All right, my very first fan fiction. "Inserts witty thing here"
Anyway, to those literature-inclined maplers out there who might have read the Barteamous trilogy, you might find that I have blatantly copied his style of writing for a character in this story.
But then again, it's my story. Introduction's over. Enjoy.
This is an edited, much improved version of the first draft. With thanks to Crappish for her valued advice.
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Beginner's War
Sweat lathered his body, his sword felt leaden and heavy as he swung it awkwardly, aiming for the midriff exposed so tantalizingly in front of him.
A sudden distortion, a moment's hand gesture, the edges of the midriff wavered uncertainly and vanished.
"He's using Dark Sight. Damn him" Trisoul cursed inwardly.
He rolled, preparing himself for an equally savage counter from his assailant. He stared around him, unsure. Placing his trust in his instincts, he fell forward in a roll, and barely managed to dodge the ilbis aimed for his exposed throat.
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--
"You have lost, again." a sibilant voice hissed by his ear.
Stunned, he swerved around, only to feel the kiss of silvery metal as a well-muscled hand held a steely to his throat. Angry and shocked, he pushed the hand roughly away and glared at his teacher, Karnath. Revealing in his protégé's discomfiture, Karnath smiled, looking eerily like a vampire in the dim morning light.
"That's enough for today. I would expect better work from you tomorrow." Eyes gleaming with suppressed spite, Karnath sneered at Trisoul, well-aware of his pupil's lack of physical prowess.
Karnath murmured a quick incantation "Haste!"
Speed and agility increased, he sped through the sunlit streets of Ossyria and was soon lost among the bustle.
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--
Another fruitless secession.
Groaning softly to himself, Trisoul grabbed his only source of comfort, his wineskin, and took a gangrenous swallow.
His sister Farensha, now a fully pledged cleric, inquired, "Trouble with Karnath? You do know he's just doing his job"
"Shut up!" he yelled, feeling angry at himself and annoyed at her.
He clutched his head, feeling the beginnings of a massive headache coming on. He was tired of meeting up to people's expectations. He was tired of always losing. And he was supremely jealous of his sister's new clerical status,
In no mood to banter with her, he stalked off towards his room.
Farensha sighed theatrically to her. Her brother had been an abnormality, a myth, a freak.
Growing up with fearful glances from other children his age wasn't really the most enjoyable way to spend a childhood. Even by his own parents, when they were still alive, shunned him. Fear over the unexplainable overcoming the love they should have felt for their child.
He was a perma-beginner, a one of a kind, a legend who could master the arte of two of the three classes.
He was the answer of years of their accumulated praying, their only hope in reclaiming their homeland of Victoria from the thieves, the warriors and the bowmen.
Their hopes lay completely on him. The problem was, he didn't want any part of it.
She shrugged. These were problems he would have to deal himself later on.
Primly tying her hair back, she murmured "Magic Claw."
Throwing the remains of a ribbon pig into the pot, she smiled slightly as the now familiar heady rush of power filled her veins. Adjusting the heat to the cooker to a slow burn, she pondered to herself, "Being superior to my brother isn't that bad at all."
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Skietagon is my name, and I am the one and only residing warrior in Ossyria, I have sparred with Manji, with Kenji, and sent them skittering, back to their holes. Balrogs have been slain in my honor; their blood drank in ritualistic embraces.
And here I am, stuck in a pixiehouse, gathering stars from fetid, bloated pixie corpses. The wretched creatures twitched in their death throes, spraying their digestive juices all over me. A knock, authorative and loud, cut cleanly through my dark musings.
I gathered myself, and projecting an aura of authority, swung the door open, "Skietagon is my name." I bellowed. "I am the slayer of Balrogs, the Bane of great Manji. This indignity shall not be suffered! I am–"
"Covered in pixie excrement" came the bored, almost non-committal reply.
Noting her supreme lack of interest, I quickly deflated.
"What does Grendel want now?" I mocked, gathering the shreds of my tattered dignity together.
"I could wash his shoes, shave his beard. Oh oh, I could even clean his…"
"Keep quiet." The hook-nosed lady at the door snappish replied.
Interrupted rudely the second time that day, I retreated behind a mask of nonchalance, nursing my wounded pride.
Gingerly stepping over a bloated brain, she sniffed disdainfully in the air, "Lord Grendel simply wants you to continue the training which Karnath has left behind. He feels the war approaching, and Karnath has been far too slow in his evaluation of the perma-beginner."
"So?"
"So." She said, staring at me in silent contempt, "You are to take over his training."
With that, she started off, probably back to whatever hells pit that spawned her. Brr, but that woman was cold. Great, a babysitter to a deranged, unwilling beginner. My morning's made.
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--
Trisoul came awake to a loud and consistent banging. Feeling immensely irritated, he crept out of bed and wrenched the door open.
