Meridian Child
Sweat poured over his body; he slipped on his gloves and pulled the sword out of its sheathe. He looked over the blade and gave a smile, which the blade reflected upon him. After he secured his helm he kicked the door open. The light was blinding, the crowd was deafening. He recognized his people and made his way to the tournament grounds. He saw that the grounds had been cleaned; he must have made it to the finals. The trumpets blared and King Richard's voice roared over them.
"Countrymen, welcome to the championship match. Please do not hold your applause for Duran, son of Loki and the man simply known as The Bruiser," roared the King. Duran shot a glance at his competition. He saw the need for the name: the guy was enormous. It didn't matter to him, though; the big guy was going to be lying on the ground afterwards, anyway. The field judge called for the match to begin. The man-mountain made his charge, swinging his mace around like he was trying to swat down a mosquito. Duran smirked and spat in Bruiser's path. Bruiser then raised his mace in a high arc. Duran was still smiling. The big man brought it down like a hammer. Duran raised his sword, blocking the attack and countering with a broad slice, knocking the mace out of his hands. Bruiser's eyes popped out of their sockets. The big lug groped for his weapon, only to find a remarkably shiny slab of steel in front of his face. Bruiser's face shuddered and he broke into tears. Duran had to fight back a chuckle as Bruiser curled up into a ball before him.
"Please don't kill me!" pleaded the large, yet insignificant man.
"Don't worry I won't," replied Duran as he walked beside his former competition.
"You, you mean it?" said Bruiser with a hint of relief.
"Nope," Duran replied as he sent his hilt crashing down upon Bruiser's empty skull.
"This match has ended, the victor of the King's Tourney is Duran," King Richard shouted over the roar of the crowd. Duran took one last look at the heap of a man that he led left on the battlefield, and began his stride to the king. Duran graciously accepted his prize; 750,000 Luc was not easy to come by in this age, especially in his line of work. Duran bowed to King Richard, who then offered a him a position as one of the King's royal guard, the legendary Knights of Gold. Duran declined the offer; he would be following his father. As Duran left the king's presence, he was accosted by the other Forcenian Knights who whisked him off to the armory for the post-tournament festivities. It wasn't exactly his idea of the ideal return to his hometown--not that there's anything wrong with a keg of honey drink and a bunch of dancing girls. Several hours later the festivities ended with all the knights returning back to their posts, despite the fact that they were generally inebriated. Duran was no exception, he wasn't returning home for free. He looked at his shift relief in disgust, whatever happened to the proud, alert and well spoken for knights of Forcena? He couldn't believe that the knight was leaving just to get a drink: no wonder the king was hiring mercenaries. But he could feel his limbs grow weaker as he became more and more drowsy; not able to fight it any longer he let sleep take hold. Deep within in his mind he struggled with the last memories of his mother and that last disappointed look his Aunt Stella and sister Wendy gave as he stormed out of the family home to become a mercenary. Then as the memories of his father appeared before him he began to come to. As he awoke he cursed at himself for falling asleep on assignment. However, something didn't seem right about the whole situation. Grasping his sword's hilt in preparation he surveyed his surroundings. Within a few steps he kicked an empty mug; a few feet away from the mug lay the corpse of his relief. Glancing upward he saw that all the guards along the wall had met the same fate. He scrambled to the other guards to check to see if there was any trace of a pulse…none. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a crimson flicker. As he gave chase he saw what looked like a cape float through one of the doors. Duran, calling to the mana goddess for speed, charged through the door and down the hallway. Duran opened up the last door and finally got a glimpse of his foe. The one-man-army was a blonde man with a deep crimson robe, a deeper crimson hue than normal since being stained with the blood of innocent soldiers.
"Halt!" yelled Duran at the man in crimson.
"Is that all that you guys can say?" replied the crimson invader mockingly.
"Who the hell are you?" forcibly inquired Duran, pulling out his sword to make a point.
"Why should I answer to vermin like you?" said the man in crimson casually, obviously ignoring the sword.
"Why you smug bastard!" fumed Duran. That last comment was over the top; he had to cut him down. Duran charged at the invader, putting any caution to the wind. Duran lifted his blade over his head. The crimson invader yawned. Duran brought the blade down in a mighty slice, which would have easily split a boulder… only to find that he was striking air.
"Hmmm, King Richard really must be slipping, hiring children for guards, how utterly amusing." Chuckled the mysterious man. Duran whirled around. "How the hell did he do that? I had my eyes on him the whole time and he's suddenly behind me," thought Duran. Well either way he couldn't possibly do it again. Duran charged again this time keeping his eyes focused on his opponent. He slashed again…nothing.
"You do realize your wasting your time don't you?" glared the somehow amazingly agile invader. "Either way I don't have time for you. FIRE BALL!" Duran gave the mysterious man a confused look, which slowly shifted into frightened awe as the man in the red cloak's hand turned the shade of his cloak. From out of nowhere three large fireballs materialized in front of him. Duran tried to flee only to find that the flaming projectiles had flanked him. The pain was unbearable and he could smell his scorching flesh. He gazed up at the now obvious mage and could only think one thing. "What a cheap shot."
"Hmm… you're a little stronger than I thought. I guess I have a good reason to end your life now." "ICE SMASH!" yelled the red mage as he lifted his left hand. The mage's hand glowed with a cold blue light. Duran gritted his teeth in expectation of the forthcoming pain. It was worse than he could ever have imagined. The pain was easily doubled since the shards were stuck in his already badly burnt skin. But Duran wouldn't give up with the last strength in his body he slowly raised from the stone floor.
