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Dawn
Posted: 04 Oct 2004 02:20 PM |
"Forward stance! At the ready! Attack!
"Again!
"Again!"
Byron swung his sword for what felt like the hundreth time. His arm burned in protest, but he ignored the pain. He was used to pain by now, he had been training like this since he was a youth. Sword and bow, dagger and club, he had a passing familiarity with most and half-way decent skill with others. He knew, though, that training against a dummy was nothing at all like fighting a living being. To this day, he had done copious amounts of the former, and very little of the latter.
A sharp thack, followed by an even sharper stinging in his head, brought him out of his reverlry. "Pay attention, young one," barked Uncle Jochim, "You drift too much."
"I am sorry, Uncle Jochim, i will try harder," replied Byron. dang he thought, Another mistake! Come one, I know I can do better!
And so he returned to his training....attack, retreat, defend; side-slash, overhead swing, thrust; all the forms he had been doing since his youth.
Byron had no illusions as to why he was training. The Lorian family had always trained this way, and always would, if Uncle Jochim had anything to say about it. Martial skill was not the only thing Byron was trained in. Byron knew how ot interact with high society, the feints and thrusts of the nobility was at least as intricate as swordplay. His shy nature, however, often left him at a disadvantage in less structureed situations where the rules were not clearly defined. Uncle Jochim also instisted Byron learn to read and write. He often demended reams of paper on various subjects ranging from philosophy to mathmatics. Byron was not the best student ever, and he knew it. Nonetheless, Uncle Jochim continued to demand exersice of both the body and the mind.
"That is enough for today, young one," said Uncle Jochim. "You did better today." Byron smiled, he was not praised often by his Uncle, so when he was it was truely a happy event.
"Thank you, Uncle Jochim," smiled Byron. Dipping a cloth in water, he began to towel off his face. The training session had been particularly difficult today due to the heat, and Byron was glad it was over. "Uncle," Byron lowered the towel and looked at Jochim, "Tell me again where I am going?"
Jochim sighed, "We have been over this, Bryon. You are to be twenty soon. I have kept you here far longer then my father kept me. Your training is nearly complete, and I do you no favor by keeping you here."
"But Uncle," Byron looked into his towel, "I do not know where to go."
"That is the point, young one. Those of our order never know where they are going. They only go, and where they are is where they must be."
Byron looked up, "But how..."
Jochim raised a hand, stopping Byron, "No, do not ask again, Byron. You must find your own path. I cannot choose it for you. You will know when you are ready to return to take up the mantle of our family.
"Remember, Byron, we are the last of our kind. When we die, our order will be lost to the ages. We have survived for centuries, but our continued survival depends on you. You know this."
Byron nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly from the weight of responsiblity, "I will not fail, Uncle." Now I only need to know how to keep that promise
Jochim nodded, "You leave tomorrow morning. Fate shall bring you where you need to be. Now get some rest. Tomorrow will come early. My fate guide your honor"
"My fate guide your honor, Uncle," replied Byron with a confidence he didn't feel. What would happen now that. He looked up, and noticed for the first time the dawn, red and brilliant against the waning night sky.
His journey had started. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 04 Oct 2004 03:18 PM |
One Year Later
He had traveled for many miles, and had seen many things. But he had not yet found what he sought. Though he had no limit on the time he could be gone, he knew his limits. Just two months ago, he had received word that Uncle Jochim had suffered a bad accident. Even now, he lay unconscious in his bed, being tended to by the local physician. The outlook was not good, and Byron knew that his Uncle, the man who had raised him from infancy and taught him everything he knew, was on his deathbed.
Duty is all that kept Byron from flying home to be at his Uncle's side. The duty he had was not only to his Uncle, to the Lorian family name. Over the last year, Byron had traveled the lands, going where fate took him in search of his honor. This had been the quest for all young men in his family since time immemorial. So far, his search had proven fruitless.
And so days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and still he heard no word of his Uncle. Finally, the unknown grew unbearable, and Byron flew home to be by his Uncle's side. But he was too late; his uncle had died several weeks earlier. Byron wept bitterly, for not only had he lost the only father he had ever known, but he had failed in his duty by returning home before he had fulfilled his quest.
Byron entered his Uncle's house, the one he had grown up in and now had inherited. It was considered a manor in the nearby village, but even Byron knew that it would barely be considered a normal house in any larger city. He walked to den, where he and his Uncle had shared many memories. The smell of old tobacco and leather permeated the room, bringing Byron memories unbidden. He ignored the ghosts of the past and focused on his goal. There is was, across the plush carpet, past the fireplace, standing at the far end of the room. The only true treasure the Lorian family possessed.
