Ocean of Miracles
A Ragnarok Online Fanfiction
A mockery. It had to be.
These were all the young lady knight thought as she sped forward on her Pecopeco steed towards Prontera whose presence was only known in the shadows of the night by the brillance of the fires that were burning strongly within her. Plumes of grey smoke rose from her, heralding its own impending doom.
" Faster Warkalot." she urged, pushing her bird by nudging it harder at its sides. Warkalot only made a soft warking sound, registering her displeasure with her rider but the knight ignored it. As they sped through the cold night through Mt. Moljnir, the young girl briefly contemplated on her brief orders from the commander of the border guards. She had been sent on a goodwill mission to Juno on the orders of her liege and was returning to Prontera when she had gotten wind of the invasion. She had raced home eversince.
How did this happen?she cursed, willing her sight to focus onto the brilliant shine of orange against the dark skies. How could a mere guild be this capable of near decimating the heart and soul of Rune Midgard?
The Khala'ran….a voice whispered in her head. You know it. It is them.
There had been some unrest lately in Prontera and her White Knights had arrested some men parading about in the town's main square a week or so ago, apparently on some kind of strike. Lord Betrem had casually informed her after that the men were members of the Khala'ran, an underground organization aimed at toppling the rule of King Tristram.
But why our King?she pondered seriously. She was a Knight Captain but that didn't mean she was blind to some of the going-ons that was happening in the Royal Family. King Tristram had been a fair leader to the people of Rune Midgard and had carried on the tradition of successful Crowns in Prontera's monarchy. The Dauphin, however…..
The lady knight's lips parted lightly in a snarl. She had remembered the arrogance of the prince and his absolute ignorance during calvary training several weeks ago. The prince had interupted the entire unit of White Knights on their training and demanded that they accompany him on a sightseeing trip to Geffen. Needless to say, leaving with the prince for his little excursion would have meant leaving King Tristram wide open and unguarded. She had politely explained their dilemma but was rewarded with a slap and an uncalled-for censure, not to mention being the release point for a sudden fit of trantrums. Since then, whatever little measly respect she still retained for the pasty prince, went down the gullet of a nearby poring.
Of course, the Khala'ran had made demonstrations against the Dauphin himself too. What she really couldn't accomprehend was the fact that anyone could actually hate a kindly ruler such as Tristram himself. She himself had personally witnessed the compassion of the aged leader on several occassions when the former had actually gone out of the way to help his people.
So…?
One young man they had arrested from that demonstration had promptly spat in her face as he was being forcibly bounded and dragged away to the prisons beneath the castle. His words as he had been hauled away still rang in the Captain's head.
" You only see what you see on the surface! You Knights are all just serving a common knave!! Hypocrite!!"
She had stopped there and then, her face showing no signs that she had heard nor even paid attention to the young man but now that she had actually thought about it, it was definitely strange that Tristram would have ordered immediate execution for those demonstrators. They were just sent straight to the gullotine without a trial whatsoever.
And to think that Prontera's supposed to be the fairest in all of the lands?She snorted in derision, attention suddenly on the Pront-Morc relations.
It was no secret to anyone in Prontera, or even Rune Midgard for that matter, that their relations with the Southern most state of the continent was definitely soured beyond help. The Morroceans blamed the Prontereans for the state of their home today and the feeling was returned mutually. The desert citizens stoutly refused Pronterean rule over their home and it only made Tristram all the more determined to drive in his influence over the city.
The unfortunate result of this resistance was the formation of the dreaded secrety society: Khala'ran.
Like a malicious plague, they swept across the kingdom of Rune Midgard, tearing down and razing all villages and cities that were in support of Tristram. The secret society had surfaced approximately ten years ago and but never seriously made any forward strike until the incident seven years ago. A small handful of assassins were sent into Morroc where they made a fatal strike against the Pronterean knights that were stationed there at that time. The Commander-in-charge and his administration were been brutally murdered. Faced with countless assaults against their own people, Tristram finally relented and grudgingly allowed Morroc to set up their own monarchy which of course, would report to HIM dutifully each month.
