All righty then! Sorry for the big space between updates! Chapter 2 is all ready written( by Aladastrius),
and is more concerned over the Harry Potter verse. This chapter is just setting things up.
I, Dia, wrote this chapter and the majority of it, is like I said, just setting up the story, but at
the end of the chapter is where it gets Harry Potterish. We come up from where we left off, and
here we gooooooo.......
Dia and Aladastrius present to you...
Le Chemin de Malfoi
Chapter 1:
What the Prophesy Fortold (Dia: Oh, how original!)
Complete darkness confronts me with a splash of red, blood I presume. Blood
accompanied with its stickiness, its crimson color that stains, scars, everything in its wake.
After blood, your own blood, passes into view, pain follows.
Excruciating pain courses through my veins, traveling the river of scarlet liquid that has
numerous channels through out my body. The constant presence of agony leaves my limbs
numb. The torturous agony quickly abandons my body, or should I say my being? or
would it be more accurate to say the apparition of my soul? I can not answer my own
questions because in this extreme darkness I can not even see the hand I hold in front of
my face! Though the pain and absence of it has been brief, a dizzy spell has taken over my
senses because of it.
Floating in a ocean of death, ebony waves crashing over my limp, useless corpse Tossing
it around has if it were a child's toy, and it is its toy, its pawn. All for the waves to play
with until they get tired of the doll and plead for a new one. I always thought that when I
died I would be met by a comforting world of light, a world formed out of purity rarely
seen on earth. A realm of ivory and silver. I would see my Father, in his old plaid shirt
holding in one hand an old tackle box with one of his many lures hanging out, and in
another two fishing poles. The taller, heavier, more professional one for him. The tiny,
blue one for me. He would be saying, " Hey sport, wanna' catch some basses in Little
Creek?" and with his hand he would beckon me to join him in that little, dilapidated boat
which would be behind him. He would be dry, his clothing not drenched with ocean water,
clinging to his lifeless body. His face would be slightly tanned with a warm, healthy look
gracing it. Not the pallid, frigid as death touch and sober expression that was placed on his
face when I last saw him. Sometimes, I thought my Mother would greet me. She would've
been in one of her nice flower dresses with no patches of soot or edges burnt off, long
black hair shining in the sun, not singed by any flame. Her skin pale, but glowing with
warmth from the sun not from the roaring flames, and she would be holding a cookie tray
with hot chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven, calling me and my brothers to
come in for lunch and a snack.
But I was met by darkness. The darkness in my soul, and the darkness in my life. Father
died on a fishing trip when I was 13, and he left me with Mother, who didn't have a job,
and 7 younger brothers to raise. We lost our house a year later and moved into the
projects. Mother got a job that only paid 2 dollars an hour, and I worked part time at a
newspaper stand. At the age of 18, the apartment burned down and killed my 2 younger
brothers Eric and Adam along with my Mother. I quit school and got a higher paying job
at the General Electric plant which paid 7 dollars an hour. At age 20 I started dealing
heroin and crack to pay the bills. Luckily, with the money I've gotten, I sent 5 of my
remaining brothers to college. At age 24, I was charged for committing a misdemeanor by
carrying some marijuana. I later moved to Oregon to start over. I met Jenny Mckarthy and
Jake " The eternally stoned" Gregory and started a punk rock band with the name " The
Funkadelic Oranges". 2 years later, I get killed in a car crash.
Wow, that was my life in a nutshell. I give it a B minus.
I wonder why I did that. I don't have the faintest idea, and I would appreciate if someone
WOULD TELL ME WHERE I AM!! I start screaming and singing ' The Yellow
Submarine" and "Heroin Girl" off key in Spanish.
" All right now! In English! We all live in a yello-AHH!" I bellowed. I started falling,
deeper and deeper into the ebony oblivion. The mouth of the abyss swallowed me whole,
without even chewing. I barely dodged its incisors, jagged and sharp, waiting to have my
blood shed on its surface. Frigid, arctic air rushed at me, plucking and pinching my face
with its clawed fingers. I was crashing into gravity, and I was afraid that the trench had a
bottom. I closed my eyes, afraid of the upcoming bottom that glinted death in the close
distance. Then, I met ground. I collapsed upon hard, cold stone.
" MY ASS! MY ASS! IT IS INJURED! I THINK I BROKE IT!" I hollered in pain,
holding my gluteus maximus.
