Bringing light into dark places

[Aqui]

It's been some time since I've posted in Short Stories with the exception of posting in Lady_Canoness' excellent The Inquisition I, II, III series. My last attempt And we all fall down hit a brick wall due to the changes made to the Steel Wings' Fluff. Whilst I haven't completely abandoned it, it will be some time until I get around to either overhauling it or re-writing it.

 

That said, in order to get my take on those enigmas/laughing stocks* known as the Rainbow Warriors, I thought I'd try my hand at writing about them, or more specifically, one of them.

 

(*delete as applicable)

 

 

Well, let's go!

 

Pochutec, also know as Prism. North continent M41.xxx.

 

Waking with a start, Varagol realised that he was going to be late. He was going to see his brother take the first Trial of the Primarch. Par'Mich had already been taken by the Warriors of the Inti, being found worthy a week ago. However, the Trials are always undertaken in the homeland of the prospective candidate. At 6 years old, Varagol was not old enough to pass the rites of adulthood by 5 years, and there by missed his brothers acts of courage and valour on the battlefield against the scum from the Tabour Clan. Stretching the aches from his body as he left his family's dwelling, he ran to the village meeting place. Already a large crowd had gathered, and he could see his Father standing proudly with his oldest son. His demeanor changed when Varagol caught his eye.

 

"Lazy child!" he scolded, "You should have been up hours ago. Your chores are unfinished from yesterday, and to be tardy today of all days..."

 

"Sorry father" Varagol replied meekly, cringing at the prospective beating he may get later. However, his father could see the fear in his eye, and his mood softened.

 

"Son. Whilst I sometimes wonder why you are as lazy as you are, I want you to understand the importance of this day. It is not only a proud one for our family, it is one of a solemn promise."

 

"To the Inti?" asked Varagol holding his hands crossed across his chest, thumbs in opposing directions.

 

"Yes. Our people, every Clan has a solemn duty to Him. To send Warriors to the stars. To join Him in eternal battle against the evil ones."

 

"Tell me about them again", Varagol's eyes were wide in eagerness to hear the stories again.

 

"There isn't time as you know full well. And the less said about them the better", replied his father, "However,just remember this day. If you are hard working, diligent and are true to the Clan, you may one day follow your brother in His service"

 

Par'Mich had watched the conversation with both amusement and trepidation.

 

"Father, ou make it seem as if I have already been accepted. I have much to accomplish, if I am to proceed further".

 

"Perhaps. But regardless of what happens, I am proud of you son".

 

A shadow blocking out the sun few upon them. Turning, Varagol looked upon the most gigantic being he had ever seem. A Warrior stood before them two lengths taller than his father. He was armoured in black plate, with a shining blue Shoulder guard. A grim skull looked down upon him. Varagol fell backwards startled.

 

"The first trial will commence in five minutes", the Warrior stated, his clipped tone indicating amusement at the looks of wonder. "I suggest you be ready aspirant".

 

"Aspirant? What is that?" asked Varagol now back on his feet, curiosity lining his face.

 

The Warrior seemed to ponder for a moment, before answering. "An aspirant is another word to say 'contestant' or potential recruit young one" He said, amusement now blatant in his voice. "Would you wish to become one?"

 

Varagol, looked squarely at the Warrior.

 

"Yes", he replied simply and took a defensive stance his brother taught him some moons ago.

 

Horrified Par'Mich and his father took the boy by the shoulders and pulled him away, both bowing in apology and stammering words of appeasement.

 

The Warrior roared with laughter, his armour clattering noisily. By this time most of the Village had turned their attention to this new distraction. Raising his hands to his head the Warrior turned his mask to the left and lifted it clear. A Face tanned by age and alien suns was revealed. Eyes of Emerald looked upon them, his white hair was long, tied in a top knot as was the local custom.

 

"Such courage from one so young!" He exclaimed and roared with laughter again. Waving away profuse apologies, he knelt on on knee, the better to see his would be attacker.

 

"What do you know of my kind?" he asked, gently now almost in a whisper.

 

"You are a Warrior of the Inti!" Varagol recited diligently.

 

"That I am", rumbled the giant, "However, Inti is not his real name. He is known to many as the Emperor, and I undertake His will."

 

Varagol had noticed that the giant had a token in his hair attached to the top knot. It was one of this village....of his family!

 

Smiling, the giant removed the token from his hair.

 

"You recognise this? You should. I am of your family, although I have not been back here for many moons."

 

Replacing the token, his tone regained it's solemnity. "One day, young one you may get your chance to prove yourself too." Standing, he turned away to officiate the beginning the first trial. He turned slightly to look the boy in the eye as he walked, his thunderous steps echoing.

 

"That all depends on whether you finish your chores, boy".

 

Any comments?

Edited December 9, 2013 by Brother Tyler
Tags edited

[Lady_Canoness]

Aaaaw I appreciate the endorsement Aquilanus :)

 

On a more serious note, I am interested to see how you take this. I really don't think you'll keep going with your protagonist being 6 :) A little more fleshing out of the culture for those of us who are not familiar with rainbow warrior fluff would be appreciated ;)

[Aqui]

Aaaaw I appreciate the endorsement Aquilanus :)

 

On a more serious note, I am interested to see how you take this. I really don't think you'll keep going with your protagonist being 6 ;) A little more fleshing out of the culture for those of us who are not familiar with rainbow warrior fluff would be appreciated ;)

 

I've enjoyed reading about Inquisitor Godwyn a lot, and is kinda why I've decided to start writing again (Not many stories professional or otherwise have made me want to carry on reading lately, yours being one ;) ) . It's just been so busy at work lately, that I'm wiped out when I get home, so I haven't been inclined.

 

Well, as the Rainbow Warriors have literally no fluff whatsoever with the exception of their name, home planet (Prism, which in my IA I have the locals calling Pochutec) and the name of a couple of Marines - one of which is featured in a picture being shot by a (Proto) Sister of Battle in the Rogue Trader Era rulebooks, I kinda have full rein on what I can and can not write about. The Rainbow Warriors (or Legio Spectra, which is the "official" name I have given them, after a fair few contributors suggested names - RW is a "nickname" for them), were pretty much a quirky/silly Chapter that the guys at GW made up before they had even established things like the Legions, Primarchs, and the Horus Heresy, but unlike some of the other Chapters they fell into obscurity.... :(

 

Phillip S has done a Rainbow Warriors IA of his own, which has some snazzy Aztec-ish styling, although I didn't know about this until I'd started mine. The feel for the Chapter is that of Aztec, Maori and Incan. I won't put too much else here as what I have so far is in the IA I have (although I haven't actually done anything for some time :( ). The link is at the bottom of my signature. If you read it closely, you might work out who the erstwhile protagonist will become.... ;)

 

It's 1.45 am here in the UK and I'm wide awake (again :) ), so I might write a little more before sleep decides to show up

[Olis]

Very nice, I feel like I'm invested with Varagol having seen him at such an early age and seeing what clearly must be his destiny. The Chaplain character is certainly interesting - just how old do you plan for him to be? A distant antecedent or perhaps his father's uncle?

