this is chapter one of a story I'm currently working on. please gimme some comment.
It came with sudden fury. From the bounds of the withered confines of parchment and and leather the light sprang forth. Millions of millions of beams of light magically filled the tight confines of his bedroom, already littered with clothing and other debris. They came and blasted themselves into the walls, the cabinets, the bed, his PC, everything he owned, filling them with color.
You wished this... a voice called from deep within the confines of the old book. He felt a pull, then the wind. He could see nothing, taste nothing, feel nothing, but he could hear the wind softly blowing against his ears it made his cloths dance with delight.
Dimmly, a small light beckoned him as he sailed towards it. It became a hand, supple, soft, warm to the touch as it graced his chest. Two more came up and over his chest, latching onto him gently, then two more, and another set. He relished in the feeling of touch, though it scarred him a little. He'd never been touched so sweetly before; at least, not that he could remember. He felt them tug gently, but he did nothing. Where ever it was, he sure hoped it came with more of this feeling.
I send you, to help them, to aid them, to bring them to life. He felt himself falling again, lead down by the hands guiding him. Who was saying that so sweetly? He needed to know. It will be you.... who will finish.... what she... started....
He opened his eyes.
This was not his room. The tree that hung above him was not his walls, nor his ceiling. His cabinets were gone, replaced with underbrush and his carpet had become foliage. The only thing that looked remotely close was a brick encirclement surrounding a red jewel that welcomed him like an unblinking eye, staring blankly into his eyes, his odd dual hues. His left eye reflected back normally, but his other had managed to discolor it to an off shade of purple, thanks to the fact it was a deep cerulean, while his left was a deep crimson. Heterochomia, they called it. A defect of the eyes that forced either ridicule or admiration, but either way, induced stares. His long, unique blond tail hung off to the side, tied firmly at the base with the red ribbon, loosely though, as he was only just now getting the hang of tying it himself.. It only aided in completely his curious appearance. Other than his eyes and hair, he was normal, but, children being children, he had suffered from it. His hair was a constant rope to pull, and Grey had gotten into more then his fair share of scrapping over it (once, he had broken a kid's nose for pulling so hard he'd fell to the ground).
He was surprisingly calm about his current predicament. True, his mind was racing a million thoughts a second, and he had no idea to explain any of them. But… there he was: closing a book gently as he looked around. “Holy…. beans!” He spouted stupidly. It was funny, he was kind of expecting to be freaking out, his mind, eyes, heart racing around with distraught and worry; yet here he was, simply looking into the bounds of a small, thick, old book.
A minute ago, he had been in his home, nestled within the town of Milpitas, a small suburb just north of San Jose. Like most suburbs, it was boring, with little to do but go outside and play, but there was no one his age where he lived; even his best friend nowhere close to his area. Granted, there were some problems with gangs, but it was more the farce: There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to do in the city. He’d been eying a book his mother had given him for his birthday: an odd dust ridden hardbound she had read as a little girl (or that’s what he remembered her saying.). He hadn't spoken to Elaine in a while, as their last encounter hadn't ended too well. She'd gotten progressively worse since the last time, and had barely spoken at all. She had gotten the book from Robert (his father) and had given it to him after a brief rant about life and living without the one you couldn't live without.
What a load.
Still, they both loved to read, so Grey took the book. They both loved to delve deep into novels about romance and fantasy, of daring heroes and damsels in need. So a book was really a better gift then most anything else for him. He assumed it was some hidden treasure she'd keep in mint condition and had suddenly remembered and wanted to share. A bit of a stretch, sure, but one could always hope, right?
The book was a tactical manual: one of those books that gave instructions on how to play a role correctly. At first, it looked like it was for one of those old Board RPGs that had people with no lives going on verbal adventures and generally acting like complete idiots for the sake of keeping some semblance of a life, even if it was only on paper.. Least, that’s what he’d always heard of them. He chortled it off, not wanting to be as they were: nerds locked the basement with odd caps on, praying to god that never really existed in any religion before the book’s own made up one, then rolling some dice with the same fear as someone who'd gotten a gun pulled on them.
Yeah. Like he was going to care if his black mage gained The Hammer of Odin, thus enabling him to use some new way of doing the same old rehashed job, while pray to some made up god for women he’d never touch by normal means.