" Stifle thyself pathetic mortal," a voice, soft, melodic, yet deadly all at the same time.
Though it was melodic, it dripped venom. I turned to look at my intruder, or should I say
the one I intruded on? Anyways, I forgot the throbbing in my ass.
I looked in the direction of where the voice originated from. I caught sight of pale, tinted
cerulean in the limelight. Her face was beautiful and it looked like it was carved from a
block of ice by Michael Angelo. Her piercing azure eyes chiseled out of the frozen water;
perforating my fleshing, and peering mercilessly at the shards of my soul. Her onyx hair
was in tentacle like strands, binding myself to her eyes like an unforgiving chain. My eyes
scanned most of her body, above the waist lay a pretty, graceful woman who popped out
of a romantic fairy tale. Her limbs attired in pale, ivory flesh which got a tinted turquoise
in the shadows, and her chest was clad in a silk, black robe which flowed and embraced
her legs. The lower portion of her body was a different story. The stench of decay and the
deceased found itself into my nostrils. Even dwarfed in the darkest of all fabrics, I
envisioned her graceful legs stripped down to the bone with chartreuse flesh, reeking of
mold, hanging by threads in the cracks between the joints. I suppressed a shudder. She just
stared at me, a belittling glare painted with scorn, upon her throne. I regained my posture
and returned her lethal gaze.
"What?"
" I demanded silence Mortal. If you can not silence thyself, I shall do it for you in the most
unpleasant way," She whispered through cobalt lips, her words of ice chilled the air, her
voice cracking to express an inner, volcanic insanity. I opened my mouth to express my
feelings about this bossy bitch, but I quickly closed it, remembering her warning.
"Wise choice Mortal. Close thy gaping mouth because one looks like an idiot and is a
foolish idiot to speak as if he were an equal to the Mistress in her dwelling," she drawled,
picking at the stubborn dirt that found itself underneath her claws. She continued to speak,
voice dripping with ebony oil.
" You have questions to why you are here, don't you Mortal?" I raise by gaze to her, and
slowly nod my head. "Good, now that 'tis settled. Yes, you have died, and had died in the
most unvalorious death one must possibly have. Collapsing into a metallic horse. That
crime which you have committed sent you to my dwelling, the underworld where I am its
Mistress, Hel." she announced, quite proud of her dramatic introduction. What does she
want to do with me now? introduce myself as if I am at an AAA meeting? I can see it
now... " Hello, my name is Craig Montoya whose parents have both died and I am an
ex-junkie. After leaving my woeful days of dealing, I became another form of a loser, a
failing guitarist in a punk rock band called 'The Funkadelic Oranges'." Yup, that will
definitely earn me some sympathy from Lady Hel over there.
" Yes, as you may have or have not have figured out. I am the Norse God of mythology,
which is truth. I am Hell, the Goddess of the Underworld, the daughter of the God of
Destruction, Loki, and the sister of the Fenris Wulf. Now, you are dead, but you were not
supposed to die yet, and that means one of the Heavenly Lords have to make sure that
you are living again or the balance would be unstabled.With your death being not in the
place of great battle, you are not sent to Valhalla to meet with Odin, but you are sent to
the depths of death to be sorted by moi. Goddess Hel. Any questions?" I just stared at her
in awe. What an egotistical, half-rotted, bitch!.
" Well, I unfortunately can not send you back to your...corpse because you already
proclaimed to be deceased and by the time you can back into your body it would be
another one of those fatal cases of premature burial, and personally I don't want to see
you again in at least 3 decades. Get it Mortal?" she drawled, articulating each word to add
a threatening emphasis.
" So, the majority of all Americans are sent here? Damn, you must have some over
population problems."
" Yes, we do. Especially during the Vietnam War and the World Wars! By Thor's
Hammer have I never seen so many worthless deaths in my existence! " she said, the ice
melting reveal something other than insanity but, more close to humanity.
"So, since I can't 'get back into thy body'. What am I supposed to do now? Sit on my
bum and wait till the day I'm supposed to die and call for an appointment?"
" I have discussed this with Odin and Vidarr, You will be taken to ancient Scandinavia in a
younger, most likely pre-adolescent version of yourself. Your name WILL NOT be Craig
Montoya. YOU WILL NOT mention the ways of the lowlife American, and most
certainly, YOU WILL NOT MENTION THE NORSE GODS!!! she commanded. After
this, I'm definitely kicking Jake's ass, but in this case, is ancestors ass.
