Someone told me this would be a good idea! (That was you Hatsepsut :P) This will update, well, when I'm not focusing on Heroes are made. There's going to be a lot of hard stuff in this story; Crows are not very nice and if you look hard at the Dragon Age background, Thedas isn't very nice either.
Forgive me, anyone out there who speaks Spanish better then I, and I will not doubt that you do, I'll do my best to keep things straight, but my Antivan is a butchery of Spanish and Italian, neither of I speak well (and in the case of Italian, at all) so if things don't make sense, well I don't intend for them too. There won't be as much as the story progresses, Ravan/Vasco is going to learn how to talk, and then everything will be in Antivan (and there for, nothing). That being said; if any terms I use are out of date, even better, I want them to be.
Oh and; our PC here has a bit of a bad mouth and… I really mean that. This is your one and only strong language warning.
01: Help Me I'm in Hell
I can't remember when it started raining, but then I can't remember when I ended up face down on the ground. Could have been hours ago, could have dragged me half way across town to beat me to death in some junkyard. That might explain the mud. The rain splashing on my face and the fucking mud in my mouth, that's what woke me up. I cough, trying to spit out whatever shit I may have swallowed, and sit up. I get to my hands and knees.
"E'un regalo del Hacedor." Someone says with a laugh. I had about a whole second before that same someone kicks me in the gut and knocks me back down. Fuck me. Dumbass award goes to me for sure. I shouldn't have fucked with that cholo, they always have lackeys and I know this shit, but I did, here's my reward, fuck me.
Mud, so much damn mud. We were downtown a minute ago, last I remember. Fuck, I had to be in a bad mood, had to jump that guy for calling me out. Should have gone home, should have taken my stress out on that game I… borrowed.
Fuck, now they get to call me a thief on top of all the other shit they'll say about me.
"Se ve mezzo muerto, es rota." Nope, not dead yet asshole. I don't speak Spanish very well or at all really, besides the things that everyone knows; how to curse someone out and a few words here and there. This was a second guy; I can't get a look at his face. Too busy trying to rub the dirt out of my eyes and, you know, fucking breathe. "Tuo nombre, moccioso?"
I didn't answer; I'm not sure what he said, it sounded familiar, but he pronounced it funny. He took offense to my silence and kicks me again. "Fuck you-" I gasp with what little air I had, rolling over and holding my stomach. Bastard.
"What is 'dis, did your mummy not teach you how to speak?"
"Fuck you and your mom." No one ever accuses me of being able to pick my battles. I get another kick, but this time I manage to roll to my feet and struggle into something that isn't me lying half dead on the ground.
How the fuck was this guy so tall? I wasn't short, last time they forced me to stand there and get measured I was almost six feet. I never bothered to check again; most people were level or shorter than me and that's all that I really cared about. "Your name, gilipollas."
Fine, he wants Spanish, I can say about five things in Spanish real well and it rolls up into one nice little sentence too. "Tu madre es un puta."
I get my wish; piss him off so bad he goes bat-shit crazy on my ass. I try to fight back, but somewhere in that mess I realize I'm not as strong as I was before. I realize I'm not as tall and I felt -I don't know- fucking gangly. Did it take me that long to realize that I wasn't eighteen anymore? I hate to admit it. I also hate to admit I'm so fucking stunned by these thoughts that the guy kicks my ass so hard I think I black out for a minute.
Next thing I know, I'm being loaded up into some carriage thing like a sack of shit. I heard a horse, smelt the fucker, really. Who the hell uses horse and carriage?
Where the fuck was I?
I can't move. They don't care enough to tie me up, I was weak-sauce anyway, and they can flay me open if I even spat on their shoe. How did I get here? It isn't the most important question, but it's the one that was easier than having a fucking mental breakdown. I haven't been weak in almost 12 years, not since my dead-beat dad got put away for child abuse. That's my story in a nutshell.
I use to have this nightmare. I'd be seven years old again, my mom would be stoned out of this world and my dad would be tripping balls. My dad was angry though, always saying I ruined his life, that things would be so much better if I wasn't around anymore. The dick would beat me, in this dream, beat me to death and I'd wake up screaming. I had that dream for five years.
He wasn't around anymore. Someone called the cops on him when he cracked three of my ribs and broke my arm. Turns out guys in prison don't like pedos or kid-beaters, honor among fuckers I guess. I talk to my mom, sometimes, but all she's after is her next fix. They send her to rehab, and she gets right back out six weeks later saying she's clean. She always comes to me, promising she's better and we can live together again, but she always fucks up and I stay in 'care. I was in foster for years, but after what happened, I'll happily admit I hate the world and everyone in it. No one wanted to keep me, and I didn't want to stay with those fuckers anyway.
