Out of Character:
Notes: This is a solo. This story uses Fallien as it's backdrop, but through creative interpretation. This is my spin on the land, my vision of what my character would find there. Call it lazy or creative, I have done little to no research on what the land is "Officially" like, as this is meant to be my personal version of it.
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A Story of my Makers
[ Dramatis personae ]
[ Zachary Snow ]
Chapter One:
Raja'Aini Rites
"Everything that we see is a shadow,
cast by that which we do not see."
Martin Luther King, Jr.
The sun burned down through the clear sky, remorselessly beating the deserts of Fallien with smothering heat. Waves of distortion rose from the dunes, bending and warping the distant landscape behind them. As far as they could see in any direction, there was nothing. Nothing except the sands. Falling in deep valleys and rising to crests, the arid winds carrying sheets of it from the heights to spray against their backs. It was everywhere, as unrelenting as the stifling heat. The air was hard to breathe, and felt as heavy as water as it filled the lungs.
Sweat dripped from his matted hair where it lay soaked against his skull. The robes of the sandwalkers felt like nothing but extra weight upon his tired body. He knew that without them, he'd have died long ago. They held the moisture in, protected him against the sun's fire. Without them he'd desiccate and die, his mind as twisted by the heat as the distant horizon. And still, he wanted nothing more than to cast them off and feel the wind as it rolled across his damp skin. Master Renaud had warned him of that desire, however. And so he locked away his discomfort, his fear, and his weariness within the box set deep in his mind among the other darknesses. That box was so gracefully labeled, "Weakness, do not open."
His Master walked ahead of him, his body hidden in the same robes that Zachary wore, but his posture was straighter, his steps far more certain. It would take more than a Desert to lay Renaud de'Mortalis low. Age had done nothing to harm the Master Assassin, had only caressed him gently. Wisdom and perfection of form, embodied in a man as strong as stone and half again as unyielding. Zachary doubted that he would ever find Renaud's strength.
The wind rose in a howl as they started up another rise. He could feel the grit smashing against his back, dislodged and turned into a weapon by the furious drafts. He sank ankle-deep with each heavy step. His eyes squinted against the brightness, despite the shield of fabric that hung low over his eyes. The sand was everywhere. He wondered what would happen if he'd removed his lungs and turned them upside down; a morbid certainty in his mind said that sand would spill from it like a broken hourglass. He refused himself the luxury of a smile as he followed; no energy could be wasted here if he wanted to live. And he did; he liked living.
His heart pounded a steady rhythm as he trudged across the gritty golden banks, his mind wandering invariably from one topic to another in a vain attempt to ignore the heat. His eyes swept the desert, always moving, always watching. Fallien was known for its danger and inhospitality. Days had passed, the hairs on his neck standing on end. The Sense hadn't left him since he'd arrived here, buzzing in the back of his mind and warning of threat and ill intent. Zachary would have written it off as his nerves, had Renaud not mentioned it the night before as they sat beneath the stars and shivered against the frigid wind.
Ahead, Master Renaud had stopped and lifted his hand. Zachary froze in place, his eyes scanning the land and sky. There was nothing of note, nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was a cheery blue, the sun a burning disk of yellow. The sands were as they'd ever been, washed out and orange. The wind carried no new scent, only the musty smell of his own sweat and body odor. He'd been baking within the robe for days; he smelled positively ripe. Beneath the fabric, his hands had wrapped around the daggers at his waist. He had not yet achieved the fearlessness of the Assassins, who held comfort and reassurance in their own hands and feet. The young man's only assurance was his weapons. That would change with time and experience, he knew. But still, he slid the weapons from their sheathes.
He bent his knees as he'd been taught, relaxing his body into the fighting stance most suited to wielding daggers. The left was held in a standard grip, the twelve inch blade facing up to the sky but angled diagonally. The right was held reversed, the deadly edge emerging from the bottom of his fist and held behind his back. He waited in silence, his eyes searching the landscape with vigilance.
