Chapter 1
Eternia was one kingdom once, one strong kingdom. The later generations would look back on those centuries as the 'Dark Times', a time of death and horror. But those stories are complete exaggerations, for the terror and slaughter were confined to the years of war and rebellion. The Snakemen were just rulers, despite all that the other races would say of them. Eternia was never as strong before, and would never be again.
The Snakemen, as their name would suggest were a race that was somewhat humanoid, but primarily serpentine. They laid eggs in ten-year cycles, they had scaly skin, and they were slightly cold-blooded. They had divided into many different breeds, but had remained one species, resulting in great individual diversity. Most breeds had become indistinguishable from one another, but a few remained distinct.
No single Snakeman ruled Eternia; there were no kings. Being a deeply religious people, the Snakemen followed the rule of a network of priests and priestesses devoted to their god, Serpos. They could speak with Him, and were therefore guided by Him. And His word was always followed with fanatical fervor.
The Snakemen themselves were divided into clans, varying greatly in size, skill, and influence. There were clans that bred horses, clans that were fishermen, clans that produced the finest archers, and other clans the finest sorcerers. At that time the most powerful clan was that of Quetzalcoalus, which flew under the banner of the Quetzalcoatl, the winged serpent. Its members were quite unusual, for most of them were Hydras, which naturally sported more than one head. No one was sure how that worked, not even them.
Clan Quetzalcoalus was the most powerful not just because of its size, but for its warriors and sorcerers. The finest swordsmen and the most powerful mages of all the Snakemen came from this clan. And what would become the most infamous Snakeman of all was born to this clan; his name was Hsss.
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The Citadel of Tamat was an impressive structure, with its immense spires of jade-green stone. It was not as impressive as Midgar, the Snakemen capitol city, but as the home of clan Quetzalcoalus it had to be one of the finest of its time. The Citadel was nestled against a cliff face, and much of the living space, including the most important of all, the egg-chamber, lay beneath the mountain. Its outer walls were made of smooth, solid stone, adorned with downward pointing drains in the shapes of serpents' heads, through which the Citadel's defenders could pour boiling oil or pitch down upon the enemy.
The tower's main body was as solid as the wall, but it was adorned with relief sculptures of intertwining serpents, many of which had feathered wings. Within the walls the Snakemen lived and worked while the herds they depended upon for food grazed beyond them. And at the pinnacle of the central tower was the council chamber, where the clan patriarch now held council. Serpentor he was called, and he was growing old.
The name 'Serpentor' meant 'gift of Serpos'. And for his mother, he certainly seemed like a gift. She was skinny and sickly; no one thought she'd be able to bear a child. But bear one she did, and it was a miracle indeed. But that child was Serpos' only gift to her; she died before the next breeding season, and Serpentor was raised by his father.
Serpentor was slender of build, and tall. Jutting back form the nape of his neck were two extra heads. His scales were a weak gold color, but his eyes were a vibrant green. He was tailless and walked plantigrade, full heel to toe. His snouts were somewhat short, and his fangs poked out from behind his lips. But his once glossy scales had become lacerated by battles, and dulled by age.
Serpentor wore what could have easily been battle armor. There was a steel breastplate, which left his midriff bare, that was inlayed with gold Quetzalcoatl designs. There were small steel shoulder guards that hooked to a green cloak. There was a set of red leather, finger-less gloves. There was a green loincloth with steel thigh-guards held on by a red leather belt with a gold Quetzalcoatl buckle. The shin guards were also steel and, again, inlayed with gold Quetzalcoatl designs. His feet were left bare.
The old patriarch was a proud sort of snake, who didn't let anyone tell him he couldn't do something. Some said this over-achievement was trying to make up for his mother's frailty, but no one would ever find out if this was the reason.
Serpentor's age concerned him, and this council of his generals and advisors was to discuss a matter of utmost importance: who would take his place. He trusted them to help him make a good decision. Many of them he grew up with, others he raised, and one was even his own daughter, his eldest child. She made both him and her mother proud.
Also among his advisors was his beloved mate, Giedra. She, like Serpentor, was tall and slender, but about a foot of her height was added by her digitigrade feet, heel in the air, toes on the ground. Unlike her mate, she had a tail and her scales were green with copper diamond patterns along her body. Her eyes were a bright crimson, and her snouts were long and slender, her fangs kept hidden inside her mouth. From her lower neck and from around her shoulders were six extra heads. She was beautiful to all the clans, but she was also a powerful sorceress.