" So, when are we gonna' start?" I asked.Trying to sound casual from what I just heard.
Ancient Scandinavia? Shit man, I am so screwed!
" Now." she said simply, her voice as calm as the surface of a small pond. She raised her
hand in my direction. Before I could say anything, my senses and body were immobile and
my vision was distorted by a whirlpool. I felt the apparition-like waves rub against me,
rising above my head to drown me in darkness. Wind whipped my hair against my ears,
filling them with a whirling sound which soon made my ears throb. A multitude of colors
surrounded me, most of them were different hues of metallic gray, green, and the different
dimensions and shades of black. As this process continued, I was led to the wonders of
sleep by the melody of voices, the cryptic lullaby of the pitying Gods...
************************************************************************
Somewhere in Normandy...
************************************************************************
Martamaius woke up with a start. Sweat dripped off his pale brow. Martamaius, quite
disturbed about something which most likely was the cause for his awakening, didn't
bother to notice, or at least acknowledge the perspiration that drenched his nightshirt and
skin. His honey brown, shoulder length hair clung to his faith has he drew deep, hurried
breaths which slowed in speed along with his heartbeat, throughout his gaping mouth. His
eyes, onyx black and devoid of all emotion but fear and had the glint of a madman, alert
and predator-like. The rising of his chest settled into its own rhythm again as Martamaius
calmed himself down and relaxed his arched body.
Pain coursed throughout his body. He cursed, and held himself in his arms for many a
minute. It was only 4 times since he experienced a pain such as this, those times being the
awakening of his own magick, and when the birthings of the Lion, the Raven, and the
Badger had taken place. The night was dark and young, and Martamaius only found it fit
when the night became a crippled old man whose blood-shot golden eyes slid out of his
eyelids and looked up towards the heavens. Martamaius sighed. *I couldn't be... *he
thought. *It couldn't be the coming of the snake! It is not written in the prophesies of old
that the Servant of the Lord of the Serpents would come to Earth this very night, year,
nor century!*
Martamaius exhaled a held breath, and laid himself back down to the surface of his fine,
feathered bed. Allowing the padding of rain against the roof to lull him to soundless,
troubleless slumber.
Martamaius, the only name his colleagues known him by, and the only name he knew
himself by befallen under slumber's hand and drifted off into his sub-concsense. Not
paying mind to the fact that the moon glow in a mystical, emerald glow.
************************************************************************
Somewhere in Norway....
************************************************************************
"Get up off yer' arses ya' bloody Slytherin cowards! It's time to face yer' punishment," A
loud, commanding voice accented in German, awakened me. I felt the prodding of a rod in
my surprisingly sore arm. I was about to say, "Let me sleep, ya' fucka'!", but instinct
grabbed ahold of me. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sight of a large, blond man,
his hair slick with grease and his skin tanned from being out in the sun. He looked at me
with great disgust, and then resumed prodding the other people. I curled up in a fetal
position, my arms hugging my legs against my chest. Everything seemed larger, it towered
over my small body. I looked at hands expecting to see large, careworn hand with calluses
at the tips of my fingers, but I am met with the site with a tiny, feminine hand which
looked too fragile and dainty to even strum a guitar. I drew back my hand, and looked
down the line of people, prisoners I noticed. My ankles and wrist were manacled and was
chafed from the constant rubbing of flesh against sadistic metal. The man spoke again,
directing his bombastic voice to all the people in the room, or should I say humongous
prison cell?
" All right, yer' no longer in Gwynedd ya' worthless pieces of flesh! Yer' no longer,
nobles, Lords, or Kings of the Slytherin Clan but, slaves to the Gryffindoran barony. When
I ask ya' yer' names I expect an answer or you will have an appointment with Chopper
over 'ere!" The man said, indicating to the beefy man holding an mace in his hand, who
swung it around for a 'frightening emphasis'.
The man went down the lines, asking for names and receiving ones that I couldn't even
attempt to pronounce. It was when he was four persons away, I started to worry.
He walked up to a small, pale girl who had long, obsidian hair and cool, hazel eyes. He
looked at her with a disgusted, yet lustful glare and demanded the telling of her name.
"Astryd," she simply said, and then he went on to the next person.
My shoulder's tensed a refused to relax when I recalled Hel's warning " Don't use the
name Craig..". The what am I supposed to use? I'm not aware of the 'Jason" and
"Brittany" names of the Norse language! What am I supposed to do? Make a name up
from a fantasy novel?