Byron did not know how old the armor was, but he knew it belonged at least to his fathers great grandfather. It was black with gold inlay, and it was immaculately polished. He reached out...and hesitated. He was not supposed to have this armor, not until he proved himself. He could not take on the family mantle, the secret which had pass from generation to generation, without certain conditions being met. Yet he was the last of his family, and no one else could take up the burden.
Slowly, he lowered his hand. No he thought, I can not. Not yet. There is still too much to be done. With that, he turned and strode out of he den, out of the house, and after making arrangements for the family manor to be cared for, and away from his home. He would finish his task and let fate find his honor, or he would return in failure, never to claim his birthright.
But another was watching with great interest as the young man considered the armor. It's ethereal presence was cloaked, hidden from Byron. The presence floated in front of the young man as he left his family home. Byron passed through, and the presence vanished.
Prepare yourself, son of Lorian, for we shall meet soon. Until then, I shall be with you.
A chill ran down Byron's spine as he left. "May fate find my honor," he whispered, and walked briskly into the rising sun. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 05 Oct 2004 03:20 AM |
This is really good stuff. I often only read all of a story if the first paragraph intrigues me and whilst not a lot happens, your description was really very good.
Keep it coming. |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 05 Oct 2004 03:48 AM |
((*applauds* more! more!
- Sol)) |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 06 Oct 2004 10:28 AM |
((Great history . . . some past he has to live up to!
Eliana, by the way, is in absolute love. :P)) |
Consequences
Unsent
It's hard to say it, time to say it...
Goodbye, goodbye |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 06 Oct 2004 12:23 PM |
Six Months Later
Byron sat in a dark corner of the bar, nursing the same ale he had purchased when he first sat down three hours ago. He had not even taken a drink, but a continual stream of generous tips and repeated compliments to the waitress allowed him to keep his seat without paying for another. He stared into his ale, lost in thought.
It is gone the thought still shocked him. Only six months ago, he had buried his uncle and left his family home. He had always thought he could return home eventually, after he had found what he was looking for and could take on the mantle of his family. But that was no longer possible.
Byron looked at the charred piece of wood rested by his ale. It was all that was left of his family's manor. The rest had burned to the ground in what he was told had been a tremendous fire. The villagers had offered him their condolences and comfort while he was home, both of which he accepted gratefully. But all of it was hollow, for his heart was chilled by what he found upon investigating the ruins.
The armor was gone without a trace. Stolen, he deduced, but by whom? Thoughts raced through his head. His family had no enemies. The villagers had always been friendly towards his Uncle, and his Uncle had in returned used his considerable wealth to assist the villagers when necessary. It had been a peaceful relationship from which both parties benefited. Even the merchants his Uncle often dealt with in his import/export trade business were friendly. Byron remembered several occasions when a merchant, weary after a long journey, would gladly accept the hospitality, warm food, and roaring fire offered by his uncle. No, there were no enemies there.
Suddenly, Byron went cold. It could not be. The thought was too unreal to believe and too terrible to be true. Still, standing in the still smoking ruins of his former home, Byron could see no other explanation.
The ancient enemy had found them.
Byron quickly began to pack his things. The enemy might return and find him, and he knew he was not ready to face them. He put his last belonging into his pack, and noticed something shimmering in the bright fall sun. Putting his pack down, Byron approached the shimmering object. He bent down and picked up a small medallion. The medallion had a silver chain with a blade hanging from it. Byron frowned, and put the medallion in his pouch.
The enemy, perhaps? he thought to himself.
Perhaps, came a reply form what seemed to be right next to him.
"What? Who is there?" His hand found his sword hilt and his body tensed. He looks around quickly, "Show yourself!"
But he was alone. He released his sword. With a final look at the burned house, he turned and walked away. The enemy was out once more. He did not know if they knew of his existence, but he would have to be cautious. The Lorians, and their brothers, were nearly completely annihilated by the enemy in the past. Byron was the last...he would not allow it all to end. But first, he had to claim his birthright. Otherwise, it would all be for naught.
That had been two weeks ago, and Byron still did not know where to go. His money was running low, and he could not count on his Uncles fortune. All of that, besides a small pittance, had been left to the village. Which, in Byron’s mind, was the proper thing to do. But still, he would have to do something to earn more money.
He took a piece of paper, after preparing his pen, began to write. His request was simple, he wished to learn to tailor. It would serve a good purpose. He could earn a living and remain in hiding until the time was right. Perhaps he could live his life as a tailor and lay down his sword and responsibility until the next generation. He quickly banished that thought. No, he would remain in the grip of fate. Fate would guide his honor, and if he was worthy, his honor would shine.