They finally sent me to this place, call it Haven, for kids like me whose life is fucked and their attitude is even more so. It's run by some church or Christian group, I don't know and I don't fucking care. Point is, they get kids who are in foster for too long, set them up in school give them a place to stay and try to shove God down their throat. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely believe in God... And I absolutely hate the fucker. Heh. I also fucking love the movie Pitch Black and you can bet that wasn't on the list of approved materials.
Thing is, once you're a legal adult, you can't stay at Haven anymore. I had maybe a week left and still no job; fuckers wouldn't hire me, I wouldn't fucking hire me. Shows where my mood was. I spent all day turning in applications and trying not to act like a dickwad, can't say I don't know myself; when this cholo, a stereo typical one too -headband and everything- calls me out for walking on his turf. Fucking hell, it's the damn sidewalk, and I can walk it if I want to. Course, I tell him this shit to his face and he takes offense. I can take one guy, easy, high school was full of fights and fuckers trying to prove they could beat me, they never did, not unless they and a bunch of their buddies jump me in an alley, and that has happened.
It happened this time too, only instead of a bunch of high schoolers, it's a fucking gang and they're wiping out the tire-irons. I'm not stupid; I booked it like my ass was on fire. I took a wrong turn and, bam. Bus.
I'm dead. I must be.
I can remember the look on the bus driver's face as he tried to slam on his breaks, not fast enough. I can remember laying on the ground, some whinny chick screaming. I shouldn't say that, she was probably the only person to try and help me, aside from that one other guy who called the cops when I was a kid. So. I'm dead.
This must be hell.
Fucking - if I would have known this place was actually real I would of - aww balls, who am I kidding? I lay quite the entire time, only half wondering why they got horses in hell and why it's raining. Isn't the general idea of fire and torture and little men with pointy sticks laughing as they prod you with them? Well, they've got it wrong. Well, kind of. My guys lack the sticks, but they sure get a kick out of beating me up, fuckers picking on a kid.
My hell would be that I was seven again and getting my ass beat for looking the wrong way. Fuck me.
I'm in a city. I can't see much, the rain is washing everything out, but I can almost make out the glow of lights and some people talking on the streets. A whole fucking city in hell, I can't believe it. I try to sit up, but the asshole not driving the horse kicked me in the chest and put me right back out on my back. He didn't even have to try and that burns me up even more. I got a look at his face this time, trying to rip it off with my eyes. He has one of those mustaches that look like you can hang something from it, but it was all droopy from the rain and a scar over his left eye. Watch out fucker, I got your number now.
It would be stupid to try again, but that's me, dumbass award. I sit up a few times, each time the guy knocks the wind from my lungs and lays me out. Finally the guy gets pissed enough he smashes my head against the wood and leaves me with my arms and head hanging over the side. I get a better view of the city, so hey, maybe not such a dumb fucker after all. Too bad it's dark and grey and washed out from the rain. I don't know, it doesn't look like I've gone to hell, even if it feels like it. Maybe that's the point.
The horse drags us out of the pretty part of the city and into a place I'm more familiar with. I can only say there was a change because instead of the nice trotting sounds of the horse's feet on stones; I get more mud splashed in my face. Fucking awesome. Other than that, and something that stinks and isn't the horse, nothing really changes for a long time. I can hear waves, but the buildings are in the way, but it sounds like the ocean. Seriously, rain, a city and an ocean in hell? I'm starting to doubt everything the bible-thumpers ever told me.
God is still a fucker though, look where I am.
We finally stop. Faster than I can move, Scar-guy grabs me by my hair and throws me into the mud. I cough and spit, ready to stay something nasty when he pushes my head into the mud. I can't breathe, I try to hold my breath, but the dick waits me out. "Play nice now, moccioso, or they'll gut you like a fish."
He drags me, still gasping for air and coughing up mud into a building and gives me one final kick into a room. I needed something, anything to hit, anything to fight. There was an unfortunate kid who was at the wrong spot at the wrong time. I crashed into him and took my frustration on his scrawny ass, he ends up with a black eye before asshole-number-two pulled me off of him and gives me the other half of the beating he hadn't done in the carriage and I get shoved into a corner to lick my wounds.
There must have been a dozen of us, or more, packed into a room smaller than my bedroom at the haven. No one can sit without touching someone, but the other kids try their damnedest to give me as much space as possible. Good for them, I don't like being fucked with and it only took one unlucky kid for the lot of them to learn that.