He was one person away from me. I could even smell the odor of sweat and dirty,
sunburned skin, My salamander tattoo start to ache and I almost wailed in pain at the
sudden shock of it.
"Yer' name?"
"Xaviar"
Salamander..Xavier...Salamander..Xavier..My mind flashed, trying to come up with a
decent calculation.
He reached me. This giant of a man stood before me, prodding me with his stick and
asking me for my haven't-been-created-yet name.
"Yer' name?'
"Uh..Uh" At first I was shocked at the youthful voice that came out of my mouth.My
brain working a mile a minute to come out with something I can use as an alias!
"Forgot yer' name already little boy?" he mocked. Chuckling a grotesque laugh.
"Salazar!" I blurted out. Not knowing what I said at first, until he moved on to the man
right next to me.
I felt like singing hallelujah if it hadn't been for Hel's warning. A sudden headache had
taken over my senses, and throbbing in my ears drowned out the noise.
A emerald fire was ignited.
************************************************************************
In the horrific, morbid arms of the underworld lay before me. One after one pitiful human
soul come to me to be place among my legions of the hopeless dead. Each day I grow
uneasy, the force that makes me the Goddess of Death tips and turns and causes me to feel
nauseous.
The balance between Chaos and Law is leaning, tipping dangerously to one of the two
powers. Chaos or Law in favor, I do not know.
But I do know it would not be for the good of the heavens, the hells, where the land
where mortals walk, and the place that is neither wholly of earth or wholly of hell. I just
hope I'm wrong for once....
________________________________________________________________________
Was it good? I can assure you Chapter 2 is much better, and it doesn't even concern Salazar! ::pout::
You get to see much more of Martamaius later (originally created by Aladastrius, but I added in the nameless
thing ^_^). Well, here are the notes!
1.Normandy is present France
2. Gwynedd is present day Wales
3. I couldn't think of any toher name to name muggle Salazar. EVERCLEAR FANS DON'T KILL ME!
4. Helis spelled correctly
5. I've been playing my brand new electric guitar instead of writing. I apoligise.
Well, I got that taken care of. Please review and I'll be seeing you!
-Dia
and is more concerned over the Harry Potter verse. This chapter is just setting things up.
I, Dia, wrote this chapter and the majority of it, is like I said, just setting up the story, but at
the end of the chapter is where it gets Harry Potterish. We come up from where we left off, and
here we gooooooo.......
Dia and Aladastrius present to you...
Le Chemin de Malfoi
Chapter 1:
What the Prophesy Fortold (Dia: Oh, how original!)
Complete darkness confronts me with a splash of red, blood I presume. Blood
accompanied with its stickiness, its crimson color that stains, scars, everything in its wake.
After blood, your own blood, passes into view, pain follows.
Excruciating pain courses through my veins, traveling the river of scarlet liquid that has
numerous channels through out my body. The constant presence of agony leaves my limbs
numb. The torturous agony quickly abandons my body, or should I say my being? or
would it be more accurate to say the apparition of my soul? I can not answer my own
questions because in this extreme darkness I can not even see the hand I hold in front of
my face! Though the pain and absence of it has been brief, a dizzy spell has taken over my
senses because of it.
Floating in a ocean of death, ebony waves crashing over my limp, useless corpse Tossing
it around has if it were a child's toy, and it is its toy, its pawn. All for the waves to play
with until they get tired of the doll and plead for a new one. I always thought that when I
died I would be met by a comforting world of light, a world formed out of purity rarely
seen on earth. A realm of ivory and silver. I would see my Father, in his old plaid shirt
holding in one hand an old tackle box with one of his many lures hanging out, and in
another two fishing poles. The taller, heavier, more professional one for him. The tiny,
blue one for me. He would be saying, " Hey sport, wanna' catch some basses in Little
Creek?" and with his hand he would beckon me to join him in that little, dilapidated boat
which would be behind him. He would be dry, his clothing not drenched with ocean water,
clinging to his lifeless body. His face would be slightly tanned with a warm, healthy look
gracing it. Not the pallid, frigid as death touch and sober expression that was placed on his
face when I last saw him. Sometimes, I thought my Mother would greet me. She would've
been in one of her nice flower dresses with no patches of soot or edges burnt off, long
black hair shining in the sun, not singed by any flame. Her skin pale, but glowing with
warmth from the sun not from the roaring flames, and she would be holding a cookie tray
with hot chocolate chip cookies straight out of the oven, calling me and my brothers to
come in for lunch and a snack.