Giedra never wore armor at home. Instead she wore a brown leather, backless, dress that hooked around her central neck and was slit along the sides. A black leather belt with a steel buckle encircled her slender waist. Around each of her ankles were small golden chains that clinked delicately every time she took a step.
Serpentor's daughter, Slither, stood next to her mother. Everyone said that she took after her mother in looks, her father in personality, and they were right. She had a tail, walked digitigrade, and had green scales, red eyes, and five heads. Mostly like her mother, but she was pushy and determined like her father. But though she was, she herself didn't feel that she could lead. She feared that her father would choose her as the matriarch to follow him.
The throne room was somewhat circular, with the throne itself situated at the flattest section. The outer wall was lined with large, open windows, which allowed an easy viewing of the surrounding lands. The two sets of stairs leading up into the room were cut into the floor close to the windows, to ensure that the patriarch could see anyone who entered the chamber. But the throne was the only seat in the room, and the council stood around in a circle, cloaked in green, waiting for Serpentor to speak.
Serpentor himself sat on the throne wearily, his central head held in one hand, his other heads draped over the arm rests. The only noise to be heard in the room was everyone's breathing. And no one dared break the silence. At last, with a sigh, Serpentor spoke.
"I'm sure you all know why I've called you here. For those who don't, I am growing old, and I need a successor," Serpentor spoke with a deep, booming voice that rolled the R's and drew out the S's. His voice could still have been heard above the roar of battle, and commanded great authority.
"You will help me decide," he continued and stood. Despite his age, Serpentor still stood tall, and walked surly. He spoke again as he purposefully strode around the circle of advisors.
"Should it be one of you, ye who I grew up with, who I raised, or the one who I sired?" He stopped when he reached Slither. She remained still and silent as a statue, but her eyes betrayed her nervousness. Serpentor did not miss this.
"Should I select one of my bloodline? Or should I only choose based on how well they can lead?" His eyes locked with his daughter's, and she spoke back, her voice expertly masking her fear.
"You should choose one who is most fit to replace you, father." Nods moved around the circle, and murmurs soon followed; Slither was right. Serpentor nodded together with them, and walked back to the throne. Turning back he went on.
"But who then? Should it be someone I can trust in battle, or should it be someone who knows what the people need? Or should I find someone who is a little bit of both? The latter seems best at first, but what do we need from a leader now? What say you?!" He'd raised his voice and the council was a bit taken aback. Looking over their shocked faces, Serpentor realized that he'd gone a bit far. Sighing again he sat down, draped his extra heads over the armrests, and held his central head in his hands. Silence set in again.
Giedra looked quietly across the faces of all those present. Many were as old as Serpentor and herself, but just as many were younger. Many were hardened by battle, like her, but just as many couldn't even heft a sword. There were both males and females present. They were all like brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews to her. She cared for them as much as she did her own children and her mate. Such were the bonds of the Snakemen clans.
There were eight advisors in all, including Giedra and Slither, and she knew all by name. There was her older brother Gadrus, a berserker in battle but a caring father at home. Like Giedra he walked digitigrade, had six extra heads, but no tail. His scales were green dappled with copper, and his eyes were red. His body was covered with jagged scars, and there were even patches where the scales had been torn away and had not grown back in properly.
There was Talon, the blacksmith, who despite his trade couldn't fight very well. He walked digitigrade, had four extra heads, and no tail. His scales were ashen gray, but no one could be certain whether the color was mostly his own or mostly from his work. His eyes were sickly yellow, but still shown with deep personality. His shoulders were broad and his back was stooped from bending over for most of his life. His heavily callused hands wrung each other somewhat nervously.
There was Coral, whose venom was the most potent Giedra had ever seen. She was the most skilled tactician in the clan, but ironically was also one of the biggest cowards, much preferring flight to fight. Her red, gold, and black scales were arranged in thick bands along her body. Her green eyes glistened in the light, perfectly framed by her round-ish heads.
There was Sal-Scale, a tanner by trade, and truly one of the sweetest snakes Giedra knew. He walked plantigrade, had two extra heads, and a thin tail. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his hide was a leathery brown, the scales partially worn off on his palms. He used to be a very proficient soldier, but a deep gash just above his right knee had lamed him.
There was Hydrius, the herdsman. He had eight extra heads, walked plantigrade, and had half a tail that he'd lost in a confrontation with a Worg. His scales were covered in a tiger-like pattern of orange and white with black stripes. Mild-mannered and half-blind, his eyes were a pale, milky-peach color. He was old, very old, and commanded great respect among the entire clan.