And still, he occassionally could here that voice...sometimes even when he was alone. Insanity was not known in the Lorian family, but Byron knew there was a first time for everything... |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 06 Oct 2004 12:27 PM |
((Keep it coming. You could make a novel out of this guy. Hope to meet him IG too.
PS: Insanity helps around here))
[Moderators note: This is a roleplay thread. Please mark ooc comments as being ooc please. Thanks.] |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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...and the early morning sunshine danced like fire upon the land
Posted: 06 Oct 2004 12:55 PM |
"Your will has been done, Preceptor," said the hooded figure. He was dressed in dark clothes that seemed to merge with his surroundings, making him hard to distinguish. "The man, Jochim Lorian, died with no heirs. The residence was burned to the ground, just to be certain all traces of his family were erased."
Before the hooded figure stood a tall man in a red robe. He spoke quietly, "And did you check to make certain there were no others before you burned the manor?"
The hooded figure shook his head, "It was unnecessary, Preceptor. The manor was deserted; it had been for some time. There were no others..."
The tall figure in white motioned with his hand, causing the hooded figure to yelp in magically induced pain. "You fool," he spat, "you were not thorough. Unacceptable!" The tall man's hand moved again, and the hooded figure began to writhe in pain. "Consider this a lesson," said the tall man after releasing the hooded figure. "You may have completed your task, but you did not make certain of it. You were not thorough. If there is another, it shall mean your head."
"Yes, Preceptor," croaked the hooded figure after crawling to his feet. "I shall not fail you again."
"Good. Now be gone." The tall figure watched contemptuously at the hooded figure rushed out of his chambers. "I shall have a talk with the instructors," he decided, "This will not happen again. The task before him was too important to leave incompetent people. Still, he reasoned, the task did seem complete. Finally, the stain of that ancient heresy had been removed. Now, no one could stop him.
The Preceptor allowed himself the pleasure of a rare smile. |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
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"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 06 Oct 2004 09:05 PM |
Eliana, by the way, is in absolute love. :P))
((Hmm, okay...I'll warn Arcane...)) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 07 Oct 2004 12:22 AM |
((
Hmm, okay...I'll warn Arcane...
...oh dear. If this means what I think it does, she shall not be pleased if she ever finds out. Oops. )) |
Consequences
Unsent
It's hard to say it, time to say it...
Goodbye, goodbye |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 07 Oct 2004 10:53 AM |
...oh dear. If this means what I think it does, she shall not be pleased if she ever finds out. Oops. ))
((If you think it means what I think you think it means (is that too many thinks) then there's some you're wrong. If, however, you don't think what I think you think I think you mean, then it should make for some nice roleplaying. :)
On another note, thanks for all those that have responded positively to this story. This marks the end of Byron's past (at least the part that will be published.) The rest is FOIG and, of course, what developed through roleplaying.)) |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Dawn
Posted: 11 Oct 2004 02:34 PM |
((I lied, I guess. Byron has told me that there's more to the story))
Some Time Later
Darkness surrounded him, but he had stopped caring long before. The darkness was a protection of a sort, a blanket protecting him from the outside world. A blanket, or a shroud.
The silence was broken only by his frantic whispers. He did not, however, realize, he was talking.
“I cannot help you….
“No, I do not ever know what you are…
”Then tell me…
“I cannot be what you want me to be…
“Show me…
“The images….the suffering…the loss…the pain…
“You went through this…?
“But for what purpose…?
“You wish me to….
“So be it…”
Some time later, he could not know how long, he emerged from the desert cave he had taken refuge in previously. The sunlight blinded him, and he was disoriented for a time. “Show me where to go,” he whispered, though he was alone.
And with that, he made his way to the Four Winds Inn. He did not know what he sought, or why he went. By the time he arrived, he did not even remember the journey.
“Where do we go now,” he whispered as he left the Inn.
To make things right
“But I do not know how.”
Nor do I….Nor do I. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Dawn
Posted: 11 Oct 2004 04:28 PM |
(( Well I think you think, he thinks something but whether you think he thinks the thing you think he thinks, I think is an unlikely thing for you both to think. What do you think?
But anyway, its a shame you've decided to stop. Maybe you keep and update of general stuff. Would be nice to read. ))
[Edited to double bracket an OOC post reply to an IC thread] |
Never argue with an idiot.
They drag you down to their level
and then beat you with experience.
Akril
Quinellieth. 20th Circle of the Order of the Ring |
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