But the Khala'ran did not die down. Fortified by the inclusion of the deadly "Anbu" - the assassination wing of the society, the Khala'ran began to wage war on all who supported Tristram. They went on a rampage, throwing Rune Midgard into chaos and with rumours of demons being freed from Hel itself, civil unrest began popping up around the kingdom itself. Some chose to live with it. Others chose to migrate to countries without Prontera's rule. Tristram had rallied the support of his allies; Geffen, Payon, Alberta, Izulde and Morroc. While majority gave their unconditional support, the desert town of Morroc naturally (with a history of rebellion against their Pronterean rule) openly defied Tristram orders to send in their troops to protect their city. Angry, the aged King had sent a troop of knights to "amicably" change the mind of the ruler.
It worked… to some extent.
As the returning knights neared the walls of the city to bring home good news for the king, they were mercilessly cut down by unseen assailants who dissappeared into the night as quickly as they had merged.
That, was to be Prontera's first taste of the deadly fighters of Morroc, the dreaded Assassins, so close to their own home ground.
It was also a sign that Morroc would no longer tolerate foreign rule over their home.
Assassins.
The word suddenly flashed across the brunette's mind and the hair on her stood up almost immediately. During her classes as a squire and later as a swordswoman, Lord Betrem had often spoken of these invisible killers whose speed was unparalleled and were capable of cloaking themselves anywhere and everywhere. They were rumored to have originated from the deserts of Morroc but since nobody had actually seen one face to face nor had the fortunate luck of being a target and survived, the secrets of these night killers remained shrouded in mystery. But the fact that they fought whenever Morroc was in danger all the more fortified their beliefs on these mysterious killers' origins.
And even if one did managed to infiltrate into the castle, how on earth am I supposed to see him or her?she frowned in deep thought. She was only a young woman of twenty springs and even though her impressive record had served well in garnering this position, she had never fought an assassin before. If the rumors she heard about them were true, she was pretty sure she wouldn't stand a chance.
That is, if I don't get my throat slit while walking past an invisible assassin,she snorted derisively and ignoring the curious wark from Warkalot.
" Chii!" she spat with such sudden venom that even she was startled.
To say that she had no forms of discrimination again the Morroceans would be to tell a great lie. Her parents, who had been brave Knights in their careers and service to King Tristram, had been cruelly slain in Morroc seven years ago. Her father, Matthias Fether, the Crusader in charge of the administration in Morroc then, was found with his throat brutually slashed open from ear to ear. Her mother, Angeline Whitecrystal was found barely meters away from him, decapitated. The head was never found.
She was then a swordswoman in training, a young girl of fourteen years old, training under the stern Knight Captain Betrem. When the news of her parents' death reached her, she had surprised everyone with her nonchalant calm. The tears had come very much later upon her graduation as a knight.
Now, seeing her beloved home in flames and perpetuated possibly by the organization she loathed, it took quick an effort for the young woman not to scream out of sheer rage as Warkalot leapt deftly off a small slope, the Pecopeco's clawed feet slamming into the soft dirt. The bird did not stop once in its stride as it continued to race towards its rider's home.
Suddenly, a singular bottle flew through the air in her direction from the shadows. The knight gasped, surprised by the sudden appearance of the glassware and then her claymore was out, striking it away from her. She did not watch as its explosive contents detonated but felt the horrific rush of hot air from the resulting blast, forcing her face first forward into the back of her Pecopeco's head. Warkalot warked in panic, wings flailing to keep its balance and then both Pecopeco and knight took a dive to the ground.
As she scrambled to her feet in the dark, weapon in hand, she saw that her Pecopeco was incapacitated, the bird trying uselessly to stand but failing terribly each time. But she had other matters in mind now than the safety of her Pecopeco.
" Who is it?? Come out now!!"
She barely avoided the hail of arrows, having seen the glint of light off their metallic arrowheads and had dodged low. As she recovered from her roll, she saw figures in the dying light of the fire rising swiftly from behind foliages. There were two alchemists, an archer, a priest and…
Dear God, no….
The slim figure rose before her like a nightmare and it was a female no less, judging from the silhouette. The bright glare of fires burning inside blanked her face into the shadows and it gave an orange tinge to her fair green hair. But there was no mistake about the blades she carried on her arms.
Weapons that proclaimed her as the deadly Assassin.
The Claymore came up in her hand.
" Upon my name and honor, I shall strike you down here!" Eyes narrowed beneath her helm, flanked by its tell-tale fins as she dropped into her combat pose. In a softer but more venomous voice, she added: " For what your kind has done to us!" and she took a cautious step forward.