And then there was Fang, the pike man, and the undisputed master of the staff. Unlike the others though, he had married into the clan, to Coral in fact, and was not a Hydra at all, but of the Viper breed, from Ophidianos, the second largest clan. His build was a world of contradictions: he was lithe yet robust, and his tail was short yet skinny. Like Serpentor, Fang's copper body was crisscrossed with scars from many battles. In fact one of his digitigrade feet had nearly been lamed, and though he could still walk on that foot it was somewhat unrecognizable. One particularly harsh scar ran down his face and across his eye, which was not green like his other. That eye had been lost to battle, and an azure glass orb had replaced it. This scar had earned him the nickname 'Dead-Eye'.
The heavy silence was suddenly punctuated by the sound of shrill laughter, children's laughter. The grim mood that had descended upon the room lifted swiftly at the sound. Serpentor raised his heads and a small grin played on his features; 'How could the children get up here,' he thought. 'And better yet, how did they evade their guardians?'
The sound of small, bare feet slapping on hard stone grew louder as the children dashed up the stairs into the chamber. Their gray cloth tunics could be heard swishing in the air. The children's laughter was now mingled with the chuckles of the adults, as they moved to intercept the small bodies. The laughter turned to squealing, and the chuckling turned to laughter as the children dived between the adults' feet as they tried to avoid being captured by the hands reaching down for them. Many were scooped up, but just as many escaped. Serpentor laughed out loud when he saw who was leading the escape: his fourteen-year-old son, Hsss.
'So Hsss organized this escape,' thought Serpentor. 'Seems just like him.'
Hsss still had a lot of growing to do, both physically and mentally, but it seemed that he was going to be as tall as his parents. Like his father he walked plantigrade and had no tail, but her had his mother's pattern and eyes. To combine their features were his exposed fangs on long snouts, his green and gold scales, and his four extra heads. He was clever for his age, and extremely playful. His curiosity and zest often got him into trouble.
Hsss wasn't Serpentor's only child involved in this escape. His youngest daughter, four-year-old Typanna, was now squirming in her sister's arms. Like Hsss, she took after her father in appearance, with plantigrade feet and no tail. Her scales were a smooth copper, she had green eyes, short snouts with exposed fangs, and like all her other siblings she had four extra heads.
The other councilors also recognized their own children. Slither passed Typanna to Giedra in favor of her own young son, Venomus. Before long, those that were left to guard the children arrived to assist in the rounding up. They herded them back to the stairs, taking those in their parent's arms, and apologized for the interruption. Only Hsss had not been cornered. And he was not keen on being caught.
Like his father, Hsss would never go down without a fight. Even though he was surrounded, he still had a few tricks up his sleeve: like his mother, he had magical talents. As his uncle Gadrus reached down for him, Hsss teleported to the outer wall with an electrical snap and a flash of green light.
Knowing that this was going nowhere, Giedra rolled her eyes and raised a hand, curling her fingers inward. Her eyes glowed and silvery light flowed around her body. The misty substance coagulated around her outstretched hand, coiling into the shape of three serpents. And before Hsss could teleport again, the serpents shot out and coiled tightly around his body. He squirmed, in vain, for his mother's hold was unbreakable.
"Mom! Le' me go!" came the outraged cry. Giedra only grinned and dragged her son over to face his father. Struggle as he might, Hsss could not escape his fate. Serpentor sighed, shaking his head slightly. He knew this was a family matter, and so, only the family could be present.
"Leave us!" Serpentor ordered the council, and they complied without another word. He paused a moment as he watched them leave the room, Slither with them. "No, Slither, you stay," he added. His daughter looked at him with puzzlement, but obeyed. Giedra released her hold on Hsss, but remained ready to keep him from escaping. Again Serpentor sighed, and addressees his son.
"Hsss, my audacious son, I would have thought that you'd have outgrown such childishness," Serpentor's voice was both stern and gentle, alerting his son to the fact that he was in trouble and reassuring him that it wasn't too serious. "Fourteen winters and already a hot-blood. So eager to lead troops into battle."
Hsss lowered his heads and grinned sheepishly, rubbing his wrists behind his back and sweeping his feet. Giedra rolled her eyes and Slither coughed quietly. Hard as Serpentor stared at his son, Hsss wouldn't respond.
