Original Hylion
RPn's Original Jello Lion Pirate
Survivors plucked from what they could scavenge. Amongst the charred corpses and ashes of home, there was nothing but despair. There were near to no Wolves left to defend the civilians, so the refugees of Zephyr would have to leave with haste. Those Wolves that were left were hard pressed on guiding the survivors to a nearby city where they could find refuge. There were a few very small cities on the western coast, the closest large city that owned a portion of area was Ur, but their relation with Zephyr lacked, as they enjoyed war with the creatures of the unexplored further south. There was a line of mountains in the way of the other city-states, a large mass of refugees would have no easy time traversing through there. They would have no choice but to separate amongst the villages, or funnel into Ur and be adapted into their draft. The remaining Wolves debated over other options, but the lack of a higher command left them arguing over rank. The people tried to gather items and food for the travel, very little was left. Among the scavenging masses, a rider trotted through the ruins. His hair was a very pure and clean white slicked back as it was long enough in length to cover his eyes with several ties to keep it from falling forward, and his skin was quite pale in color and his young but strong face, and his eyes shined a bright sky like blue. He was adorned in red plated armor, with the crest of the Djinn wolves on its chest and shoulders. The crest was a very simple silver wolf head, small and nicely detailed, but added nothing but aesthetic design. It was definitely a high costing coat of armor. The man carried a spear at his side; the same spear the Wolves carried. He seemed tired, his eyes heavy and his shoulders dropped. He looked ready to collapse. Amongst the scavengers, he seemed like a lone guard watching over the charred-with-black ruins of Zephyr. His moment standing amongst the crowd was short, as he proceeded to lead his horse further into the rubble. There was much left in the cathedral, but nothing of very high value, looters had hit here first. The Hunt district was nearly gone entirely, and amongst the piles of ruined buildings; small creatures that survived had endeavored to make homes amongst the warm ashes. The districts were burnt, every house had been razed, and nothing was standing too tall. The castle was in ruins as well, nothing left of it. Something had gone through and personally destroyed every inch of it. The rider continued to urge his horse forward, scanning over for any traces of something. He found the pathway of corpses and he recognized their dress. He could consider himself one of them, but in luck he was away, on family errands. He nudged his horse onward, avoiding the bodies, attempting to respect some of what was left of Zephyr. He came upon where there was most wreckage. Something large had been trampling back and forth through this spot in front of the castle. It was flattened out, the buildings completely lifted from their foundations. The rider scanned the area for a few moments, and then moved on to examine the castle’s fallen stone. In the castle, he found a lone monk praying.
“Why pray,” the rider kept his horse from intruding the man’s space, “Zephyr is gone, its people no longer capable of being as such, and its royal line without heir.” The rider had a young voice, he was not old, and his voice gave him the façade that he was quite near his twenties. “There are people who are injured, and people in need of help now from fellow kin, so why pray to gods that may never answer?”
“A god did this,” the monk replied, “for what reasons, it is not known, but I pray to that god who did this.”
“Why pray to that god, the god who slaughtered those of your city?”
“None else would, now,” He kept his head down, and his hands clasped up to the air, “We are taught to pray to everyone equally, so I pray to those who are subject to avoid, or subjected to be prayed against.”
“Who is this god?”
“His name was not spoken, but I was close to the Alpha during his final stand against the flaming giant. He gave it a description. I am no man of language, but I call him Crimston, by the Alpha’s words against the giant.”
“Tell me of this giant.”
“It was not the giant that did this to our people,” the monk began, “but the man who took resident in its body.”
“The giant was a vessel?”
“Like the ships that carry men and spices across seas.”
“And who manned this vessel?”
“Crimston. The Alpha was able to enter into the giant’s body without being set entirely aflame. He was able to drive Crimston from its bowels. The giant’s chest opened and from two horses made from molten rock with manes of fire guided a great chariot out of the giant’s open torso. Upon the chariot sat the god, Crimston.”
“Describe to me, this Crimston, what does he appear to be?”
“One cannot describe a god.”
“Do your best.”
“A cloak one would see in the far reaches of the north, made of black and designed with fiendish appearance, truly a menacing deity. Chest was barrel shaped, and the mass of the humanoid form was huge and inhuman. Armor plated its arms and hands, with a handle of a sword perched at its waist. Legs were covered in chainmail and armor, all black of charred color. There was no real body there, only a flame that gave a form to wear the coat and armor. As a face, there was a mask, a mask that would only cover one’s eyes and forehead. The entirety of the body spewed fire from any area that allowed it to escape. When it drew its sword, there was no blade, but in its place a whip of stringed fire extended out some yards and sliced buildings in two. The chariot itself crashed through whatever wall in the way and set fire to any resistance and adjacent objects.” The monk sat up from his prostrated position. “After the castle had been felled, Crimston’s chariot took to the sky.”
