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nield -> (DF) What if Fate took a different course? (9/11/2011 21:04:55)
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(Alright, a few things first off. This story will follow Nield, as if he were born on Lore. Second, this is more or less the original story I ever had for 'Nield' but, well, the other story just kinda manifested... Thirdly, this is assuming Nield is NOT the main hero. Okay, that's out the way... lets get this show on the road!) comments here
Prologue: Born of Fire.
He ran. He ran as fast as his young legs would carry him. He ducked through hidden passages and weaved through a seemingly endless maze of trees. But it kept gaining on him. The fire, ever hungry, reached out after him, never slowing down. He could see the beach just up ahead... If he got there he would be home-free. Ten metres short of his destination, something snagged his foot. He fell heavily to the ground. Rolling over, he saw roots of a tree growing over his legs, and the inferno blazed closer. As he opened his mouth to scream in the face of this impossible foe, he awoke, drenched in sweat, bolting upright, and letting loose the scream he had readied in the face of his demise.
Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs, and the door was slammed open. The boy's father looked around, wild-eyed, for whatever had so terrified his son. On seeing his son safe in bed, yet drenched in sweat and shivering as if death itself were tingling on his spine, he relaxed, though only slightly. "It be those nightmares again, ain't it, Nield?" The boy, Nield, too shaken to answer, merely nodded his head. The man sat beside his son. "Don't worry my boy. You're still but a wee lad. These nightmares, these... these aberrations in yer mind... They will pass with time. I'm sure of it!" Though his words sounded with resolve, the bit lip and the flickering, slightly furtive look belied the dis-ease the man felt.
Now lighter footsteps approached on stairs. The boy's mother entered and held her child to her. "Hush, Little Lamb." Said she, using the name she always used for him. "You are safe here. There is none so bold to attack our home. Here, is sanctuary, and shelter. There is no thing that can harm you within these walls, save what you let in with your own two hands, and they are easily despatched." Her words soothed, and soon the boy's shivering halted and his eyes grew heavy. "Return now, to the land of dreams, Little Lamb. Where none shall disturb you for the remainder of this night." Soon the boy slept and his parents left him there.
"They be getting worse, Silvana. The intensity, the frequency. How many more nights will we be awoken by our poor son's death cries?" The woman, Silvana, remained silent for a while. "Little Lamb is still but 8 years into his life, Fjorrik. I am sure these mares of the night shall not trouble him for too much longer." The burly blacksmith, Fjorrik, grunted. "These be no nightmares, Silvana. They're omens, prophecies, call 'em what you will, I know the signs. He'll wield great power one day. Of that I am sure. What I am worried about, is the inferno he sees. I am positive it represents his power... out of control. I am worried what will become of the boy. Will his power escape his control? Will it consume him?" Silvana placed her slender figure against the burly hulk of her husband. "Dreams are but dreams, My Love. Little Lamb is destined for greatness, of this I agree. But what you remember must, is that-" "'In real life, as in dreams, nothing is quite, what it seems'. Aye, you've repeated those words many a time." Silvana smiled. "Then have faith, Dear Heart. Have faith that Little Lamb's future is not so bleak as you see it to be." Fjorrik grunted again. "Come, we had best return to bed ourselves."
6 years later...
"Put your back into it boy! The fires will never be half as hot as we need them with such efforts!" "I am doing but as what I can, Father! Though toned, I am, the proper strength to correctly pump the bellows possess, I do not!" Fjorrik grunted. "Ye talk in circles and riddles, just as your mother..." He grumbled to himself, before he moved over to assist his son. "Look lad, you're doing naught but blow the air around inanely, focus on the fire, enVISION the flames rising ever high...er?" Fjorrik stopped amazed, he had barely stroked the bellows, yet the fires were rising high, TOO HIGH. He turned to look at his son who had an expression of happiness upon his face. "Father, observe! I envision the rising of the flames, and they react as I imagine them! they yield to me!" Fjorrik was left speechless for a few seconds before his instincts kicked in. "Nield, whatever it be that you are doing, stop it! The flames are rising too high! Not only can I not safely get close enough, but they threaten the very walls around us!" His concentration broken, Nield looked at his father, startled. "What? But, you're right! The flames leap higher, but to a stop I call them now!" the flames began to subside and stopped at the ideal level. Nield looked immensely proud of himself, whilst his father watched him with worry in his eyes. "At such a tender age? He is not yet ready for this manner of power... But would any of us be, ever?" He mused to himself. He shook his head. "Come son, let us retire for the day." Nield looked at his father surprised. "But of the work we had to do, what of it, Father?" "I said, we're retirin' fer the day, son. Come along." Nield had little choice but to follow his father.
Later that night...
"Well done, Little Lamb! You have the power within found! Unfortunately... the end of your time with us, this does signify." Nield looked at his mother with shock in his eyes. "But, Mother dearest, surely serious, you cannot be! Would not now, my presence be of advantagous advantage to us? Need for bellows eliminated are! I can keep the flames by no more than my mind, under control!" Silvana smiled lovingly at her son. "Yes, Little Lamb. But what should happen be it if your hold slipped? Would not the end result disasterous be?" "Son, fer now, our only choice is to send you fer training. Once ye have mastered yer abilities, ye can return. However, fer yer safety, and ours, and everyone elses, ye must off to Falconreach be. Once yer there, search out a man named Warlic. He is... an old friend of mine, and should be able to help ye." Silence fell for several minutes. "So... Off be I upon the morrow?" Fjorrik nodded. "Aye lad, but ye shall not be travelling alone. Ye shall have a retired hero to accompany ye, to make sure ye arrive safe. Safe travels to you, my boy. Make your mother 'nd me proud." Nield fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. He embraced his father and mother in turn. "I shall return, helping at the forge to one day be, father. Mother... Fail you is not that which I shall do." "Go safely, Little Lamb. This night away in rest you shall spend. Then, off be you, upon the morrow."
That night Nield had his nightmare for the last time...
He ran. He ran as fast as his young legs would carry him. He ducked through hidden passages and weaved through a seemingly endless maze of trees. But it kept gaining on him. The fire, ever hungry, reached out after him, never slowing down. He could see the beach just up ahead... If he got there he would be home-free. Ten metres short of his destination, something snagged his foot. He fell heavily to the ground. Rolling over, he saw roots of a tree growing over his legs, and the inferno blazed closer. he raised his hands to command the fire to retreat, but it would not listen to him. "You need training before you can unlock your full power, young one." The flames turned and the roots detatched themselves. Nield looked around, but did not see the entity who had spoken. After that, he slept soundly.
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