"Well? What did you think you were doing? Go right ahead, shower me with excuses!" Serpentor continued, hardly expecting his son to speak, for he was quite tight-lipped when he wanted to be. But to his surprise, Hsss didn't feel like keeping any secrets today.
"Er… We were bored, and… It was something to do?" Hsss stammered. "Um… And no one objected to my plan?" It was the truth, the children had been bored to death, and Hsss' idea to storm the council chamber was a welcome one. And by the looks of things, few didn't join him in his little adventure.
"And through all of this we see a budding leader," Slither interjected, hoping she was making a big enough hint to her father; she couldn't lead for her life, but Hsss was already followed by the masses with no question. If anyone should succeed Serpentor it should be Hsss, in her opinion.
Serpentor turned to his daughter with a gaze that mingled bewilderment with a glare. He had caught her hint, as he had many times before; her desire to be passed over as a candidate for next clan leader was quite plain. It worried him that so strong a warrior of his blood that the people would gladly follow in battle didn't want to lead. And still before him, a hot-blooded youth who was more then ready to take up the challenge. While this pleased him, Slither was still of great concern to him.
Looking back to his son, the old Patriarch noticed that he was inching back to the stairwells. Giedra had noticed as well, but made no move to stop him.
"Hsss, surely you understand that this will not go unpunished?" Serpentor called out. Hsss flinched and looked up at his father pleadingly. "Granted it will not be harsh, but there are just some things that I can't let you get away with."
"But Dad…!" Hsss exclaimed. He knew his father could be harsh, even when light. He didn't understand why he was to be punished for just having a bit of fun.
"I know, I know, you were just trying to have fun, but you could have stormed any place other than my council chamber during a meeting, couldn't you?" Serpentor interjected. His eyes scanned his mate and daughter for any reaction, but their gazes were expressionless and divided between him and Hsss. Seeing no encouragement or deterrence, Serpentor continued.
"I'm afraid you are just going to have to stay in the rookery for a few days." Hsss groaned in response.
"Dad! That's why I came here in the first place! It's boring in there!" Hsss pleaded.
"Then until you can learn the patients to handle it, you will never truly leave!" was Serpentor's reply. Hsss didn't answer; he merely stared at the floor. Knowing there was no more to be done, Serpentor called for a servant.
"Terkas!" The summoned servant entered from the stairwell. "I need you to bring my son back down to the rookery. And make sure he stays there for three days." Terkas bowed in acknowledgement and did as he was told, leading Hsss away by his arm. Once the boy was out of sight, Serpentor once again slumped in his throne.
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Elsewhere on Eternia, trouble was brewing. Smoke curled into the sky from the remains of a once prosperous community. The cries of both people and horses hung in the air. A long line of displaced people, humans mostly, snaked away from the blackened ruins on a dusty road, escorted by a garrison's worth of Snakemen on horseback. There had been another revolt, and the horse-breeding clan Equifalus was quick to put it down. But it had obviously not gone so well.
The revolts were becoming more and more violent these past few years, and this one was the first that had actually destroyed the town in which it took place. One of the rioters had set a fire with the intent to drive the horses mad with fear, but it had gotten out of control. Not only were the horses too well trained to bolt, but also the blaze had spread through the town in a matter of moments. Lives had been both lost and broken this day.
At the head of the column, the patriarch of clan Equifalus, Poseidon, rode upon his white stallion, Rime. He, like all his clan, was of the Gorgon breed, and his serpentine hair, which hung down well past his shoulders, was tied up in a halfback. His sunken yellow eyes gleamed wearily from within his flat face. Soot and blood were smeared on his sea-green scales and his black-leather-covered armor. His bare, plantigrade feet were nestled snuggly in the stirrups, while his tail was settled along the horse's rump.
Rime was in no better condition then his rider. The horse's snowy white fur was soaked with sweat, soot, and blood. His proud head was hung in exhaustion, and his stride was slow. Froth dribbled from his mouth as he panted, his armored facemask somehow seeming twice as heavy.
The now homeless townsmen followed in step behind Poseidon, huddled together, escorted by his weary troops. Most were afraid and sad, but some were angry. There was no doubt in Poseidon's mind that the angry ones were the rebels, but he'd let them go without any punishment further than the one they'd already inflicted on themselves. He turned around in the saddle and did a mental head-count of his warriors. They'd lost more horses then soldiers, it would seem, noting that no horse was without a rider, and that some carried two. Turning back to stroke Rime's neck he silently prayed that the only horses lost were geldings.