The assassin regarded her with eyes that were cold, her demeanor exuding the deadly aura of confidence, experience, competence and inexorably screaming danger in a thousand directions. The archer made a motion of slinging an arrow to his bow but the assassin halted him in mid-action with a swiftly raised arm. Obviously the subordinate, the archer merely lowered his head in respectful subservience. The knight tensed as the assassin walked forth from the shadows and eyes narrowed upon seeing her adversary step into the dying light of the burning wreckage of the bomb.
" Knight Enjel Fether." the sin began, Jamadhars raised before her in a defensive X position. " Taste defeat as I have taught your fool of a father seven years ago." The katars uncurled themselves from the position she had assumed earlier, held slightly away from her body, the sin swaying gently to a rhythm that none of them could hear.
" Die."
Even before the assassin had finished speaking, Enjel felt her heart suddenly accelerate to the point that she thought they would burst out from her chest. The knight forced swallowed, suddenly finding that her throat had somehow mysteriously turned dry. Horror stories of the Khala'ran's cruelty suddenly envinced themselves in her mind and that somehow from all this mentally conjured up images of the walking dead, one word drifted into clarity without her will:
The Sonata.
The young girl suddenly froze, her insides seized by a fearful sensation so great that it momentarily seemed to suffocate all the oxygen to her lungs.
The Sonata.
And who hadn't heard of him?
Famed as the leader of Khala'ran's assassination wing, the Sonata was well known for his vicious cruelty, was skillful and possessed a bloodlust that was second to none.
There were tales from passing travellers through the towns that had been touched by Khala'ran, that no survivors were ever found. Whole towns and cities had been torched and bodies heavily slashed by some sharp weapons. Victims had always bled to death by some critical wound. Wherever Khala'ran assassins, or Anbu as they were known to the people of Morroc, death and the horrific stench of blood would soon follow.
But there was one thing they knew without a doubt.
The Sonata and his Anbu were impartial. It did not matter if their victims were men, women, children, the young or the aged, the healthy or the ill. They all died under their tools of trade without discrimination.
The only thing that all these victims had in common was one.
Their willingness to support King Tristram.
Enjel's grip on her Claymore tightened, recognizing the unheard song that was suddenly in the air.
The serenade of the death.
A Ragnarok Online Fanfiction
A mockery. It had to be.
These were all the young lady knight thought as she sped forward on her Pecopeco steed towards Prontera whose presence was only known in the shadows of the night by the brillance of the fires that were burning strongly within her. Plumes of grey smoke rose from her, heralding its own impending doom.
" Faster Warkalot." she urged, pushing her bird by nudging it harder at its sides. Warkalot only made a soft warking sound, registering her displeasure with her rider but the knight ignored it. As they sped through the cold night through Mt. Moljnir, the young girl briefly contemplated on her brief orders from the commander of the border guards. She had been sent on a goodwill mission to Juno on the orders of her liege and was returning to Prontera when she had gotten wind of the invasion. She had raced home eversince.
How did this happen?she cursed, willing her sight to focus onto the brilliant shine of orange against the dark skies. How could a mere guild be this capable of near decimating the heart and soul of Rune Midgard?
The Khala'ran….a voice whispered in her head. You know it. It is them.
There had been some unrest lately in Prontera and her White Knights had arrested some men parading about in the town's main square a week or so ago, apparently on some kind of strike. Lord Betrem had casually informed her after that the men were members of the Khala'ran, an underground organization aimed at toppling the rule of King Tristram.
But why our King?she pondered seriously. She was a Knight Captain but that didn't mean she was blind to some of the going-ons that was happening in the Royal Family. King Tristram had been a fair leader to the people of Rune Midgard and had carried on the tradition of successful Crowns in Prontera's monarchy. The Dauphin, however…..
The lady knight's lips parted lightly in a snarl. She had remembered the arrogance of the prince and his absolute ignorance during calvary training several weeks ago. The prince had interupted the entire unit of White Knights on their training and demanded that they accompany him on a sightseeing trip to Geffen. Needless to say, leaving with the prince for his little excursion would have meant leaving King Tristram wide open and unguarded. She had politely explained their dilemma but was rewarded with a slap and an uncalled-for censure, not to mention being the release point for a sudden fit of trantrums. Since then, whatever little measly respect she still retained for the pasty prince, went down the gullet of a nearby poring.