But I was met by darkness. The darkness in my soul, and the darkness in my life. Father
died on a fishing trip when I was 13, and he left me with Mother, who didn't have a job,
and 7 younger brothers to raise. We lost our house a year later and moved into the
projects. Mother got a job that only paid 2 dollars an hour, and I worked part time at a
newspaper stand. At the age of 18, the apartment burned down and killed my 2 younger
brothers Eric and Adam along with my Mother. I quit school and got a higher paying job
at the General Electric plant which paid 7 dollars an hour. At age 20 I started dealing
heroin and crack to pay the bills. Luckily, with the money I've gotten, I sent 5 of my
remaining brothers to college. At age 24, I was charged for committing a misdemeanor by
carrying some marijuana. I later moved to Oregon to start over. I met Jenny Mckarthy and
Jake " The eternally stoned" Gregory and started a punk rock band with the name " The
Funkadelic Oranges". 2 years later, I get killed in a car crash.
Wow, that was my life in a nutshell. I give it a B minus.
I wonder why I did that. I don't have the faintest idea, and I would appreciate if someone
WOULD TELL ME WHERE I AM!! I start screaming and singing ' The Yellow
Submarine" and "Heroin Girl" off key in Spanish.
" All right now! In English! We all live in a yello-AHH!" I bellowed. I started falling,
deeper and deeper into the ebony oblivion. The mouth of the abyss swallowed me whole,
without even chewing. I barely dodged its incisors, jagged and sharp, waiting to have my
blood shed on its surface. Frigid, arctic air rushed at me, plucking and pinching my face
with its clawed fingers. I was crashing into gravity, and I was afraid that the trench had a
bottom. I closed my eyes, afraid of the upcoming bottom that glinted death in the close
distance. Then, I met ground. I collapsed upon hard, cold stone.
" MY ASS! MY ASS! IT IS INJURED! I THINK I BROKE IT!" I hollered in pain,
holding my gluteus maximus.
" Stifle thyself pathetic mortal," a voice, soft, melodic, yet deadly all at the same time.
Though it was melodic, it dripped venom. I turned to look at my intruder, or should I say
the one I intruded on? Anyways, I forgot the throbbing in my ass.
I looked in the direction of where the voice originated from. I caught sight of pale, tinted
cerulean in the limelight. Her face was beautiful and it looked like it was carved from a
block of ice by Michael Angelo. Her piercing azure eyes chiseled out of the frozen water;
perforating my fleshing, and peering mercilessly at the shards of my soul. Her onyx hair
was in tentacle like strands, binding myself to her eyes like an unforgiving chain. My eyes
scanned most of her body, above the waist lay a pretty, graceful woman who popped out
of a romantic fairy tale. Her limbs attired in pale, ivory flesh which got a tinted turquoise
in the shadows, and her chest was clad in a silk, black robe which flowed and embraced
her legs. The lower portion of her body was a different story. The stench of decay and the
deceased found itself into my nostrils. Even dwarfed in the darkest of all fabrics, I
envisioned her graceful legs stripped down to the bone with chartreuse flesh, reeking of
mold, hanging by threads in the cracks between the joints. I suppressed a shudder. She just
stared at me, a belittling glare painted with scorn, upon her throne. I regained my posture
and returned her lethal gaze.
"What?"
" I demanded silence Mortal. If you can not silence thyself, I shall do it for you in the most
unpleasant way," She whispered through cobalt lips, her words of ice chilled the air, her
voice cracking to express an inner, volcanic insanity. I opened my mouth to express my
feelings about this bossy bitch, but I quickly closed it, remembering her warning.
"Wise choice Mortal. Close thy gaping mouth because one looks like an idiot and is a
foolish idiot to speak as if he were an equal to the Mistress in her dwelling," she drawled,
picking at the stubborn dirt that found itself underneath her claws. She continued to speak,
voice dripping with ebony oil.
