The sun was like a curse upon the land, scorching the dried fields and heating the deserted plains. Jason trudged on, ignoring the sweat trickling down between his eyes. His back was pressed down by the weight of his latest prize: the red-and-black armour, emblem of a dragon slayer in the town of Cyrus.
The heated plains opened up to reveal a small oasis of sort. Jason sighed in relief, quickening his pace as soon as he spotted the lush greenery ahead of him.
After refilling his water pouch and sharpening his sword, Jason slipped out of his burnt clothes (which were smelling extremely ripe) and put on the armour. It, like the sword he wielded, felt extremely light. Bending down to pick up his weapon, he found the armour rather flexible. Not wanting to take any chances, he took off the breast plate and gave a quick stab at it with his sword. He made sure he kept the metal-burning light the weapon emitted turned off.
Jason realised the weapon worked with his thoughts. If he wanted the light to turn on, he just had to command it to. Also, it was linked to his emotions. The more emotional he got during fights, the stronger the power of the light.
The breastplate produced not even a scratch. Jason smiled as he put the armour back on. He decided to leave his old clothing behind and buy some new ones at the next town. Withdrawing his money bag, he headed off.
*** *** ***
Elvinio, City of Elves was a magnificent spectacle. Its high-rise buildings and polished streets overwhelmed Jason greatly. He felt out of place in his armour when everyone else were in either traditional robes of fine cotton or the more modern day clothes. Pointy-earred elves rushed from street to street, all going about their work.
Not all the residents of Elvinio were elves; many smartly-dressed humans wearing robes only a millionaire could afford pranced about the streets like nobody's business. Jason's mission today was simple: get the help of Elvinio's greatest mage: Elfin.
Elfin's Corner was easy to spot. A large sign overhead with an arrow pointing to a more remote part of the city hung before Jason. He followed the arrow and approached a well-maintained mini-manshion. Jason jumped across the stone steps of a large pond, nearing the door with each light-hearted step. Finally he got to the door and knocked twice.
"Yes?" said a cool voice as the door opened slightly, revealing a pair of emerald eyes.
"I have an appointment. I sent a messenger from Cyrus a week ago?" Jason replied just as cooly.
"Come in," said the voice, and the doors were pulled apart. Jason stepped in. The room was dark.
The emerald eyes were gone, the room was gone, in an instance, Jason's feet no longer touched the ground of the manshion. He was no longer at Elfin's Corner.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Drawing Swords
Jason felt his knees go weak. His head whirled crazily and his hands trembled. He immediately forgot about being cautious and dashed out to his father.
The winged figure which had cruelly struck down with a deadly silver claw was gone along with the black mist. The sounds of nearby battles started to dwindle as shouts of retreat rang in the air.
Jason fell on his knees, ignoring the sharp pain as gravel and broken glass pierced his skin.
"Father!" he roared. "Father wake up! Father...wake up..."
The tears couldn't stop. He let them all out, cradling his father's head. The glistening drops of water sparkled on Garen's temple. Finally, Jason's eyes fell upon a red light emitting a couple of feet away from him.
The boy put his father's head down carefully, before walking slowly towards the light. His tear-filled eyes brightened when he saw that it was a sword.
It was shaped like a good-old scimitar, except that the handle, usually decorated in fine carvings, was wrapped in black. Jason picked up the sword; it felt feather-light and easy to wield.
The black whatever-it-was that was wrapped around the handle provided a firm grip for the wielder. Jason also noticed that the hilt was that of a katana's. He gave it a swing, and the bright red light cut the air with a flourish.
The light seemed to snap Jason back into reality. He turned to his father, saying, "I will avenge you, Father. With this sword, I swear upon your name and mother's."
Jason's eyes filled with tears yet again as he recalled that dreadful day where his mother was so brutally beatened by a whole swarm of keltics. It was only a week ago when she had been admitted into the hospital. Jason felt it was only right that he proceeded to the hospital to break the news to her.