Of course, the Khala'ran had made demonstrations against the Dauphin himself too. What she really couldn't accomprehend was the fact that anyone could actually hate a kindly ruler such as Tristram himself. She himself had personally witnessed the compassion of the aged leader on several occassions when the former had actually gone out of the way to help his people.
So…?
One young man they had arrested from that demonstration had promptly spat in her face as he was being forcibly bounded and dragged away to the prisons beneath the castle. His words as he had been hauled away still rang in the Captain's head.
" You only see what you see on the surface! You Knights are all just serving a common knave!! Hypocrite!!"
She had stopped there and then, her face showing no signs that she had heard nor even paid attention to the young man but now that she had actually thought about it, it was definitely strange that Tristram would have ordered immediate execution for those demonstrators. They were just sent straight to the gullotine without a trial whatsoever.
And to think that Prontera's supposed to be the fairest in all of the lands?She snorted in derision, attention suddenly on the Pront-Morc relations.
It was no secret to anyone in Prontera, or even Rune Midgard for that matter, that their relations with the Southern most state of the continent was definitely soured beyond help. The Morroceans blamed the Prontereans for the state of their home today and the feeling was returned mutually. The desert citizens stoutly refused Pronterean rule over their home and it only made Tristram all the more determined to drive in his influence over the city.
The unfortunate result of this resistance was the formation of the dreaded secrety society: Khala'ran.
Like a malicious plague, they swept across the kingdom of Rune Midgard, tearing down and razing all villages and cities that were in support of Tristram. The secret society had surfaced approximately ten years ago and but never seriously made any forward strike until the incident seven years ago. A small handful of assassins were sent into Morroc where they made a fatal strike against the Pronterean knights that were stationed there at that time. The Commander-in-charge and his administration were been brutally murdered. Faced with countless assaults against their own people, Tristram finally relented and grudgingly allowed Morroc to set up their own monarchy which of course, would report to HIM dutifully each month.
But the Khala'ran did not die down. Fortified by the inclusion of the deadly "Anbu" - the assassination wing of the society, the Khala'ran began to wage war on all who supported Tristram. They went on a rampage, throwing Rune Midgard into chaos and with rumours of demons being freed from Hel itself, civil unrest began popping up around the kingdom itself. Some chose to live with it. Others chose to migrate to countries without Prontera's rule. Tristram had rallied the support of his allies; Geffen, Payon, Alberta, Izulde and Morroc. While majority gave their unconditional support, the desert town of Morroc naturally (with a history of rebellion against their Pronterean rule) openly defied Tristram orders to send in their troops to protect their city. Angry, the aged King had sent a troop of knights to "amicably" change the mind of the ruler.
It worked… to some extent.
As the returning knights neared the walls of the city to bring home good news for the king, they were mercilessly cut down by unseen assailants who dissappeared into the night as quickly as they had merged.
That, was to be Prontera's first taste of the deadly fighters of Morroc, the dreaded Assassins, so close to their own home ground.
It was also a sign that Morroc would no longer tolerate foreign rule over their home.
Assassins.
The word suddenly flashed across the brunette's mind and the hair on her stood up almost immediately. During her classes as a squire and later as a swordswoman, Lord Betrem had often spoken of these invisible killers whose speed was unparalleled and were capable of cloaking themselves anywhere and everywhere. They were rumored to have originated from the deserts of Morroc but since nobody had actually seen one face to face nor had the fortunate luck of being a target and survived, the secrets of these night killers remained shrouded in mystery. But the fact that they fought whenever Morroc was in danger all the more fortified their beliefs on these mysterious killers' origins.
And even if one did managed to infiltrate into the castle, how on earth am I supposed to see him or her?she frowned in deep thought. She was only a young woman of twenty springs and even though her impressive record had served well in garnering this position, she had never fought an assassin before. If the rumors she heard about them were true, she was pretty sure she wouldn't stand a chance.
That is, if I don't get my throat slit while walking past an invisible assassin,she snorted derisively and ignoring the curious wark from Warkalot.
" Chii!" she spat with such sudden venom that even she was startled.
To say that she had no forms of discrimination again the Morroceans would be to tell a great lie. Her parents, who had been brave Knights in their careers and service to King Tristram, had been cruelly slain in Morroc seven years ago. Her father, Matthias Fether, the Crusader in charge of the administration in Morroc then, was found with his throat brutually slashed open from ear to ear. Her mother, Angeline Whitecrystal was found barely meters away from him, decapitated. The head was never found.