 

I think this has been written quite well with plenty of scope for expansion. I'll be looking for more in the near future. :)

[Aqui]

Very nice, I feel like I'm invested with Varagol having seen him at such an early age and seeing what clearly must be his destiny. The Chaplain character is certainly interesting - just how old do you plan for him to be? A distant antecedent or perhaps his father's uncle?

 

I think this has been written quite well with plenty of scope for expansion. I'll be looking for more in the near future. :)

 

Thanks :)

 

I decided to start with Varagol very early on, as I really wanted to write a story that will take some time to develop. I've read some of the Ragnar books and whilst I don't want to rip off William Kings' work, I felt that to be able to understand a character, you really need to know them from as early on as possible. I did consider doing this through flash backs, but I wasn't sure I could pull it off without the storyline being choppy and inconsistant.

 

As for the Chaplain, I haven't quite worked out the exact relationship with Varagol yet, but it's a significant one, and you aren't that far off with the second idea....

[Olis]

and you aren't that far off with the second idea....

 

You tease. :)

[Aqui]

The Village square was a worn circle of ground ringed by stoned smoothed by the ages and the almost perpetual rain that the various peoples of Pochutec experience day after day. It was the dry season and the day was bright, the sun high in the sky. Were it not for the Trial, many would be in the fields harvesting the crops before the rains came back, ruining them. The huge Warrior stood in the middle dominating the attention of all. Even the revered Elders of the tribe were dumbfounded by his sheer presence.

 

"People of the Ah'Tel tribe, you are to bear witness to testing of this young Warrior. He has been given a chance to join the Warriors of the Inti. The Trials of the Primarch, most Noble Jaghati Khan, will begin. Courage, Loyalty, Honour. Cunning, speed and strength. All of these and more will be needed to succeed. Failure is not an option of the Warriors of the Rainbow!"

 

A hushed murmuring from the crowd as they took in the enormity of what was declared.

 

"It begins. My Brother in arms, Brother Apothecary L'tar will test your endurance. Brother" motioning a figure from behind the crowd. The locals recoiled shock as another huge figure stepped forward. Despite keen ears, non had heard the stranger approach. What skill these powerful beings have to be able to move so silently!

 

The new figure wore white armour, although the now familiar blue shoulder guard was evident. Many attachments and strange objects adorned his person.

 

"My thanks Brother Rustar." Brother L'Tar said in rich tones.

 

Varagol, all 4 and a half lengths strained to see this stranger as he made his way through the throng. There was something...odd about the way he spoke. He could speak the language of the Tribe very well, but the accent.....it was wrong. Varagol pushed his way through the crowd to the front. Finally he could see him. Looking up he could see that like Rustar his skin was weathered, leathery and that his hair was in a top knot, but his face had a tattoo on the left side from temple to chin. The sudden realisation struck Varagol dumb. L'Tar was formerly a member of the same tribe that Par'Mich had fought not one week ago! A Tabour clansman and one of his own kinsmen in league? Collaboration?! It couldn't possibly be!

 

Picking up a stone, Varagol took aim and threw with all of his might. He knew he couldn't hurt the Warrior. Even without the Armour, he knew the giant would not even feel it, but he acted on instinct, pure anger. The Warrior had his back to him, the stone sailing towards his head. Within inches the giant raied a hand and caught it, the stone looking more like a pebble in his mighty hand.

 

"It would seem that someone is disgruntled by my presence" L'Tar remarked dryly. He turned to Varagol, who was now petrified with fear.

 

"You, boy. Step forward", he commanded, noticing the boy looking to his father for help "Do not expect help from others if you are not prepared to face the consequences!" The words whilst spoken in anger now, were spoken quietly. Varagol, shaking in terror, approached the White armoured Warrior.

 

"So, of everyone here, you alone recognised my Clan?" L'Tar remarked.

 

Varagol tried to nod, but was shaking to much to succeed.

 

"An observant boy, good aim, but from what I have witnessed, lazy" L'Tar said addressing the boy. Whilst making my preparations here, I noticed that you spend far more effort avoiding work, than to face up to your responsibilities and do them. Is this not so?"

 

Varagol, now taking the giants stare, was staring back. Despite his initial fear, he was not going to back down, adrenaline and pure hatred was pushing him on.

 

Rustar put a hand on his companions shoulder. "It would seem that his bravery far outmatches his diminutive form too".

 

"So it would seem. Listen...Varagol isn't it? Yes, I was a kinsman of your tribes enemies, but know this: The Warriors of the Emperor whilst former enemies, have greater threats to face. Threats that could wipe humanity from existence".

 

"Kur'us?" Varagol pondered.

 

The two Warriors looked at each other briefly.

 

"That is but one threat. A significant one, but only one, non the less. I would sorely recommend that you do not utter that word again, boy"

 

Nodding vigorously, Varagol ran back to his father.

 

"Now, after this.....interlude, let the Trials begin!"

 

 

*****

 

 

A week had gone by, and the first three Trials had gone well for Par'Mich, but the final one had not yet been completed. The young warrior had been tasked with bringing the head of one of PochuTec's most fearsome beasts, the Great horned ones. A lizard like creature that stood over 8 lengths in height, thickly skinned and was fast, despite it's size. A singular horn, 4 lengths long grew from it's mighty forehead. Very few warriors had managed to succeed in such a task, most were never seen again.

 

Varagol, was worried for his brother, but was more worried for his father. Whilst he was proud of his first born, he only had his two sons, his wife lost giving birth to Varagol. Now, fairly old and with old wounds of war weighing him down, Mur'sun didn't want to have to bury his son.

 

"Father" Varagol began at evening meal "Par'Mich will succeed. He is strong and fights well. The Eldars say he is as good as you were when you were his age".

 

Nursing his side Mur'sun replied "That's what I'm afraid of...."

 

The Warriors had left the Village a few hours after Par'Mich. Where they had gone, no one dared ask. Those puissant beings were kindly to the villagers, but brooked no interference. The sun was setting, and soon it would be time to sleep. Tomorrow may bring good tidings. As Varagol, settled down to sleep, he tried to imagine what it was like to be a Star Warrior, a Warrior of Light. He tried and tried to comprehend such a thing, but the sheer scale was beyond him.