"What is it?" he snarled irritably at the unwanted intruder.
"Ah, the very epitome of male masculinity." Came the sarcastic reply.
The youth at the door sniggered, staring at his unkempt clothes and unshaven rubble. His gaze then transferred itself critically to the ragged curtains and the unmade bed.
"And the trappings of civilization, how enchanting. So this is how the hated beginner of Ossyria really lives."
"A-And who the hell are you?" Trisoul stuttered, clearly off balanced.
"Greetings, I'm Skietagon." The youth replied. "I assure you, the hatred you feel right now is entirely mutual. You smell, your breath stinks and you look as if water abandoned you. However, as of effect from this instant, you may call me "sir."
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"You can't do this!" Trisoul screamed, his face mirroring his inner angst.
"Do what?" Lord Grendel asked placidly, looking patiently at the agitated youth pacing about his office.
"Skietagon, my teacher? B-But I hate that guy!" Trisoul protested.
"Perfect" Grendel exclaimed happily. "Conceded, he might be a little arrogant, but at least he teaches well. I'm sure you're find a way to get along. Was there anything else?"
Replacing his magically-enhanced glasses, Grendel continued to pore over the documents on the table. Knowing he had crossed over the marginally thin line he had with Grendel, Trisoul stalked out of the guild headquarters angrily.
Seeing Skietagon apparently waiting for him, he shot his teacher a murderous glare.
Undaunted, Skietagon grinned, "Well, lets get started shall we?"
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The squeals of junior cellions pierced crisp morning air, lending a stark contrast to the dank morning air. Sniffling about aimlessly, the brightly colored mammals munched at witchweed, oblivious to their surroundings. They were at peace with their world, at the moment.
"Now…" Skietagon muttered, handing over a plain, unmarked sword to Trisoul.
"Let's start at the basics. Health recovery is pretty self-explanatory, so I'll skip that. Power strike is useful for short melee attacks while Slash Blast works only on mobs and iron defense is naturally, for defense."
Grabbing Trisoul's arm, he muttered an incantation. Slowly, the glowing symbol of warrior arte appeared on Trisoul's wrist.
"The more arte you master, the further the disfiguration would be." He explained.
Stepping carefully over a feeding junior cellion, he continued dryly, "But don't worry, in your case, I would actually consider them an improvement."
Without replying, Trisoul snatched the sword and concentrated, "Slash Blast!" The junior cellion flinched, but continued its inexorable way towards him.
"Pathetic, this is absolutely pathetic." Sighing deeply, Skietagon walked casually towards Trisoul, crushing the junior cellion beneath his heel of his blue dragon boots as he went.
"Master the basics within three days." Saying that, he walked away, leaving Trisoul to his own devices.
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Trisoul gritted his teeth, finally feeling the last dregs of his hangover fading away. Looking at the minuscule cats, he felt considerable irritation towards them. Something about the way they moved, so languid and at peace with their surroundings irritated him. Well, would remedy that.
Summoning his considerable willpower, he struck out at a couple of peacefully feeding junior cellions. "Slash Blast!"
With a satisfying squeal, they collapsed, limbs twitching in death throes.
Ignoring the gruesome remains, he charged, eyes hazy with bloodlust.
"Slash Blast!"
"Power Strike!"
"Slash Blast!"
For the very first time in his life, he felt free, unfettered to the chains of obligation normally thrust upon him. He continued, hacking and sawing with mindless abandon,
Finally, fully half the animals lay dead, dying or maimed. Standing in the midst of the carnage, he let out a collective breath.
"Damn." He thought, "But that felt good." Picking up the Eloon he had found lying in the gut of one of the junior cellions, he fingered the edge thoughtfully.
The perfect weapon to get back Victoria Island eh? I might just enjoy it being it.
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The passing of 2 days
He stood still, face closed in apt concentration. His hands were now covered in arte, each glowing with a mystical power of its own.
Facing the Cellion, he stood, preparing himself both mentally, and physically. "Iron body!"
Feeling the enzymes of his skin slowly thicken, he fingered the edge of his newly acquired Eloon lovingly.
With a roar of battle lust, he charged head on into battle. Eyes narrowed in silts, the cellion sent a blast of icy death straight at him. With agility borned of hours and hours of practice, he leapt aside, and swung his sword in riposte.
The cellion avoided it easily. Just a nick, damn it. Just in time, he spotted the enraged animal rushing for him.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, boosting him with additional energy.
Side-stepping nimbly, he placed all the power he had into this one thrust.
"Power Strike!"
With grisly ease, the weapon slid in the torso of the dying animal and appeared bloody and dripping, from the other side. Victory shone in his eyes. He reverently sliced the cellion's tail off.
Here's a perfect trophy. Let's see what Skietagon has to say now.
