Raised in a subsistence farming community, Xetes’s parents never taught him to think for himself. Every action taken was on behalf of continuing existence of himself and his family for another day. Beyond the endless daily drudgery of chores, his life consisted in silent meals at the common hall and exhausted nights on a packed dirt floor. He barely recognized his name at the time, so often did his community refer to him as simply “boy.” The true direction of his life eluded him.
It was an extremely common story, until the fire came.
One night in late winter, the boy slept fitfully on his sparse pile of straw and rolled uncomfortably onto the freezing earth. He awoke at that moment, feeling as though he continued to fall, despite the ground against his back. His spirit careened under the crust of the planet, passing effortlessly through the ice and soil and rock. Abruptly, his journey stopped and an entity made itself known. Fiery bands of pain wrapped around his wrists, pulling his arms taut in front of him and he screamed, watching his spirit’s incorporeal flesh searing away. He struggled against the agony, until his ankles were gripped similarly, and finally a claw of flame latched itself to his neck, immobilizing him completely.
“You make mockery of my gift, Xetes.”
The young boy quivered violently as a cacophonous voice replete with violence and lust for consumption crashed upon him without warning. The emotional charge seemed to suggest that “gift” was much more an uneven exchange than benevolence.
“Pathetic thing. I would have you be more.” The words seemed rushed, as if the entity could not bring itself to hesitate long enough to enunciate. The bands of flame grew tighter. “It brings me.. pain to speak to those such as you.” The pause before the voice could describe the emotion it experienced was noticeable, and the manacles of flame tightened as if in frustration.
“The other comes.” These words were nearly unintelligible, so quickly were they pushed into the boy’s brain. An enormous snapping sound echoed through the boy’s head as his spirit rushed back to its host, released and eager to leave the scene of its torture.
The boy heard the sound of violent, wracking sobs and found himself curled upon the floor, hands dug painfully far into the frozen dirt with unrestrained tears dripping down his face.
Rings of pain encircled his wrists, ankles and neck, but the wounds on his hands, while buried in the earth somehow alleviated the pain. Regaining some degree of control over himself, he repeatedly whispered a single word to the unexpectedly comforting earth, “Sanctuary…” He fell asleep minutes later, still curled protectively against the floor.
Another being came to him, this time not a palpable presence, merely a voice in his head that sounded like chewing rocks. In between each phrase it spoke, the voice gave the boy time for thought, “You will take him name. You will take his gift. You will make great use of it, but it will not be his purpose. Take heart, you are my kin.”
The next day, a new man awoke. Gathering his few belongings, a single change of clothes and an old walking stick, the boy strode oblivious through the common hall and toward the front doors. His father, seeing him pass by the amassed farmers breaking their fast without explanation, called out annoyed, “Where are you going, boy?”
The boy, without ceasing his stride, spoke softly over his shoulder, “My name is Xetes. I go to be the earth’s son.” This wind swirled approvingly through the open doors as he stepped outside into the pale pre-dawn light.
A Life's Task Begins
Good start Tomaid... where's the next chapter! :)
T
T
Danahg tells you 'yeah, luckily i kept most of it in my mouth and nasal membranes, ugh'
Dlur group-says 'I have a dead horse that I'm dragging down the shaft with my 4 corpses. Anyone want to help me beat it?'
Calladuran: There are other games to play if you want to play with yourself.
Dlur group-says 'I have a dead horse that I'm dragging down the shaft with my 4 corpses. Anyone want to help me beat it?'
Calladuran: There are other games to play if you want to play with yourself.
A Method to Madness
The nightmares continued.
The dreams pursued him through the solitary trek in the wilderness, haunting him with their irregularity and vividness. Every night as he lay down in a bed of late autumn leaves, he closed his eyes and wondered if he would receive the Visitor. The first few moments of blissful darkness were always the worst, waiting with fists clenched in soil. He lay quietly convulsing with fear and apprehension for more than a minute before deciding that this evening his soul would not be burnt out of him as it had periodically for the last month.
He had made his decision to leave home without conscious effort. From his waking moment on that fateful day onward, the first real decision he recalled making had been to stop beside a creek for rest that afternoon. From there his feet carried him with a will of their own, carefully avoiding roads, travelers, and civilization of any kind.
The woods offered a comfort he could not explain. The days he traveled underneath the gently swaying bows of maples and pines, the soft crunch of foliage underfoot unknotted his bony shoulders and encouraged his dirt-blackened fingers to uncurl. Thankfully, light only intermittently broke through the overhead layer of leaves. Even the gentle fall sun reminded the boy too intimately of the nights he awoke screaming with images of an endless inferno scorched into his retina.
