else.

    After the bartending guild manager dealt five cards to everyone but himself, each player looked at his or her hand. At the same time, they could not resist, and so they did, eyeing one another suspiciously. Cheating was practically legal as long as one was not caught in the act. There was no punishment for this crime, for playing dirty was part of their craft.


    The game was War of the Heavens and the rules were quiet simple:

    Not completely needless to mention, a deck of cards is a requirement. A dealer must be present, and only four players at most are allowed to participate in this game that cannot be played alone.

    The contents of the deck are divided into five suits: Sun, Moon, Star, Sky, and Earth. Each suit has twelve characters: the numbers from One to Seven, a Squire, a Knight, a Myrmidon – which is often substituted with something else especially if the deck was not created in Amenia – a Queen, and a King.

    Once the dealer finishes distributing the cards, the players are allowed to look at their hand. Afterwards, they are forced to place their bet, be it money or points. Counter-clockwise, starting from the right to the dealer, each player may make a choice. The first is to draw a card from either the top or bottom of the deck. If the player does so, he or she must pick one of his or her five older cards and place it either at the bottom or top of the deck. The term for this action is called “draft.” The second choice is not to do so.

    Regardless of the player’s choice, another decision must be made before the next player’s action. One may surrender and give-up his hand for that round which removes his obligation to call one’s raise to the bet, stand ground and affect the wager in no particular manner, raise and add to the pot, or call which can only be done if another player has raised the bet. Calling is to match the raise of the other player and must be done to participate in the bet. This process will repeat in the same counter-clockwise manner until all players who have not surrendered have placed the same wager. One cannot raise to an amount another player cannot call.

    The entire process save the distribution of cards to each player by the dealer is then repeated for two more times. After which is the revelation of the cards, again in a counter-clockwise sequence. The player with the most valuable hand wins.



    The ranking of hand combinations from highest to lowest is as follows:

    Kingdom Come: A hand consists of the Squire, Knight, Myrmidon, Queen, and King of the same suit.
    Royal Disaster: A hand consists of a Squire, Knight, Myrmidon, Queen, and King. Each character comes from a different suit.
    Act of Nobility: A hand consists of a Squire, Knight, Myrmidon, Queen, and King from two to four different suits.
    Kingdom’s Armada: A hand consists of five consecutive digits or characters of the same suit.
    Celestial Disharmony: A hand consists of five consecutive digits or characters. Each card comes from a different suit.
    Harmony: A hand consists of inconsecutive digits and characters of the same suit.
    Armada: A hand consists of five consecutive digits or characters. Each card comes from two to four different suits.
    Mayhem: A hand consists of five different digits or characters. Each card comes from a different suit.
    Five-of-a-Kind: A hand consists of five similar digits or characters.
    Four-of-a-Kind: A hand consists of four similar cards with one strange card.
    Creed: A hand consists of a Pair and a Three-of-a-Kind.
    Three-of-a-Kind: A hand consists of three similar cards and two strange cards.
    Pair of Pairs: A hand consists of two different pairs and one strange card.
    Pair: A hand consists of two similar cards and three strange cards.
    Ace Card: A hand’s value will be dictated by its most valuable card regardless on how low the values of the other four cards are.

    In case of a tie from the resulting hand combinations, the most valuable hand will be determined by taking the Ace Card of the participating combination. The King is the most powerful character, followed by the Queen who is more powerful than the Myrmidon, who defeats the knight. The squire follows and poses more value than the digit cards. Seven is the highest to be followed by Six until One.

    If another tie were to result from picking the Ace Cards, the hierarchy of the suit takes into place. The Sun possesses the highest value, followed by the Moon. The Star is third in line, and the Sky and Earth are fourth and fifth respectively.

    The winner receives everything at stake in that round. A person is eliminated from the game if caught cheating and from the game once he or she has nothing left to bet. The game is played either until only one player holds everything wagered, or the remaining contenders all agree to dismiss.



    Rebecca gave her cards one more look. If she could replace her Moon Myrmidon with a card of the Sky suit, her hand would be eligible for the Sky Harmony, the Sky King posing as her Ace Card.

    “Remember gentlemen and lady…” Garrin gave emphasis to the last word while striking a smirk at Rebecca. “The four of you have managed to win three games. Win this one, and the invitation to join the army will be all yours. This one will be quick because I am only giving you seven points. Good luck to you all.”

    “So Rebecca, what will your move be?”

    “Draft,” she replied while drawing a card from the bottom of the deck. After looking at the card, her calculations led her to choose whether to give up her Three of Sky for the Earth Myrmidon and become eligible for a Pair hand combination or to replace the Moon Myrmidon for now and wait for a Sky card later.

    The mercenary chose the latter option and surrendered the card to the top of the deck. “I’ll raise it to two,” she said.