 

He was still trying to understand when sleep finally took him.

 

Awaking with a start, Varagol could hear a commotion outside. Excitedly, he thought that perhaps his brother had come back a hero, his task done. Racing to the door of his hut, he could hear screams and the smell of burning wood. Hurriedly, he pulled the door open, and saw carnage. The Village was under attack! Panic filled his mind as he tried to think what to do. To run was against everything he was taught, but the sheer enormity of the scene locked his limbs fast. There were no weapons he could wield. Nothing he could do to help. Turning from the door, he could see that his fathers bed was empty. In the distance he could see him with the long curved blade that had once brought him accolades in the tribe. And ultimately, pain and crippling injury. Unable to stay hidden, fear turning to fury, Varagol tipped the straw mattress and pulled out a leather package. It was an old sword, broken at the end. It was abandoned on a battlefield, and had been given him by Par'Mich, albeit in secret. Mur'sun would have been furious had he found it. The weight was still too heavy for Varagol to use effectively, but adrenaline willed strength into his arms and he was able to wield it wield it well enough. Shouting a wordless cry of defiance, he ran into the battle, knowing that he would be dead in seconds, but still he ran. An enemy kinsman stepped in front of him, sneering with derision.

 

"Pah! It would seem that this tribe is so weak, they send their young ones out to fight too!" bellowed the man looming over the child. Staring up at the man, he could see a pockmarked face, blistered by the heat of the fires raging around them both. The fear Varagol felt was gone, looking into this pitiful man, was nothing compared to standing up to TWO Star Warriors! Attack him!

 

The man had seen the look of hate on the child's face. Leaning back to get a full swing the man left his front undefended. Seeing his chance, his only one, Varagol thrust the sword piece into the mans' belly. A look of total surprise engulfed his face as he fell to the ground, dead. Varagol, still reeling from the shock of what he'd done and the exertion is took, failed to see another figure behind him. It swung forward hitting the boy squarely at the back of the head. Darkness loomed as Varagol fell to the ground.

[Olis]

Good stuff - this is what warriors are made of. Hate and the will to fight. There's a couple of minor typos in the first half of the post and a misplaced apostrophe near the end but I can hardly call you up on those. Just thought I'd point them out, though. ;)

[Aqui]

Good stuff - this is what warriors are made of. Hate and the will to fight. There's a couple of minor typos in the first half of the post and a misplaced apostrophe near the end but I can hardly call you up on those. Just thought I'd point them out, though. :D

 

The typos have followed me from the Liber ;)

 

Where's me Flamethrower? :)

[Dosjetka]

Just one small thing: You mention the Eldar, but I guess you mean the Elders?

 

Otherwise, I'm really enjoying this and I'm looking forward to the next installment :P

 

Ludovic

[Aqui]

Just one small thing: You mention the Eldar, but I guess you mean the Elders?

 

Otherwise, I'm really enjoying this and I'm looking forward to the next installment :)

 

Ludovic

 

I did mean Elder than Eldar. Thanks for pointing that out B)

[Aqui]

Part 3 :)

 

I only wish I could be this fast with getting IA's/IT's done! :)

 

 

Varagol, rubbed his head as he groggily came too. He didn’t know where he was except that it was dark. Chains had been attached to his wrists and ankles, Feeling the weight, he guessed that they were as heavy as he was, so no chance of escape whilst he was still bound. Looking around he could see a small shaft of light a little further away. After managing to drag his bonds over to the spot of light, he could see that there was a hole in a wall. It was wood, thick and rough. Tapping the timbers he worked out that it was an eighth of a length thick. Without an axe there was no chance of breaking it.

 

Having traced the walls he realised that he was in a room of some sort approximately 8 lengths by 6. On one wall there was a door, but it was even thicker than the walls and had metal strips bolted to it horizontally, Where ever he was, it was sure that he wasn’t going to leave at any time. He wondered about his father, fighting the enemy tribesmen. Had he survived? His brother. What became of him? Did he succeed and was now with the Star Warriors? Or had he failed and his body lay torn asunder by one of the many creatures that lived near his village? By now he had lost all sense of time, and he knew that he hadn’t eaten in some time. Trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his belly, he decided to try and get some sleep. There was no point in wondering about things that he had no control over. Falling into a fitful sleep, he dreamed on travelling amongst the stars.

 

After what only seemed like seconds, Varagol was pulled roughly to his feet. The door was wide open, and the light streaming from it made him recoil, his eyes so accustomed to darkness. Whilst he could not see his captors, he could sense that there was three of them. Adults, who shoved him for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar surroundings, and he could see that he had been escorted to another room. In it was a single chair, ornate in a style he didn’t recognise. It was obvious that whomever sat there was someone of great import, and that it would be unwise to antagonise them.

 

“This is the child, my Lord,” stated a voice to his left, “He’s the one who stabbed your son.”

 

The new figure stood up from the throne and walked towards him, his left arm stretched out. Varagol barely had time to brace himself as the blow struck. Falling to the floor the chains cut into his wrists. The figure grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, hauling him upwards.

 

“This ...child killed my son?!” snarled the man incredulously “Him? My son was a master in war and yet this little brat bested him?! I think you should lay off that fermented berry juice you love so much G’behn! What have you to say for yourself, boy?”

 

Varagol, still winded by the backhanded blow to the face could only grunt as he tried to stand under his own strength.

 

“Don’t bother,” the man snarled as he threw the boy back. The child fell back onto his head, the impact making a thudding sound that made at least one of the others wince and call out.

 

“Know you now, boy. From this day hence, you will be a slave. You no longer have a name, no family, no Clan. You will work until you die. Do you understand?”

 

Varagol, had decided that he had nothing to lose at this point. Feigning weakness and terror, he knelt on his hands and knees, head bowed in seeming supplication.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes”, said the man, satisfied by what he thought was submission. However, the boy said one word, barely audible.

 

“What did you say?” the man said irked, by this. The boy repeated what he had said, but even quieter. By now the man had lost his temper, and knelt to grab Varagol by the neck again. As he reached down, Varagol had stood up.

 

"I said NO!"

 

Arching his back, his head pushed back, his crown hit the man on the jaw. A gurgling scream escaped the man’s throat as he bit down and punctured his tongue. Swearing oaths that he was too young to understand, Varagol had by now wrapped one of the chains around the man’s throat, pulling with all his might. But tiredness, hunger and the blows to the head had taken the fire out of him just as it had been inflamed, the chains hanging loosely around his foes shoulders.

