Joren's Ordeal
Chapter One
Authors Note: Hey. I wrote the second bit of this story (the last bit of his ordeal) first and I finally got around to writing this bit, which is the first bit. So yeah, this is the new bit. Not to confusing? Please read and review! Everything, especially constructive criticism is welcome!
Disclaimer: Oh how I wish I owned Joren! But unfortunately I don't, or anything else for that matter…*wipes away tear* I'll be alright…
"Joren of Stonemountain, are you prepared to be instructed?" Asked the second of Joren's two knight instructors.
"Of course." He said with a shrug. His knight master, Sir Paxton of Nond frowned at his mocking tone and untraditional answer.
"If you survive the Ordeal of Knighthood, you will be a Knight of the Realm." Joren listened to their instructions, absorbing the words into his memory. He would be a knight; he would follow the code of chivalry. It was just others interpretation of it was different from his.
Finally the Chapel door was opened. "Remember. You must make no sound between now and the time you leave the Chamber of Ordeal." Paxton frowned and shook his head slightly as he watched Joren swagger nonchalantly into the cold room.
Joren sat down on the flor. Rubbing his feet he glanced around and settled down to wait the night out.
A priest brought him back into the present and tried to help him stand up. Joren shook him off and gathered himself, then entered the small plain room that was the Chamber of Ordeal.
The door slammed shut behind him and the room went dark. Joren puzzled over the lack of any action until he noticed the rinsing warmth of the room. A hot wind was blowing from somewhere. Joren smirked; he was sweating a bit but this was nothing compared to some of the nightmares he had had. This is the best you can do? It's not even a desert. Somehow it seemed that the very air around him smirked back.
Sand stretched in every direction. His eyes winded. The wind that had been gently blowing started to pick up speed, wiping his clothes as the temperature steadily roes. He tried to swallow but found he couldn't; all the water from his body seemed to have been sucked out!
Joren started to run blindly into the wind. He knew he had to find water or he would die. He ran but his legs moved sluggishly, it was a strain to lift his feet out of the sucking sand with each step. The wind seemed to sap every ounce of water and energy from his body.
He collapsed into the sand, his throat burned and the wind stung his eyes. He lay there, unable to move while the sun baked him. Joren tried to get up again, I have to find water! He thought. He could not die here, a slow, painful death of thirst and heat.
He managed to stumble to his feet and take a few steps forward before he again fell.
Into the arms of his mother. She cradled him and murmured her love for him. For a reason Joren cannot fathom he snuggled into her arms. Taking comfort from a thing he hadn't been able or wanted to do since he was five. A voice reached his ears.
"Mummy's boy! Gonna cry? Going to tell Mummy on me?" It said sarcastically. "A man does not sit in his mothers arms! He is out protecting her from harm! You are obviously not a man."
Joren's pride flared and he shoved himself away from his mother. She screamed and fell backwards. Her arms flailing as she toppled off a cliff that had appeared behind her. Joren bit his lip to stop himself crying out.
He rushed forward to try and catch her hand but it slipped between his fingers. He watched as she fell screaming. No! He clawed at his ears, trying to stop the sound of her voice. Tears trying to leak out of his eyes.
"What a pity." Said the voice. Joren turned to look at the speaker and saw his father. Father! You let her fall! I pushed her and you let her fall! He yelled in his mind. His father walked past him and looked over the cliff. Then turned and looked at Joren.
Staring him in the eye, Sir Burchard smirked. "You let her fall, not me." He stepped backwards over the cliff. Joren made to grab him bit missed. He stood there looking at the cliff; he couldn't see the bottom where his parents had landed. No. Not his parents! Tricks of the chamber. He backed away from the cliff and tried to gathered himself, clinging to that thought.
Joren stood in the middle of a street. People walked past him, looking out of the corner of their eyes.
"Is he not handsome?" "Amazing…beautiful." "Breathtaking." These and other appreciative murmurs reached his ears.
Smirking, he flashed a grin at a particularly pretty girl. He was surprised when her returning grin turned into a scream.
Joren looked around wildly at the people retreating from him. Looks of horror on their faces, all eyes fixed on him. He raised his hands to feel his face; instead of the usually smooth skin he felt wrinkles and scars. He lowered his hands and looked at them. They were covered in course black hairs and scars. His nail were twisting and pulling off before his very eyes. He rushed to a shop window and looked at his reflection.
As Joren watched his normally beautiful face withered, a purple rash grew over it. His mouth went slack and a dribble of spit trickled out of the corned.
His clothes became tatters. His limbs deformed, bending and changing. His skin flaked, his hair fell out. He fell to his knees in the middle of the road, trying to hide his form. Go away! He thought furiously to the onlookers. He glanced up and saw expressions that made him want to scream.
Horror, sick curiosity and worst of all, pity. Do not pity me! I am better then you! He yelled in his mind. He wanted to scream it in their faces. Anything to make them stop gapping at him. He clung to one thought, this isn't real. It's not real. I have not turned into this thing. This isn't real.
Joren was in the grey stone room again, he checked himself and found he was back to normal. Relief flooded him and he wanted to yell for joy and shudder at the same time. But somehow he knew the Chamber wasn't finished yet. There is nothing else it can throw at me that will be worse then what I have already been through. I have survived your worst. He thought, shakily regaining some of his confidence.
Nothing. There was nothing. There was no light. No dark. No air, no up or down. He was floating in oblivion. Except he wasn't floating because there was no sensation of movement. Nothing. Horror filled his mind. Is this what being dead is like? He would have screamed right then if not for the thought that is he failed and died it could be like this forever. He had never fully believed the accepted idea of the Black God's realm.
Looking at his hands he realised there was no pressure to keep him together. He was in a void. He watched as his blood vessels expanded, the oxygen in them floating outwards. He could feel his eyes pressing against the sockets; his veins were about to burst.
He squirmed, lungs burning and screaming for air. Something trickled down his neck, he realised his ears were bleeding.
He couldn't see anything but his own body, there was nothing else to see. He couldn't smell, breath, hear. There was nothing but him and the incredible pain. It seared through his whole body till he couldn't feel anything anymore.
Joren's body convulsed.