~Chapter 6~

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

(Close)

The Past:

Corone. Tyamalndu. (Referred to as Tyamalndu by the ancient nomadic tribes of Corone) Thousands of years ago, pre-dating the Demon War, the ancestors of modern Coronians fought a war against the monsters that heralded from Ruild Forest. Worshiping the figurines of Lord Draconus, the ancient nomadic people were a war-like species. Well trained in the martial killing arts, the nomads fought amongst themselves in various wars, and also fought invading members of other races for generations. One such clan was clan Koremyr. (Ancient translation) Who were the progenitors of Clan Cormyr.

In the provinces of Tyamalndu, Koremyr was an influential clan of considerable standing with Lord Draconus. The patron of Clan Koremyr was a man named Muhadan Koremyr. A man lost to the pages of history and lore.
This man, one of the many warrior chiefs of the ancient nomadic tribes helped defend against the monsters of Ruild.

According to legend, Muhadan Koremyr was a powerful man. Standing upright and built like the ancient Coronians were build, the man had a majestic mane of black dreadlocks. He also wore the crown of tribal chief, and bore the markings of Dracnous on his body along with many battle scars.
Muhadan had orange coloured eyes, black hair, stood at approximately seven feet in height, and weighed roughly three hundred pounds of pure muscle. The blood of Draconus coursed through his veins so he was no mere mortal.

This man, now sat in a tent with the rest of the elders of the nomadic people. They came from all over Corone, from the coastal areas of Serendious (Serenti Province in the modern tongue), to the the northern shores hugging the Jagged Mountains. Their tent was located on the rolling hills of Tyamalndu. The nomadic people had settled in a small area of Tyamalndu forming a loose group of various tents. This would become modern day Tyamalndu and eventually Serenti, and Jadet.

The Elders deliberated amongst themselves, but one of them, the man named Muhadan stared at Alberdyne Cormyr fiercely.

"Arise." He said...

Today:

Restless nights were common of late. The year was C.P. 1820 and the month was September. The day was the twelfth of September, and the hour was the eight with twenty two minutes to spare in the early morning. Dyne found himself in his bed, in his house, in the merchant district of Radasanth.
Dyne's house was located on 43rd Street, Shelldon Avenue, number 53. The patron of his Clan, Melothac Cormyr, owned the house along with a workshop that was part of the market district. Melothac had a sizable fortune in his coffers and that's how Alberdyne Cormyr and Nahagaut Cormyr were educated. Dyne's Father paid for academy training for Nahagaut, and Dyne obtained his training in The Citadel itself for a potential military career himself.

It was on these matters that Dyne dreamed. Lately, that man with the dreadlocks appeared in his dreams oft. He had no name, only a figure with fierce orange eyes and dreadlocks. Dyne was awakening from a dream with that man in it once again, for the umpteenth time that month. September had produced very little sleep for the youth and he was having terrible nightmares. Nightmares that left the youth awake in the middle of the night with the cold-sweats.

Sitting up quickly with a start, Dyne wrapped the comforter around his person even tighter. He slept with no clothing on, skyclad, and his body was covered in cold sweat. He did not scream, the nightmares were common place now. When he wasn't dreaming of the man in his visions, he was dreaming of sapphire blue eyes watching him from the dark.

Dyne shivered as he sat in dark room, curtains covered the only pair of windows in the room. They were dark so as not to allow sunlight to filter into the youth's room. Though Dyne's main profession was that of a Blacksmith, he had followed his Brother's footsteps and had decided to become a Guard in the town of Underwood. Though it wasn't a grandiose military career, all great soldiers started from the bottom and worked their ways up. Holding his position for a few moments, Dyne struggled to catch his breath. He was hyper ventilating from the sudden movements of waking up, and the shock and fear of another nightmare.

His adrenalin was pumping as his heart raced. Dyne ran his hand through his long, red hair and sat on the side of the bed. Feeling the cool wooden floor against his feet, the youth stood up and walked over to a mirror. Looking back at his empty bed, Dyne realized with a pang that he was alone. No woman cared for someone like he, and he was lost in a modern age of political warfare and activism. Most of his friends had joined activist groups protesting the recently formed Corone Empire. A realist, Dyne did not care about The Empire one way or the other. If there was a way to profit off The Empire, his family would find it.

That was his main concern after all, his family. If he could protect his family then his life was all worth it. Dyne looked at a nearby table that sat near the center of his room. Focusing his psychokinetic powers, the youth conjured a psionic's bolt that wrapped itself around a nearby goblet filled with water. A bolt of green energy flew from Dyne's hand and summoned the goblet. Flying through the air, the goblet was soon in Dyne's hand and he was pulling the water swiftly until the goblet was empty. Dyne stared at himself in the mirror the entire time.