“And where did he go?”
“North east.”
“So he is a northern god. He comes to the furthest reach of the realm to trample peaceful Zephyr. Under what motive, under what need does he act with such cruelty?”
“Why does a man feel the need to place his family above others?
“Because Cosmos demands it.”
“Why do what Cosmos demands?”
“Because Cosmos is above us, I would expect you to know that, monk.”
“Then why question a monk who carries out her commands?”
“Because you act against her, heretic.”
“And who are you to dictate what she wishes? Perhaps I act against by her command; perhaps it is her wish to test you, sir? Perhaps I am a tool of her divine works, what would she do if you were to break her tool?”
“Then as a tool of the goddess, dictate my actions to avenge Zephyr.”
“Vengeance?”
“My father is among the corpses that litter the ground. By my right, I deserve to take back from those who took.”
“Then decide yourself, as it is your vengeance.”
“A campaign.”
“Against a god?”
“Yes, he stole the soul of Zephyr, so I shall extinguish his flame.”
“The north is your destination. You’ll need supporters, supplies, money.”
“My position demands respect. I am a man of noble heredity.”
“A Djinn Wolve, one of high rank. Even so, there are others who argue for demand over what is left.”
“I hold the highest ranking crest, they will fall in line.
“You, a man that has never gained respect as the bastard child.”
“Then let them challenge me, as always. If I must once again defeat them by blade or by wit, then so be it.”
“I shall pray for you.”
“Thank you, I fear none else would.” The rider reared his horse away from the monk and redirected towards the outside encampment where the, now homeless, civilians were making shelter. There he would find the Djinn Wolves bickering over whom should take mantle as the new Alpha. While the Djinn Wolves’ need of Rige had been fading, the jobs had been separated between the many veterans and with half of the veterans wiped out during the city’s attack, there was a giant void in power left. At this point, it would be smarter to disperse the Wolves, as their numbers have depleted to nearly nothing and they no longer have any order amongst their ranks. There are three candidates for the next Alpha, arguing over what decisions should be taken now, each decision differing from the other. Beta Bede, the venerable, would take the people across the mountains, where the treacherous travel and the oncoming season of Cold would kill many of the citizens; Beta Vortigern sought to gain protection from Ur and their king, Gilgamesh, there the refugees would most likely be drafted into crusades aiming to explore further south; Beta Alfred considers staying and trying to rebuild before the Cold season arrives, leaving the people defenses against bandits and raiders. Each argued their pros and other’s cons. Their bickering had been attempted to keep within the confines of their tent for some while but soon erupted to cover the entire encampment. It was no trouble finding where they were, in their large tent where they sat over a map of the western coast and the bordering mountain passes. Bede insisted on the mountain passes, suggesting that it would even be possible to split into multiple groups to move quicker; Vortigern kept on about Gilgamesh’s former hospitality towards Zephyr, and Alfred simply spoke of their faults and the immense casualties and loss of honor from either option. The rider pulled his horse up near the tent, near the Wolves guarding the entrance. Merely from the look of him, the Wolves knew to clear way for the superior rank. The dismounted rider reached into the tent, clearing the flaps and entered, the sight of him caused the Betas to silence themselves, as most would when someone disturbs a conversation. He walked to and joined the table of debate, looking over the map of the land.
“You are?” Alfred was the first to speak; he is one of the younger Betas, earning his way to his position by keeping men alive.
“This tent is for negotiations of the future Alpha.” Vortigern spoke, a man known large amounts of successes in exterminating conspirators and insurgencies.
“Worry not, he’s right to be here, same as each you.” Bede, the oldest veteran, spoke. Bede was around since the beginning of the Djinn Wolves, and stands even older than Rige.
“Who is this man? What right does he have to declare Alpha?” Alfred questioned.
“I believe he means the opposite,” the intruder finally spoke, “he considers none capable but himself, correct, Bede?”
Bede kept silent.
“My achievements number much greater than either of you, the title of Alpha should be mine.” Vortigern spoke up.
“You risk the lives of too many.” Bede responded to Vortigern.
“Near to none have ever died under my command.” Said Alfred.
“You cower and coddle your men.” Bede responded to Alfred.
“And what of me,” the rider asked, “why is that I am not suited, what’ve I done to show lack of valiant soul?”
Bede kept silent.
“Perhaps I should be the one to answer that, as I as well have not spoken reason why I am suited for lead man.” He gestured back to the silent Bede, “Then perhaps you should tell us why the venerable Bede is more suited than any other here.”
“I was with him since the beginning, when we left Zephyr in hopes of joining against the diuris. And when we returned, I was still by his side. Most of all, before Rige lead our forces against the giant, we instructed me to guide the citizens to safety, that I shall do.” Bede was forceful in his tone. “I know Rige better than any.”