Little did he know, the hospital was already a burning heap.
*** *** ***
Ten years later
Jason Pendragon dived to the right, his shirt nearly catching fire as the heat of the dragon's flames made his eyes tear.
Bringing his sword up to block another dive from the beast, Jason ducked and finally got to his knees. Grabbing the tail of the powerful monster, he braced himself as the dragon took off. Jason hung on for dear life.
The dragon roared in agony as Jason plunged his sword down the base of its tail for anchor, and hoisted himself up onto the beast, cursing. He pulled out the glowing blade and, with balance perfected over ten years, leapt onto the dragon's spine, followed by its head.
"Goodbye!" Jason plunged the sword home.
There was a terrifying roar as the dragon plumetted down to the earth, Jason clinging onto one of its horns, praying that he could hang on.
Next thing he knew, he was back on the ground, surrounded by a huge cheering crowd. A man stepped up to him and said something; Jason couldn't hear him due to the loud screams and cheers. All he could register was a red armour being pushed into his arms.
The mark of a dragon slayer.
The winged figure which had cruelly struck down with a deadly silver claw was gone along with the black mist. The sounds of nearby battles started to dwindle as shouts of retreat rang in the air.
Jason fell on his knees, ignoring the sharp pain as gravel and broken glass pierced his skin.
"Father!" he roared. "Father wake up! Father...wake up..."
The tears couldn't stop. He let them all out, cradling his father's head. The glistening drops of water sparkled on Garen's temple. Finally, Jason's eyes fell upon a red light emitting a couple of feet away from him.
The boy put his father's head down carefully, before walking slowly towards the light. His tear-filled eyes brightened when he saw that it was a sword.
It was shaped like a good-old scimitar, except that the handle, usually decorated in fine carvings, was wrapped in black. Jason picked up the sword; it felt feather-light and easy to wield.
The black whatever-it-was that was wrapped around the handle provided a firm grip for the wielder. Jason also noticed that the hilt was that of a katana's. He gave it a swing, and the bright red light cut the air with a flourish.
The light seemed to snap Jason back into reality. He turned to his father, saying, "I will avenge you, Father. With this sword, I swear upon your name and mother's."
Jason's eyes filled with tears yet again as he recalled that dreadful day where his mother was so brutally beatened by a whole swarm of keltics. It was only a week ago when she had been admitted into the hospital. Jason felt it was only right that he proceeded to the hospital to break the news to her.
Little did he know, the hospital was already a burning heap.
*** *** ***
Ten years later
Jason Pendragon dived to the right, his shirt nearly catching fire as the heat of the dragon's flames made his eyes tear.
Bringing his sword up to block another dive from the beast, Jason ducked and finally got to his knees. Grabbing the tail of the powerful monster, he braced himself as the dragon took off. Jason hung on for dear life.
The dragon roared in agony as Jason plunged his sword down the base of its tail for anchor, and hoisted himself up onto the beast, cursing. He pulled out the glowing blade and, with balance perfected over ten years, leapt onto the dragon's spine, followed by its head.
"Goodbye!" Jason plunged the sword home.
There was a terrifying roar as the dragon plumetted down to the earth, Jason clinging onto one of its horns, praying that he could hang on.
Next thing he knew, he was back on the ground, surrounded by a huge cheering crowd. A man stepped up to him and said something; Jason couldn't hear him due to the loud screams and cheers. All he could register was a red armour being pushed into his arms.
The mark of a dragon slayer.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Torn
Jason woke up drenched in sweat. He took in a deep breath and held it there, listening intently; the noises outside had lasted since noon.
The eight-year-old scrambled from his bed, despite his parents' countless warnings for him to stay inside his dorm. They told him a war had started, and had hidden him in the Temple of Forsa. With him were many other kids, boys and girls alike, all of different ages. The older children were helping the temple masters ensure that everyone was asleep, and how easy they were to get pass.
