I don't really remember much from my childhood, only that my parents died when I was quite young, when I was around one, after that the people who found me brought me to an orphanage in some far away village. I don't really remember much about the time I spent there, only that I didn't like it much.
What I do remember is when I left that place, I should, it was the moment when my whole life changed...
Date: January 11th, 1085 Time: 2300 hours
Location: Gendin Valley, Kingdom of GriffoneOver the distance one could see a reasonably sized house used as an orphanage burning freely against the dark backdrop of the forest. Firefighters and people from the local village on the bottom of the hill where the house was situated were crowding around the grounds in which the house was burning. As could see, so far, it looked like no one had yet to die from the fire, as the fire in the house itself seemed to dodge or miss the children as they were falling as if the flames themselves were ordered not to harm anyone. All the children were present and accounted for and were being moved away from the home, all except one. A lone, oddly calm, boy in the trees behind the burning orphanage. He was staring at the fire with blank, bored eyes not seeming to mind that he was alone there. The boy was wearing an overly large blue shirt and shorts. He had messy black hair and deep green eyes. After a few moments the boy let out a heavy sigh.
"Are you going to stop pretending that I can't feel you there soon?" the boy suddenly asked before adding, "I didn't mean to burn house." as an after thought.
At the moment he said his last sentence an old man suddenly appeared from the trees behind the boy, he was wearing what seemed to be dark blue robes perfectly matching his eyes and the light blue dye on the tips of his spiked up white hair. On his right hand he carried a staff.
"Of course you didn't mean to burn the house." The old replied, unperturbed that the boy actually knew that he was there in fact, he seemed happy. "At least consciously anyways."
"Consciously?" the young boy asked, still watching the ever-burning fire.
"Yes, consciously, it means that 'when one is awake and aware of your surroundings'. When the fire started you were asleep right?" The boy nodded, still looking at the fire. "Your subconscious started it, your mind did when you were asleep. Do you know why you did?" the boy nodded his head and answered.
"They didn't like me, no one did. They were scared of my abilities, though they weren't of the other kid's. It was strange. They called me a freak even though there were some there that could use fire or wind and cast spells."
The old man nodded glumly. "Yes, they were scared of your abilities. But it wasn't strange, what you experienced is all too true, though your case is quite a rarity."
"I'm rare?" the boy asked.
"Sort of..." the old man answered. "You have abilities that some haven't seen for quite a while, it makes you special. People here don't realize that. They don't realize how special you really are."
"I'm special then?" the boy asked.
"Yes, special and I can help you."
"Help me? How?"
"Your abilities. I can help you harness them, control them."
"Control?" the boy asked. "Can I just hide them? I don't want to use my abilities, I just want to get rid of them, be normal."
The old man weakly smiled at this. "If you want to hide them, you have to learn to control them first."
"If I want to hide them, I need to control them first?" the boy asked finally turning around to the old man staring him in the eyes, green meeting blue. The old man nodded, keeping perfect eye contact. "You can help me?" the old man nodded again. The boy looked thoughtful for a few moments and then answered. "I'm Harry, Harry Potter. How bout' you?"
The old man's smile grew larger and truer. "Aberforth, Aberforth Dumbledore. You can call me Abe." Abe extended his hand to Harry who took it a few seconds later, as they were going Harry suddenly stopped.
"What?" Abe asked kindly.
"The lady in the house told us that to leave we needed to be adopted first. Are you going to adopt me?" Harry asked.
"Yes, yes I will." Abe answered, the smile still plastered to his face, his eyes twinkling.
"Okay then." Harry answered looking up, Green meeting Blue again. "Will I call you grandpa or dad?"
"Hmmm.... Dad doesn't seem appropriate, grandpa sounds better."
"Okay...ummm...."
"What is it?" Abe asked in a kind voice.
"Are we going to meet the rest of your family?" Harry asked nervously, scared of meeting new people.
"Yes, yes we will. Nervous?" The boy nodded weakly. "That's alright." Abe said fondly. "You'll like them. I promise." Harry didn't look convinced. "Will it make it better if I told you about them then?" Harry nodded.
When two started to walk away from the burning orphanage a gust of wind suddenly blew in the direction they were going blowing the lower part of the robe that Abe wore away from his body exposing an interesting weapon that caught Harry's attention prompting him to ask a question.
