This is an idea that's been brewing in my mind for far too long now to simply rot away in the dark corners of my hard drive, so I thought I should put it up here :D


2. The Meeting

Chapter 2



Klara stood in her father’s office, both confused and slightly worried about why there were so many different men in this room. There was a dwarf, Eyvas knows how he got past the city guards unharmed, a Sheenska, looking aggressive, as if he was ready for anything that could be thrown at him, a suspicious looking Khalvar, who was clearly not content with his surroundings, a tall, almost Elven-looking Lattivan, and a rather frightening looking Man.

“Klara, these people are here to help us go home. They may look a bit strange to you, but I’m sure that you will get on simply delightfully with them. The Dwarven Man is known as Dorrick, and he comes from Tseskvosk. Would you care to share your story, Dorrick?”

“Why, but of course,” in his thick, gruff Northern accent,

“I grew up in the City of the North, Tseskvosk, and homeland of my people. I was a bastard of one of the dukes, and would normally have been left for dead, but I, unlike his spoilt brats of children, had the Inheritance. I was, grudgingly, let into the family, but I was never treated like a true dwarf, but as a machine to make the ‘Family’ more powerful.”

“Trained as a Fireform, simply to make ‘my family of Dishkor’ not lose face by not producing a child with the Inheritance, a desire for freedom, honour and simply a way of life I enjoyed, began to grow within me.”

“After I turned 17, and became a Man under Dwarven culture, I was sent off to the Armies of the Empire, where I was forced, against my will, to fight and die for a cause I didn’t, and never have, believed in. The Empire is a cruel, sadistic place that is so fixated on its military plans that it can’t even see how it turns its own citizens against it.”

He sat down, not making eye contact with anyone, with the characteristic of a Fireform flare in his eyes, the sign that this dwarf had used his powers to kill before.

“Thank you, Dorrick. The Sheenska,” which he said in an almost disgusted tone, is known as Éshk. Éshk?”
Éshk stood up slowly, looking around with his catlike eyes, before eventually exhaling and speaking at last, in a strained, hoarse voice,

“I grew up in a, how you say, war-torn area. I have trained as an Iceform since I was a child, not because I wanted to, but because I did need to. The constant attacks from the Doraas of the North, and my father’s constant, um, al-co-hol-ee-sm, meant that we never had much of the money. My Iceform is the only thing that kept me alive out in the wilderness of my homeland, mainly because most people out there were Natureform, Necroform, or Fireform.”

“When you come from as hot a place as there, most people can’t simply sustain or expect an Iceform. When I was 15, a year away from manhood in Sâlvartian culture, the Northern Empire attacked in an unexpected attempt to overhaul the Free Islands. We had just heard of the failed attack on Vórento, when suddenly, Dwarven armies, led by bridge-making Throwgifted, were raining hell from the sky on our peaceful village. I was forced to flee into the wilderness, fighting back Undead from the many Necroforms they had brought with them. I eventually managed to reach the Southern Coast, but with the smoke rising high from villages in the distance, I had to make myself Tempestgifted in order to simply survive. I don’t remember exactly what had happened after the armies arrived, and I met them with my new power, but what I do know is that I had lost everything. I eventually made my way through the Sâlvart Archipelago, reached Selvur, went South to Vfanantia, and here I am.”

He sat down, before giving Klara a snarky grin, before looking at the Man with a cynical look,

“Well, then? How about your story, Midlander?”

Surprised that a supposedly peaceful group would have a member using such offensive language, Klara considered speaking out against this Sheenska’s colourful language, for Midlander was one of the many derogatory terms for Men used in Veyasmer and Vfanantia, and was considered extraordinarily offensive in most regions. The Man didn’t seem too offended by this, but just stood up with a straight face, and began talking.

“My name is Mikhael, and I hail from the Gulf of Doyoshkóv Coastline. I grew up as a strong patriot to the Empire, and I trained hard and long in my training as Terraform. I was eventually hired to the Empire’s Terraform Military Sector, where I fought many battles, and was eventually promoted to General. I led many victories, such as the Battle for the Orosfur Peaks,”

Klara noticed her father’s eye twitch at that remark. That battle had been a crushing defeat for Veyasmer, with many losses. It was often remarked as the beginning of the end for Veyasmer.