 

From behind, one of the other men had hit him at the back of the neck, winding him.

With blood gushing from his mouth, the man looked down at the little boy, his face full of disgust.

 

“You have made your existence even more unbearable, scum,” he remarked, kicking him in the gut.

 

“G’behn, take him to the fighters pit. It would seem we have a new Gladius to wager one!”

His head lolling as he was dragged away, he could see the man laughing.

 

Hours later, after he had managed to rid himself of the fugue in his head, Varagol had examined his new environment. Another room, this time lit with torches. He was lying on a bed in the corner of a large room, full of beds similar to his. Some were occupied, bodies of other men and boys in various states of sleep. A couple moaned softly, un able to wake from whatever nightmare chased them. There others, sat in small groups. One such group was watching him intently, their stares ranging from curious to unconcealed contempt. Sitting up, he stared back at them for some minutes, unwilling to back down. After a few more, most of the group went back to talking amongst themselves. A single boy, not much older than himself came over to him. Standing in front of him for some moments, not speaking. Merely content to continue staring.

Varagol stared back.

 

“I doubt very much you really killed the Chief’s son” the boy said, “I think the guards were drunker than usual, when they told us what you’d done.”

 

Varagol kept quiet, wishing to see how the boy would react. The newcomer, then sat down on the bed opposite, all the while keeping his gaze upon him.

 

“Well?” the boy asked.

 

“Well, what?” Varagol asked back, “What do you wish to know?”

 

“Did you kill him?”

 

“I killed a man who attacked me. I don’t know who is was except for the fact that he was an enemy.”

 

“I see,” mused the boy, “Ignorance is truly bliss.”

 

Not wishing to continue the conversation, Varagol lay back on his bed and turned away from him.

 

“I dare say that you have no idea where you are or what to expect in the foreseeable future,” the boy continued, “But I’ll tell you, as a favour. It will at least help you stay alive. Until the morning anyway.”

 

“If you must, if it pleases you,” Varagol muttered, “At the moment, I have little wish to hear anything. My father and brother are missing, maybe dead. My village is gone, my clan scattered to the winds and I’m currently being spoken to, by a chatterbox, who seems to love the sound of his own voice.”

 

The boy snorted, amused, “Yes, there are some that say I do tend to drone on. But seriously, you need to hear this.”

 

Varagol, despite himself turned to face the boy again. The boy’s tussled ash blonde hair had covered his eyes, but this close he could see that they were a grey colour, bright and shining.

 

“This is the Gladius quarters. We’re all Gladius’, or at least some of us are. Most are recent recruits and will need training.”

 

“I’m not a recruit. I was captured by the clansmen that attacked my village.”

 

“maybe so, but here you are non the less. After training we will fight, until either we have fought enough battles to regain our freedom, or....”

 

“Or we die.” Varagol finished.

 

“Yes. Hope that your fate is that of the former, and not of the later.”

 

“I’m Varagol of the Ah’Tel Clan.”

 

“I’m Eh’tor of the Far’Kume Clan”

 

And at that moment, Varagol made the only true friend he would make for many years to come.

Edited February 4, 2012 by Aquilanus

[Aqui]

Part 4

The regime within the Gladius barracks was tough. Early morning exercises, combat drills and barely enough food to go around, had made Varagol a lean, strong young man, and one with a bitter edge. There was little left of the lazy, but amiable young boy he had been. While he had not made any attempts to escape from his life there, Varagol had made it a point to learn as much as possible. For one day it may be crucial to make use of it.

 

He had learned that there was more than one barracks, the one he was interred in being the one used to train new “recruits”. Most of the others kept to themselves wary of the stories told about his encounter with the Clan chief. He had not seen the man since, Varagol rationalising that such a person would not have any inclination or need to supervise such a place. The barracks was run by D’har, as brutal man, standing nearly as tall as the Star Warriors he had met in his village. Thinking back that was over 4 years ago. He had never learned the fate of his father and brother. He hoped fervently that they had either managed to escape, or had died an honourable death. He would not want a similar fate for them as the one he had. Eh’Tor had been quite the mine of information in the early days, and whilst his love to talk at length on any subject could grate on him nerves, Varagol had become close friends with him.

 

The main purpose of the Gladius school was to give the Clan of Mar’thn entertainment. Warriors would fight, usually until one had bested the other. Fights to the death were rare, mainly because there would eventually have to be a new raiding party to get new recruits”. Varagol, had participated in over 30 fights and had won about half of them. The Clan chief seemed to delight in picking older, bigger and more resourceful opponents. It was obvious that he bore him ill will and it was only a matter of time until he was given a fight to the death. There were few rules in the fight. Any of the weapons in the arena could be used. Should an opponent yield in any match bar one to the death, the other must let them live. In such cases, it was up to the crowd as to whether they were to live on after that. Such behaviour by the combatants was rare, as no one wanted to be branded a coward.

 

D’Har was currently yelling at a young child for damaging a long sword that was nearly as long he was tall. He couldn’t have been much older than Varagol was when he was captured. D’Har had pushed the boy dwon to the floor intent on using his massive feet to stomp on the boy, now terrified. The child had only been there 2 weeks and had no combat experience at all, having come from a relatively peaceful Clan who dwelt on the coast. Varagol, had seen enough, and headed towards D’Har, who had no idea of who was behind him.

 

“Leave him D’Har”, Varagol said, “You know he isn’t ready for such a weapon. He can barely pick it up, much less swing it!”

 

D’Har turned to face him.

 

“Do not tell me what I can or cannot do, boy”, D’Har snarled showing rotten teeth.

 

“I take it the Clan Chief wants to see more innocent children being slaughtered by that maniac again?”

 

“You guessed correctly, “ smiled D’Har, “I care not about who is ready, and who isn’t. I have a quota to fill, and I’ll choose who I see fit”.

 

D’har, however, had decided to leave the small boy alone, who was coughing up blood where the barrack maser feet had loosened some teeth. Kneeling down, Varagol could see that the child was even younger than he thought. The boy was frail, he breathing ragged. It was obvious that the boy wouldn’t last the night even if D’Har hadn’t decided to attack him. Eh’Tor had come over and the look in his eyes, said the same thing. The little one was dying. Picking the boy up as carefully as possible they took him to one of the more comfortable beds and lay him down. The boy was barely conscious, his eyes unfocused and dull.

