A bright light shined in the sky. But when I left it had been night, how could this be? I felt cool flowing water over my hand, I tried to get up, but my body wouldnt respond, I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldnt budge, and as quickly as it came, the light began to fade, the flow of water started to recede, I was drifting further and further from reality. I seemed as if I would cease to exist once more, when a rough and deep voice booomed, filling my mind once again with thoughts and a helpless feeling of despair, for I was dying, at age fourteen I would cease to exist, I would fall off this world and join my parents in the underworld. "Oi! I found 'em!" the voice boomed, "Get this man some medicine he's hangin' on a thread 'ere!" A wave of emotion rushed through me, I would live! I would live and breathe and continue to live just to spite our gods, because even they had failed at killing me. Just as I began to wake, my head was under water, I was being drowned. It occoured to me that these men didn't sound human, they sounded like something you might hear in Game of Thrones, like dwarves. I could sudenly move my body again, in one swift motion I swung my hand back, grabbed the hilt of the beautiful sword, and kicked the creature off of me. I used my free hand to wipe my eyes so I could see, and there, in front of me, were twelve dwarves, each clad in freshly pollished mail, and equiped with war hammers and battle axes. There was no pool anywhere in sight, only a wash cloth soaked with a strange light purple liquid, I pointed the tip of my blade at the throat of the dwarf at my feet, my hand quaking all the while. I couldn't beat them in a fight even if I tried. I looked the creature dead in the eye, it showed no hint of fear, only remorse and pitty. The creature was larger then the dwarves, only by a few inches, and had a thinner torso and less muscular limbs, only then did I realize it was neither human nor dwarf. He was clad in chain mail like the dwarves, but he was wearing a dark mask covering his face and hair, the helmet was dorned with a grey symbol over the black steel. The symbol was meant "hope" in greek. Under the mail, there was a small blue crystal, the same shade of blue as my sword. My hand steadied and I focused on the crystal on his chest, it glowed, eminating a warm, comforting heat from its core. I bent down to his level to examine the stone, it was perfectly smoothe, as I reached out for it, my sword waved ever so slightly. The man took this as a signal to strike, he looked no older then fourteen, the same age as me, but he batted the blade of the sword away with his gauntlet with almost enough force to knock it out of my hand. In one swift motion he grabbed his sword from his belt, pulled it free of its scabbard, and swung with the blunt of his sword at my ribs. I swiftly parried the strike, just barely blocking the attack. His sword had the blade of a flamberge, hilt of a falchion, and pommel of a masonic, its guard was similar to mine, but it had the same symbol as on his helm, his blade, unlike mine, had an emerald green tint. Both his and my sword were extremely expensive to make, and used rare materials and fine craftsmanship. her blade was double edged, whereas for mine was one edge was a single edged sword made so the blade of an attacker would shift my blade to take less damage from the strike if parried. He struck again, and I blocked, we danced like this for another twenty seconds, he was clearly the better swordsman, he got the upper hand and slammed down on the flat of my blade, shifting it just enough out of the way to get an attack in without the possibility of being blocked. He swung again with the flat of his blade at my neck, I ducked to avoid the attack, but he foresaw this and feinted downwards, striking my ribs with the flat of his blade...the dance was done, I had lost. I kneeled down, clutching my side, praying that my pain would end, awaiting the final blow that would sever my head like a knife through butter. The stike never came, the man stood there with an emotionless, black mask, the man lifted the helmet off his head, revealing the face of a young girl, no older than fifteen, with pointed ears and chocolate brown hair.
"Frouroí, boreíte na páte." She said, and pointed to the door. The phrase was greek. "Eísai sígouros?" The leader replied,"Eíste móno paidí." "Den ypárchei apeilí gia ména, Vasiliá mou." she replied.(This is actual greek if you wish to know what they are saying.
"English? Please?" I mumbled, I couldnt fully think straight with my ribs throbbing and my head still comprehending I'm in a fantasy world with swords, elves, and magic. "Name? Buisiness? Heritage? Or are you a mear peasant who stole his master's sword? I seem to recall one similar to that in my armoury." The man asked. I now couldnt help but notice a gold lining around the mail helm upon his bearded head. "I can handle this my king." The girl grunted. "You could barely handle your own sword!" The man retorted. "I'm fourteen! You expect me to be the best?" She growled. "I expect you'd be better! Your father could've slain five men before you took down a single child!"The girl stopped, dumbstruck, her hatred and sadness radiated through the air, in the deadest, coldest voice I've ever heard, she responded, "That's why he's dead." I reached in my pocket, searching for the dart, and there it was. Aim...and...fire. The dart flew through the air, just barely missing the king's left shoulder, and hit a nearby tree. the blast took them all by surprise, sending several guards flying, and injuring three, the king fell back, and the girl dropped her sword. Whith practiced ease, I bolted for the sword, raised my left hand to call back the dart, and strode for the king. My instincts were telling me my every move, like I was fulfilling a long lost prophesy. I pointed my sword at the ground to the left of his neck, and her sword to the right, forming an X over his body. "My name is Jace, I am unemployed, I have no heritage, for my family died long before I was born and my mother died in childbirth, and I am no one's peasant. My turn. Who are you? Where am I? and who is she?" The king looked mortified, as if he were seeing a ghost of a man he'd long ago slain. "I am king Ibrahim Tregos. This is my daughter Skylar Elipsa. Her father was one of my most trusted guards, he died in combat fighting for our country, so I took her in, had her trained in combat by her father's trainer, had her trained with magic by our greatest spellcasters, and had her-" "Live in the dungeons with the rest of the prisoners." Skylar finished. "I was told by your teacher to keep you in suclusion until you learn to control your powers! Magic is a very dangerous art!" Ibrahim retorted. "My sword please." She scowled. I quickly handed back her sword and stepped back from the king. "This will all be done and over with soon, you can even live in the castle with us, just hand over your weapons." He said, sticking his hand out in front of me. "Sure, but not the sword, it's a family heirloom." I responded with a sly grin. I handed him the dart and sheathed my sword. As he went to place the dart into his leather hide bag, I raised my left hand as I had learned earlier, and summoned the weapon back to me. He scowled as the weapon faded from his hand and apeared in mine. The rest of the way back I learned of the history of the land, battles descoveries, and magic. I learned that I was in a fantasy world where the Roman empire had succeeded in taking control of almost all of Asia, and Greece had taken an eighth back in rebelion, the two had been at war for years and no one could get any footing on the other's territory. The rest of the world had been distanced too far for anyone to reach from Asia. There had once been dragons and dragon riders to prevent such a thing from occouring, but they fell to the hands of Palutorus, king of the Roman empire. They had swords fitted to their liking and would all have different attacks then the others. I was a long way from home.