The lights went out and the lot of us huddle in the dark with the thunder crashing outside like scared fucking mice. I finally realize I'm freezing my ass off, been stuck out in the rain for over an hour and left in wet cloths. It is pitch black in here, I can't see a thing unless a lightning bolt lights up the room, but I doubt the assholes would cram a bunch of kids into one room and give two shits whether they had blankets or not. I think I see a cat somewhere, its eyes shining in the dark, but the stupid thing is gone before I can figure out where it went. Damn I hate cats, stupid thing better not pee on me.
Fuck it; it would happen to me too.
Giving up, I lie down and face the wall, shaking from the cold. I won't even bother asking why I'm here, packed up and shoved around like damaged goods; I know why I'm here. I was a fucktard in life, and this is what I get for it. Not like I actually listened to the shit the dicks at Haven spewed for the last five years, but I don't know, it didn't feel like I was giving a fucking chance. What did you expect from a kid who's only seen the shit side of life? That I was going to dance up to some daddy-figure of a god with fucking stars in my eyes and tell him how much I love the dick? Shit no, it sounded too good to be true, so it was. I couldn't trust anyone, why would I trust a higher power that might not even be there? No fucking chance, no chance to grow the fuck up.
At least the devil had a fucking sense of humor that was for sure.
I try to sleep. It was about all I can do, but one boy coughs, another whimpers and a third sniffs back some tears and I kick at the wall in frustration. It doesn't help that I was still soaked and just about everything hurt. Teach me to run my damn mouth, wait, no it won't. I'm just complaining like a bitch now, but the floor is uncomfortable and I've slept on a few.
Some little fucker moved so quietly in the dark that I didn't notice him until his back was pressed up against mine. I might have jumped and nearly smacked my head against the corner I pressed myself into. Might have.
"Acostúmbrate a esto, non c'è suficiente espacio para essere un cazzo," He says. I didn't get a word of that.
"The fuck did you just say?" I've used up my Spanish knowledge for the day, and even if I didn't, one to many hits made it hard to think straight.
"There is not enough space for you to be a dick, get use to this." Little shit, I was about ready to punch him in the face when I realize it's the same kid I wailed on accident when they kicked me in here. Kid had bawls, at least. "Why do you talk like the dwarves? Do you not know Antivan?"
"Dwarves? The fuck kid?" I snort. No fucking such thing as dwarves, hell or not, besides dwarves are too cool for eternal domination. "And what the hell is Antivan?"
"Your accento, cazzo. Antiva is the land we are in, Antiva City. Antivan is the people and the language. Where did you come from, that you do not know these things?"
"California." I snap.
"¿Qué es eso?"
I might have learned something in French from a TV show a few years back, so that line actually makes sense to me. It isn't exactly the same, but it starts with 'que' and I can fill in the blank quick enough. Fuck anyone who says TV doesn't teach anything, Dr. Le Quack, Amnesia Specialist makes them fucking liars and he stole la silverware. "No place, nevermind. I don't know how I got here. Why are they keeping us here?"
The kid sighs. "You do not know? We have been sold to the Crows."
I was trying to ignore the fact that my voice was stupid high pitched. Trying and failing. You kind of forget what you sound like when you're a kid, hearing it now makes my ears hurt. Maybe that's why my fucker of a father couldn't stand me; I can barely stand me at this point. "I wasn't sold to anyone, and who the hell are the Crows?"
"I heard cazzo; they picked you off the street and thought you un omaggio, compliments from the Maker himself. I think they are regretting that now." The kid moves away, and I realize just how absolutely freezing it is in the room. I sit up and nearly jump out of my skin. His eyes are reflective, and it was him I thought had been a cat in the room. He laughs at me, obviously realizing that I've never seen creepy ass cat-glow eyes on anyone before, and apparently its normal, though I wasn't sure if my reaction was normal or his eyes were. A smile spreads on his face; even though it was starting to swell and bruise from the punch I gave him. Damn, make me feel like a... cazzo.
"Would you fucking stop calling me that?" I hiss looking away. He is pretty boy. Blonde hair and big eyes, girls would like him, makes me want to punch him again. I hate pretty boys; they made me feel like shit standing next to them. I have anger issues, hard to fucking notice if you ask me.
He's still smiling. I can see it out of the corner of my eye. Damn it kid, I really don't want to punch you again, but you're making it very hard to resist temptation. "You did not give your name to our new masters. They call you cazzo. Or Vasco. I find the last one funny."
"You would. What the hell does it mean?"
The kid crosses his arms over his chest, I try not to growl at him, it didn't work, but he doesn't seem to care. I like growling at people it sounds cool to me and freaks them out because it isn't something they'd expect a normal person to do, but I was never fucking normal. Kid doesn't care though and I can snarl and growl and twitch my lip all I want and he didn't bat an eye. At least one of the kids behind him flinches at it though and that was satisfying enough. I mentioned I'm normal. "These words you use, Vasco. Fuck and hell. I do not understand them."