Still, if his mom had read it, it was probably something else. She wasn’t exactly the type to be that weird: granted, though, she’d been a bookworm in high school; but lately, he'd been hearing stories about how she’s always had a more playful, albeit sinister nature to her. From what he gathered from his aunts and uncles, Elaine had been the 'corrupting' one, that had turned them onto dirty jokes and unceremonious groping and other various sexual deviance.
It was like listening to someone describe James bond from two different perspectives: one of the agent, and one of the man.
It began with a soft introduction: the world in which the story took place was created, oddly, a little less then a couple of century ago, and coincided with our own history, noting the war was a heaven for those who had become disjointed and broke from the world. It pressed its issue like a sale's pitch: it constantly referred to the reader in direct statements, an amateur mistake, most notably, the one welcome “you into the world of the dragoon, half dragon half man, a being of lost power, knowledge, and courage.”
He shut the book, taking a couple of steps around the area he had just arrived at. The thick trees seemed to be placed in increments surrounding him, stone workings on floor were broken and worn down. While a forest surrounded it, there was no mistake: this are was man made.
“Oh, there you are.” He turned, looking down at a barren, broken dirt path, seeing a gentle looking old man in a modest white cloak and a golden scarf around his neck. He was smiling; his eyes drooped down from age, his bread thick and aged a fine gray. He trod up with an old craved walking stick: an emblem of a dragon at its handle, beautifully craved a finished with a fine coat of varnish, giving it a glossy glow. “I was wondering when you were arriving.”
“When I was arriving?” Grey repeated, swaying back as the old man began to round him, eyeing him intently. He seemed satisfied in something, and rested his eyes on Grey’s. It was off putting, though, and Grey had to turn away.
“Yes, I’d been expecting you for a while.” He said, confusing Grey even more.
“Uh…” was all Grey could muster in response, the bizarre event continuing.
“No need for explanations now. I can tell you more when we get to the Sheol.” Grey was no in the mood for arguments, so he said nothing, but staring wonderingly at the old man, who seemed to not notice the furrowed brows and deep eyes locked on him coming from the brash freshman. “Come now boy! You wouldn’t want to be here too long! The Dark Riders will come to check the stone as well.”
Yep. That settled it. Grey had gone crazy.
As he had thought, the surrounding area was deep jungle, was crazy with noises and various shuffling from the creatures in the underbrush and hallows. As the walked along the pathway that had been trotted out with time (or so it appeared, being no actual path, simply broken clumps of underbrush and solid earth.), the old man spoke of himself and how long he’d been at this job. His name was Chronos, “The Welcomer”. His job was to welcome all those who enter this land, Moksha, and give them guidance to the city of Sheol: the oldest city in this world.
“Most either quit or retired around sixty.” He laughed, having Grey help him around a large rock. “Back in the old days, more then likely, you’d be killed in combat.”
“So what makes you so special?” Grey snorted, despite himself.
“Hm… I guess it’s my partner they fear. If I were attacked, he’d storm down and help me without fail, and attack viciously. He’s extremely aggressive you know. Never would let a soul harm me.”
“Your partner?”
“Ah. Didn’t finish reading the manual I see. Such is youth: a lot of you young ones never get past the first page before your chant the agreement.”
Grey turned up a curious brow. While it was true he usually spoke aloud when reading, he didn't recall an agreement he'd signed or spoken, though if it was part of the intro, it was well hidden.
Of course, that didn’t explain all this he was going through. He only gotten through the introduction and a timeline history of Dragoons and dragons in history. All this reading, he figured, must’ve gotten to his brain, and he was asleep at his PC, dreaming about the world he was currently reading.
Well, at least we could admit it: it was interesting to him. We a funny story to tell his best friend Aaron, at least.
“Sorry, old man.”
“Polite disrespectfulness. I’ve no idea how to translate that.”
“I was saying sorry; I call my dad old man all the time…” He stared amusingly at the old man again. “How much farther is it, anyway? I’m not exactly built for walking long distances, and we’ve been at this at least… three hours. And I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”
“Two and ten minutes. We’ll be there by dawn, I’d surmise.” He said. “I’m surprised: you’re a lot calmer than the last two who came.” He chuckled, and moved over to a fallen log, which was far too convenient to Grey, signaling to Grey even his feet had tired.