 

“It would seem that he had no chance, even if he hadn’t ended up here,” Eh’Tor stated quietly. Noticing Varagol’s puzzled look, he continued, “The little one has mould lung. It’s common amongst the coastal Clans. It’s mainly down their dependence on fish and other sea animals. If they aren’t prepared properly, it can cause this condition. It’s fatal.”

 

Looking down at the boy’s face, Varagol was silent. He felt waves of both despair and incoherent rage. Such a young life ending soon and the last he will see will be this pitiful room.

 

“What is your name, young one,” Varagol asked, reflecting that it was strange calling the boy so, when he wasn’t that much older himself.

 

There was no response, the child’s eyes were closed and his breathing more and more erratic.

 

“I hear that his name is C’olor,” Eh’Tor said quietly.

 

“C’olor”.

 

The boy seemed to respond to him name, briefly crying out, although the words meant nothing to either of them. For a few minutes, the little one convulsing as his body fought for every breath. Fighting down bile in his stomach, Varagol did what needed to be done.

 

Soon after, he made it quite clear that he wished to be left alone, preferring to bury the body himself. Eh’Tor had offered to help. It was politely, but firmly refused. At the back of the training yard there was a spot that faced the sea , he found it fitting, despite the fact that the coast was some distance away. In the rain, Varagol had dug the grave with his hands, performed the death rituals of his own kinsman, as he did not know the rites of the Clan C’olor belonged. Making a plea to the Inti he beseeched the Childs ancestor spirits to forgive him for both the inability to bury him according to their traditions, and for ending his life.

 

Raising his eyes skywards, he also prayed to his own ancestors for the strength needed to carry on.

[Olis]

I have a little citique of part three (besides the errant typo) - the discussion between the two boys seemed unusually eloquent for their age. It seemed slightly off to me. Besides that I liked part three.

 

Part four... well, part four is alright. Still has typos in it, though. :D

[Aqui]

I have a little citique of part three (besides the errant typo) - the discussion between the two boys seemed unusually eloquent for their age. It seemed slightly off to me. Besides that I liked part three.

 

Part four... well, part four is alright. Still has typos in it, though. :D

 

I think that I should clarify something regarding the age of Varagol. He's 6 Pochutec years old at the start and by the end of part 4 10, as a year there is about 1.5 Terran years, so on Terra, he'd be nine and about 15 respectively. Plus, I have always been of the opinion, that in the Grimdark of 40k, a childhood is a luxury that most can never afford. I'll have to adjust the story so that this info is explained.

 

As for the typos, I'll clean them out later.

 

Glad you're still reading :D

[Olis]

No problem. I've been seriously considering posting up some of my old stuff hence why I've taken a recent interest in this sub-forum. :D

[Dosjetka]

As Olisredan has mentioned, there are some typos here and there. The thing about the eloquence of their speech hit me too. It does seem a bit too eloquent for such a small boy.

 

Otherwise, great story and I can't wait to read the rest! ;)

 

Ludovic

[Aqui]

Part 5

 

The fight had barely begun and it was evident that the Maniac was going to win an easy victory yet again. Standing nearly 6 lengths in height, and broad at the shoulder, he towered over his victim. It was an accurate description. One could hardly call the small figure he was beating to death a worthy opponent.

 

Varagol, like some of the older fighters, were allowed one day to see whom they would eventually be fighting against. Varagol hated the figure with all of his being. The Maniac didn’t have a name, or at least didn’t have one that anyone knew. It was a fitting moniker. Whilst there was evidence of natural skill and discipline, he lashed out like a furious animal, heeding not the crowd nor any wounds that his victim had managed to inflict. He was wearing chest armour that was stained a dirty red, and his legs were similarly adorned. His face was covered with a leering visage like that of a daamon Varagol’s father warned him about. The maniac was armed with two swords, one he held conventionally. The other with the blade facing away from his foe. Eh’Tol was unsure of the wisdom of such ploy until Varagol told him that it was used to deflect blows and to cut at the same time. He’d seen it before, as it was a tactic used by some of the older Kinsmen in his tribe.

 

Remembering the plight of his Tribe did nothing to lighten his mood, and he sat sullen watching the monster tear the child he was fighting to shreds.

 

It had been some time since burying C’olor, and the pain he felt hadn’t dimmed in that time. Seeing this creature taking such time and pleasure in this massacre only strengthen his resolve to earn his freedom and get the hell out of here. Eh’Tor had told him many times that even the Maniac, the strongest contender hadn’t done enough to be granted such a boon.

 

And so it came to an end, as the child, hamstrung and bloody on the floor earned his release after all. Just not in the way he would have wanted. Turning to the crowd, roaring with a deep bestial howl, the Maniac snarled his defiance, daring anyone to challenge him next. Eh’Tor too late realised that Varagol had stood, shouting at the warrior in the pit. Tring to pull him down Eh’Tor desperately tried to reason with him. But to no avail. The Clan leader had noticed Varagol’s vehement challenge.

 

Commanding the crowd to be silent he, looked at Varagol in the eyes and smiled evilly.

 

“So, you wish to challenge my reining champion?” he asked “Are you sure that you really wish this? You can not turn back.”

 

“I have no wish to back down T’Lom,” snarled Varagol “I’ve waited long enough. One way or another I will have my chance to gain my freedom!”

 

“Freedom?!” replied T’Lom “No one escapes from here. No one.”

 

The Maniac looked at the Clan chief. He had stopped screaming at the crowd, his full attention on the two of them. Slowly, he gestured with his thumb, a horizontal line across the neck. The mask he wore amplified his laughter, a deep rumbling growl.

 

T’lom looked startled briefly. Regaining his composure, he announced “So be it. Let all witness this challenge. It will take place next....”

 

“No!” shouted Varagol, vaulting the wall surrounding the pit, landing heavily on his feet, “It will happen now!”

 

T’Lom gestured to the pit attendants to let Varagol be.

 

Taking up the two handed sword the previous combatant had used, he approached the Maniac warily. Whilst the anger that drove him had waned somewhat, his foolhardy actions bringing him to his possible death, he was not going to back down. He had spent years here, his home and family, his Kinsmen lost to him. He would not stand another moment longer.