    The person next in the circle was Jelvik. A black raiment and hood shrouded all of his body. The concealing shadows all times had him at the edge of its throat, refusing to spit him out into the light. A scarf darker than his clothing wrapped itself around his neck, securing the hood. His current attire and his regular field outfit were but the same and perfect for hiding cards.

    He allowed his cards to remain unchanged and raised the bet to three by raising the same number of fingers.

    The third person picked the card from the top of the deck because he believed that Rebecca had placed a poor card in the other end. After drafting, he called Jelvik’s raise.

    The fourth player did not draft and surrendered his hand for that round.

    Because everyone still eligible to play with the exception of the blonde had wagered three while Rebecca raised only to two, she had to call to their three or surrender. “Call,” she said.

    “So Keave who has six points has surrendered while everyone else has four points. There are ten points in the pot. A wealthy start to begin with,” Garrin chuckled.

    The young blonde drafted another time. Fortune had it in with her as the card she picked, which also once belonged to the third player, fitted into the Sky suit. Rebecca looked at the card apathetically to prevent her competitors from reading her emotions. “I’ll stand ground.”

    The only difference in Jelvik’s move from his previous one was standing ground instead of raising.

    “All in!” the next player exclaimed after executing a draft.

    He’s gotta be bluffing, Rebecca told herself with disbelieving eyes conveyed on her face while maintaining emotionless lips and gestures of the face. There are only five higher card combinations than mine. If his hand contains a Harmony too, I have my King as my Ace. But… if he has a King, there’s a seventy-five percent chance of it being stronger than mine. That… or I did my number wrongs. Hmm… talking to myself is fun!

    “Call,” Rebecca replied. “You know Jelvik, you should talk for once instead of letting us know if you’re going to call or raise or whatever with your fingers.”

    The hooded man turned to her. “I fold then,” he said in a gruff voice.

    “Keave and Jelvik have folded, having six and four points to spare. Rebecca and Freighon have risked it all but one of them will gain the pot worth eighteen!” Garrin remarked to develop the game’s tension. “It has come to the third stage. One of them already has a more powerful hand, but will a draft change the outcome of this round?”

    “I’m not drafting,” the girl taunted to show how assured she was to accept the raise. Freighon did no different. Both players then revealed their cards to everyone on the table. The young woman flashed a hand consisting of the Sky Harmony combination while the man revealed his hand which was made up of a Moon Harmony. Fortunately for the former, the man’s Ace Card was a Queen, allowing Rebecca to receive the pot.

    “Buh bye,” she teased with a wide smile and exaggerated cheeks. Freighon took a flask container from table and enjoyed the drink somewhere else.

    “Freighon made too bold of a move and lost everything. To hasten the game, everyone must bet two as they receive their cards.” After gathering the twenty cards that remained final in the previous round’s hands, Garrin shuffled them to the remaining forty cards and dealt them again. “Rebecca, you now have the lead. Your move is?”

    Rebecca peaked into her cards. She had a bad hand, but it was nothing a little card trick could not resolve. While she placed her hand over the deck to draft, a bent card was place under palm. A special feature of its material was that no traces of any fold or crumple would remain on it. She made her move quickly to create a façade showing that her moves needed not to be careful. Her new hand possessed a Pair of Kings that represented the elements of a solar eclipse.

    Jelvick took the card which Rebecca had placed at the bottom of the deck and exchanged it for a card which he positioned on the top of the deck. He then folded his arms as Keave made his move.

    Expanding his lips into a grin, the card player pointed a finger at the previous player. Did he catch him cheating? Rebecca pondered.

    “I raise to the most he can call!” The two other players chose to remain in the game, and so the pot was raised to twelve. After a few modifications of their hands, Jelvick advanced with the Act of Nobility.

    Watching the victor flexing his fingers and Garrin collecting and shuffling the cards, Keave struck a finger at the hooded player for another time. “There was no way you would’ve gotten that hand!”

    “Then prove I was cheating,” the other man retorted, exposing a small arsenal of clean, silver knives on his waist. “Face it. In the next round, you can’t surrender to avoid betting all you have and lose it.”

    The dealer chose not to comment. Once the young woman received her cards, she placed her cards face down between her hand and the table and then stood ground. The game continued; Keave and Rebecca lost to Jelvick, leaving the girl and the round winner in the game.

    Alas, it came to the moment wherein the pot contained twenty-two, and both players were about to reveal their hand. The man had six points remaining; thus losing this round was not going to eliminate him from the game. Unfortunately for the young woman, the only possible fate for her in the game was either defeat or just a mere step closer to a very distant victory. But that concept of mind did not bother her, for each of her five cards resulted from a “card trick.”