"What is that?" he pointed at the strange weapon at Abe's side.
"What is what?" Abe asked confusing.
Following Harry's small emerald eyes he spots what caught the interest of the boy, his smile returned and grew wider. Picking it up from his side he drew it in front of the boy explaining what it was at the same time.
"This-" he said "is a 'Gunblade' my preferred choice of weapon." He gestured to the blade. The blade was almost a meter in length; its shape was that of a right angle triangle. The one side being horizontal, the other sides forming the rest of the blade, the sharp end of the blade went down towards the handle in a semi-diagonal line, the blade itself was not sharp at the sides making look like it was used merely to knock someone out, out of all the things that made Harry goggle at the blade one thing stood out, An image of a Phoenix flying etched on the bottom of blade leading towards its unusual handle. The handle of the weapon was nothing Harry had ever seen, it was shaped like that of a fencers grip only that it was a bit slanted making it look like a Handgun of those who worked in the army of Galtina the upper part of it was a work of art, the upper part of the blade was shaped like a phoenix like that of the drawing on the blade. All in all Harry could not do anything but stare, after regaining his senses he asked a new question, one that he would not take no as an answer.
"Can you teach me how to use something like that?"
Abe's face grew serious at that question but he answered the boy's inquisitive question nonetheless.
"I could teach you," he said. Harry's face broke out into a grin as Abe continued. "But it'll be hard, the 'Gunblade' is one of the hardest blades to master and wield since there are so many ways to build and use one. Not only do you have to learn my style but also you have to develop one of your own, as it is different for every person. You also have to learn how to make a 'Gunblade' yourself. Do you still want to go through with it?"
Harry looked at the blade again imagining himself wielding it in battle. A determined look crossed his face as he answered Abe's question.
"Yes." He said with a nod.
"Well then." Broke Abe. "Looks like that's one less task done. Choosing your weapon." Abe smiled at the boy. "Now where was I?"
"You were telling about your brother." Harry answered.
The two began to walk again, going deeper in the woods, Abe's voice floated weakly in the air.
"Ah yes, well, I have this older brother, his name is Albus." Abe said "Nice chap, a bit mad...but so am I guess." He added chuckling slightly "Well, to continue the story, he has this school its called Hogwarts..."
Date: December 24, 1093 Time: 2000 hours
Location: Gendin Valley, Kingdom of Griffone
Sweat poured down the young man's body as he tried to focus all his energy to stay up. Sweat ran down his naked chest as he continued doing one of his grueling daily exercises. One hand on a flat rock he balanced his upside down body with one hand, using his magic to feel all movements around him. Several seconds past and he felt the presence of a large creature moving silently behind him, as the creature got closer his body tensed so that when it got into his firing range he could immediately attack it.
The creature going towards his stationary body was moving fast, faster than a normal human being. Fortunately...
It wasn't fast enough.
As the creature approached him he suddenly focused his energy in to his left palm, the hand that he was using to keep upright, with a sudden push of energy his body vaulted slightly upwards. Landing he shifted his body weight, his right palm slamming against the stone, his feet used in a double footed kick launching the humanoid creature that he was attacking back. He then swung his legs back, both of his arms propped on the rock for balance. Using his arms he balanced his body on his hands his feet lifted above the rock in a spread eagle formation, his arms in the middle of his legs, he once again returned to his previous position.
A few strenuous seconds later he felt another presence, this he did not respond, he merely stayed where he was waiting for his master to speak,
"Hmmm...twelve hours...good, good." The old man said hands behind his back, eyes twinkling. "Training is over now, its Christmas Eve, we're paying you're grandpa Albus a visit in his school."
At this remark Harry responded by gracefully jumping to his side landing on his feet asking,
"Hogwarts? We're going there?"
"Yes, we are. It's been a while hasn't it? When was the last time we went there?"
"When I was eleven master."
"Ah, yes. Well...if we're going to go there we better leave soon. Are you ready?"
"Ummm...I kind of need a shower master..."
"A what? Oh yes...don't bother. Do it at Hogwarts."
"Yes, master. We apparate then?"
Aberforth nodded, Harry then walked toward his shirt and jacket and the two suddenly vanished with a pop.