***

A time later, he was dressed in his guard's outfit. Employed by The Watch of Underwood, Alberdyne Cormyr's outfit was emblazoned with the markings of The Watch. His house was empty when he left it, and the youth decided it was time to go seek work or training, or both. So he found himself within The Citadel in the city of Radasanth. The battle-chamber was number twenty-seven and it was currently empty. The youth had already talked to the monks and he was going to manifest a very specific arena. An arena that had a close tie to his ancestors, though he would never realize that fact until much later in his life. Dyne opened the doors to battle chamber number twenty seven and stepped inside.

(Arena described in my next post unless YOU want to describe it yourself)

[Taskmienster]

A man who was little more than an outcast noble stood on the footsteps of the Citadel, watching people. Those that walked into the massive construct had a grim expression, hardened and ready to go to war within the illusions. They were the determined, the disciplined, and the random people that wanted to test themselves or settle vendettas. At the Citadel, any reason to fight was accepted and any idea was never too much. Those that wandered out of the monolith of massacre were more stalwart in their appearances, having dealt with their issues or having lost their battles. Einar sighed and simply watched. He was not a man of Corone, not a citizen born on the island nation. The large man was a warrior of the Salvar tundra, his resolve in his weapon, his faith in his body. The smaller, and often incredibly strange, people of the island were an amalgamation of cultures and societies, none of which he could fit into.

“To fight or to carry on? I can but tarry in place, wondering at the waste this place is. Yet, after my last conflict with the fae creature, I find myself yet again wondering what it is that pulls me here.”

Thoughts dwindled to nothing, leaving only the solemn serenity the knightly figure was accustomed to before battle. He clasped his hands into fists, wrapping one hand around the leather bound to the back of his shield, the other around the handle of his mace. With another sigh he took his second step up the stairs. Another battle in the Citadel, another attempt to find his place and his future.


~*~

The illusion was less serene than the first he had been privy to. Trees in the distance marked the edge of a deciduous forest, far removed from any potential use. A looming sun lingered overhead, casting gentle rays that touched the world below with soft light. It was warm, but not overbearing, and the warrior was thankful. His leather armor, blackened and boiled, was warm to the touch but not heating up as it customarily did in Corone. A light breeze brushed past him, barely felt and barely noticed. It swirled through the plate mail covering his sword arm, cooling the appendage beneath. The grass underfoot swayed and bent to the breeze, emerald blades dancing delicately.

“Serenti,” he commented as he turned away from the distance and towards the other horizon. The massive city loomed, a block of civilization with a background of pristine blue waves behind. Even as far away as he was, the scent of salt-laced air was prevalent. The monks had chosen a battle ground that was more simplistic than the druid’s grove he had first fought in. It was the epitome of peace. Yet, it was a place his father had told him about many times before he had passed. The outcast noble of Salvar was familiar with the town itself, had visited many times to watch the Serenti Invitational and the warriors that fought for their own honor and the benediction of the people. The countryside, however, he had never explored and was not familiar with. The rolling hills were a patchwork of simple farms and open, arable land. “A fitting world to cast two unfamiliar souls into for combat.”

Einar tightened the straps of his shield to his hand. With the extension of his armor secured he removed the mace from its hook at his hip. The weapon was unwieldy in the wrong hands, more closely resembling a steel club than a mace. Its edges gave him advantages, at times, but he favored it more for its simplicity and the way it felt in his hands. With a smile touching his lips unconsciously, he stood and closed his eyes. The breeze flittered against across his massive frame, and peace settled in his mind. Whoever his opponent was, he was ready.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Lost in the world, Dyne's thoughts were on the philosophical matters. He stood relatively close to his opponent, just a few feet away. With his cloak dancing in the cool breeze, Alberdyne Cormyr allowed himself a few moments to think about the world. As a philosopher, Dyne had developed a great many opinions about the plights facing the world. Though in the end, he was powerless to face the shadows of the world, he still held firm to the beliefs that his family had instilled in him.

Dyne looked up at the sky now, it was blue and several large clouds loomed overhead. He could see the sun, and this object shone with it's eternal brilliance. He placed a hand to shadow his eyes, obfuscating his face. A moment later, Dyne adjusted his glasses. He wore the clothing of a guard of Underwood which made him an unmistakable presence. On his cloak was emblazoned the stylized "C" insignia which was the marking of Clan Cormyr.

Standing absolutely still, Dyne did not notice it when his opponent had arrived. He was lost in thought. Planning, the youth had not cast aside the worries of a busy work-week. In between his duties as a guard of Underwood, and his blacksmith duties, Dyne was always busy. When not training or running patrols, Alberdyne Cormyr was training in The Citadel.

The longer Dyne stood in place, the deeper was his general feeling of relaxation. Each breath was taken in a controlled fashion as he used the breathing technique taught to him in his military training. As he stood there he had an urge to turn around. The movement was a very relaxed gesture, and he saw a looming figure ahead. It was likely his opponent. Dyne had seen such big men in Underwood before, and he assumed that the giant-like man had a Salvarn origin. Immediately, questions filled his head and heart. Walking towards Einar, Alberdyne Cormyr stopped approximately a few paces ahead of his opponent. Then, he bowed.

