Intense Training
by
Sir Mac
Ryven Myst stood upon a ledge of one of the Seven Peaks of the Khorolis Mountain range. The harsh wind cut across his body, whipping the black cloth of his plain, non-nondescript robes fiercely. The long, white locks of hair that hung down his back blew left and right as aqua-colored eyes gazed upon the village below. The unsuspecting masses were unaware that he was there, watching them like a sentinel, an objective below. The cover of the night kept him concealed out in the open, the faint green glow of Gaea above, the planet his home world orbited around, was mostly blocked out by the thick clouds above. The multitude of lights glowing in windows below, from fireplaces and lamps, made things easy to find.
The Assassin, also hired to work as a bounty hunter, or personal bodyguard, clenched his gloved hand. Ryven's only thought and purpose in life was revenge for his mother, against the man who created him. A brutal rape that left her mind shattered, bed-ridden, and clinging to life. When he was born, he survived, she did not, and his tortured life began. Unaccepted by his village in a Plains of Aedo, southern Vandalasia, Ryven watched all around him grow old and die as he remained young and energetic. He'd always known he was different, and the more he grew, the more aware of the difference, but he was unaware what the difference was.
Trained in basic magical arts and armed with a simple longsword, Ryven lifted his heavily booted left foot, and propelled himself to step off the ledge, and began to fall from through the chilled air of the Khorolis Mountains. Calmly, Ryven spoke a simple word, and his descent slowed to resemble the flight of a falling feather. Lightly, Ryven landed upon the roof of a tower that sat separate from the rest of the village. His eyes examining the tower for any entrances from here. Seeing nothing but white snow, Ryven eased his way toward the edge, and looked over. A lone window at the top was his only way in, short of using more magic to drift down further to the ground, where he risk possibly being seen by someone, and leaving himself partially drained by the magic and lightly winded. Not to mention, with his mark being a wizard of the Black Arts, he would sense the additional output of magical power in the vicinity. He swung his feet back gently, not wanting to lose his grip on the roof, and then into the window, landing easily without disturbing anything inside, and without making a sound on the floor, despite his boots.
Once inside, the tower was dark, darker than it was outside, he focused his art, the Art of Bo-du-ken, to guide him without light. Closing his eyes, Ryven suddenly snapped them open, his eyes glowing a soft red/brown color. He began to move, finding a trapdoor on the floor, and opened it slowly to keep the hinges from squeaking. Bo-du-ken, or "Body-Mind-Kai", was an ancient art of controlling the body, mind and the energy that flowed within every being, or Kai, to amplify one's own physical attributes. A being trained a little in the Art could increase his or her speed, strength, or senses to rival those of the most skilled predators known to nature. Such a skill, however, comes at a price. To use Bo-du-ken, a being must spend seven years training to build up his or her kai energy through meditation and physical exercise. Every time a Bo-du-Ken student used his Art, he sacrificed a piece of his own physical energy, which would leave him extremely drained, more so than using most of the most powerful spells at once. Many fighters trained in Bo-du-ken are recruited and extremely prized by the Guild of Assassins and Hunters for their abilities to move in stealth and strike quickly and efficiently.
Ryven crept down the stone stairs, spiraling lower into the tower. His keen hearing, even more keen now with his ability charged. His right hand rested upon his left hip as he slunk around the curved stairwell upon a landing where he felt a doorknob. Pressing the left side of his head to the wooden door, listening in on the room. There wasn't a sound coming from within. Ryven's breath held as he pressed down upon the latch and the door slowly cracked open. The faint red/brown glow of his eyes peered inside, looking around the room as he scouted for his mark. He would clear this room before moving on, but something caught his attention.
Ryven had always been an ambitious man, greedy and a sticky finger. His life began in thievery, surviving when he left his village under the distrust for his lineage. He wasn't trusted, nor liked when everyone he knew aged and died, or moved away from the village, leaving him alone. The urge to survive took hold, and became apart of him. As a result, he stole regularly, and this improved his stealth abilities. While out, he tried to rob a wizard, a horrible man named Talosan, of some valuable goods to sell in the market for food. He was caught by the wizard, and tossed in his dungeon where the wizard made a remarkable discovery of his past, and his abilities. He trained young Ryven in the Black Arts, hired some of the best swords around his home to train him with the blade, and then, using Ryven's skills of stealth and guile, he put him to work as his own personal assassin and bodyguard. Ryven saw something, something prized by many wizards in on Gaea, the Orb of Draconus, the link between all wizards and mystical dragons of the land.
That was ultimate power, Ryven thought to himself as he eyed the faintly glowing orb beneath a dark blue shroud. I have to have it. He knew he should complete his work, finish the assignment first, then loot the place, but to get this, a highly sought-after item in the Enclave of Wizards, only a few remained in the world, was a find in itself. This Orb, like others before it, was linked to a dragon upon birth, and shattered upon death. If found, the wizard and dragon were bonded until the death of the dragon, and allies for good or bad. Knowledge and power through the ages were shared between the two. Ryven knew this, and took a chance.
As he approached the table, carefully, he removed the shroud, and those glowing eyes faded to normal as he saw the prize before him. His gloved hands slowly moved to seize the Orb, looming over the swirling black and gray sphere, clouds of ether glowing and pulsing as his palm neared, a new sensation flowed through him. Knowledge he'd never experienced before, excitement, intrigue, yet fear and dread. He saw images, places, people, things he'd never seen before. The Orb seemed to tremble, or was it his hand? He couldn't tell.
Sweat beaded on his forehead with the thrill of the acquisition, his full attention on the Orb, a shadow crept from the curved wall behind him near the small wooden cot. It slunk right under his left foot, creeping up his leather boots, calf, and thigh, a sensation of cold bit through the tight leather, snapping him out of his euphoria, and suddenly he was pulled down into the floor, disappearing into the darkness. When Ryven emerged from the void, he landed hard on a stone slab on his back. He tried to move, his limbs were like lead. A shadow, unlike the one that grabbed him, moved over his chest from the right. He turned his head to see a ghastly figure in black approaching, a ragged, almost broken staff in his hand supporting the frail figure beneath layers of clothing. He hovered over Ryven's body, the eyes of this being were sunken into his face, taut skin stretched over round cheekbones and a long, hooked nose. Those eyes, red rimmed, and bloodshot stared down at the magically bound Assassin and pressed his hand against his chest and heart.
"Such a fool," wheezed the old man, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your mission first, then the spoils. By the time anyone, even an accolite or apprentice finds the body, you're nowhere to be found! Don't get greedy."
His palm began to glow, a warmth spread over Ryven's chest, but soon, that warmth began to burn, and he began to scream.
"You will learn to ignore your impulses," said the man in black robes. "Tell me you understand!"
"I understand," Ryven gasped as the pain subsided, "master. I understand!"
Though he expressed an understanding of his mistake, the old wizard Talosan never stopped. He continued torturing Ryven into the night, the next morning, all afternoon and into the next evening, all the while sapping precious life force from Ryven's body to keep him alive longer.