Date: July 1st, 1095 Time: 900 hours
Location: Gendin Valley, Kingdom of Griffone
Sparks
flew as the two blades crossed, the slender, red and silver colored
Phoenexia was pushed aside by the parry of the much heavier, silver
and blue blade of the Revolver. Their wielders jumped back from each
other waiting for another opening in each other's
defenses.
A
mild summer's breeze swept across the room blowing the two
combatants hair and coats as they waited, looking at each other
stares unwavering, the breeze giving fresh mountain air slightly
calming the two tense combatants. The clearing, with its rough mossy
ground and peaceful atmosphere, in which the two were fighting
provided the combatants the peace in which they could do their
morning ritual, a ritual that they had been doing for many years now.
As the two combatants fought animals watched them, some from the
forest, one from outside of it.
"Not
bad," said Phoenexia's wielder with a small smile. He was tall,
well over six feet, with short, spiked up, natural white hair with
blue tips, his age not deterring his choice of hair style. He had a
regal bearing, like some ancient knight from ages past, that confirms
his old age despite being as energetic as he was. He was clad in a
long white trench coat, spotless and smooth, emblazoned with a silver
phoenix, one on each arm and a large one on the back of his coat.
Underneath his white coat he wore a tight black shirt, also featuring
a phoenix, fixed in a flying position. His black pants matched his
boots and gloves. The old warrior leveled his head directly staring
at his opponent, deep blue eyes regarding his foe with a combination
of respect, determination and scrutiny. He raised his blade up again,
pointing it at his foe and putting his left foot forward, his
forwarded left hand cocked out to the side, his stance a slightly
changed fencing pose.
His
student stood a few feet away, and also regarded the old man with the
same determined, respectful look added with bit of scrutiny with his
dark green eyes. He was a much shorter, a couple of inches above
five-foot 8 (174 -5 cm), with medium length, messy black hair, flying
in every direction including down his face covering a thunderbolt
scar, a few strands in his eyes as well. His face had a seriousness
that would make most individuals think twice about his age. He wore a
knee length black jacket made of some hybrid fabric with several
inscriptions and diagrams on it, a griffin on his right shoulder
while his left had strange runic symbols, underneath his jacket there
was a plain white muscle shirt. He wore a trio of belts, one around
his waist, the other two lower down, crossing diagonally over his
groin. One held several small pouches, for items and equipment. The
other seemed to be like a combination of a sword belt and gunbelt,
featuring a hybrid of a holster and a scabbard that was capable of
swing, latching itself on his back handle facing down as to not
impede movement while running. The hybrid weapon holder was angled
forward when at his side, as if its weapon was to be drawn like a
sword, yet was shaped like a gun's holster, except it was longer,
like a sword's sheath. Around the man's right leg were small cases,
each containing many small cylinders, like ammunition for a revolver.
Like his foe, this man had black pants, these made out of the same
material as his jacket, and also, like his foe, his boots and gloves
matched his pants. Around his neck was a silver chain made up of
small links leading down to a crafted lion's head at the
end.
The two
opponents stood still for a few seconds, each watching the other,
waiting for their foe to make the first move.
They
moved at the same time, as one, like they planned their movements,
both advancing, blades clashing with the solid ring of metal on
metal. Phoenexia's wielder came across in a slash, to which the
Revolver rose to block. Phoenexia deftly rose over the blocking blade
and knocked it down. Even as the Revolver's wielder began to bring
his weapon back up, Phoenexia weaved underneath the blade and slammed
up. The Revolver, already with the momentum of rising up, went flying
high out of its wielder's hands at the strike. The weapon spiraled up
into the air, turning end over end. Its wielder quickly back flipped
a few times in an inhuman speed to back out of his opponents striking
range, but his foe didn't advance. He simply stood there, Phoenexia
at his side, as he waited for the Revolver to drop back
down.
"You
need to learn to tighten your grip," remarked his teacher the
small smile still plastered on his face.
The
black-haired man moved to the side, observing the Revolver and where
it would land. The weapon reached the apex of its flight and came
down, end over end. It drove down, the black haired warrior catching
it while it dropped, swinging it in a wide arc over his head with is
left hand, standing straight, handle and blade down in a side ward
pose like that of a fencer. The chain on the end clinked slightly as
it waved back and forth. A loud blast of thunder emerged from the
clouds above as lightning flashed, illuminating the battlefield for
an instant. Then, rain began falling upon the two
warriors.