“Your sleeping obedience no longer satisfies me.”
The boy staggered to his knees with a sickening intake of breath as the familiar voice crackled in his brain. He collapsed onto the forest floor clawing at his ears and what he was positive were wisps of smoke escaping from melted confines of his skull. “Leave me alone!” his shout quickly absorbed the nearby trees. “Whatever your gift is, you can have it back!”
A sense of mirth, like playfulness of a flame until it burns something, enveloped Xetes.
“The gift is not to be ungiven. You will take what I have given you, and use it.” The last words were enunciated with meteoric impact. Warm wetness filtered through the boy’s shaking hands as they clutched his head.
He whimpered, helpless and desperate, “Fine, tell me what it is and I’ll use it. If you don’t leave me alone, you’re just going to drive me insane and I won’t be able to use it anyway.” The boy paused for a moment at the very real possibility he was already crazy. He had left home without explanation, now he was lying in a strange forest shouting at voices in his head. The Visitor interrupted his reverie.
“I want you to…” The voice began, filling his head with the significance of the conclusion to be made, but instead of words, it channeled images into the boy’s head. Pouring rapidly into his brain were pictures of scorched forests, landscapes sundered by war, and attached to each image were emotions. Hatred, urgent need, a desire directed at no single goal and yet unwavering in its persistence. The barrage continued until the magnitude of the imagery concussed him into unconsciousness.
Tears leaked down his face until he realized all he heard was the sound of his own sobbing. He looked up from his misery and noted that besides the slightly disturbed ground where he lay, he was alone. Really alone.
A part of him had always been occupied obsessing about the force that had taken an interest in him. That portion of his head was now filled with repose, and something stronger. Calm determination welled up inside him, helping him make his decision. He used some nearby leaves to wipe the streaks of blood from his ears and crawled a few paces.
He picked up the discarded walking stick that had taken him away from his old life used it to lever himself unsteadily to his feet. He would again let the land be his guide. Surprisingly, the morning after four days travel from his encounter, his feet brought him to a small shack, nestled into a hillside. He stood staring at the cottage, unexpectedly unsure of how to proceed in the face of potential conversation after more than a month of solitude.
“You don’t know anything do you?”
The boy whipped around at the sound of the high voice, searching in vain until he lowered his gaze to spot a small gnomish woman smirking at him from the clearing’s edge.
“You forget to eat and the headaches will be even worse.”
Xetes shook his head in amazement and confusion. “How did you know I was getting a headache? How did you know I haven’t eaten, for that matter?”
She cocked her head at him and shrugged, “You just look the type. Come inside, I have some things to talk to you about. “ She turned as she passed him, walking toward what was presumably her home, “Oh, my name is Nolumakil. I imagine you’re Xetes.”
They stepped into the cottage, and Xetes entered a world he had never imagined he could have been born to occupy. The woman proceeded to explain to him the lifestyle of an Elementalist, how we continue to fight against what she would only refer to as “our own personal demons” until we arrive at our true purpose.
After describing the night that had caused him to leave his home and his experience in the forest she nodded, unsurprised. “You have a dangerous potential. Your…” she licked her lips uncomfortably, searching for the proper word, “heritage is such that you could easily turn down a destructive path. Whatever you choose to believe, know that if you follow that voice, you will not be the type of person you seem to be striving toward.”
She grinned and stood up from the modest table as he finished ravaging the plate of rabbit and potato stew. “It’s time for you to go. Remember what I told you.”
Ushered out the door and into the early afternoon sun peeking through the dense overhead cover he protested, “Time to go do what?”
“What you promised from the beginning, to be the earth’s son.”
The dreams pursued him through the solitary trek in the wilderness, haunting him with their irregularity and vividness. Every night as he lay down in a bed of late autumn leaves, he closed his eyes and wondered if he would receive the Visitor. The first few moments of blissful darkness were always the worst, waiting with fists clenched in soil. He lay quietly convulsing with fear and apprehension for more than a minute before deciding that this evening his soul would not be burnt out of him as it had periodically for the last month.
He had made his decision to leave home without conscious effort. From his waking moment on that fateful day onward, the first real decision he recalled making had been to stop beside a creek for rest that afternoon. From there his feet carried him with a will of their own, carefully avoiding roads, travelers, and civilization of any kind.