“The last two?”
“Yes, those two came a little over a month ago. Almost had to get my partner to restrain them. Shame, those two probably won’t make it through the trials. Name’s were Bladius and Paul.”
“Yeah. About that, what’s all this about trials?.”
“It’s all the book. It’s the answer to most of your concerns. But, I suppose it’s better for youth to hear truths, then to see them engraved on parchment. Youth today have no respect for the written language! I tell you, back in the old days, when I was young…” He drifted off to the right, his eyes steeling into a frown as a large growl emanated from the forest beyond them. Grey steadied himself, his legs bracing automatically. He was going to ask about it, but it reminded him too much of a action movie; too obvious and repetitive for his taste. It was obvious what was happening now: Something was coming, and it was big.
“Stand your ground.” The old man said, standing up. “If you run, they’ll go straight after you.”
From the bushes stepped two of the largest albino tigers Grey had ever seen:. It took all he had to remember the old man’s words. His legs were screaming “RUN, FOOL, RUN” and trembling, trying to force him to do so. They were so impossibly large: they met him at his shoulder, and completely dwarfed the old man, who was standing as erect as he could. “Tigris” The old man mumbled. “Boy, no sudden noise, movements, or anything the like. Wait for Aether.”
“Wait for who?” Grey whispered, not really paying to much attention to his mumbling, as he was his bladder, hoping to god it didn’t give out on him. One of the large beasts was standing next to him, growling and sniffing him, checking him for something recognizable. A pack scent, it appeared. Which meant they had trended directly unto their territory.
It roared at him an unfamiliar roar. There was no doubt about it: it was going to swipe at him. One trailed around him, then reappeared, as if to confirm the target. It made its move: giant jaws suddenly grew towards his neck…
And suddenly it was pinned. Pinned down and dead, it’s spine and neck broken by a sudden, large mesh of darkness. It moved swiftly, swooping a massive leather wing down as the other one lurched forward, clamping down on the darkness’ wing, and being lifted sky high as the darkness roared out in pain, sharp gray teeth lining its mouth like barbed wire. “Aether!”
The giant wing slammed down like a hammer, the gust knocking Grey over. The Tigris rolled back, yet managed to it’s feet and lunged at the darkness again. It turned its large head, and Grey saw them: those thick, blood red eyes that zoomed past him. They were haunting, and despite the previous danger, Grey couldn’t help but be more frightened by those eyes then anything. In that instant, they grew into the bullies back home and picked on him, tormented them with a relentless stare, then smashed themselves into the tiger, shutting on impact. It was the old man who finally snapped him out of it, pulling him behind the darkness with two eyes. The giant cat fell against a tree, only too meet those blood soaked eyes again, smashing it against the thick stump with such force that it broke the tree at it’s core, and toppled over like a toothpick, a couple of bird scattering for safety.
There was no denying it now: it’d killed both of those things in a matter of seconds. Grey fell to his knees. The darkness turned to him, and then over to the Old man. “Chronos, I warned you to be careful.” It growled, its voice a series of several voices brought together. Large, Thick, powerful voices, accompanied by weak smaller ones, all in one grunting speech, “Is this the way you planned on retiring? Getting yourself and your last packaged undelivered? I thought you were above all that.” It stepped around, turning its enormous black body to them.
“Indeed, Aether. I’m terribly sorry. I thought I might hurry.” The old man replied, his face somewhat lower to the darkness, though Grey couldn’t say he wouldn’t be indifferent. “I suppose you’d want to accompany us on the ground now?”
“I’d rather fly you two to Sheol, but seeing as how it’s against the regulations, I believe I’ll have to now.”
“What… are you?!” Grey finally spouted, looking at both of them with such newfound anxiety his entire body couldn’t help but shake like it had been submerged in ice water for the past twelve hours or so. Such a good dream he’d been having: now had suddenly become a nightmare. “What the hell are you!?”
“My partner, Aether. A black dragon.” The old man said. He patted the large beast in the back. That thing was a dragon? Grey’s eyes tried to turn away from the awestruck gaze they had acquired on the creatures eyes.
Every moment he was there, he was back then.
“Earnest yet cynical, that’s my Aether.”