" You have questions to why you are here, don't you Mortal?" I raise by gaze to her, and
slowly nod my head. "Good, now that 'tis settled. Yes, you have died, and had died in the
most unvalorious death one must possibly have. Collapsing into a metallic horse. That
crime which you have committed sent you to my dwelling, the underworld where I am its
Mistress, Hel." she announced, quite proud of her dramatic introduction. What does she
want to do with me now? introduce myself as if I am at an AAA meeting? I can see it
now... " Hello, my name is Craig Montoya whose parents have both died and I am an
ex-junkie. After leaving my woeful days of dealing, I became another form of a loser, a
failing guitarist in a punk rock band called 'The Funkadelic Oranges'." Yup, that will
definitely earn me some sympathy from Lady Hel over there.
" Yes, as you may have or have not have figured out. I am the Norse God of mythology,
which is truth. I am Hell, the Goddess of the Underworld, the daughter of the God of
Destruction, Loki, and the sister of the Fenris Wulf. Now, you are dead, but you were not
supposed to die yet, and that means one of the Heavenly Lords have to make sure that
you are living again or the balance would be unstabled.With your death being not in the
place of great battle, you are not sent to Valhalla to meet with Odin, but you are sent to
the depths of death to be sorted by moi. Goddess Hel. Any questions?" I just stared at her
in awe. What an egotistical, half-rotted, bitch!.
" Well, I unfortunately can not send you back to your...corpse because you already
proclaimed to be deceased and by the time you can back into your body it would be
another one of those fatal cases of premature burial, and personally I don't want to see
you again in at least 3 decades. Get it Mortal?" she drawled, articulating each word to add
a threatening emphasis.
" So, the majority of all Americans are sent here? Damn, you must have some over
population problems."
" Yes, we do. Especially during the Vietnam War and the World Wars! By Thor's
Hammer have I never seen so many worthless deaths in my existence! " she said, the ice
melting reveal something other than insanity but, more close to humanity.
"So, since I can't 'get back into thy body'. What am I supposed to do now? Sit on my
bum and wait till the day I'm supposed to die and call for an appointment?"
" I have discussed this with Odin and Vidarr, You will be taken to ancient Scandinavia in a
younger, most likely pre-adolescent version of yourself. Your name WILL NOT be Craig
Montoya. YOU WILL NOT mention the ways of the lowlife American, and most
certainly, YOU WILL NOT MENTION THE NORSE GODS!!! she commanded. After
this, I'm definitely kicking Jake's ass, but in this case, is ancestors ass.
" So, when are we gonna' start?" I asked.Trying to sound casual from what I just heard.
Ancient Scandinavia? Shit man, I am so screwed!
" Now." she said simply, her voice as calm as the surface of a small pond. She raised her
hand in my direction. Before I could say anything, my senses and body were immobile and
my vision was distorted by a whirlpool. I felt the apparition-like waves rub against me,
rising above my head to drown me in darkness. Wind whipped my hair against my ears,
filling them with a whirling sound which soon made my ears throb. A multitude of colors
surrounded me, most of them were different hues of metallic gray, green, and the different
dimensions and shades of black. As this process continued, I was led to the wonders of
sleep by the melody of voices, the cryptic lullaby of the pitying Gods...
************************************************************************
Somewhere in Normandy...
************************************************************************
Martamaius woke up with a start. Sweat dripped off his pale brow. Martamaius, quite
disturbed about something which most likely was the cause for his awakening, didn't
bother to notice, or at least acknowledge the perspiration that drenched his nightshirt and
skin. His honey brown, shoulder length hair clung to his faith has he drew deep, hurried
breaths which slowed in speed along with his heartbeat, throughout his gaping mouth. His
eyes, onyx black and devoid of all emotion but fear and had the glint of a madman, alert
and predator-like. The rising of his chest settled into its own rhythm again as Martamaius
calmed himself down and relaxed his arched body.
Pain coursed throughout his body. He cursed, and held himself in his arms for many a
minute. It was only 4 times since he experienced a pain such as this, those times being the
awakening of his own magick, and when the birthings of the Lion, the Raven, and the
Badger had taken place. The night was dark and young, and Martamaius only found it fit
when the night became a crippled old man whose blood-shot golden eyes slid out of his
eyelids and looked up towards the heavens. Martamaius sighed. *I couldn't be... *he
thought. *It couldn't be the coming of the snake! It is not written in the prophesies of old
that the Servant of the Lord of the Serpents would come to Earth this very night, year,
nor century!*
Martamaius exhaled a held breath, and laid himself back down to the surface of his fine,
feathered bed. Allowing the padding of rain against the roof to lull him to soundless,
troubleless slumber.