    And the moment came. Rebecca slowly unveiled her cards from her hand, depicting a Royal Disaster. Jelvick responded by twisting his wrist that showed to everyone on the table save himself a Sun Kingdom Come.

    There was a quick realization for the blonde. Laying her hand on a katana she had stuck under the table (it was too large to hide under her simple clothing), Rebecca swept the cards off the table. Following the intrusion, she raised her body and pointed the blade at Jelvick who responded by parrying the blow with a butter knife. “Admit it!” she said, trying to exert more force. “You cheated!”

    Effortlessly raising the utensil, or perhaps hiding the effort in order to taunt the girl, the hooded man collected his cards with the other hand. Once he had finished, he said, “True that it would be impossible for a Kingdom Come and Royal Disaster to clash against one another in this variant of the game; however, how can you say that I was not the one pulling any card tricks?”

    Subsequently, the man hidden in the shadows of his raiment slid his hand across the flat side of Rebecca’s weapon and then inserted the blunt knife between the katana’s handle and the mercenary’s palm, wrenching the two apart.

    Rebecca recovered by grabbing the weapon she had dropped and by pointing the weapon back at him. “Oh c’mon! How can I hide cards with clothes like these? I don’t even have sleeves!”

    “Enough!” Garrin shouted after slapping his forehead. The two players dropped their weapons. “Except in the first round, the two of you have been cheating. And the winner has always been the one with more guts to pull off a more valuable hand!”

    “You really caught us cheating?” Rebecca asked filled with shock. “To think you had the makings of a scammer like most of us… you being just the bartender and manager and all…”

    Jelvick uttered not a single word, though he made a grunt.

    “I would love to talk about the old days in a time like this, but I’d rather not,” the bartender replied.

    “And why is that?” Rebecca asked before a split second could pass.

    “The two of you have tasks to take care of.”

    “Both of us?” Jelvick queried, stirring a bit of humor as he pretended to threaten the girl with a stab if they were to share the assignment.

    Garrin opened a wooden box and pulled out two letters. “Jelvick, since you ‘won’ the game, the invitation to join the Fray Lance Brigade is yours. Rebecca, the less paying goes to you,” he said, distributing the invitations to the respective persons.

    The two ripped open the side of the envelopes and read the letters. “How much is yours paying?” Rebecca questioned.

    “3, 001 coins of gold,” the man replied, hinting some disinterest. Rebecca harrumphed as if it were a signal of some sort. An awkward silence grew afterwards. Jelvick felt unease as he expected Rebecca to wait for a return of the question. Dissuaded from allowing the tension to grow, he allowed the words “And yours?” to escape from the tip of his tongue with a tone of interest (but not concern) which he was known to seldom show.

    “3, 000,” she replied, giggling, before rushing out of the room.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (12/28/2009 9:49:09)

    Miles away from Amenia...

    Chapter Five: Battle on the Sea

    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 entertained himself with the minimal sightings of a naval combat. He rubbed his chin to add to the form of his scrutinizing while trying to balance his own ideas with the ones presented before him.

    For many, it would be surprising to see a ship from a foreign land. Strict rules of Magnagon had implied its closing of gates toward outside influences. Therefore, technology could neither leave nor enter the entire country; goods could not be traded either. However, Navith was not the type of person to give yield to the laws, just one of many.

    Obscuring air, monstrous snarls, and moisture in the lowly clouds surrounded the battlefield. The viewers could not comprehend if the gas was a natural fog, the bane of majestic ships, or an artificial cloud, smoke emitted by man-made weapons.

    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. “Like Dragons…” he continued. Little did he know that such manned weapon came at a great cost of inaccuracy. The thought of that invention enlightened and amazed him to the point that he believed such thing was immune to any imperfection.

    “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 to themselves, expecting no one to respond and having their expectations become a reality. Filling the silence, Navith gave a late yet blowing remark to the boy’s statement. “Do not bother praying. Many of Arkanthor’s children are our enemies…”

    “But my true enemy is a Human,” Aaron whispered in reply, turning his grip on his weapon into an excessive clutch which, fortunately for the sword, could not penetrate the metal handle. “The one who killed my parents…”



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (1/2/2010 9:52:58)

    Chapter Six: Messages

    Two armies were clashing in a plain of two colors. Watching the contesting commander dispatch his most skilled and talented soldier, the other one commented. “You’re sacrificing her? But she’s the most precious one you have.” His voice was old; if anyone had heard him while facing the other way, an image of a bearded man will silver or gray hair would appear in his vision.

    “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, who was grinning during the conversation while laying three fingers on his queen, dashed it forward to take the life of the other.

    King Kaliphas retaliated, knocking his nephew’s queen off with his king, though with a slight sign of hesitation. “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 notice that is as good as dead in a battle,” Krey replied, slouching forward as he placed his chin atop his knuckles. The king made an unnoticeable gruff in response to the uncalled-for lecture.