Jason stuck his back onto the wall, after making sure his rock-hard pillows were under the covers, and inched his way to the door. He saw the passing shadow of one of the older teens.
A boy with blonde hair peeked through the doorway and, seeing what he thought was Jason nicely tucked away under the covers, smiled to himself before walking off.
Jason sighed at how easily tricked his peers were, and immediately made a quick but silent dash for the door.
The sounds of sword clanging rang audibly even as Jason neared the back of the temple, where a secret door was. He found it a week or so ago with help from a twelve-year-old girl, who like him was not contented about being kept away in the temple.
As Jason approached the ancient walls of Forsa, he palmed the many bumps on it till his fingers hit a triangular one. Hastily, he grabbed it and twisted with all his might. The bump turned, and at the same time a hole in the wall appeared.
Jason scrambled through the hole and crawled on his belly for quite awhile till his face hit open air. The smell of blood nearly caused Jason to wretch. A dark mist shrouded the deserted streets of Grimland. Dressed in nothing but a one-piece garment made of cotton that covered his knees, Jason ran.
*** *** ***
Garen winced as his opponent drew the sword from his left thigh. He did his best not to scream, but the pain was overwhelming. That was no ordinary sword.
With his right leg, Garen shot out at the gut of the soldier. He let out a muffled yell as he fell on his back. Not wasting a second, Garen reached for the man's fallen sword and struck the place his foot had hit.
The fallen soldier screamed loudly. Yes, it was no ordinary sword.
Garen was just about to turn when the pain in his leg caused him to cringe once more. He fell harshly on his side and tried to get up but to no avail. A black mist obscured his vision, but he thought he saw a winged figure walking towards him.
To Garen, it was an angel taking him to heaven. To his son watching from behind a garbage heap, it was the angel of death.
It was his father's murderer.
The eight-year-old scrambled from his bed, despite his parents' countless warnings for him to stay inside his dorm. They told him a war had started, and had hidden him in the Temple of Forsa. With him were many other kids, boys and girls alike, all of different ages. The older children were helping the temple masters ensure that everyone was asleep, and how easy they were to get pass.
Jason stuck his back onto the wall, after making sure his rock-hard pillows were under the covers, and inched his way to the door. He saw the passing shadow of one of the older teens.
A boy with blonde hair peeked through the doorway and, seeing what he thought was Jason nicely tucked away under the covers, smiled to himself before walking off.
Jason sighed at how easily tricked his peers were, and immediately made a quick but silent dash for the door.
The sounds of sword clanging rang audibly even as Jason neared the back of the temple, where a secret door was. He found it a week or so ago with help from a twelve-year-old girl, who like him was not contented about being kept away in the temple.
As Jason approached the ancient walls of Forsa, he palmed the many bumps on it till his fingers hit a triangular one. Hastily, he grabbed it and twisted with all his might. The bump turned, and at the same time a hole in the wall appeared.
Jason scrambled through the hole and crawled on his belly for quite awhile till his face hit open air. The smell of blood nearly caused Jason to wretch. A dark mist shrouded the deserted streets of Grimland. Dressed in nothing but a one-piece garment made of cotton that covered his knees, Jason ran.
*** *** ***
Garen winced as his opponent drew the sword from his left thigh. He did his best not to scream, but the pain was overwhelming. That was no ordinary sword.
With his right leg, Garen shot out at the gut of the soldier. He let out a muffled yell as he fell on his back. Not wasting a second, Garen reached for the man's fallen sword and struck the place his foot had hit.
The fallen soldier screamed loudly. Yes, it was no ordinary sword.
Garen was just about to turn when the pain in his leg caused him to cringe once more. He fell harshly on his side and tried to get up but to no avail. A black mist obscured his vision, but he thought he saw a winged figure walking towards him.
To Garen, it was an angel taking him to heaven. To his son watching from behind a garbage heap, it was the angel of death.
It was his father's murderer.
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