The sand at his feet exploded. A screech filled the air, ringing through his ears as he tumbled down the slope in a heap. He regained his footing in time to see the creature flying over his head in an arc. From beneath, it resembled a spider, but scaled and flesh toned. The mouth was agape and shining with jagged, serrated teeth, made to tear meat. It's mouth shut as it fell, the piercing wail ending at it slammed face first into the ground. And then it was gone. Nothing remained except for a dent in the sand, which was quickly filled by the wind.
Zachary looked up to Renaud. The man stood perfectly still, his stance exactly as it had been before his apprentice had been knocked from the slope. The boy wondered for a minute if something had happened to the Master Assassin, a paralytic toxin maybe. But even as the thought came into his mind, the man blurred into movement. The man dropped into a spinning crouch, glints of silver flashing out from his hands. The ground beyond Renaud erupted in four columns, Flesh Spiders flying outward as one. Their arms were spread wide, their mouths ajar and shrilling. Two of them dropped instantly, their faces caving in around the throwing knives Master Renaud had loosed as he spun. The last two sailed over the Assassin's head, angling down at the boy below. The boy's knives gleamed with the sunlight as they passed, one screeched and went down, it's insides spilling through the air. The other spider's teeth took a chunk from Zachary's shoulder as it flashed by and vanished into the dune.
Zachary didn't cry out, but fell into a crouching position. The dagger tumbled from his right hand as it clamped down on the wound. His left knee dug into the sand. Blood was already draining between his fingers and splashing down around him. The pain was extraordinary and felt as if a ball of lightning was nestled in his skin, sending jolts down through his arm and chest. His teeth gritted against the throbbing, his left hand balled into a fist as it rested on the ground.
The slope behind him ruptured, a torrent of grit washing over his back. His ears were raped once more by the preternatural keening of the creature as it dove in for the kill. A sparkle of silver passed beside his head, and the ear ringing scream choked out behind him. A lock of white hair fell to lay in the blood beside his hand. Master Renaud's aim was perfect. Another man's throw would have buried the knife in the boy's head instead of the creature. A haircut was a small price to pay for his life. Zachary climbed painfully to his feet, swaying under the heat and blood loss.
He looked around at the carnage, the bodies, the blood. Had he faced this alone, he would be dead now.
"I'm sorry, Master Renaud. I failed."
The Master Assassin had come down the slope, quick but steady strides keeping him balanced. He stopped in front of Zachary, his hand rising to pull ripped cloth from the wound. His eyes examined the gory mess critically, his brow drawn down into a scowl.
"Shut up, kid. An Apprentice your age should be proud to have killed one, and you see it as a failure? Sit down and lean on me, boy."
Zachary did as he was told, letting his shoulder fall against his kneeling Master's chest as the man began digging vials from one of the pouches at his waist. The apprentice gathered his daggers up with his right hand, returning them to his sheathes as Renaud pulled the cork stopper from an ampule filled with dark purple liquid. The world was starting to spin slowly, and gravity seemed stronger than the boy remembered. The pain in his shoulder had eased to a distant, dull ache.
"Sleep, Zachary. I will be there when you wake." Renaud said, his hand tipping the glass vial. A double drip of amethyst glittered in the bright light as it fell into the ripped skin, unnaturally vivid to his failing mind. He was unconscious before the Master had replaced the cork.
Renaud de'Mortalis tore strips of cloth from his own desert cloak and began to wrap the wound. The boy would sleep for days. The Mind Numbing poison would see to that as it slowed his blood flow. When the bandage was tied tightly, the square knot evenly dispersing pressure over the messy, exposed meat, he gathered his apprentice up in his arms. He stood and began to walk.
Behind him, the sun was turning crimson as it sank toward the horizon. The dry air howled as it filled the sand dunes and crested the rises. A trail of sweat and blood followed them through the desert.