Slowly, the soft glow from the artes on his hand suddenly confluence together, bathing him in a mystical ray. New arte sigils appeared, this time on his right hand, feeling him with the euphoria from the discovery of new powers.
He felt the strength of all three warrior classes; fighter, page and spearman coursing through him.
So this is what it feels like to be a perma-beginner. Finally, my job advancements.
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Not far away, I slouched in my beach chair, sipping a delectable cup of ice-cream soda while my hard-working, lame brained protégé trained tirelessly in the hot, humid sun of The Garden of Three Colors. When one listens closely, one would even hear the grunts of exertion coming from him.
Well, contemptible though he was, pure stubbornness certainly isn't one of his weaknesses.
His total paranoia of communication was. I swear, if I heard another incommunicable grunt from that boy, it would not be my fault if Grendel's office gets thrashed by a raving, wild-eyed lunatic. Really, someone should tell him communication isn't as deadly as he thinks it is.
Shout after jarring shout rang discordant through the air. Sighing deeply, I propped myself deeper into my chair.
The better he works, the higher the amount of mesoes I get to suck out of Grendel. This might not be such a bad job after all. And besides, I like teasing that guy; he seems combustible.
Finally, on the second day of his training, a single brilliant, jagged stream of white light shot in air, pure and untainted.
"It seems he finally reached his second advancements." I mused.
Certainly, that kid has potential. No other warrior had mastered the arte so fast, and so easily as well, with the exception of me, of course. Tossing the last dregs of soda to the scavenging pixies, I made my way towards my student.
Orwell, back to work
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"That was just the beginning, my young friend, don't get too ecstatic yet." Gingerly fingering a liver, Skietagon stood up.
"Trust me, you're find the next job advancement much harder."
"Would a compliment kill you?" Trisoul retorted, swinging his Eloon, eager to return to the business of slaughtering more cellions.
Good god, he's talking.
"Well, I suppose not. Good job Trisoul. Now, seeing that you're so eager to continue drenching yourself in blood, I just stopped by to remind you of a particular danger to the use of the arte "Rage". In using that arte, you must be completely focused on your target, never, ever let the blood-lust get to you. The consequences are pretty nasty."
Rolling his eyes, Trisoul sauntered off, stabbing the still body of a cellion with his Viking sword, just to feel the rush of power coursing through him again.
"You worry too much."
Skietagon turned to go, and then said over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way, I got a new weapon for you. I thought it might be time for you to try using a spear. Here's a maple impaler. And do take care of it, it's scrolled."
Breathless with anticipation, Trisoul caught the weapon as it fell. The markings of the spear feel so good…so right.
Trisoul clutched it, feeling the scroll's power adding to his own. With a shout of pure exhilaration, he stood, swinging the impaler, and promptly sliced another cellion in half.
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"Combo Attack!" "Rage!" "Dragon blood!" With all the power-ups coursing through him, he felt invincible, unbeatable. He charged at a Lucida, "Spear Crusher!" With a gurgling sigh, the devil cat died. He smiled in satisfaction.
"Good job." sitting at the edge of the precipice, Skietagon lazed.
Trisoul grinned back at his teacher. As the months progressed, he began to find Skietagon's often thoughtless remarks less burning, and sometimes even entertaining.
In his moment of distraction though, a Lucida reared up in front of him, its horns swinging dangerous close in his direction.
He smiled grimly, preparing to decimate the foolish animal.
A cry, "Chain lighting!" shot through the air. Filling the sky with a brilliant cackle of energy, a single lightning bolt shot through the Lucida's head, rendering it a smoking, charred corpse.
Swinging around, eyes blazing in anger, he spotted a girl, not older then him, calmly firing off the other Lucidas in vicinity.
"Hey! Those are my monsters, find your own spot!"
She turned around. "Make me." With a curl of contempt on her lips, she continued firing.
It was probably a trick of light, but suddenly, he realized how lovely she looked, and how long it has been since he last talked to a girl.
"I-I...came here first!" he protested weakly.
Lifting her hand, she directed a lightning blast in his direction in answer. Electricity gushed through his system, boiling the blood in his veins. Limbs twitching, he fell to the ground.
That's it; no one attacks me, and gets away with it.
Pulling himself upright, he shouted "Fire charge!"
Looking at the spear in his hand, her eyes frowned in confusion..." Aren't you a crus…"
Ignoring her, Trisoul attacked. Condensing the orbs of his combo attack together in a single powerful strike, he shouted "Panic!" and swung the weapon in her direction.
Reacting with supernatural speed, the girl waved her kage in the air, summoning her guardian "Ifrit!" a fire demon appeared, horns blazing with hellish energy. Spotting the threat to its mistress, it charged straight at Trisoul, only to be shattered by the power of his blow. The force blew the Ifrit apart, rendering it to charred remains.