    The tentative gesture of the king planted a seed on Krey’s face, one that sprouted at an instant into a broad, intimidating smile. The game continued for a few more turns, the old king making the last move for the moment. “Your turn, Krey.”

    A few seconds had passed before the titanic doors creaked open. Its sound echoed throughout the Throne Room, and a large noise from outside reinforced it. Ravendor emerged from behind the door, accompanied by morning daylight streaming down from the sky. “My king… ninety-nine of the brigade captains have arri – Ah, the hundredth is already present.” The hundredth indeed Krey was though. However, for him, whether he was first or the last would be debatable.

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

    “So it seems. This kind of army cannot act without its commander,” came the scarlet-caped soldier’s reply.

    Krey stood up from the floor which he had sat on while playing. He turned his back on the king, descending the staircase that elevated the throne. As his 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 Ravendor…” he called as the secretary was about to summon the captains.

    “Yes my King…?”

    “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. Though there may have been some hassles because many figured out that this small army was going to be a mere relief force,” Ravendor replied.

    “Now, I shall summon the ninety-nine, knowing that the one hundredth is already here,” the scribe finished off before being dismissed. Ravendor had the guards close the door upon his exit.

    “Krey, take a step closer to the throne please,” the king requested, but then the silence that followed led him to notice that Krey was gone.

    With trumpet sounds, the door reopened. The one hundred, including Ravendor, marched in two lines with the scarlet carpet as their fixed distance. Each Myrmidon stood like a statue, venturing their eyes into the person’s on the opposite side of the carpet. The captain positioned on the first row of the left line faced to his right, keeping uniformity despite the absence of Krey on the corresponding column.

    Without a word uttered, without a signal of any sort made, the Myrmidons turned to the throne with synchronization and kneeled to their king. The Lord of Amenia stood up with his arms raised, and his speech was about to begin.

    “For so long has our kind played defense. For so long have 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. There were no murmurs of disbelief nor argument, for the King had enticed and lured out their pride, a part of them that was subject to an uncontrollable part of their consciousness like an animal upon instinct. “But things will change now!” he resumed. “While we retain on our proper thrones as the kings of all races, we will put the lowly creatures that have the guts to call themselves ‘people’ in their places, and we will crush them! Our Northern brothers have lived through the turmoil created by the unsatisfied desires of their enemy. We shall aid them in a counterattack, for the true evil-doer always creates the first move. If the enemy wants glory, then let us give them the chance… to die with glory!”

    Near an exit, a small wooden door hidden behind the shadows and pillars of the Throne Room, was where Krey had gone off to. From there, he heard everything, his uncle’s words and the crowd’s abidance. He opened the door, and sighing with a weak effort of argument, he gave the king one last look before passing through. “Die with glory? I might as well kill them in their sleep if I could.”



    The Sentinel, with the two squires beside him and the army scattered everywhere, waited outside the castle’s back gate. It was usually an extremely large vacant space with a compacted layer of bright sand, but as the situation established, it served as a parking lot for the army’s vehicles, the tower-chariots, known otherwise as siege towers in other cultures, especially that of its origin. The siege tower had played an important role in many of Magnagon’s historical conquests, a timeline long before the implementation of the country’s closed-gate policy.

    His anticipation broke into intensity. His ears caught the captains marching out, and who wouldn’t with all the yelling and war cries?



    Meanwhile, Krey was running through a pipe-shaped hall. The slope of the floor was low yet increasing towards the Myrmidon’s direction. There were chandeliers on the ceiling, about ten meters apart from one another. As opposing to those in ballrooms and majestic hallways, the chandeliers were not seraphic in appearance; like moss to a stone statue, rust was completely evident.

    Eventually, after several hammering heartbeats, he came across another wooden door no larger than the one he previously entered. He knocked ten times before growing impatient and opening the door himself.

    Knowing the place so well, he shielded his eyes in case the immense light from the window was uncovered by the orange curtain. White walls surrounded the room filled with objects many refer to as dust-collectors were newly-polished. A heavenly chandelier hung at the center of the ceiling. Krey looked around, but caught no trace of anyone.

    “Katrina,” he called. “Charlette, are you there?” A door creaked open and a woman dressed in white sleeping attire came out. Her natural long hair appeared a bit curly and bushy, but regardless she still appealed very elegantly.

    “Krey? You’re already here?” she said.

    “I knocked several times, Katrina,” the man replied.

    “But it’s still early. Has the gathering already ended?” Noticing a held-back expression of Krey’s face, she received her answer. “You escaped, didn’t you?” Despite her reprimanding tone, the position of her lips as well as her eyes hinted her amusement.