“Is that so?” The stranger spoke
“Yes, none else survive, his wife gone in the flames, his daughters gone to a far off distances, and his son,” He cut short there.
“Yes, his son?” The rider asked, much more interested in this than the other reasons.
“His son,” Bede’s wrinkles stretched and curled as he narrowed his vision on the intruder, “had shown his disdain for the Wolves when he declined the offer to lead them.”
“Does that not make him the best candidate?”
“You left Zephyr in its time of greatest need. You have no right to any position of power when you make no appearance to defend the men of whom you claim to be deserved leader of.”
“My obligation was to family, to both sibling and father, she needed escort and I supplied my service, as a proper man should.” The stranger continued, “Sure as any father, is that not what you would prefer your son to do for your daughter, nay I should not tread in such territory as tender as a father whom lost daughter and near same as son.”
“I challenge your right!” Bede exclaimed.
“Then you challenge the Alpha’s word.” The stranger’s tone went flat, holding back the unneeded yelling. “We have always been orderly men, and a code had been made for each to follow. One rule sat above all, if you do not recall, we are to listen to the Alpha’s words, to the letter, to and passed the edge of boundaries if matters call dire.”
“And I aim to do what I was demanded, protect the people, the men and women of Zephyr.”
“I swear to you, this will be done, but the command will be under by hand.”
“So you wish to take the glory, bastard.” Vortigern spoke up from his silence, finally catching on.
“No, what I will do will dishonor my name and any recollection of what may come of the Air family. You all will bring honor to the Wolves.” He answered.
“You speak of honoring the Wolves, then what action do you suggest?”
Alfred was curious.
“The Djinn Wolves take charge over all duties. The people may leave as they please, but the Wolves will stay and do their best to rebuild and protect those who wish to stay.”
“Our forces are too few, Gilgamesh could,” Vortigern objected.
“Ur is at war with the species to the south, sacrificing strife for more strife is no solution.”
“We can make it through the mountains!” Bede exclaimed once again.
“Not as the Cold season enters, even small numbers would have difficulty surviving the harsh mountainous trail.”
“And who would lead this operation?” Alfred spoke.
“All three of you, in joint leadership,” he began to elaborate, “Bede, being as you were most supportive of Rige’s ideals, you shall care for the people, be sure to help rebuild where you can. Alfred will account for maintaining relationships between the nearer cities, be sure to keep Gilgamesh from expanding north towards us through negotiable terms. Vortigern shall take care of defending our people, as Rige commanded, he will lead the cavalry and protect the people who choose not to leave their homeland.”
“And what of you, self proclaimed Alpha?” Vortigern spat.
“I will cross the mountains and seek support from our allies.”
“So you wish to escape in Zephyr’s time of need once again.” Bede spoke out.
“If I sought to escape, then why would I dare return?”
They silenced.
“I will not strip you of any men by mandatory decision. I will initiate a small campaign; gather volunteers who would find themselves willing to work under low conditions and pay, seek help from neighboring cities, and from there,” the stranger looked over the group, pausing a short moment, “I will head north, you will not hear from me again unless you hear of me once more of my defeat or of my victory.”
“You jest.” Bede looked up quizzically.
“I leave to accomplish what my father could not, I go to the northern lands, this time not to cut down the diuris, but to seek out Crimston.”
“Crimston?”
“The damned beast that did this to our people, to my father.”
“Now surely you blather crazed buffooneries.”
“No, as a stand from the only son of the Airs family, I shall show that the breeze of Zephyr can become swelling typhoon when angered by flame.”
“You are a crazed bastard. You’ll die before you make it to Byzantium.”
“Then let me be. I walk willingly to my grave, with spear in hand and discontent in heart.” The rider spoke boldly. "We are the Djinn, We are Brotherhood, We strike with the wind, With sharpened fangs, The sun behind our back, Howls are heard through the Realm"
"Throw me to the Wolves;" Bede spoke, "I shall return as Alpha,"
"I serve the Djinn," Vortigern this time, "My strength, honor, and life, Given unto my brothers, For the protection of Zephyr, But above all the pack, And the shield we represent."
"Throw me to the Wolves; I am worthy," The rider added.
"No foe can stand against," now Vortigern, "The Djinn’s ferocity. The pack ready to fight, We guard against the dark, In a world of shadow, We shall not fail."
"Throw me to the Wolves;" Bede spoke again, shutting his eyes, "I shall return as Alpha,"
"If I should fall today," the rider began, "My Brothers’ arms shall bear me, To Zephyr’s shining shores, Bury me where you will, My heart will remain always,"
"Wolf; Brother; Djinn" They all spoke now. "Throw me to the Wolves; I am worthy. We are the Djinn, We are Brotherhood, We strike with the wind, With sharpened fangs, The sun behind our back, Howls are heard through the Realm."