“Better cynical then aged, it appears.” The Dragon snorted in response. “Come boy, stand.” More for fear of those blood-soaked eyes then anything, Grey obeyed, however feeble it appeared from his shaking. “It’s okay to scream, you know.” It seemed to be expecting it: Grey was no going to let it have its way.
“I’d… rather not attract anymore of those… or things like you… or anything like you…” he rambled back. Aether, the giant black beastly dragon, lifted its head, and did something that sounded like a laugh. Its wings stretched out suddenly, encompassing every ounce of sky above great, and it yawned heartily, and lurched its head down at Grey.
“Fear is nothing unusual to me. If I were as inept and as small as you, I’d fear my form as well.”
“Well, it seems we need some time to let this sink into your head: I believe we can rest a few minutes.” Chronos said, perching himself next to his giant ‘partner’.
Grey rubbed his eyes a couple of times, wondering if the thing following them as they started down the pathway again was real, or another figment of his imagination. A dream, he had to remind himself. It was all a dream. It was becoming harder and harder to remember: he had never had one this long, this intense, nor was ever placed into a position where he couldn’t take immediate control of a dream when he was in trouble. Here, as he stared back at the darkness pursuing them softly, he couldn’t wish it away. There was nothing stopping the giant beast from sauntering behind them awkwardly. There was nothing stopping those bloody eyes that stared at him whenever he looked back.
It was eerily silent, save for thudding of large claws walking slowly behind them. It didn’t speak, nor roar a single time as they walked down. It simply trotted behind them, focused, staring, blinking and becoming a complete form of black as it did so. It occasionally huffed a tiny puff of something black from it’s nose: fire breath? No… nothing he knew burned that black.
“Ah! Here we are!” Chronos shouted suddenly. Grey cocked his head back to his front, his eyes still somewhat stuck on Aether’s form.
It was a city craved into a mountain. A mountain covered completely in lights setting in for night, dim ones, bright ones, sewn across its rocky face like jewels on a dress. It stretched miles on end, and continued to the very top, where a large spire glowed the brightest, like a giant brooch. It was almost holy in a sense. Grey had no doubt the one at the top was either political or was sacred in a sense. About a mile or so below the lights, surrounding the mountain face, was a giant stonewall, arching the entire way across the city, like a pool, holding in a larger puddle of lights at the base, which dance to the wind. It was for all intents and purposes, the most beautiful looking city Grey had ever seen. Even more then those back home, at night, when they glowed with nothing more then deceptive beauty.
“Is that … Sheol?” The old man nodded, laying himself on the cane slightly.
“Breathtaking isn’t it. I never get enough of the expression on the new recruits faces.” Grey looked down at him. New recruits? There were others?
A short flight down a cliff, and the city towered above them, a mile or so still off. The size was awesome; it had to be at least a mile or two high, with different levels sewn into its side, building and people swarming across. He could make a few taking leaps from the side, and landing on the lower levels. A few dragons passed above them, their silhouette sweeping across them to and from the city.
“Where are they headed?” Grey asked.
“The outer rim.”
The front gate was large enough to overshadow a two-story house: the steel frames were rustic, their joints covered in moss. A craving of an arcane circle with seven signs, six at the points, and an odd, dual heart shape one in the middle, centered the art of the large wooden doors, which was extensive and worn in places. At its base, stood two men. And, catching his eye even more, two larger beasts: two new dragons, each one as unique as Aether himself was, though severely less menacing in appearance.
The one on the left, behind the short, darker toned man with stubble and hazel eyes, was even bigger then the one behind Grey. Its skin looked like chunks of dry dirt, giving it and almost golem appearance, its body thick and as rounded as a elephant’s. Its head reminded Grey of a snail’s: four long bending eyes that each moved with a mind of its own. Its neck was as thick as its body, its lips running all of end of it, a smile bore its small razor sharp teeth. Its wings were like giant hands, thick fingers webbed together with more dry earth.
The one behind the taller, lanky man was a wide-eyed, smaller, green colored beast. Its wings looked like vines strung together with petals, and a small covering of leaves coated its body tightly. Its end reminded Grey of a Venus flytrap. Grey couldn’t see into its mouth, but knew another pair of razor sharp teeth lay inside.