    “If someone is going to need any inspiration, it’s not going to be me.” After a dead silence, Krey turned to the door with his eyes reviving his motives which he had came for. “Where is my daughter?”

    “Charlette is still asleep.” The princess stepped forward and offered Krey a seat on a purple couch. Playing with the cushion on his lap, he remained silent as if waiting for something.

    “Take care of her, okay? And if something happens to me…” he said suddenly. The Myrmidon did not know what to say next.

    “Shall I say the same thing with what we do about your wife?”

    “That she has gone on a trip and will be back soon?”

    “That’s the one,” she replied. “Charlette has been very impatient for that day to come. If only she knew that they’ll only see each other in the afterlife.” A soft laughter came after those words.

    “There was nothing funny about that. That realization should have cast a frown instead.” Krey rose from his seat and turned to the exit. “You know how much I resent lying.” His cousin was drawn back by those words. “But what I hate even more now is that we have to lie.”

    “Do we really have to?” the king’s daughter replied. It was a rhetorical question; Krey knew it was and did not answer. “She’ll find the truth eventually. Soon, when she’s exposed to reality.”

    Krey could feel a small weight gathering at the bottom of his eye sockets. He could tell tears were yet to develop and that it was still early enough to stop them. Opening the door from where he came from, he said, “Regardless, we should be thankful that only I can truly read lies…” And he left.

    Katrina scowled. After a moment’s pass, she opened the door, and catching a sight of Krey, she shouted, “And please do not forget what we talked about Alexander!” Krey ceased his running in acknowledgement.



    The Sentinel impatiently tapped his feet while the other knights boarded their siege towers, wooden siege engines designed to serve as protection for a charging unit. As the name suggested, the vehicle had the rectangular framework of a tower. On each corner, a wheel was positioned to allow locomotion. But compared to the original framework, these towers were much smaller and were no larger than simple farmer’s hut. The ram’s power was enhanced by a golden auger crafted and positioned on its tip. Despite its particularly smaller size, a Demigod operating it could maximize its output of force.

    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 commented, 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 top of 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?”

    “Three 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, grabbing onto beam-like trim, 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. With the raising of his right leg, a sound came afterwards.

    Thud!

    The Sentinel laughed at the young man crashing downwards. “Don’t worry. You’re not being punished for the three thousand. 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, and 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 young Human’s 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 favo–”

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

    Alexander noticed the blond’s eye twitch. He knew where this was going. Hiding his grin by casually turning away for a moment, 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, detaching himself from the boy. Koren opened his mouth, either about to protest or comment. Alexander came to his side, exchanging places with Krey and cutting the young Demigod’s words off.

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

    “You don’t like him either, do you?” Asher inquired when the two were too far from a hearing distance.

    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. Someone stood out in his vision, mainly because the clothing was not of uniform with anyone in the area. It was a figure clad in total black, with scarves around the neck and legs. A katana was hidden yet seen slightly at the waist.

    Krey’s eyes traced the stranger’s movements, and when the assassin was close, he summoned the squire from his “wooden pit.” Upon resurfacing from the tower’s roof, Asher looked over the crowds. Before Krey could inquire about the assassin, the squire had already been eyeing the guest expectantly.

    The mercenary stopped and stood lopsidedly at a distance of two meters from the tower, showing an envelope atop a gloved hand.

    “It appears, sir, that my reputation has led you to finding me without relying on the Sentinel as a landmark,” Asher addressed to the newcomer with an unusual, pompous tone.

    A familiar feminine voice responded. “No silly! The red letter K on your tower was a giveaway.” Then, as if the misconception on her gender was a planned gimmick, the mercenary removed her hood. Her long golden hair poured down like water until it was fully stretched by her gravity’s pull against its anchoring to the woman’s head. “Remember me?”

    Krey began laughing silently but failed to cease it from growing into a loud, boisterous mockery of the boy’s efforts.

    Asher sighed. “You again? What happened to other mercenaries?!” Still hearing his superior’s laughter, he shrunk back closer to the siege vehicle. Rebecca squeezed her lips and made some faces.

    “Now tell me, how did you get passed the guards and why are you here?” Krey asked, placing himself between the two, unaware of her purpose. His scarlet eyes blazed with brighter a hue. The girl felt an unbalancing sensation, one very familiar to when Krey had asked her of her purpose in the Vanguard Flanc’s room.

    “Aww, why so surprised?” she began, forcing herself to look into the Myrmidon’s eyes as a sign of confidence. “I’m an experienced ninja, assassin, and mercenary! Alert guards are like sleeping ones to me. And sleeping guards are like nothing!” Though nothing makes me paranoid and makes me think that there is something. Ah well...

    She then turned to Asher who was climbing the tower, keeping her eyes away from Krey’s. “Also, didn’t Asher tell you that he hired someone?”

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

    “3, 000,” she replied as if it was not much.