The woods offered a comfort he could not explain. The days he traveled underneath the gently swaying bows of maples and pines, the soft crunch of foliage underfoot unknotted his bony shoulders and encouraged his dirt-blackened fingers to uncurl. Thankfully, light only intermittently broke through the overhead layer of leaves. Even the gentle fall sun reminded the boy too intimately of the nights he awoke screaming with images of an endless inferno scorched into his retina.
“Your sleeping obedience no longer satisfies me.”
The boy staggered to his knees with a sickening intake of breath as the familiar voice crackled in his brain. He collapsed onto the forest floor clawing at his ears and what he was positive were wisps of smoke escaping from melted confines of his skull. “Leave me alone!” his shout quickly absorbed the nearby trees. “Whatever your gift is, you can have it back!”
A sense of mirth, like playfulness of a flame until it burns something, enveloped Xetes.
“The gift is not to be ungiven. You will take what I have given you, and use it.” The last words were enunciated with meteoric impact. Warm wetness filtered through the boy’s shaking hands as they clutched his head.
He whimpered, helpless and desperate, “Fine, tell me what it is and I’ll use it. If you don’t leave me alone, you’re just going to drive me insane and I won’t be able to use it anyway.” The boy paused for a moment at the very real possibility he was already crazy. He had left home without explanation, now he was lying in a strange forest shouting at voices in his head. The Visitor interrupted his reverie.
“I want you to…” The voice began, filling his head with the significance of the conclusion to be made, but instead of words, it channeled images into the boy’s head. Pouring rapidly into his brain were pictures of scorched forests, landscapes sundered by war, and attached to each image were emotions. Hatred, urgent need, a desire directed at no single goal and yet unwavering in its persistence. The barrage continued until the magnitude of the imagery concussed him into unconsciousness.
Tears leaked down his face until he realized all he heard was the sound of his own sobbing. He looked up from his misery and noted that besides the slightly disturbed ground where he lay, he was alone. Really alone.
A part of him had always been occupied obsessing about the force that had taken an interest in him. That portion of his head was now filled with repose, and something stronger. Calm determination welled up inside him, helping him make his decision. He used some nearby leaves to wipe the streaks of blood from his ears and crawled a few paces.
He picked up the discarded walking stick that had taken him away from his old life used it to lever himself unsteadily to his feet. He would again let the land be his guide. Surprisingly, the morning after four days travel from his encounter, his feet brought him to a small shack, nestled into a hillside. He stood staring at the cottage, unexpectedly unsure of how to proceed in the face of potential conversation after more than a month of solitude.
“You don’t know anything do you?”
The boy whipped around at the sound of the high voice, searching in vain until he lowered his gaze to spot a small gnomish woman smirking at him from the clearing’s edge.
“You forget to eat and the headaches will be even worse.”
Xetes shook his head in amazement and confusion. “How did you know I was getting a headache? How did you know I haven’t eaten, for that matter?”
She cocked her head at him and shrugged, “You just look the type. Come inside, I have some things to talk to you about. “ She turned as she passed him, walking toward what was presumably her home, “Oh, my name is Nolumakil. I imagine you’re Xetes.”
They stepped into the cottage, and Xetes entered a world he had never imagined he could have been born to occupy. The woman proceeded to explain to him the lifestyle of an Elementalist, how we continue to fight against what she would only refer to as “our own personal demons” until we arrive at our true purpose.
After describing the night that had caused him to leave his home and his experience in the forest she nodded, unsurprised. “You have a dangerous potential. Your…” she licked her lips uncomfortably, searching for the proper word, “heritage is such that you could easily turn down a destructive path. Whatever you choose to believe, know that if you follow that voice, you will not be the type of person you seem to be striving toward.”
She grinned and stood up from the modest table as he finished ravaging the plate of rabbit and potato stew. “It’s time for you to go. Remember what I told you.”
Ushered out the door and into the early afternoon sun peeking through the dense overhead cover he protested, “Time to go do what?”
“What you promised from the beginning, to be the earth’s son.”
Dang...after that, I'm almost tempted to put aside my illusionist and start using my human elementalist in earnest.
Kesena OOC: 'i wish my daddy bought me power tools'
Dorgh group-says 'damn, even with Cofen helping Mori, they STILL can't kill someone
Hekanut says 'I know level doesn't matter much, but most won't take seriously if a level 2 claims to be the best thing before, during, and after sliced bread.'
Rather than seeing "subpar race/class," see "challenge."
Dorgh group-says 'damn, even with Cofen helping Mori, they STILL can't kill someone
Hekanut says 'I know level doesn't matter much, but most won't take seriously if a level 2 claims to be the best thing before, during, and after sliced bread.'
Rather than seeing "subpar race/class," see "challenge."
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