"Throw me to the Wolves; I shall return as Alpha." The rider concluded.
The stranger turned from the group and marched out from the tent, finding that his loose ends had been tied. The veterans glared at the man as he left. The rider quickly took to his horse and led it away from the tent, before any of the Betas took to arguing more. The horse galloped over to hill within the camp, where he could see the edges of the gathering of tents. He called out to the distraught civilians, “Attention!” The encampment slowly brought their attention to the rider.
He brought out his spear and directed it towards the sky. Eyes slowly found themselves on the shine the blade casted. “Attention.” It took little time indeed, but people were indefinitely reluctant to spare their aching ears on a young Djinn Wolve. “The Wolves have come to a decision.” More people perked up to hear the announcement, some already began to scoff at the unheard mandate. “There will be no new Alpha,” that earned more eyes, “Rige is the first and last, and there will be none like him.” There was skepticism in the crowd. “The three Betas, Bede the venerable, Vortigern, and Alfred shall serve as the leaders of the Djinn Wolves. The decision is final. The Djinn Wolves will stay in Zephyr and protect any who wish to rebuild what they can." The civilians seemed unsettled.
"Leave if you please, but we assure you that there is no place like Zephyr.” The crowds stirred, masses whispered of the possibilities of being attacked by foreign raiders, nations invading, and even the giant returning. The rider sat silent for a moment, letting the people take a rest and process the information he had given. The people were distressed, on the verge of rebelling; insurgency could be seen all over the camp. The people were fed up with the Wolves; they had failed to protect them, to do what they had come here and sworn. They wanted something done, something to be done at that moment, to make up for their losses, their family, their grief and despair. They had wrath, they wanted to bring about the reparations that the Wolves had done to them. Their angered grief was simply placed wrongly, they missed their loved ones, their homes, their protection, their lives, their hate was not towards the Wolves but rather the world that had decided it was time for Zephyr to feel undeserved pain. The world, almost Terryal, the inhabitants, the gods, did not want Zephyr. Why though, why would they not want Zephyr, was it because Zephyr was prosperous, Zephyr was peaceful. As if peace was not allowed to exist. Perhaps that was truly it.
“Listen, dear mourners of Zephyr,” the rider attempted to regain the mass’s attention, “I know at this time, each feels wretched hurt. I am sure; there is nary here that does not know how it now feels to lose everything. I assure you all, I feel the same; with you I have lost my home, my birthplace. I have lost my family to the terrible flames of that who did this to us, to our people, to our, oh so, loved Zephyr. Each here has lost someone, something they dreamed of. Some, have lost their lives, some lost their new ones, some have yet to even start theirs, some lost their chance, some lost their loved ones, some lost their mothers, their sons, their daughters,” he paused, “some their fathers, some their homes, some their being of life. I here, stand amongst as what I would hope you all understand as an equal, a man who has lost one as you all had. My sense tells me not to, but I believe it right to tell you all of the man I lost, the man each one of us, today, lost.”
The rider hopped off his horse, to put himself on the same ground as those he spoke to. He took a few breaths; he could feel his neck choking back what felt like tears. He kept strong; he would not allow this to happen now.
“This man, my father, whom now places himself with Sultra , was one of the greatest men I have ever known. One that taught me much, even without being there for me when I was confused, when I did not understand, when around me people had intention of hurting me, when they felt the need to usurp me. My father was still there, the man who founded me as son. My father and I are not related by blood, aye, I am a bastard. I am known as such, for my bastard blood is partly what brings me acknowledgement. My mother, she saw me as an intruder of her house, another mouth to feed, and one that had no deserving to be fed by the noble house of Air. Aye, I am a son of Air, the only and last son of Air. I am Airrow son of Rige. I am the forsaken prodigy whom was deemed to the despised by those who taught, those who raised me. Zephyr itself maimed me of life, the proper life a young man, a young man who takes place as son of one of the most prominent powers within the Realm, deserves. Yet I, as a bastard, was placed on a mantle that would consider me unfit, unrightful of the title son of Rige. And today, I prove those who doubted me right, as I was not here. I failed to do the duty placed upon my shoulders by my surname. My father, my father did my duty for me. I am no man; I am merely a sharpened blade. I will one day die, and no one will remember the name that I own. My father, he is indeed a different being than myself. He will be remembered, his death is untrue, for he cannot be killed, long as he stays in the memory of his people, his people that he worked so hard to protect. The people that I fail to protect. I apologize once more, as this title is not deserved. I give my title, heir to the Alpha, away to three men much more prominent than myself. I give up my rights to Bede the venerable, Alfred, and Vortigern. These men will do the job, and do it properly for I will fail time and time again. Cowardly, you may consider this job I push off to others, but I pray you allow me to redeem myself in way that I specialize. I ride north, far north, and I hunt in the name of Air and vengeance. I intend on bringing about the end of who did this, the end of Crimston."