    Krey did not seem to show much of a reaction. He turned back to the wooden vehicle, thinking that Asher was probably inside. He ignited his boots and jetted to the roof. Rebecca blinked twice as she folded her arms and grinned with interest. At the instant Asher poked his head out of his “wooden pit,” Krey shoved his hand onto the squire’s head causing him to crash down.

    “Ouch! If it’s about the 3, 000, then don’t worry. If the mercenary dies, we don’t have to pay him,” came his echoed voice.

    “Her,” she interrupted with an agitated tone, giving more attention to the regards of her gender than the wishing of her death.

    “Whatever!” Asher replied.

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

    “Oh. I get that a lot,” Asher sighed.

    Asher exited through the vehicle’s front door. Rebecca greeted him with an intimidating grin. “‘If he dies, we don’t have to pay him,’ huh?” she quoted, changing some words but maintaining the thought.

    “Uhh, it was just a joke. Of course we value reinforcements,” he said. If it were not for her, Koren would have to come.

    “Okay then!” she exclaimed with a smile. “Girl coming through; make way.” The ninja dashed forward and went airborne. Her hands landed on the wooden ram, and she sprang up afterwards. Instead of using her fingers to clutch on the roof’s edge, she used the back of her legs and folded herself upwards to reach 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, taking a seat on a large stone.

    “Oh by the way, have you seen anyone else in the same getup as mine? A friend of mine was also invited to a squad.”

    “Really? Do you remember the brigade name?” he replied.

    “It was something Lance… I think.” Rebecca approached the boy and sat next to him. “Hey, could you move a bit,” she said. Instead, the squire pushed her a bit more to the edge. They both laughed, and that gave her a chance to push him back while he was off guard. And so she did.

    A footstep accompanied a shadow that pierced the ground an inch from where the young twosome had seated themselves. The two turned to its direction. Jelvick stood next to a lightly-armored Demigoddess who was about the same age as the squire. Her hair reached as far down as the blonde’s; however, it was evidently brunette while her bangs were held back by a white headband with a few accessorizing rubies. An artist would definitely prefer to paint her if she was aware of his presence. Her bashfulness would lighten her cheeks, withdraw her head and arms back to an adorable shape, and draw out the innocent expression of her lavender eyes.

    “Why hello there, Squire-Boy of the Vanguard Flanc,” she said mockingly.

    “Cyrille Fideas…” Asher said in return. Rebecca ignored the other girl at first while giving most of her attention to the fellow guild member.

    Cyrille was one of two twin children of Sir Nyles Fideas whose nobility and recognized service earned her and her brother position as a knight-in-training, one not subject to squire duties and was expected to actively participate in operations.

    The brunette circled Rebecca as if inspecting her. The latter followed her movements with her eyes. The folding of the brunette’s lips and the shape of her brows implied a bit of disappointment. “Is this what your 3, 000 bought you?”

    “Is that supposed to mean that I’m weak? Or is it because it’s hard to believe that someone as pretty as me can pack a punch,” Rebecca intruded, standing up and placing herself in front of the Demigoddess.

    “How can someone who’s beautiful be surprising skilled? It’s expected in some – I mean, there’s me of course,” she taunted, restraining her tone from going as low as the aggravated one. Underneath their feminine flesh and slender figure were their lurking strengths that both failed to see in the other.

    “So what brings you here?” The young man finally showed signs of irritation, something the brunette had been trying to lure out since her entrance.

    “Oh nothing. I just wanted to compare results. As soon as Cyro (pronounced as See-ro) and I heard of your plans, we decided to top it!” And before anyone else could speak, she added, “We paid 3, 001 by the way.”

    “Why you…” Asher said with his fists shaking.

    “I can’t believe, Asher. Your rival is a girl… and you’re losing,” Rebecca commented. “But I can see why.”

    “Why what? Why she’s my rival?”

    “No. Why you’re losing I meant,” she said smiling.



    Crimzon5 -> RE: Myrmidon: Rewrites (1/10/2010 8:02:09)

    Chapter Seven: Encampment

    The distinct sound of a trumpet signaled the beginning of their departure. By that time, every soldier had been required to have already loaded themselves in their vehicles. A crowd consisting of the participating army’s families and friends, as well as some squads that stayed behind, gathered by the gates, wishing to give them a proper and encouraging sendoff. The crying of cheers worn out by consistency, which drowned itself in its own numerous independent voices, was something one might find only within the walls of Amenia.

    In contrast to both the Northern Kingdom that was comprised mainly of Demigods who looked as far down as from the heavens to the earth in terms regarding mortals and the Human-ruled kingdom of Karlana-Nur in the Western Boarders of Magnagon that returned a mutual feeling to those from Abisal, the Eastern Kingdom held much spirit from the communal understanding between the two different types of people. Unfortunately, the ideal principles of Amenia failed to reach completeness as some, especially most soldiers, acted as if from the kingdom consisted primarily of Demigods.