"So you still won't die. I guess I might as well seal you away forever. EVIL GA…" the mage's spell was cut off by the arrival of the Knights of Gold. The mage scanned the exorbitantly armored guards. "Well since the advanced guard has appeared it's time for me to take my leave, but with such little security Forcena will fall soon enough." The mage gloated. With a quick swiping motion of his hands he faded away into the darkness. Duran tried to pursue the invader, yet his feet failed him. His eyes soon followed.
Duran awoke to a nostalgia trip. His room hadn't changed at all since he had left. The sword catalogue was still lying on the dresser. His clothes from the day before he left were still piled up by the closet door. His wounds still ached, magic was not a force to take lightly. He cursed the mage; he'd never been bested in battle before. He had to settle the score with this madman, whoever he may be. He had to get stronger by any means necessary. He threw the covers out of the way and jumped out of bed, only to be swiftly reminded by his burnt legs that he was still injured.
"You're just like your father." Muttered his Aunt as she saw Duran sprawled out on the floor. Aunt Stella wasted no time in getting her battle worn nephew back into bed. Duran protested his aunt's concern but she was relentless. The swordsman eventually gave up and accepted a bowl of chicken soup from his little sister Wendy. A week or so later, Duran was able to move just enough to escape from the never ceasing care of his family. Duran took advantage of his regained mobility and decided to limp his way to the local tavern. He had to find out some information about his assailant. The place was still buzzing with rumors even a week after the invasion. Duran sat in on several conversations only to find that the general populous was just as clueless as he was. After at least three drinks he decided that it was about time to start to trek home, before Aunt Stella sends out a search party to find out why he wasn't still in bed. On his way home he encountered a sign pointing to a little shop near the library. The sign indicated that the shop was a fortune telling business. Duran was willing to take any lead he could find so he walked up to the front door. Inside of the shop an ancient looking woman sat behind the counter.
"Hello young sir, is there any I can assist you with this evening?" asked the old woman with her most cordial yet businesslike tone.
"Yes, the sign outside says this a fortune telling shop. I'd like to have my fortune told." Duran answered baffled by that fact that she would ask something that obvious.
" Well, let's see here," she said as she pulled out a large scroll from behind the counter. " I offer a variety of fortunes: crystal ball, palm reading, rune reading, aroma…." She would have continued further if Duran hadn't interrupted her.
" I'll take whatever you want, I just need some advice." Stated Duran before he was overwhelmed with options.
" As you wish young sir, I was getting thirsty anyway." Said the old woman with some relief as she fetched a large teapot out of a nearby cupboard. "Ah yes I'm assuming you can afford this, It's only 25,000 Luc. Duran rifled through his pockets to try to find his tournament winnings. He found the bag and looked into it with dismay. Between this and the drinks from the bar, he wouldn't be able to afford that giant claymore that he saw in the sword catalogue. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that as steep as it was it was worth it. When the tea was finally done, she took the pile of gold pieces in advance. The tea was refreshingly warm, though slightly bitter. It didn't matter to him though.
" What is it that
you seek young sir? Asked the old fortuneteller as they drank their
tea.
" I seek power to defeat a new foe." Replied Duran.
" I hope you did not drink too deeply." Said the old woman after Duran finished. "Now please hand me your cup." Duran did so without hesitation. The old woman put her finger to the rim of the cup and muttered an incantation. The mercenary noticed no change to the cup. The old fortuneteller looked down into Duran's cup with a look of satisfaction.
" What you seek is in Wendel, the great priest knows of the art of class changing. Through class changing one can attain unlimited power." Replied the old fortuneteller in her most mysterious voice. Duran was overwhelmed with excitement, so much so that he leaped onto the counter. He also knocked off the fortuneteller's prized teapot. The fortuneteller looked at the shattered teapot in shock, fuming with anger she grabbed a staff from behind the counter and smashed it against Duran's injured leg.
" It took me twenty years to find that pot, now get out of my shop before I REALLY break that leg of yours." Wailed the old fortuneteller. Duran hastily retreated. He knew better than to incur the wrath of a woman especially after having lived with his aunt and sister. He mulled over the fortuneteller's words, if this unlimited power could be gained through class changing, running a sword through the arrogant mage's hide would not only be possible but enjoyable. When Duran finally reached his house he decided it was best to sneak into the house, he didn't want to see his aunt's piercing stare when he told her that he was leaving once again. He slowly slid the door open. Aunt Stella's snores echoed through the house, if Duran had any chance of escaping his family with his life intact, now was the time. The steps groaned as Duran attempted to sneak up to his room. When he reached his room (still undetected) he hurriedly gathered what he needed for the long road ahead. He slipped on his armor as silently as could be achieved in this situation and with a few convictions muttered under his breath, grabbed his most prized possession. He then decided to quickly search the drawers for some sword polish. When he inspected the drawer he found the polish, yet he also found that his copy of Chicks in Chainmail had been pilfered, not like it really mattered though. The steps threatened to break beneath him as he tried to return downstairs. When the swordsman was finally outside he pulled out his sword and examined the blade. He saw his house reflected on the sword's shiny surface. Duran wondered when he could ever return home.
"Oh Duran." Echoed a familiar voice behind him. Aunt Stella was standing in the doorway. Duran turned around and faced his fate, expecting the worst. " I knew that this day would come eventually." She said soothingly pulling a sword from behind her. " This used to belong to your father, he used it when he defeated King Richard at the King's Tourney." Duran took the old sword. It had seen better days yet holding it put him at ease.
"Thank you Auntie, I apologize but I won't be able to return for quite a while." He said with a newfound confidence in his heart.
"Don't worry, I won't tell your sister anything about your quest, it's better that way." Said his aunt fighting back a few tears. They embraced one last time and Duran took one final glance at the family home. The next morning, Duran had taken the next ship to Jad.