 

The Maniac hung back for a moment, taking in his new opponent. He was insane, a creature given over to berserker rages and almost suicidal wrath, but somewhere in his mind lay skill that many Warriors spent their entire lives trying to attain. He circled Varagol, guard down seemingly, baiting, willing him to attack. Varagol’s mind raced. Attack? Hang back and wait for the him to make the first move? Varagol moved away before the Maniac got too close. Shifting the weight of the sword in his hands to counter the terrible balance it had, he looked desperately for a weak spot, an advantage he could exploit. He could see none. Closer up, he could see that the chest armour was strong despite the lack of attention the wearer gave it. It was plate armour that overlapped each other. Whilst it might be possible to drive the blade in between them, he would leave himself open to attack himself. The Maniac’s neck was protected by the mask he was wearing. It was made from a single sheet of metal, an achievement that could not have been accomplished here. The leering face mad him shudder, it looked alive whilst it was worn by his enemy. Looking around to see if there was any other weapons, he could see a long knife some twenty lengths away.

 

Too late, Varagol realised his mistake. In the brief moment he had taken his eyes away from the Maniac, he had covered the distance between them, his right sword arm raised snarling incoherent oaths. Tumbling to his left, Varagol felt the blade swoop past his back. The crowd roared in excitement, the noise deafening Varagol. On his knees, he could see the other inverted blade coming towards him. Pain shuddered across his forehead as he realised that he had been cut deeply, but it was still a glancing blow. Varagol willed his arms to lift the sword in front of him not able to see his opponent as his eyes were covered over with his blood. He could hear a sound to his left and swung the sword in that direction. Nothing. Hearing another to his right, he thrust forward again, this time it being parried with ease. Using his forearms to rub as much of it away from his face, Varagol could hear a snuffling noise, realising that the Maniac was chuckling to himself. He was enjoying it, making sport of him, as he had the previous victim. Enraged, Varagol ran towards the long knife, throwing the sword away. Grasping the knife with his right hand, he saw that the Manaic hadn’t pressed the advantage. He stood in the centre of the pit. Waiting.

 

Varagol, realised that the only way to beat him was to get close. Very close. If he could do so, the swords would not be of any use. But he had to damage the armour sufficiently to be able to stab him. Looking again, he could see that whilst the armour itself was strong, it was held together with leather straps. The maniac had not looked after them very well at all. They looked worn in places, especially around the waist. If he could cut one of them, he might be in with a chance of beating him.

 

The Maniac was staring at him, trying to work out what he was doing. After a few moments, he ran towards him, his left arm trailing behind ready to deliver another strike. Sidestepping the monster, Varagol stabbed with his knife desperately trying to cut the strap. A screech of metal told him he had missed, and a blow to the head with the pommel of the sword emphasised the fact. Reeling, Varagol couldn’t see the Maniac’s knee come up and smack him on the jaw. Lurching back, he desperately tried to right himself, but he fell to the ground with a sickening thud, the wind taken out of him. Trying to get up, he could see Eh’Tor in the crowd trying to shout at him, but his words were drowned out by the crowd, who were now at fever pitch, baying for blood.

 

Managing to get to his knees, his stomach heaving, ears ringing, he prayed to the Inti for benediction, for an advantage anything. But nothing was forthcoming. A swift kick in the groin had Varagol screaming in agony, dropping his sword in the process. Fighting nausea, he groped blindly for the knife knowing that he was already on borrowed time, the killing blow imminent. But it never came. Struggling to calm his breathing and to see clearly, he realised that the b*****d was toying with him. The fury came back in full force, rage choking within him. After what seemed like hours, he had managed to stand. The maniac had once again returned to the centre of the pit, him back turned to him, his full attention to the crowd snarling victoriously. Varagol, muttering oaths under his breath spat his contempt of the creature. Such arrogance he thought.

 

Willing all of his strength into his limbs, Varagol charged at the figure, and realised at the last second that he was waiting for him. The Maniac had switched the grip of his swords around. Turning to face his the monster cut him across his chest with the right sword now inverted. A gout of blood splattered him as Varagol ran past him as he sidestepped. Falling to the floor again, Varagol knew that this was it. He had no strength left. Turning to lie on his back, he could see his fate stride purposefully toward him.

 

The Maniac stood over him, hissing in a tongue he didn’t recognise, although some of the words seemed familiar. Forbidden words. Ones that his Father had told him would bring woe upon any who uttered them.

 

Words of Kur’Us.

 

The air in the pit had become charged, the hairs on his body on end. He could feel an oppressive presence, on on the edge of comprehension. A being so old, so....evil. Varagol whimpered briefly unable to contain his fear.

 

The Maniac had raised his longer sword, point facing down ready to make the coup d’grace, snarling more of those hateful words. Plunging his sword down, Varagol screamed as it sundered his shoulder. The Maniac uttered another word over and over. Khorne Not knowing what the word meant, Varagol still shuddered at it’s mention. The sword twisted in his left shoulder blade, as if to emphasis or punctuate the monsters benediction. Grabbing the sword with his left hand, Varagol thrust the knife forward again and again trying to cut the armour off. He missed, striking the creature just above the leg. The maniac howled in both surprise and anger, letting go of the sword. Seeing this as his only chance, Varagol pulled out the sword, inch by agonising inch. By now the Maniac had managed to gather his wits about his and charged, his gambit being to strike again before Varagol could press his advantage.

 

He had left it too late. The wound above his leg had been deeper than he had thought, and he stumbled. Falling forwards, he fell face down into the dirt. Whilst he was able to carry the weight of the armour whilst standing, the bulk was not flexible whilst so prone. He was having difficulty standing again. Varagol had managed to cover the distance between them in time and had plunged the sword into the wound again. The extra length of the blade allowed him to push further into his body, the tip just poking out the other side. Roaring in defiance and despair, the Maniac fell again, the weight of the armour and the extent of his wounds keeping him down.

 

The crowd was dumbfounded, punctuated by their silence.

 

Varagol knew that his end was near, but he could not let any chance of that creature being able to live any longer, grabbing the knife, he crawled over to him. It took him all his remaining strength, but he managed to get within reach of his mask. Hacking at the straps holding it in place, he ripped the despicable thing away, raising the knife ready to plunge it forth....

 

The face under the mask was surprisingly human. Gore stained, and pitted with scars in horrifying shapes, he looked into eyes of dark brown. That of his brother.

 

Par’Mich.

 

Recoiling in horror, Varagol screamed, his soul torn asunder at the sight. Par’Mich, or whatever was left of him, snarled not recognising his younger brother lunging at him, but not able to reach, the weight of his armour pressing him down. Varagol, screamed again unable to comprehend how his brother could have become such. Feeling the evil presence gathering muster again, he realised that his brother had indeed died many years ago. Closing his eyes, he thrust the knife into the neck of the vile beast, before losing consciousness.

 

“Varagol”

 

The words sounded distant, almost ethereal. Varagol didn’t want to listen. He was wary of who might be speaking.

 

“Varagol” The speaker was more insistant and used to being obeyed.