The civilians stirred, it did not take long to realize who he meant as Crimston. The gritting of teeth and pressure of anger could be felt as the name spread across the crowd. They now knew a name to place their wrath upon.
"If I must do this alone, then so be it, but I will take anyone able and useful along the way. I am a sharpened blade, trained and practiced to kill and to kill well. I ask, to those here, for a guide, for I know very little of the geography of the northern lands. I ask for mystics, for the utility of one is nearly infinite. I ask for monk or healer, for the prevention of death is always needed. I ask for innovation, person that seeks to spread wit among the decisions of travel. And I ask for any who has fire in their heart, fire in their heart that asks to put down Crimston to stand with me.” A speech, the speech was terribly thought out, one not deserving of prize or praise.
Airrow took his horses reigns and guided the stead down the small hill, and made his way towards the crumbled ruins. He would await at his home, what was left of it.<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_12/57a8be8081169_GreatFireofLondonPainting.jpg.f7f72c51cb3769384c6714e493b86073.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="10570" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_12/57a8be8081169_GreatFireofLondonPainting.jpg.f7f72c51cb3769384c6714e493b86073.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
“Why pray,” the rider kept his horse from intruding the man’s space, “Zephyr is gone, its people no longer capable of being as such, and its royal line without heir.” The rider had a young voice, he was not old, and his voice gave him the façade that he was quite near his twenties. “There are people who are injured, and people in need of help now from fellow kin, so why pray to gods that may never answer?”
“A god did this,” the monk replied, “for what reasons, it is not known, but I pray to that god who did this.”
“Why pray to that god, the god who slaughtered those of your city?”
“None else would, now,” He kept his head down, and his hands clasped up to the air, “We are taught to pray to everyone equally, so I pray to those who are subject to avoid, or subjected to be prayed against.”
“Who is this god?”
“His name was not spoken, but I was close to the Alpha during his final stand against the flaming giant. He gave it a description. I am no man of language, but I call him Crimston, by the Alpha’s words against the giant.”
“Tell me of this giant.”
“It was not the giant that did this to our people,” the monk began, “but the man who took resident in its body.”
“The giant was a vessel?”
“Like the ships that carry men and spices across seas.”
“And who manned this vessel?”
“Crimston. The Alpha was able to enter into the giant’s body without being set entirely aflame. He was able to drive Crimston from its bowels. The giant’s chest opened and from two horses made from molten rock with manes of fire guided a great chariot out of the giant’s open torso. Upon the chariot sat the god, Crimston.”
“Describe to me, this Crimston, what does he appear to be?”
“One cannot describe a god.”
“Do your best.”
“A cloak one would see in the far reaches of the north, made of black and designed with fiendish appearance, truly a menacing deity. Chest was barrel shaped, and the mass of the humanoid form was huge and inhuman. Armor plated its arms and hands, with a handle of a sword perched at its waist. Legs were covered in chainmail and armor, all black of charred color. There was no real body there, only a flame that gave a form to wear the coat and armor. As a face, there was a mask, a mask that would only cover one’s eyes and forehead. The entirety of the body spewed fire from any area that allowed it to escape. When it drew its sword, there was no blade, but in its place a whip of stringed fire extended out some yards and sliced buildings in two. The chariot itself crashed through whatever wall in the way and set fire to any resistance and adjacent objects.” The monk sat up from his prostrated position. “After the castle had been felled, Crimston’s chariot took to the sky.”
“And where did he go?”
“North east.”
“So he is a northern god. He comes to the furthest reach of the realm to trample peaceful Zephyr. Under what motive, under what need does he act with such cruelty?”
“Why does a man feel the need to place his family above others?
“Because Cosmos demands it.”
“Why do what Cosmos demands?”
“Because Cosmos is above us, I would expect you to know that, monk.”
“Then why question a monk who carries out her commands?”
“Because you act against her, heretic.”
“And who are you to dictate what she wishes? Perhaps I act against by her command; perhaps it is her wish to test you, sir? Perhaps I am a tool of her divine works, what would she do if you were to break her tool?”
“Then as a tool of the goddess, dictate my actions to avenge Zephyr.”
“Vengeance?”
“My father is among the corpses that litter the ground. By my right, I deserve to take back from those who took.”
“Then decide yourself, as it is your vengeance.”
“A campaign.”
“Against a god?”
“Yes, he stole the soul of Zephyr, so I shall extinguish his flame.”
“The north is your destination. You’ll need supporters, supplies, money.”
“My position demands respect. I am a man of noble heredity.”
“A Djinn Wolve, one of high rank. Even so, there are others who argue for demand over what is left.”
“I hold the highest ranking crest, they will fall in line.
“You, a man that has never gained respect as the bastard child.”
“Then let them challenge me, as always. If I must once again defeat them by blade or by wit, then so be it.”