She was then a swordswoman in training, a young girl of fourteen years old, training under the stern Knight Captain Betrem. When the news of her parents' death reached her, she had surprised everyone with her nonchalant calm. The tears had come very much later upon her graduation as a knight.
Now, seeing her beloved home in flames and perpetuated possibly by the organization she loathed, it took quick an effort for the young woman not to scream out of sheer rage as Warkalot leapt deftly off a small slope, the Pecopeco's clawed feet slamming into the soft dirt. The bird did not stop once in its stride as it continued to race towards its rider's home.
Suddenly, a singular bottle flew through the air in her direction from the shadows. The knight gasped, surprised by the sudden appearance of the glassware and then her claymore was out, striking it away from her. She did not watch as its explosive contents detonated but felt the horrific rush of hot air from the resulting blast, forcing her face first forward into the back of her Pecopeco's head. Warkalot warked in panic, wings flailing to keep its balance and then both Pecopeco and knight took a dive to the ground.
As she scrambled to her feet in the dark, weapon in hand, she saw that her Pecopeco was incapacitated, the bird trying uselessly to stand but failing terribly each time. But she had other matters in mind now than the safety of her Pecopeco.
" Who is it?? Come out now!!"
She barely avoided the hail of arrows, having seen the glint of light off their metallic arrowheads and had dodged low. As she recovered from her roll, she saw figures in the dying light of the fire rising swiftly from behind foliages. There were two alchemists, an archer, a priest and…
Dear God, no….
The slim figure rose before her like a nightmare and it was a female no less, judging from the silhouette. The bright glare of fires burning inside blanked her face into the shadows and it gave an orange tinge to her fair green hair. But there was no mistake about the blades she carried on her arms.
Weapons that proclaimed her as the deadly Assassin.
The Claymore came up in her hand.
" Upon my name and honor, I shall strike you down here!" Eyes narrowed beneath her helm, flanked by its tell-tale fins as she dropped into her combat pose. In a softer but more venomous voice, she added: " For what your kind has done to us!" and she took a cautious step forward.
The assassin regarded her with eyes that were cold, her demeanor exuding the deadly aura of confidence, experience, competence and inexorably screaming danger in a thousand directions. The archer made a motion of slinging an arrow to his bow but the assassin halted him in mid-action with a swiftly raised arm. Obviously the subordinate, the archer merely lowered his head in respectful subservience. The knight tensed as the assassin walked forth from the shadows and eyes narrowed upon seeing her adversary step into the dying light of the burning wreckage of the bomb.
" Knight Enjel Fether." the sin began, Jamadhars raised before her in a defensive X position. " Taste defeat as I have taught your fool of a father seven years ago." The katars uncurled themselves from the position she had assumed earlier, held slightly away from her body, the sin swaying gently to a rhythm that none of them could hear.
" Die."
Even before the assassin had finished speaking, Enjel felt her heart suddenly accelerate to the point that she thought they would burst out from her chest. The knight forced swallowed, suddenly finding that her throat had somehow mysteriously turned dry. Horror stories of the Khala'ran's cruelty suddenly envinced themselves in her mind and that somehow from all this mentally conjured up images of the walking dead, one word drifted into clarity without her will:
The Sonata.
The young girl suddenly froze, her insides seized by a fearful sensation so great that it momentarily seemed to suffocate all the oxygen to her lungs.
The Sonata.
And who hadn't heard of him?
Famed as the leader of Khala'ran's assassination wing, the Sonata was well known for his vicious cruelty, was skillful and possessed a bloodlust that was second to none.
There were tales from passing travellers through the towns that had been touched by Khala'ran, that no survivors were ever found. Whole towns and cities had been torched and bodies heavily slashed by some sharp weapons. Victims had always bled to death by some critical wound. Wherever Khala'ran assassins, or Anbu as they were known to the people of Morroc, death and the horrific stench of blood would soon follow.
But there was one thing they knew without a doubt.
The Sonata and his Anbu were impartial. It did not matter if their victims were men, women, children, the young or the aged, the healthy or the ill. They all died under their tools of trade without discrimination.
The only thing that all these victims had in common was one.
Their willingness to support King Tristram.
Enjel's grip on her Claymore tightened, recognizing the unheard song that was suddenly in the air.
The serenade of the death.