    At least three horses hauled a siege engine, and another three more at most. Four steeds, two of which that belonged to the Myrmidons, were roped to the Vanguard Flanc’s vehicle. One of which was the brown steed of Alexander that responds to the name of Javelin. The other unfortunately belonged to Krey who had not given it a permanent name as he seldom rode it into operations and personal or leisure errands. As of that moment, its white fur won it the name of Snowglider, a name that would fit it perfectly in its purpose as Krey’s steed in the snow-covered mountains. Collectors and other knights would never speak of it in its numerous names and lack of admirable traits. Envying it never happened, neither was the offering of a price.

    Arms spread-eagled and body leaned back against the air, Alexander embraced the wind shoot through his yellow-silver hair. His platform rattled as the horses that hauled it traveled over uneven terrain. But it was worth it. The fiery sunset painted the landscape with a tint of orange. Evergreen, long-lived, and gigantic trees known as the Dragon Wood clutched for the endless sky. The titanic trees were the trademark of Amenia; once they leave one’s side in travel, one was no longer in the Eastern Kingdom.

    “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 unconvincingly without much of an effort. Turning his head toward the flashing scenery, he resumed. “Maybe he wants attention. It’s been two years since the mystery of his identity has been in the news. Think about it… being popularized every time he does something, crowds cheering when he comes; you’know… the good stuff of being a hero.”

    “That can’t be it,” the first knight retorted. “He already has the attention. If he revealed his identity, then it would be possible for him to enjoy the benefits more casually now and bring pride to his family. While he is wearing his mask, there’s really not much benefit to him. Just attention which wouldn’t be appreciated for this long.”

    The soldier’s companion sighed and descended his body to the floor. “Then… maybe he’s hiding something. 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 without much time given for a thought.

    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,” one finished off, which concluded their speculating for the time being.



    “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 other 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 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 wooden walls, but it was loud enough for the Sergeant on the roof 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, the trap will swing to 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 pulleys Krey had set. The contraction was set in a way such that when the front hatch was pulled open from outside (or pushed from the inside), the rope would be stretched causing it to create a reaction that would pull a small yet thick and dense ram that would swing toward the exit and possibly send Alexander flying.

    “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. You should have used a shorter rope.”

    “It was supposed to swing upward. Hmm…” Krey muttered, leaning back on the wall. “Hey, when I came through that exit, why didn’t you stop me, knowing that the trap could’ve triggered on me?”

    “Uhh…” the young pair 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 withdrew herself from Krey as far 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, the Human Myrmidon added to the silence whose perfection could not be reached because of the idle chatters coming from the soldiers’ lips and the rattling sounds emitted by siege engines’ wheels. The tranquility remained as is until a loud and pain-implied yet transient thud and an interjection of suffering came from inside the tower.

    “Hmm… the usual scuffle took longer than expected,” he murmured silently. But a pain came shortly afterwards the nostalgia that at first only seemed to have brought laughter. With the absence of Jhason and Brandeth, two of the Vanguard Flanc’s knights whom had been killed by the wyvern in Armengard, he realized that the cherished moments of the squad had ceased into nothing anymore but memories which unlike some were events of the past that could never be relived again.

    Alexander clenched his fist. When equipped with an idle mind, he would venture to those things that had made themselves into a memory of his which. This was an error on his part, but it appeared he had grown an addiction to this act which, robbing his own heart of joy.

    His thoughts consisted of the survivors of the broken brigade. Neither of the two squires showed signs of mourning as if they had quickly accepted the fact that the two knights were gone. Krey’s inactivity that ended just hours after the unfortunate incident made it impossible for him to witness the pain firsthand. Atop of that, he had never been seen expressing his condolences. But what pained this mortal the most regarded Princess Karen. Despite their closeness, the two were distant lovers. They felt a connection between each other and a sense of understanding as she knew really who he was. Alexander never possessed the guts to approach her and say the three words that many wish to hear coming from the lips of the persons closest to their hearts. And now, it was too late.

    Demoralized, the Sentinel dropped his body out of despair. He wanted to throw himself off the roof, but at the same time he didn’t. The cold wind passed through him once again, but this time, chilling the tears that were at the tip of his eyes.

    It wasn’t long until the waves of purple darkness drenched upon the shores of the orange sky. A hundred bonfires were set in steel boxes, 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 on top his 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. He knew it was going to be colder in the mountains. The men had brought along with them coats, but it was unlikely to be enough.