“I shall pray for you.”
“Thank you, I fear none else would.” The rider reared his horse away from the monk and redirected towards the outside encampment where the, now homeless, civilians were making shelter. There he would find the Djinn Wolves bickering over whom should take mantle as the new Alpha. While the Djinn Wolves’ need of Rige had been fading, the jobs had been separated between the many veterans and with half of the veterans wiped out during the city’s attack, there was a giant void in power left. At this point, it would be smarter to disperse the Wolves, as their numbers have depleted to nearly nothing and they no longer have any order amongst their ranks. There are three candidates for the next Alpha, arguing over what decisions should be taken now, each decision differing from the other. Beta Bede, the venerable, would take the people across the mountains, where the treacherous travel and the oncoming season of Cold would kill many of the citizens; Beta Vortigern sought to gain protection from Ur and their king, Gilgamesh, there the refugees would most likely be drafted into crusades aiming to explore further south; Beta Alfred considers staying and trying to rebuild before the Cold season arrives, leaving the people defenses against bandits and raiders. Each argued their pros and other’s cons. Their bickering had been attempted to keep within the confines of their tent for some while but soon erupted to cover the entire encampment. It was no trouble finding where they were, in their large tent where they sat over a map of the western coast and the bordering mountain passes. Bede insisted on the mountain passes, suggesting that it would even be possible to split into multiple groups to move quicker; Vortigern kept on about Gilgamesh’s former hospitality towards Zephyr, and Alfred simply spoke of their faults and the immense casualties and loss of honor from either option. The rider pulled his horse up near the tent, near the Wolves guarding the entrance. Merely from the look of him, the Wolves knew to clear way for the superior rank. The dismounted rider reached into the tent, clearing the flaps and entered, the sight of him caused the Betas to silence themselves, as most would when someone disturbs a conversation. He walked to and joined the table of debate, looking over the map of the land.
“You are?” Alfred was the first to speak; he is one of the younger Betas, earning his way to his position by keeping men alive.
“This tent is for negotiations of the future Alpha.” Vortigern spoke, a man known large amounts of successes in exterminating conspirators and insurgencies.
“Worry not, he’s right to be here, same as each you.” Bede, the oldest veteran, spoke. Bede was around since the beginning of the Djinn Wolves, and stands even older than Rige.
“Who is this man? What right does he have to declare Alpha?” Alfred questioned.
“I believe he means the opposite,” the intruder finally spoke, “he considers none capable but himself, correct, Bede?”
Bede kept silent.
“My achievements number much greater than either of you, the title of Alpha should be mine.” Vortigern spoke up.
“You risk the lives of too many.” Bede responded to Vortigern.
“Near to none have ever died under my command.” Said Alfred.
“You cower and coddle your men.” Bede responded to Alfred.
“And what of me,” the rider asked, “why is that I am not suited, what’ve I done to show lack of valiant soul?”
Bede kept silent.
“Perhaps I should be the one to answer that, as I as well have not spoken reason why I am suited for lead man.” He gestured back to the silent Bede, “Then perhaps you should tell us why the venerable Bede is more suited than any other here.”
“I was with him since the beginning, when we left Zephyr in hopes of joining against the diuris. And when we returned, I was still by his side. Most of all, before Rige lead our forces against the giant, we instructed me to guide the citizens to safety, that I shall do.” Bede was forceful in his tone. “I know Rige better than any.”
“Is that so?” The stranger spoke
“Yes, none else survive, his wife gone in the flames, his daughters gone to a far off distances, and his son,” He cut short there.
“Yes, his son?” The rider asked, much more interested in this than the other reasons.
“His son,” Bede’s wrinkles stretched and curled as he narrowed his vision on the intruder, “had shown his disdain for the Wolves when he declined the offer to lead them.”
“Does that not make him the best candidate?”
“You left Zephyr in its time of greatest need. You have no right to any position of power when you make no appearance to defend the men of whom you claim to be deserved leader of.”
“My obligation was to family, to both sibling and father, she needed escort and I supplied my service, as a proper man should.” The stranger continued, “Sure as any father, is that not what you would prefer your son to do for your daughter, nay I should not tread in such territory as tender as a father whom lost daughter and near same as son.”
“I challenge your right!” Bede exclaimed.
“Then you challenge the Alpha’s word.” The stranger’s tone went flat, holding back the unneeded yelling. “We have always been orderly men, and a code had been made for each to follow. One rule sat above all, if you do not recall, we are to listen to the Alpha’s words, to the letter, to and passed the edge of boundaries if matters call dire.”
“And I aim to do what I was demanded, protect the people, the men and women of Zephyr.”
“I swear to you, this will be done, but the command will be under by hand.”
“So you wish to take the glory, bastard.” Vortigern spoke up from his silence, finally catching on.