"Fuck is fuck," I say. If there's one thing I knew it's how to curse in ten different languages without actually saying a word and if his cat eyes is anything to go by, I bet he could see better than I can right now, my eyes are adjusted enough that I could make out the shapes of the other kids around us. I raise my left fist, slapping my bicep as I did it. The kid scoff, I know he understands and smirks. "And hell is the place you go when you die and you're a cazzo like me. Now tell me what vasco means before I fuck you to hell."
"The void." The kid snorts; now that he's talking to me he isn't impressed. I get that a lot. I just don't like people bothering me, those that do realize I'm only a dick because I try to be. The ones that care are usually the ones that get their face bashed in, so it never really matters in the end. "You go to the void when you die, when you're a cazzo that doesn't believe in the Maker. Vasco is an old word for Crow. You would not give your name so they named you instead."
"Well fuck me." I sigh, it was easy enough to guess that Maker was another word for God and religion was something everyone had. Course, I'm not sure why hell would have its own god and another hell on top of the one I was already in. I'm surprised the conversation had lasted as long as it did; I keep expecting this kid to do what everyone else did, decide I wasn't worth the effort and fuck off. "If you care, my name is Ravan."
"Raven?"
My back hits the wall. I don't care anymore. I'm tired and sore and apparently I've been bought and sold like day old meat. Not even, I got picked up off the streets like trash, kidnapped, not that anyone was there to fucking care. Story of my fucking life. "No, but that's pretty much the same thing next to Vasco, right?"
The kid doesn't look amused; I was a dead bird no matter what name I use so who gave a shit anyway, not us. "I am Zevran Arainai."
Crap, now I knew the kids name. That reminds me that I punched him in the face a few hours ago just because he was the closest thing to the door when they shoved me in here. I sigh, I hate knowing names I can forget the shit that I did to people easier if they don't have one. "Sorry about your face, Zevran. What are they going to do with us?"
"The Antivan Crows are an order of Assassins. We become as them or die. Neither sounds very pleasant." When people call themselves the Crows and say their assassins, all I can think of is how young these kids are. How young I am, and what they're going to do, exactly, to turn a group of fucking babies in to cold blooded killers.
I swallow, hard. Suddenly I was thankful that this kid, Zevran, I was thankful that Zevran stopped to talk to me, even after what I did to him. If he hadn't bothered, I'd be dead tomorrow. Fuck, I was already dead; I don't want to know what happens if you died again.
I don't have any fight in me and that's sobering. I always fight tooth and nail, simply because I can, to prove to myself I can. What am I going to do here? Seven-eight skinny as a twig and sold to a league of assassins who beat up little kids and make them kill for a living.
I must have gone pale, or sat quiet for too long because Zevran pats me on the shoulder, and I realize I was seeing right through him. "Go to sleep, Ravan Cazzo Vasco."
"Fuck you Zevran Arainai, good night." I lay down again, Zevran at my back. I was the only one who didn't know why I was there and Zevran had cured me of my stupid. Where the fuck was I? Where in the world was Antiva? It wasn't any place I knew, American schools were shit to begin with, and I was a shittier student, but I was willing to bet a lot there was no country called Antiva anywhere on the map. Even if there is, you could never convince me that something that sounded so much like Spanish was a totally different language. I mean, fuck, I pissed off that guy with the 'your mother's a whore' line. Granted I won't put it pass the ass to kick my ass no matter what I said, but he was downright pissed, so he had understood me.
This isn't making any sense and the more I think about it the more I want to bang my head against the wall. I won't let them have me. I decide. I am a cazzo after all; they're going to regret picking up this piece of trash off the street.
I won't say I'm scared. It's cold with the rain even with Zevran at my back for some warmth, so I was shaking. The sniffling was because I'm already catching a cold stuck in wet clothing. I don't sleep though; I don't think any of us in that little room could.
Can't say I've had a longer night.
E'un regalo del Hacedor - A gift from the Maker
Se ve mezzo muerto, es rota. - He looks have dead, he's rotten
Tuo nombre, moccioso? - Your name, brat?
gilipollas – douchebag
Tu madre es un puta - Your mother is a whore
un omaggio - A tribute
Cholo is an ethnic slur, about the equivalent of white-trash when applied to someone of Mexican descent, (yes, it's also used to describe those of mixed heritage, for those that know, but in America they don't use it for that reason, at least not while I was living in California, but I will admit that was almost a decade ago) as well as Chicano gang members.