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

    “I’ve set the tents 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,” the squire had his eyes catch Krey descend, heading towards one of the cone-shaped encampments. “Krey, the Sentinel’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 a mat and discarded the remaining of the fruit. His mind was partially occupied on the thought of the cold environment that was to come. He started detaching his armor, wishing he had taken the time to memorize a spell that would ensure his army warmth during the operation. But Krey was not a man who would allow himself to regret his actions, and so he tried to ignite the sparkle of an idea that would counter the upcoming complication.

    “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 the object closer to his face. “Good fruit,” he complimented as he took another bite.

    “Don’t worry, Krey,” whispered a voice that only recently in his life became very familiar to him, “I’ll let you live, but not long after war…” The Demigod stood in alertness as he readied a fireball in his palm.

    “Why, your display of pyromancy only makes me want to take the Material from you even more. You know… that little trinket that your mother received from your real father. Wouldn’t it be a thrill to see you use that in the frozen battlefield? I can’t wait!” And the darkness’ laughter followed. Krey came to realize that only he could hear the dreaded voice.

    “I know what you are now…” came Krey’s reply. The sound immediately faded. “A Warlock…”



    Meanwhile, back in one of the familiar rooms in the Castle of Amenia, if whether a stalker or a caring guardian peeked through one of the windows or at the large keyhole on one of the doors, it was possible to see the princess laid down on her bed. With her eyes closed could she still see images, but those were mere visions born from her dreams that produced sounds as well to inspire life into the imagery.

    Wet petals of multiple colors that ranged from the bright shades of yellow to the blood-colored crimson cascaded down from the skies, surrounding her and the Sentinel in a field of green covered with flowers. With a sweep of gust, the corollas broke into the falling blossoms that filled the atmosphere. The edges of the landscape as seen in every direction were cliffs that descended down to an abyss of monstrous waves.

    Regardless of Katrina’s sentiments, whether not they were sensations of captivation or tear-sparking memories, for every person at every time had a reason to look up to the sky, she threw an upward glance, visualizing a dome transformed into a disharmonized combination of yellow and purple streams. The Myrmidon came closer. With a step forward, his mask broke into several pieces. Alexander eyed her fatally for a reason, one she did not want to believe. Princess Katrina felt a shockwave of fear as the man opened his palm. Black blood poured out. Suddenly, Silhouette formed itself in Alexander’s hands. “Now that you’ve seen my face… I can’t let you live,” he said with a voice not of his own.

    A flash of white light before the impact of his swing 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 Princess Katrina Daveth, the voice she heard was not real. Neither were the visions she saw. The elegant woman removed a cloth wrapped around the glass covering of her lamp. The light extended across the room, coming from a set of candles caged inside a glass case. The room was filled with night-black darkness and a small radiating orange that was enough for her eyes to detect certain objects.

    She stood up and walked over to bookshelf. She grabbed a brown leather-cased book and returned to her bed with a pen.

    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 the Sentinel is Alexander. What pains me is the possibility of him not returning the feelings I express.

    She ceased her writing on that point. Bending her legs, she softly placed her arms on her knees.

    “Is anything wrong?” a very young girl with golden hair asked upon seeing the princess’ curled-up position.

    “Oh. Did the light wake you up, Charlette?” she asked, startled. The princess closed her diary and covered it with a blanket.

    “No, Aunt Katrina…” the six-year-old answered slowly as if still mastering her syllables. “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, remember? You’ll see her and your Aunt Karen soon. It’s sad that your aunt had to be involved in it, too.” The woman scowled at her own lies, regretting that she had 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. From above, though less-likely from below, one could witness a ring of pigeons flocking away from the canopies of tress much shorter than the Dragon Woods. 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 was 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’ll reach the Abisal Territory. Our purpose is to fight! But the skill of the sword is not the most important thing we will need. Where we’re going, is much far complicated. Tell me… what it is 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 only replied with another choir of silence. “Of course not! Now this… is what we’re going to do.”

    Locking the straps of his breastplate, he pointed at one of the Myrmidons – the Sentinel to be exact. “State three brigades present that are consisted mostly of mortals.”

    “From my knowledge, the Virtue Front, the… Eternal Bloom, and the Thaumaturgy are here,” came the sergeant’s reply.

    The commander returned no sign acknowledgement. “Captains, if your brigade was mentioned, I want your siege tower to stay in the front lines with the Vanguard Flanc. I repeat, from now on, the Virtue Front, Eternal Bloom, and the Thaumaturgy will travel in the front lines!”

    The crowd murmured with speculations. Krey fired another shot from his fingers, silencing the army. A Demigod carved his way into near Krey’s siege tower. “The Thaumaturgy acknowledges, Sir!”

    Sending Humans to the Abisal Kingdom and exposing them to those people? Don’t they discriminate us? Asher said silently. What’s Krey up to?



    Page: [1]

    Valid CSS!




    Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition
    0.3916016