“No, what I will do will dishonor my name and any recollection of what may come of the Air family. You all will bring honor to the Wolves.” He answered.
“You speak of honoring the Wolves, then what action do you suggest?”
Alfred was curious.
“The Djinn Wolves take charge over all duties. The people may leave as they please, but the Wolves will stay and do their best to rebuild and protect those who wish to stay.”
“Our forces are too few, Gilgamesh could,” Vortigern objected.
“Ur is at war with the species to the south, sacrificing strife for more strife is no solution.”
“We can make it through the mountains!” Bede exclaimed once again.
“Not as the Cold season enters, even small numbers would have difficulty surviving the harsh mountainous trail.”
“And who would lead this operation?” Alfred spoke.
“All three of you, in joint leadership,” he began to elaborate, “Bede, being as you were most supportive of Rige’s ideals, you shall care for the people, be sure to help rebuild where you can. Alfred will account for maintaining relationships between the nearer cities, be sure to keep Gilgamesh from expanding north towards us through negotiable terms. Vortigern shall take care of defending our people, as Rige commanded, he will lead the cavalry and protect the people who choose not to leave their homeland.”
“And what of you, self proclaimed Alpha?” Vortigern spat.
“I will cross the mountains and seek support from our allies.”
“So you wish to escape in Zephyr’s time of need once again.” Bede spoke out.
“If I sought to escape, then why would I dare return?”
They silenced.
“I will not strip you of any men by mandatory decision. I will initiate a small campaign; gather volunteers who would find themselves willing to work under low conditions and pay, seek help from neighboring cities, and from there,” the stranger looked over the group, pausing a short moment, “I will head north, you will not hear from me again unless you hear of me once more of my defeat or of my victory.”
“You jest.” Bede looked up quizzically.
“I leave to accomplish what my father could not, I go to the northern lands, this time not to cut down the diuris, but to seek out Crimston.”
“Crimston?”
“The damned beast that did this to our people, to my father.”
“Now surely you blather crazed buffooneries.”
“No, as a stand from the only son of the Airs family, I shall show that the breeze of Zephyr can become swelling typhoon when angered by flame.”
“You are a crazed bastard. You’ll die before you make it to Byzantium.”
“Then let me be. I walk willingly to my grave, with spear in hand and discontent in heart.” The rider spoke boldly. "We are the Djinn, We are Brotherhood, We strike with the wind, With sharpened fangs, The sun behind our back, Howls are heard through the Realm"
"Throw me to the Wolves;" Bede spoke, "I shall return as Alpha,"
"I serve the Djinn," Vortigern this time, "My strength, honor, and life, Given unto my brothers, For the protection of Zephyr, But above all the pack, And the shield we represent."
"Throw me to the Wolves; I am worthy," The rider added.
"No foe can stand against," now Vortigern, "The Djinn’s ferocity. The pack ready to fight, We guard against the dark, In a world of shadow, We shall not fail."
"Throw me to the Wolves;" Bede spoke again, shutting his eyes, "I shall return as Alpha,"
"If I should fall today," the rider began, "My Brothers’ arms shall bear me, To Zephyr’s shining shores, Bury me where you will, My heart will remain always,"
"Wolf; Brother; Djinn" They all spoke now. "Throw me to the Wolves; I am worthy. We are the Djinn, We are Brotherhood, We strike with the wind, With sharpened fangs, The sun behind our back, Howls are heard through the Realm."
"Throw me to the Wolves; I shall return as Alpha." The rider concluded.
The stranger turned from the group and marched out from the tent, finding that his loose ends had been tied. The veterans glared at the man as he left. The rider quickly took to his horse and led it away from the tent, before any of the Betas took to arguing more. The horse galloped over to hill within the camp, where he could see the edges of the gathering of tents. He called out to the distraught civilians, “Attention!” The encampment slowly brought their attention to the rider.
He brought out his spear and directed it towards the sky. Eyes slowly found themselves on the shine the blade casted. “Attention.” It took little time indeed, but people were indefinitely reluctant to spare their aching ears on a young Djinn Wolve. “The Wolves have come to a decision.” More people perked up to hear the announcement, some already began to scoff at the unheard mandate. “There will be no new Alpha,” that earned more eyes, “Rige is the first and last, and there will be none like him.” There was skepticism in the crowd. “The three Betas, Bede the venerable, Vortigern, and Alfred shall serve as the leaders of the Djinn Wolves. The decision is final. The Djinn Wolves will stay in Zephyr and protect any who wish to rebuild what they can." The civilians seemed unsettled.