“When my mother died, I requested leave to attend her funeral, which I was granted. I went to the funeral, and found that she had not died of natural causes as presumed. She had clearly been caught in a Deathwave, by what I could only presume at the time was a rogue mage, a spy, or a refugee from Vórento. The only necromancer I knew that would have been able to make that accurate a prediction of where a Deathwave would land was a rival general in the Military, known as Krisiun Vichkster.”

“I immediately made my way back to the Army after the ceremonies to show the murder, but I had been found of ‘Leave without Due Cause’, and was exiled from the Empire for what they called ‘Conspiracy against Military Efficiency’. I had to make my way through Vfanantia and Veyasmer, now forbidden from my homeland, vowing to destroy the Empire that did this to me, and personally kill the slimy weasel that is Krisiun Vichkster with my own bare hands.”

He sat down slowly, while making a small pile of pebbles float around his hands for a while, as a kind of stress reliever. Klara almost wanted to feel sorry for him, but a man of his size was so intimidating that it was hard to generate any emotions concerning him, with the obvious exclusion of fear for one’s own life.

“Well then,” Klara’s Father said, in a mildly disturbed tone, clearly blanketed with a layer of failing persuasion of self-assurance.

“Well then, how about you then, Naima? I’m sure your story would certainly be a good contribution to the group.”

“Alright then, but it’s not all too interesting,” he said, with almost a scowl on his face.
“I was trained as a Necroform since I was 9, I was put in the Vfanantian army aged 15, I saw my father die in another lost battle against the Empire, I was taken prisoner, got out, went home, the end. Nothing major, or amazing. I don’t even know why I’m here, to be honest. I mean, what’s the point? The North will eventually win, we all know tha-“

“And that was very nice, Naima. Um, thank you,” Klara’s father interrupted suddenly, so as to prevent the Ice Elf from spreading any more pessimism concerning the still secretive mission from Klara.

“I guess then that this is my cue to butt in and spread my life story to our young mistress, huh?”

Klara didn’t know who this was who spoke, but only that she was a certainly gutsy woman to interject a Nobleman, but her father would be too passive, as always, to rise to it.

“Feel free, Aurel,”

“A’ight then! I grew up in Selvureia, where I found an intense interest in Nature. I naturally went for Natureform after I found out that my family had the Inheritance, much to the disapproval of my Fireform parents, but hey. After finding that I was Twilightian, lucky me, I naturally set about becoming Lifegifted, which might ease my parents firm disapproval. I did, I found my soul animal to be a dog, and I lived life in Selvureia as an animal tamer. I was then called to Celsiore a week ago, and here I am!” She concluded, before leaning back with a small smile on her face.

“And what about you, Klara? Why not share why you’re here?”

Klara quietly stepped forward, before then explaining everything. The riots, her Twilightian abilities being revealed, the move to Celsiore, and the past 5 years in general, and the training she received from the tender age of 6 up in her Powerform, after secretly taking the dosage of Beadmaegen required for her Soulpiece to be transferred to Cloruda, inadvertently becoming a Twilightian, being trained to a full Blastgifted, then being in the very room. By the time she had finished, she noticed that Mikhael had taken off his hat, and everyone looked much more sad at the problems that she had had throughout her life rather than anyone else’s. Dorrick was the first to break the silence.

“Lass, for such a young thing as yerself, for that is a terrible series of events t’have gone through.”

     Klara looked down to the intricate mosaic floor. For such a minor room, so much thought and effort had been put into the intricate masterpiece, but mosaics wouldn’t stop the Northern Empire trashing this city once they had the chance. The North became ever closer by the day, and nothing could possibly prevent its advance. At this stage, they might as well surrender, and succumb to the blades of the Northmen. It wouldn’t make a difference if they did or didn’t though, it was inevitable either way.

     Klara noticed that she had started crying, and that everyone was staring at her. No, she told herself, you are an Elf of Veyasmer. You have honour. You have pride. Pull yourself together. Now! Recovering herself, she pulled a faint smile and quietly asked “So, father, what did you want me for anyway?”





Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...