 

“Varagol, wake up!” he could feel his body being shook, and a shooting pain across his chest.

 

Awaking, his vision blurred he tried to sit, but the pain in his shoulder put paid to that. Finally able to focus, he was in a bed, that whilst comfortable was one of metal, and not one he was used to sleeping in at the Pit Lodges.

 

To his right, Rustar stood staring at him.

 

“It would seem, that whilst the Slave pits have made you stronger, you still have a long way to go before you show adequate discipline.” The words were spoken harshly, but Rustar’s eyes showed evidence of amusement.

 

To his left, L’Tar was monitoring some metal object, the likes of which Varagol had never seen.

 

“It would seem that you are going to survive your ordeal” L’Tar commented “And a lot better than some of your comrades.”

 

“Eh’Tor? What has become of him?” Varagol asked, still weak.

 

Rustar looked at L’Tar briefly.

 

“Eh’Tor as with many of the Slaves are being....examined.”

 

“But they will be okay? Right?”

 

“That remains to be seen” continued Rustar “There is evidence of.....activity that has been....forbidden by the Inti. We wish to ensure that such....activities are never taken up again.”

 

“Kur’Us” muttered Varagol.

 

Rustar’s demeamour darkened briefly. “We do not use that word or others so casually. But, yes. We must ensure that anyone who follows the dark ones are weeded out through examination. Including you. Don’t look at me that way. You have been shown to be free of such.....darkness.”

 

“And Eh’Tor? What of him?”

 

“I do not know. I will let you know if I hear of anything. However, after you have rested, I wish to hear about everything that has happened at that place. We must stamp out all enemies of the Inti.”

 

Lying back,Varagol prayed fervently that he would see his friend again.

 

In the next part, a few loose ends will be tied up, and Varagol will be start on his Journey to become a Space Marine.

 

Hopefully the fighting scenes are okay, as I've never been able to describe them very well in the past....

 

Enjoy! ;)

[Dosjetka]

Quite a nice read in the morning, so thank you for this :lol:

 

Ludovic

[Olis]

Hmm. Pretty good. I'd like to find out how Par'Mich ended up becoming a slave who worships the Blood God when he was spitting distance from becoming an aspirant. Perhaps he failed? Maybe he was captured in the raid?

[Dosjetka]

Hmm. Pretty good. I'd like to find out how Par'Mich ended up becoming a slave who worships the Blood God when he was spitting distance from becoming an aspirant. Perhaps he failed? Maybe he was captured in the raid?

That's what I want to know too :D

 

Ludovic

[Lady_Canoness]

I like it. It doesn't look like you are rushing, which is good :blink:

 

I'm still having a hard time keeping all the names straight though :tu:

[Aqui]

I like it. It doesn't look like you are rushing, which is good :no:

 

I'm still having a hard time keeping all the names straight though <_<

 

So am I ;)

 

I have no intention of rushing, as I want to make an epic story for Varagol, as he's one of the main Characters of my take on the RW.

 

I don't start work until late tomorrow, so I hope to get the epilogue for this part done later.....I've come back home and I've got a mountain of spam mail to get through and to read Lady C's conclusion of Inquisitor III! :D

[Aqui]

Part 6 End of Prologue

 

It had been some time, since he had awoke in what he later knew to be a substation of the Star Warriors known as Legio Spectra. The name was still alien to him, his own people called them the Warriors of Light, or the Rainbow Warriors. The building was vast, at least to him. His people built their homes from wood and straw, as stone was hard to come by in the region and was used to line the settlements walls. This was made of something that looked like stone, but had a denser feel, as if it had been made by the hands of the Inti himself. Perhaps it had, for there was such wonder in the place. Rooms larger than the eye could follow were used for training new recruits. Some were for hand to hand combat, others were for study. It was in one such room that he had ensconced himself in a quiet corner. He was looking at the contents of a book. He could not read the writing inside, the symbols totally incomprehensible to him. There were a few pictures, however and it was these that he was most interested. One picture, that of the Inti himself, showed him with other great men fighting hordes of unimaginable creatures, many the stuff of nightmares. He had been told that the aliens in that particular picture was that of a race called Orks. They were creatures that managed to look tall and squat at the same time, comical, but murderous. Varagol shuddered.

 

Putting the book to one side, he sighed as boredom once again set in. Whilst he was not a captive of the Star Warriors, he was not at liberty to come and go as he pleased either. When he asked after Rustar to ask him further about what had happened and and what would happen with him, he was firmly told that he would be attended soon enough. His usually smart mouth was uncharacteristically silent. It would not do to displease his hosts. Sitting back on the chair, he tried to make sense of what had happened the day he had faced his brother in the Pit. Whilst he had made peace with himself that it was better that he killed Par’Mich, it still bothered him that his brother was changed so. What had happened to him to make him swear allegiance to the evil ones? Had his father met a similar end? Was there any survivors of the Village that he could rebuild with? Or was he the only one left?

 

A shadow fell across the cubicle he sat at. Looking up, a Servitor stood with benign vigilance. Speaking from a vox castor in it’s chest it asked him to follow. Standing, he stretched agitated. He was distrustful of creatures such as this. The lack of any personality shown on what was left on the face of this thing made his skin crawl.

 

Having walked for over ten minutes, he was eventually brought to an ornate door, patterns swirling its surface like that of the sea. He had never seen the sea close up, his clan being from inland was wary of such a vast body of water. Touching it, he could feel how smooth it was to the touch and that the entire door was made from one single piece of wood. His mind boggled. How big was the tree this had come from?! But his mind was torn from his musings by the Servitor knocking on the door. The door was opened by a human male, wizened by age but still spritely. Smiling briefly at him, he motioned him to enter. Without preamble, the Servitor turned and lumbered off, back to whatever the creature was programmed to do.

 

The other side of the door revealed a room that was a lot smaller than others he had seen. Books and parchments of various sizes littered the floor, stacked higher than him. The old man chuckled seeing Varagols face.

 

“The Master has been at it for over a week now,” he remarked.

 

“At what?” Varagol asked a little taken aback by the man’s forwardness. He hadn’t had much contact with anyone recently and to be able to speak to someone who would talk to him was unexpected.

 

“Why research of course!” the man chuckled again, “After you and the other captives were rescued, the Master had every testimony, every record the Clan whom kept you captive brought to him. “ He looked around the room . “The answers in here somewhere, he just has to find it!”

 

Leading Varagol further into the room, the old man introduced himself, “My name is G’Var. Been here sixty years man and boy. Anything you need to know, come and find me.”