The
black haired man glanced back up at his foe. His hands closed around
the custom-made grip, and he pulled the unique hybrid weapon out of
its defense position.
The
Revolver was a Gunblade, his own personal creation, a strange and
exotic hybrid of gun and sword. The Revolver, as its name would
suggest, had the handle of a six- shooter magnum. Where the barrel
would be on a magnum, however, there was instead a long, broad blade,
marked with an engraving of a crouching griffin, with powerful wings
sprouting from its back. The blade tapered until the last few inches,
where the tip was shaped like the end of an eastern blade, a
scimitar, and the curved edge excellent for slicing, yet straight
enough for a powerful thrust. On the end of the handle of the
Revolver was a short chain, at the end of which was a small sliver
lion's head, a gift from his teacher at the creation of his own
blade.
Lifting the Revolver and feeling the solid weight of
the Gunblade in his hands, its wielder turned to his foe. Phoenexia
still waited by his side, the smile still on his face as he waited
for the duel to resume. Phoenexia, like the Revolver, was a Gunblade,
although this weapon had the handle of handgun, though hidden, as
opposed to a magnum revolver. Phoenexia was long and slender, like a
fencing blade or saber, and was straight, with a shining, silver
edge.
"Alright,
let's get this finish this," the old man said. The black-haired
man didn't respond, he raised the Revolver and charged. The old
warrior grinned and his own weapon rose to point at his foe.
Sparks flew as the blades met again, holding for a few seconds, pushing against each other, they both felt the other combatant welling up their magic. A few more seconds past and they both suddenly released the death lock swinging their Gunblades at opposite directions, spinning their blades met again, but not before they both released their welled up magic speeding up their movements considerably. The two dueled wildly pushing their speed-increased bodies to their limits, blades clanging and scraping in the spring air. Phoenexia and Revolver met frequently, sparks jumping and descending at each crossing. Phoenexia's wielder backed away quickly, and came back in spinning, pulling a dazzlingly fast move. Phoenexia came around fast and hard, aided by the momentum of the spin, but was met by the Revolver. The Revolver came in behind the slash, striking at Phoenexia's wielder, but the men spun around and back, away from the slash. Phoenexia came out of the spin striking down on the Revolver, knocking it down and away. Revolver's wielder came back in, his blade slicing down at the old man, who stepped forward and unexpectedly ducked under the blow, ending up behind Revolver's brown-haired wielder. The black-haired man spun around quickly to face his opponent, who stood calmly.
The magic was fading rapidly they both felt it. The black-haired young man was irritable; despite the impressive show that they had been displaying it looked like his teacher wasn't even as tired as he was. Deciding that he had to finish the battle quickly he decided to pull out all the stops. Twisting his Gunblade so that the Revolver was sharp edge facing forward, his right hand supporting the handle and trigger while his left hand pressed against the dull edge of the blade, and thus so he charged once again, Gunblade on his left side.
The old man expected his pupil to charge, it was the only way to end this no-offensive-or-healing-magic-is-allowed-battle but what his student did caught him by surprise. It started out as a normal charge, the old man, excelling in defensive abilities, held his ground waiting for the chance to counter attack when his student reached him. However, as his student reached the halfway point towards him he was surprised when the young man's speed suddenly increased dramatically even though he didn't have enough time to charge up for it. At that moment he knew that this was the last attack, the last burst of power.
The old man barely had enough time to increase his speed with a haste spell before their Gunblades met again, this time the blades barely met each other as the two wielders were moving in unimaginable speeds, the two Gunblades were blurs as the two attack, parried and countered in succession, the two were merely fighting for seconds but to both they were hours as they were immersed in their high-speed battle. Wielding Phoenexia is his left hand the old man swung hard in a wide arc towards the left that was momentarily blocked by his opponent, the blades scraping against each other the momentum cause both blades to slide against each other. Released from the lock, the force propelled the old man's Gunblade past his opponent leaving him open to attack, his opponent noticing this development took advantage of it and swung downwards. The old man barely dodging the latest high-speed onslaught regained his stance and swung back while his student's blade was down, as it swung ever closer to his student his Gunblade was suddenly thrown of his hand as it was knocked upwards by his student's own Gunblade, a split second later revolver was at his throat.