Martamaius, the only name his colleagues known him by, and the only name he knew
himself by befallen under slumber's hand and drifted off into his sub-concsense. Not
paying mind to the fact that the moon glow in a mystical, emerald glow.
************************************************************************
Somewhere in Norway....
************************************************************************
"Get up off yer' arses ya' bloody Slytherin cowards! It's time to face yer' punishment," A
loud, commanding voice accented in German, awakened me. I felt the prodding of a rod in
my surprisingly sore arm. I was about to say, "Let me sleep, ya' fucka'!", but instinct
grabbed ahold of me. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sight of a large, blond man,
his hair slick with grease and his skin tanned from being out in the sun. He looked at me
with great disgust, and then resumed prodding the other people. I curled up in a fetal
position, my arms hugging my legs against my chest. Everything seemed larger, it towered
over my small body. I looked at hands expecting to see large, careworn hand with calluses
at the tips of my fingers, but I am met with the site with a tiny, feminine hand which
looked too fragile and dainty to even strum a guitar. I drew back my hand, and looked
down the line of people, prisoners I noticed. My ankles and wrist were manacled and was
chafed from the constant rubbing of flesh against sadistic metal. The man spoke again,
directing his bombastic voice to all the people in the room, or should I say humongous
prison cell?
" All right, yer' no longer in Gwynedd ya' worthless pieces of flesh! Yer' no longer,
nobles, Lords, or Kings of the Slytherin Clan but, slaves to the Gryffindoran barony. When
I ask ya' yer' names I expect an answer or you will have an appointment with Chopper
over 'ere!" The man said, indicating to the beefy man holding an mace in his hand, who
swung it around for a 'frightening emphasis'.
The man went down the lines, asking for names and receiving ones that I couldn't even
attempt to pronounce. It was when he was four persons away, I started to worry.
He walked up to a small, pale girl who had long, obsidian hair and cool, hazel eyes. He
looked at her with a disgusted, yet lustful glare and demanded the telling of her name.
"Astryd," she simply said, and then he went on to the next person.
My shoulder's tensed a refused to relax when I recalled Hel's warning " Don't use the
name Craig..". The what am I supposed to use? I'm not aware of the 'Jason" and
"Brittany" names of the Norse language! What am I supposed to do? Make a name up
from a fantasy novel?
He was one person away from me. I could even smell the odor of sweat and dirty,
sunburned skin, My salamander tattoo start to ache and I almost wailed in pain at the
sudden shock of it.
"Yer' name?"
"Xaviar"
Salamander..Xavier...Salamander..Xavier..My mind flashed, trying to come up with a
decent calculation.
He reached me. This giant of a man stood before me, prodding me with his stick and
asking me for my haven't-been-created-yet name.
"Yer' name?'
"Uh..Uh" At first I was shocked at the youthful voice that came out of my mouth.My
brain working a mile a minute to come out with something I can use as an alias!
"Forgot yer' name already little boy?" he mocked. Chuckling a grotesque laugh.
"Salazar!" I blurted out. Not knowing what I said at first, until he moved on to the man
right next to me.
I felt like singing hallelujah if it hadn't been for Hel's warning. A sudden headache had
taken over my senses, and throbbing in my ears drowned out the noise.
A emerald fire was ignited.
************************************************************************
In the horrific, morbid arms of the underworld lay before me. One after one pitiful human
soul come to me to be place among my legions of the hopeless dead. Each day I grow
uneasy, the force that makes me the Goddess of Death tips and turns and causes me to feel
nauseous.
The balance between Chaos and Law is leaning, tipping dangerously to one of the two
powers. Chaos or Law in favor, I do not know.
But I do know it would not be for the good of the heavens, the hells, where the land
where mortals walk, and the place that is neither wholly of earth or wholly of hell. I just
hope I'm wrong for once....
________________________________________________________________________
Was it good? I can assure you Chapter 2 is much better, and it doesn't even concern Salazar! ::pout::
You get to see much more of Martamaius later (originally created by Aladastrius, but I added in the nameless
thing ^_^). Well, here are the notes!
1.Normandy is present France
2. Gwynedd is present day Wales
3. I couldn't think of any toher name to name muggle Salazar. EVERCLEAR FANS DON'T KILL ME!
4. Helis spelled correctly
5. I've been playing my brand new electric guitar instead of writing. I apoligise.
Well, I got that taken care of. Please review and I'll be seeing you!
-Dia