Then, quite out of nowhere, hoof beats not of his steed's gait sounded beside Poseidon. He looked up to the new rider, and the first smile that day since word of the revolt reached him crossed his face. It was his mate, Medusa; she had survived the fighting.
"How fare you, Poseidon, my love?" her deep, purring voice called out to him. Being from the same clan as her mate, Medusa was also of the Gorgon breed, with her snake-hair coiled atop her head in a tight bun. Her short-muzzled face was marred only by a small cut on her cheek, but she didn't seem to notice, her red eyes alight with her inextinguishable inner fire. Her armor and jade-green scales were cleaner than Poseidon's, which made him raise a brow, until he noticed the filthy rag tied to her belt. Always fussy, he thought, always preening aren't you, my love.
"Worse then you, no doubt, Medusa, my sweet," Poseidon replied. She grinned at this, steering her horse closer to his to clasp his forearm.
"May Serpos be praised that we both came out no worse for wear!" Medusa declared, as she moved her hand further up her mate's arm to his shoulder.
With a whiny of agitation, Medusa's own steed, Hammer, cut her and Poseidon's embrace short as he pulled away. Rime also stepped away from his stable brother, snorting; neither horse liked being in such close proximity to another stallion. Chuckling warmly at Hammer's actions, Medusa stroked the earthen-brown fur of his neck. Slowing her steed's gait, she maneuvered herself into step with the other riders behind her mate.
"We will meet back at the fortress, Poseidon!" She called out to him. Poseidon's only response was to nod and sigh. Yes, he thought, back at the fortress, but that is still a long ways away, my love. His thoughts then returned to the task at hand, relocating the villagers. He'd already sent a herald ahead to inform the next village of the soon to arrive new neighbors, but he had yet to return with the reply. Sighing he relaxed his body, closed his eyes, and allowed Rime to pick his own steps.
"Let us go, you bastards!" What now? By the sound of the voice it was a human male, in his prime, and still fiery.
"No. Its almost dark, and this is Worg country. You don't want to be here after sundown without an armed escort." It was Medusa who answered the human. Just as well, let her handle him; she was better with words anyway.
"Well most of us would rather meet our ends here than in your death-camps!" Death-camps?! What in Serpos' name was he ranting about now? Medusa paused for a moment, most likely surprised by that statement as well.
"All Snakemen cannot be held responsible for the actions of the Sidewinders!" She sounded very offended, and the human was silent for a moment.
The Sidewinders, a desert clan that was well known for their mercilessness. The High Council made sure that they were hardly ever used to put down rebellions unless there was no other alternative. Poseidon wouldn't be at all surprised if the Sidewinders did run death-camps. Stark raving mad, the lot of them.
"Liar!" Poseidon wouldn't stand idle through this any longer. Calling for a halt he brought Rime about and trotted to where Medusa and Hammer stood. As he expected the human was youngish, with flame red hair grown into a short beard and slicked down in the back. His build was average for a human, though somewhat hidden by his baggy brown tunic and leggings. What surprised Poseidon most about him was his eyebrows: They were grown very long so that they extended far beyond the edges of his head. He had never seen this before, and wondered what it meant.
"What's all this I'm hearing about death-camps?" Poseidon inquired of the human, who seemed to be loosing his nerve. "We're only taking you to the next town over. Nothing deadly about that."
"That's not true!" The redhead then turned to his fellows. "Never trust those who speak with forked-tongues!"
Poseidon had been pushed to far, and the human never expected to be struck. He reeled with the force of the blow, clutching the cheek that had been hit.
"That was uncalled for!" The war-tried patriarch had never felt so furious, so offended in his life. So enraged that he was tempted to let loose his Gorgon-magic and turn this scorn to stone. So tempted that he felt his serpent hair rise and squirm against their bonds. Only his mate's talons digging into his arm spared the human from that fate. Breathing deeply to still his heart, Poseidon closed his eyes, until he finally felt his hair relax.
"Count your blessings, human, you've just been spared from my wrath. You might not be so lucky next time," Poseidon tried to speak calmly and evenly to the now cowering human, but his voice betrayed his fury. "Continue on! We may yet reach Xeraslis by sunset!"
Slowly and wearily the people and horses fell back into step behind the Gorgon patriarch. All but one.
"I'm not going!" That redheaded human again, he had broken the ranks and ran for the countryside. And again, Medusa was the first to respond.
"Let him go! If he wishes to die a Worg's feast, then so be it!" Murmurs of agreement followed her words as they continued on, the strange human's sprinting form fading into the distance.