"I win," said his student in a cool voice, their bodies reverting back to normal time, the air around them bending and forming visible ripples that slowly died down.
The old man, grinning, nodded. Both fighters stepped back, sheathing their Gunblades when they stopped, and bowed to each other. The old man then addressed his student.
"Good job Harry, you control of your time abilities have been improving, although you could do better, loads better. Remember Concentrate on the movements of your target and keep in mind your surroundings. Anticipate what he or she will do by reading them, and as always, use your surroundings and your abilities to your advantage, the use of terrain in combination with your skills can win you the battle."
"Yes Master Aberforth." Replied Harry formally, as he had heard this before.
"Now then, as we are finished with our morning exercise I believe that we should address our guest. Lord Black, we know that you are there."
"Sirius, just come out." Said Harry
At that a large black dog that looked strikingly like a grim walked forward, changing into a human as he approached them. Sirius wore a long black leather trench coat, a white polo shirt and black leather pants underneath it. He had long black hair falling around his face, his piercing blue eyes shining underneath them. When Sirius reached them he stopped before Abe, both shaking their hands exchanging greetings, he then walked towards Harry pulling his Godson into a tight hug. When this was over Abe then launched into business.
"So, what does the infamous Sirius Black want with an old hermit and his loner student?" Asked Abe in a kind and amused voice.
"An Invitation..." said Sirius, he reached into his inside-coat pocket pulling out an envelope with the Council's seal upon it while continuing his speech. "An invitation to the upcoming and prestigious Griffin-Crown tournament, the Council of Griffone and the headmaster of the Hogwarts Academy; Albus Dumbledore, requests that you attend the gathering."
"Why invite us to the Griffin-Crown?" Abe mused. "What would my brother want with me?" realization, that was evident only to him, came at that moment. 'She's dying' he thought. He then turned to Sirius, his expression far more serious than it was a while ago. "Did my brother say something about why he wanted me?"
"No he didn't." answered Sirius. "He only gave me the responsibility of finding you two and bringing you to Castle Weasley in Kildenton in time for the pre-tournament celebrations."
Abe nodded in response. Hand covering mouth in a gesture indicating thoughtfulness.
"I trust that you are coming along with me then?" continued Sirius, looking at the old man who was thinking.
"Yes, my apprentice and I shall go with you." Abe then turned to Harry who stayed quiet through out the exchange. "Harry, break camp, we're leaving in an hour." Harry nodded and with slight, unnoticeable gesture he vanished leaving what seemed to be ripples in the air where he once was. Abe then focused once again on Sirius. "Lord Black, is your ship nearby?"
"Yes it is Master Aberforth."
"Very well then, hail it. We're leaving."
Date: October 31st, 1095 Time: 000 hours
Location: Unknown
Rained poured down on a kneeling young man at the edge of the battlements of an unrecognizable castle and badly damaged castle. His clothes were torn, jacket and trousers were blood stained and ripped, the white shirt inside his jacket was in the same condition, numerous cuts and severe wounds could be seen on his body. Two Gunblades lay at his side one was his notched Gunblade, Revolver, the end of its blade firmly imbedded on the ground. The second Gunblade was his master's, Phoenexia; broken at the midsection of the blade, it lay in front of the weeping young man.
Tears freely fell down his face as only one thought crossed his mind.
Riddle
Behind the young man a soldier stood, falsely thinking that the grieving individual had not spotted him, silently, the soldier radioed for help advancing towards the stationary man at the edge of the castle wall. Drawing his wand he slowly advanced, he knew that if he shouted the spell from a far the young man might dodge it so he carefully crept forward until there was only a meter separating them. As he was about say the stunning spell it was quickly cut of by the sound of a blade. A moment later his head fell off the edge of the castle.
Blood soaked; the young man paid no notice of his appearance or the fact that a dead body was launching blood at him; he barely even recognized the fact that he had just killed a man. Only one thought was firmly implanted in his mind
Riddle
With a wave of his wand the pieces of his Master's weapon shrunk and launched themselves into the air, vanishing, only to appear when called.
His ears suddenly picked up the sound of armor and feet shuffling towards his position, picking up its direction he slowly moved towards the source with only one intention.
Death.