Fortunately for the mage, her pet demon blunted most of the blow, or the panic strike would have killed her. But still, the resounding shock wave successfully stunned her. As Trisoul stood over her, posed in victory, he felt a stunning blow smash to the back of his head.
Stunned, he dropped, pole axed to the ground. Skietagon stood, and moving faster then Trisoul thought was possible, grabbed him by his collar. With super-natural strength, he lifted Trisoul off the ground. Fury laced his eyes, making his normally sardonic expression appear devilish.
Coldly, he hissed in Trisoul's ear, "If I ever catch you attacking another girl again, I…will…kill…you."
With that, he swung Trisoul to the ground, and made his way towards the fallen mage.
Sardonic humor apparently returned, he said, "how very ironic. The student defeats his mistress." Helping the girl up with a hand, he turned to Trisoul, "meet a colleague of mine, Katherine. She was supposed to teach you magic."
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"Uh…sorry, I guess?" Trisoul stammered, livid spots appearing on both sides of his cheek. "I kina let "Rage" get the better of me."
Brushing down her Blue czar, she shrugged, "I shouldn't have stolen your kill. Besides, it's not everyday you get to be defeated by a perma-beginner."
Skietagon placed his hands of Trisoul's chest, muttering an incantation. The arte of his hand swirled, condensing into one ball of white fire which floated into Skietagon's hand.
Studying the spherical shape of energy, Skietagon nodded, satisfied. With a quick gesture, he pushed the orb back into Trisoul.
Nodding to the enquiring glance Trisoul gave him, Skietagon said, "Amazingly, it seems you have mastered the complete warrior arte in just three weeks. However, Grendel discourages you from taking your fourth job just yet. Learning the arte of the mages would be more important at this crucial time."
Trisoul shrugged, "When can we get started?"
Katherine tossed Trisoul a Blue marine. Now, with his current power levels so high, they were able to skip the formalities of his training, going straight to the priorities.
He had advanced straight to the third job advancements. Muttering an incantation, she pressed her hand on a blushing Trisoul's bare chest. New sigils appeared, gleaming in the moonlight. Trisoul gasped as new knowledge filled the crevasses his mind.
"Magic's best learnt in moonlight" she explained their late night visit to the Dead Gardens.
He shrugged, eager to start. Katherine retreated to a nearly grove, leaving him to his training. Concentrating, he fell deeply into himself, feeling the addictive rush of power flow to his fingertips.
Cautiously, he swung the blue marine in a semi-circle, drawing arcane runes in the air. "Fire arrow." A stunning flash and a Dark Nepeadeath crumpled up, its vitals withering in the extreme heat.
Suddenly, the air was filled with hissing seeds as a garden full of carnivorous plants woke up. Dodging acidic bullets, Trisoul ran towards the grove. The smell of burnt flesh permeated through the air. Trisoul stared down, and started in panic as he saw his flesh slowly being eaten by the Dark Nepeadeath acidic digestive juices.
"Help!" He screamed in terror, fruitlessly trying to shake the stinging solution off.
"Try using "Heal." You are preparing for a war, Trisoul, learn to rely on yourself." Came the soft reply in the grove.
Eyes stinging with tears of pain and horror, he drew his blue marine.
"Heal." he stuttered, and grinned in relief as the flesh on his legs melted back together, and sealed with nothing more then a jagged scar.
Anger filled him.
Jumping up, he screamed the incantation "Explosion!" Power pulsed through his skin, filling the area with intense light and heat. He laughed in exhilaration as an aura of pure fire build around him, growing larger and larger and he focused his energy.
Then, he released. The destruction was unimaginable; Soil dried and cracked under the amazing heat, the air itself felt dry, as if all moisture had been evaporated. Dark Nepeadeaths shrieked in terror as the fire burnt them away; to ashes, to nothingness.
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Katherine stepped out of the grove, eyes widened in shock as she surveyed the surrounding destruction.
"I…I…have never seen anything like this." she clutched her Kage tightly till her knuckles whitened, shivering as the night air kissed her exposed skin.
"Yeah, me neither. The training Skietagon gave me must have boosted up my power levels as well."
Skietagon sauntered towards the pair. "You two should close your mouths you know, it's really very unbecoming. When I pulled out Trisoul's power, I simply added in a little of mine. He's the one needed for this war, not me."
Trisoul noticed how wane Skietagon looked in the moonlight, how drawn and tired. "Take it back!" he snarled. "You look half dead!"
Skietagon grimaced. "Too late Trisoul. The war has begun."
His stomach leaden with dread, Trisoul watched in horror as Skietagon fell forward, a single silver arrow peppering his back.
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End of the Prologue. Look for next installment of Beginner's War.