"Leave if you please, but we assure you that there is no place like Zephyr.” The crowds stirred, masses whispered of the possibilities of being attacked by foreign raiders, nations invading, and even the giant returning. The rider sat silent for a moment, letting the people take a rest and process the information he had given. The people were distressed, on the verge of rebelling; insurgency could be seen all over the camp. The people were fed up with the Wolves; they had failed to protect them, to do what they had come here and sworn. They wanted something done, something to be done at that moment, to make up for their losses, their family, their grief and despair. They had wrath, they wanted to bring about the reparations that the Wolves had done to them. Their angered grief was simply placed wrongly, they missed their loved ones, their homes, their protection, their lives, their hate was not towards the Wolves but rather the world that had decided it was time for Zephyr to feel undeserved pain. The world, almost Terryal, the inhabitants, the gods, did not want Zephyr. Why though, why would they not want Zephyr, was it because Zephyr was prosperous, Zephyr was peaceful. As if peace was not allowed to exist. Perhaps that was truly it.
“Listen, dear mourners of Zephyr,” the rider attempted to regain the mass’s attention, “I know at this time, each feels wretched hurt. I am sure; there is nary here that does not know how it now feels to lose everything. I assure you all, I feel the same; with you I have lost my home, my birthplace. I have lost my family to the terrible flames of that who did this to us, to our people, to our, oh so, loved Zephyr. Each here has lost someone, something they dreamed of. Some, have lost their lives, some lost their new ones, some have yet to even start theirs, some lost their chance, some lost their loved ones, some lost their mothers, their sons, their daughters,” he paused, “some their fathers, some their homes, some their being of life. I here, stand amongst as what I would hope you all understand as an equal, a man who has lost one as you all had. My sense tells me not to, but I believe it right to tell you all of the man I lost, the man each one of us, today, lost.”
The rider hopped off his horse, to put himself on the same ground as those he spoke to. He took a few breaths; he could feel his neck choking back what felt like tears. He kept strong; he would not allow this to happen now.
“This man, my father, whom now places himself with Sultra , was one of the greatest men I have ever known. One that taught me much, even without being there for me when I was confused, when I did not understand, when around me people had intention of hurting me, when they felt the need to usurp me. My father was still there, the man who founded me as son. My father and I are not related by blood, aye, I am a bastard. I am known as such, for my bastard blood is partly what brings me acknowledgement. My mother, she saw me as an intruder of her house, another mouth to feed, and one that had no deserving to be fed by the noble house of Air. Aye, I am a son of Air, the only and last son of Air. I am Airrow son of Rige. I am the forsaken prodigy whom was deemed to the despised by those who taught, those who raised me. Zephyr itself maimed me of life, the proper life a young man, a young man who takes place as son of one of the most prominent powers within the Realm, deserves. Yet I, as a bastard, was placed on a mantle that would consider me unfit, unrightful of the title son of Rige. And today, I prove those who doubted me right, as I was not here. I failed to do the duty placed upon my shoulders by my surname. My father, my father did my duty for me. I am no man; I am merely a sharpened blade. I will one day die, and no one will remember the name that I own. My father, he is indeed a different being than myself. He will be remembered, his death is untrue, for he cannot be killed, long as he stays in the memory of his people, his people that he worked so hard to protect. The people that I fail to protect. I apologize once more, as this title is not deserved. I give my title, heir to the Alpha, away to three men much more prominent than myself. I give up my rights to Bede the venerable, Alfred, and Vortigern. These men will do the job, and do it properly for I will fail time and time again. Cowardly, you may consider this job I push off to others, but I pray you allow me to redeem myself in way that I specialize. I ride north, far north, and I hunt in the name of Air and vengeance. I intend on bringing about the end of who did this, the end of Crimston."
The civilians stirred, it did not take long to realize who he meant as Crimston. The gritting of teeth and pressure of anger could be felt as the name spread across the crowd. They now knew a name to place their wrath upon.
"If I must do this alone, then so be it, but I will take anyone able and useful along the way. I am a sharpened blade, trained and practiced to kill and to kill well. I ask, to those here, for a guide, for I know very little of the geography of the northern lands. I ask for mystics, for the utility of one is nearly infinite. I ask for monk or healer, for the prevention of death is always needed. I ask for innovation, person that seeks to spread wit among the decisions of travel. And I ask for any who has fire in their heart, fire in their heart that asks to put down Crimston to stand with me.” A speech, the speech was terribly thought out, one not deserving of prize or praise.
Airrow took his horses reigns and guided the stead down the small hill, and made his way towards the crumbled ruins. He would await at his home, what was left of it.<p><a href="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_12/57a8be8081169_GreatFireofLondonPainting.jpg.f7f72c51cb3769384c6714e493b86073.jpg" class="ipsAttachLink ipsAttachLink_image"><img data-fileid="10570" src="<fileStore.core_Attachment>/monthly_2013_12/57a8be8081169_GreatFireofLondonPainting.jpg.f7f72c51cb3769384c6714e493b86073.jpg" class="ipsImage ipsImage_thumbnailed" alt=""></a></p>
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