To all who follow the Dark lord.
The first man reached him, he was dispatched easily with a swing of his blade to his left, the second was cut down in a similar manner; a slight retraction of the blade to the right sliced the opposing man's wand arm and sword, his blade coming back to sever the head, the third and fourth were incinerated with a well placed spell. The carnage continued in the isolated castle, almost every man that he met that day never lived to see another, screams and sound of fighting echoed through out the castle, the sound of death systematically moving from one hall to the other, those that escaped the mindless slaughter reported different scenarios of what had happened in the castle, though one thing was the same in every report.
Death.
The Emerald Eyed Angel of Death graced the castle walls and its inhabitants with its wrath.
A few hours before dawn a loud explosion rocked the mountains near the castle. The cliff where the Fortress was placed was reduced considerably in size, the castle nowhere to be seen.
Date: July 1st, 1098 Time: 2200 hours
Location: Phoenecia City, Kingdom of Griffone
Large city. Nighttime. Stuck in an alley with only a single streetlight illuminating the place. Six men surrounding you...Not exactly a good place to be.
A young man of moderate height stood at the end of the alley, he wore dark blue pants, a white shirt visible underneath a black pullover. A black beanie covered his head, black locks of hair spilling out the sides. The young man's face was smooth and unmarred, except for a lightning bolt scar not entirely visible on his forehead. An earphone from a music player made in Ravven was visible on each ear. Bright emerald green eyes viewed the men that backed him into the alley
He looks to his left, two guys, one carried a thick piece wood while the other a pocketknife. To his right, three men, two holding swords the last standing back had a revolver with six bullets in the chamber. The one in front of him had knuckled gloves; he was flexing and tensing his hands in a menacing way. Normal instinct indicates that the situation was bad for him.
Six men. All carrying weapons, his back was against a wall.
He bowed his head for a second, closing his eyes briefly, hands to his sides breathing in deeply and releasing it. What he did next wasn't what his aggressors thought he would do. He lifted his head slowly, the sound of a vacuum heard only him, a smirk crossed his face.
Faster than what the eye could properly see he reached to his left grabbing the stick of the one wielding it doing a side kick with his left foot aimed for the stomach at the same time. With the stick in his right hand he threw the small wood pole to his right even before his left foot reached the ground, the pole went between the two swordsmen to his right hitting the gunman behind them on his temple knocking him out. At that time the rest of the punks finally acted, moving at the same time. The swordsmen reached him first. One tried to lunge at him; he parried the blade by moving his right hand slapping it against the flat edge of the blade, extending his left hand his fist meeting the attacker's face. As his punch connected he immediately swung it left meeting the face of the other swordsman that attempted to swing his sword down with his right hand. Both men fell unconscious. Using the momentum of his swinging left hand he twisted his body to his left, his right foot connecting with the knife wielder of the group. His back was to the last of the punks, the one who had a knuckled glove. His bright green eyes darkened and his torso shifted to his left, the knuckled fist of the last man missing the back of his head by inches. In that position he turned quickly, his left hand immediately grasped his opponent's right arm, right palm hitting his opponents chin with enough pressure to only break the man's jaw. It was immediately followed by a sharp tug to the injured man's right arm, a few of his ribs broken by the two swift kicks that followed. He released the man's, now dislocated right arm finishing his opponent by a powerful kick with his right foot, the man flew a few feet before hitting the ground hard.
It all happened in a moment.
The green-eyed stranger retracted his right foot by drawing it to his side still extended, dropping it slowly. When his foot reached the ground, head slightly bent forward, he released a calming breath, the air around him had ripples, like the air had been stretched and was resonating.
Looking around the green eyed young man surveyed his work.
'Weak. Pathetic. Not worthy my time' He smirked. 'Not worthy enough to live.'
With that the young man started to walk out of the alley leaving the men in it behind to whatever fate met them.
He sensed three others following him.
The twenty-three year old merely smirked, replaced his headphones on his ears and continued walking.
Well, here is the prologue for the first 'book' in the 'Sorceress' Series. Just to clarify some things, if all goes according to plan I'm going to write about 4 to 5 sequels after this. I have plans all drawn out. The prologue at the start of every book has a short background story of a character; this one obviously is about 'Griever'.
Please Review my story... I want to know if I'm a good writer.