 

Varagol started. “Sixty years?! The oldest man in my Clan was barely able to live to 40!”

 

“Yes, well,” Continued G’Var, “People who live here and are useful are well looked after.” Seeing the lack of understanding, he continued.

 

“Whilst the Star Warriors are equipped to be able to do anything they wish, it is far easier to have people to do such things for them. In return those who dedicate their lives in service are cared for.”

 

“How did you come to be in their service? Did you volunteer? Taken?”

 

“No, and no. I was like you, a slave of another tribe. When I was liberated, I had the chance to become a Star Warrior. I failed. However, because I was useful enough, the Star Warriors took me in as a servant. Whilst I regret not becoming one of them, I feel no shame. It’s been a good life.”

 

“And you have served well, G’Var,” rumbled a voice, “Although I have told you many times before not to call us Star Warriors. It lacks....accuracy.”

 

G’Var smiled, “You’re a Warrior who fights amongst the Stars. It’s accurate enough to me. And I doubt the youngster would understand the term Astartes in either case.”

 

“True enough,” Rustar said smiling briefly, “However, now is the time for Varagol and I to have words...”

 

Taking the hint G’Var bowed and left the room.

 

Rustar didn’t say a word for a few minutes, merely content to look at Varagol. Discomforted by this Varagol stared back briefly, but in front of this powerful being he knew that to show defiance would be a futile gesture.

 

“I’m sure you have questions, young one,” He said finally. “Use this time to sate your curiosity, as you have much ahead of you and there will be no further time to ask of me.”

 

Unable to form any in his mind, Rustar continued. “I believe it would be best if I told you everything I know about what happened to our Clan after it was attacked.”

 

Varagol, had forgotten that Rustar was an ancestor of his. He nodded accenting.

 

“The Clan that attacked you were raiders, pure and simple. They had no honour, that being stripped when they began to service the Dark Ones. It would seem that they had been contacted by a Traitor to Mankind who whispered vile lies to them offering salvation where there was only damnation. The Clan had worshipped him as a Seer, one to whom they could gain power and dominion over all the other Clans. We had noticed the Clan’s change of ways, but was not certain of their evil until recently.”

 

“The day I killed my brother,” Varagol said simply.

 

“Yes. It would appear that the fights were an expedient way of making reparations to their foul God, by way of blood sacrifice. T’Lom had planned for all of the fighters to be sacrificed in one go. Had he succeeded, he would have summoned foul things, and destroyed this Planet and everything on it. Killing your Brother had in part stopped that from happening. I can see you wish to know, why your brother became such a despicable savage.”

 

Varagol couldn’t speak, and was barely able to compose himself. Putting a hand gently on his shoulder, Rustar continued.

 

“Your brother had been captured near the end of the attack, just as you had. He had just returned, victorious in attaining the last part of the Trial, and the sacking of the Village was his reward. Your Father had been killed, in front of him and he had been told you had died that day as well. It let out such despair in Par’Mich, that he lost his mind, it turned inwards unleashing the evil lurking in all of our hearts. He was tortured again and again to further this state, until there was nothing left. There are extensive records made by a scribe working for T’Lom. He had endured enough to have killed many men, but it had made him stronger in body, weaker in soul. Eventually he gave in to the evil ones.

 

“Whilst I believe you know the truth already, I will say to you that you did not kill you brother. He was dead a long time ago.”

 

Varagol nodded. He knew that it was right, but still the feeling would not let him go. That evil presence he felt that day still made his skin crawl.

 

“I understand what you have said,” Varagol told the giant, “But, the attack was years ago. Why didn’t you try to find us? Did we displease you? The Inti? Why did you take so long?!”

 

The giant looked into Varagol’s eyes, his own showing anger and sadness both.

 

“I understand your anger in this. However, whilst we walk amongst you, we are sworn not to interfere in the politics of this World. It seemed at first like a fight between Clans. In this we have no favourites. It would go against the teachings of our Primarch the Mighty Khan. However, over time our Librarians....Warriors who can sense evil, found that something was happening on our Planet, but their sight was baffled for a time. They could not see where this evil was gathering. We conducted searches of all the remaining Clans. But it would seem that your....altercation cleared the way for them to be able to drive the evil away.”

 

Varagol was not mollified by this revelation, but knew that there would be no argument with him.

Noting the young man’s demeanour Rustar continued “I also have reason to believe that you have asked repeatedly about your fellow captives. Most have passed extensive tests. They have left to return home, or to try to rebuild with survivors of other Clans. Such is the will of the Emperor. The Inti.” He added when Varagol’s face showed confusion.

 

“Eh’Tor’s fate is not so certain. Whilst he showed no trace of the evil, he has shown evidence of something else that we look out for.”

 

“What?” Varagol’s mind raced unable to fathom what that might be.

 

“Witchcraft” Rustar said simply. “As for you, you have shown courage when there was no hope. strength and resourcefulness in the face of great evil. In this you have proven yourself worthy of becoming an Initiate of the Legio Spectra. Do you accept? Know you now, that should you accept, you can not change your mind. There is no turning back.”

 

Varagol looked the giant squarely in the eye.

 

“Do you regret it honoured ancestor? Do you believe you made the right decision?”

 

“No, and I believe I have, young one,” Rustar replied, amused at the formality of Varagol.

 

“Then I accept. I have no Clan, no Brothers, no family. What else do I have?”

 

“You are wrong. Our Kin-ties not withstanding, should you become one of us, you will have a Thousand Brothers standing beside you. What else would you need?”

 

So ends the Prologue. I'm not sure when the next installment will be (most likely Friday or Saturday), but hope you've enjoyed it so far and thanks for the comments and continued viewing! :)

Edited February 21, 2012 by Aquilanus

[Olis]

Couple of grammatical notes I thought I'd just raise (I'm in a nitpicky mood tonight):

 

“No, and no. I was like you, a slave of another tribe. When I was liberated, I had the chance to become a Star Warrior. I failed. However, because I was useful enough, the Star Warriors took me in as a servant. Whilst I regret not becoming one of them, I have no regrets. It’s been a good life.”

 

I think this bit needs to be rephrased - perhaps adding the word 'other' ("I have no other regrets.") would make it more palatable. Or (new thought) simply changing the latter 'regret' into 'shame'. :)

 

“Whilst I believe you know the truth already, I will say to you that you didn’t not kill you brother. He was dead a long time ago.”

 

I'm assuming you accidently added the 'not', yes? Otherwise the sentence is confusing. :D

 

 

Besides that I enjoyed that part. It answers questions and clears the air for the next part.