"Ah. You must be a Salvarn?" Dyne asked with a curious tone of voice. He sincerely wanted to know. "My name is Alberdyne Cormyr. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." Dyne had a smile on his face as he looked at his opponent, he was glad to face a "normal" Human for a change.

[Taskmienster]

The former Salvaran lord was caught nearly off guard by his opponent. With the beauty of the gentle coast filling his hazel eyes, he had become immersed in a world unknown to him. Though he told himself again and again that it was an illusionary world created by the Ai’Bron, he could not hold back the astonishment at the beauty of Southern Corone. A born and raised native of the southern Salvic lands, he was accustomed to harsher environments. Snow, blizzards, landslides, and the occasional flood were to be expected. A short harvesting period was the only time when his original home was in a state not a quarter as pristine as Serenti. Even in the summer season, the land was packed dirt and meager clumps of grass. The salt stained air of Fenrisson Hold was rife with the scent of decaying whale carcass and sun warmed fish. “When this battle is finished, I will travel to the southern tip and see this place for myself. If magic can make something so inspiring, the real destination must be even more majestic.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Cormyr.” In his usual fashion his words were spoken in a firm, yet gentle way. The brutish looking warrior was a man steeped in noble custom, yet cast them aside whenever possible for a more amiable approach to meeting others. Despite the weapon and shield at hand, ready for combat, he was sociable in every way. His shoulders were broad and strong. His eyes caught what nuisances they could as he looked at the younger man, but quickly came to find nothing overly interesting. Einar gave a nod of his head as he slightly inclined his chin towards the ground, never letting his eyes fall away from those of Alberdyne. A respectful nod to a lower class was courtesy, movement of the upper torso as much as he had was a sign of respect for another warrior who’s station in life was unknown though assumed lower caste. “I will be your opponent this ‘noon. My name is Einar Fenrisson, formerly Lord Fenrisson of Salvar.”

Having formally introduced himself, the man corrected his posture once again. Those who would look upon him would not see him as a lord, for he was far from garbed in noble clothing. A ragged, worn shirt covered his upper body; a pair of loose fitting pants was tucked into scuffed and tattered boots. A common laborer of Salvar would be hard pressed to appear worse off than the man who had just called himself a Lord. The dignity, strength, and resolve behind his bright hazel eyes were enough for most to not question his heritage though. Knightly and courageous in posture, yet haphazardly clothes and armored, Einar was a man who sought purpose.

“If you would like to proceed,” he questioned as he raised his mace and shield. His stance brought his knees apart and his shoulder square with the ruby haired opponent.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

All in all, Alberdyne Cormyr found himself drawn to the man. When the fellow spoke, there seemed to be a sincere quality in his manner of speaking. Dyne noticed that the man did not attempt to demean him, or, belittle him. In fact, after Dyne had inclined his head, Einar had given him the same respect in return. He is a nobleman. I must remember my place... Feeling the slightest hint of discomfort, the philosopher suddenly found himself in an unusual place.

As though he were placed against a wall of mortar and brick, Dyne momentarily hesitated. After that moment passed, he recalled where he was. The wind continued to flow about the large farmlands of Serenti province causing a natural music to resound through the branches and leaves on nearby Yew trees, and the grass 'neath the philosopher. Alberdyne Cormyr looked at his opponent. He was powerful. Dyne had seen such men fighting in The Citadel before and in the barracks of The Watch over at Underwood.

The philosophical side of him wondered if Einar's stature was reminiscent of all of the humans native to Salvar. Dyne had always wanted to venture to Salvar, but those thoughts were not suitable for his current predicament. Alberdyne Cormyr covered the distance between himself and his opponent in a casual walk. Feeling somewhat intimidated by the brutish warrior before him, Dyne took several deep breaths as he walked to calm himself. This was not his first time in The Citadel, nor, would it be the last.

Dyne adjusted his shield on his right arm and kept his bronze, masterwork, longsword gripped tightly in his left hand. Armed with sword and shield, the philosopher was ready to do battle. With his eyes narrowed carefully, he looked upon Einar with neither hate, nor fear. It was an expression of utmost respect for only one other time had Dyne had an opportunity to dance amongst giants. Immediately, he thought of MetalDrago Scorpio. Thinking to himself carefully, he brushed the thoughts aside whilst he remained as calm as possible.

This is going to be a long day... Dyne thought to himself and then struck at his opponent. Using his left arm to gather up the momentum he needed for the strike, the maneuver was a close-up attempt at an attack. He stood no more than a pace or two away from the front-side of his opponent. His bronze longsword shone brilliantly in the afternoon sunlight as he gathered up the skill he needed for the strike. It was a tight maneuver, one that reflected the discipline of the guard-folk of Underwood. Dyne kept his eyes hidden behind his glasses, as he lashed out with his blade. The sword's tip was aimed for the man's right shoulder blade and the attack came at a distinct angle. Dyne had to adjust his center of gravity significantly in order to raise the blade up to where he could potentially hit his opponent.

Dyne waited for the next few moments of the battle...