The men themselves were dress in a cross between medieval armor and priest robes: a loose hooded coat was bore comfortably underneath an overlay with the same crest as on the door over them. They had no gorgets, and their helmets were more fashion than anything: large bronze colored dragon shaped helms lined with silver and no facemask. Their gauntlets, thick and impressive bronze tinted as well, bore spiked knuckles and etching of the symbols on the door, three per hand. They bore loose slack, but they were tied at the knee, where studded leather boots continued on down the length. They bore no weapons, and moved exhaustedly as Chronos approached them, as if some weight suddenly left them.
“Mathew, Rahul.”
“Chronos!” The one on the right, underneath the smaller green dragon said. “So this is the new one?”
“Yes, this boy came from the circle summoning. Didn’t tell me his name though.” He turned back, his eyes curiously locked on Grey.
“It’s not that important.” Grey responded, his head turned
“Oh really? And why is that?” Chrono eyed him, hoping for some suitable answer.
“Cause… I don’t like giving my name to people.” Grey spouted back, looking for any way to move along. It wasn’t so much giving his name out that bothered him: it was the stupor and jokes that followed he hated.
“Does it matter?”
“I suppose not, for now. But it will later.” Chronos said. Grey looked up: the two guards had a look of interest on their faces. Skepticism, as if it was some extremely rude gesture he’d given them. “Lets us through, would you?”
“Sure. Hollow.”
At once, the large brown dragon shifted, and used its large arms to push the massive barren doorway open. Aether went on ahead, taking flight and going over the wall, to someplace high among the rock cliffs it seemed, and Chronos motioned the boy to enter.
It was as if someone had thrown two world together, and a prefect balance and magically formed. There was a absorbed amount of people, Dragons, and dragoons in place. More of them rocketed from alcove to alcove along the rock walls. Even more hovered in a gentle flight a few feet above them. The main body walked along the ground, but it looked like amazingly like a mesh of those old markets he’d seen in movies, and his local mall. It was infested with Dragons, so many different shaped and sizes. Again, two new dragons presented themselves, one walking directly in front of him.
“Watch it.” Croaked the large, fish like dragon, its wings like massive fins, fine gills running along its side. It sported different colors: small patches of yellow and red ran along any spine visible. It blinked at him, the lids clear, and walked off again, somewhat reminiscent of a crocodile on land.
The second, oddly, seemed to be running a shop: Grey stared off in wonderment as it pedaled wares alongside a small Asian looking girl, holding up a rather comfortable looking jacket. It was the smallest one so far: it stood on its hind legs and only barely seemed to reach the double human height that seemed to come standard with the rest of them. Demonic looking, with slices of something red-hot traveling along its cracked surface. Its teeth were unguarded, and it could not drop the biting expression as it spoke. “Ah Chrono!” its voice was that of a con man’s: cracked, dark, sinister. “I see you got a new recruit! The last one, eh? Well, come by and check out Aoshi’s latest design: high grade Retac silk boots with interlacing straps. Very comfortable.”
“I will sometime.” The old man responded. “Aoshi is the official outfitter of the military, and is the school grounds” He pointed at a large open space between a few buildings that billowed random blasts of fire and lighting, thundering echoes booming across the entire grounds.
Grey saw a lone Dragoon fly up. A second dragoon mounted on a large green chased after him. The two had different weapons in hand: the single man carried two kunai daggers, the mounted one a single sword. There was a clash of metal onto teeth, and the two disappeared from view again.
“Survival training. You'll have to register there later. The instructors are some of the finest dragoons in the military, renowned in there various fields and in combat.”
Every which way he turned, there they were: conversing, playing games. He spied some microscopic versions of the beasts playing something reminiscent of basketball, only with a lot more flying and far less dribbling. It was more interesting to see the little children, though, with tiny dragons. He learned they were about a few years or so old later, as he pointed them out to Chronos. “Birthrights: being born here, they do not have to go through the same process as you do to acquire a dragon. The exact time of their birth, one is born alongside them. There's an aligment augmentation that occurs with those who are natural citizens of the world. They tend to be faster, more agile, and do better overall then those who are brought here.”
“So... age isn't a factor in becoming a Dragoon?”
“No, it isn't. You see, Dragoons are not limited by age or physical ability, nor any metal handicaps. Those who need to be here, come here. Those who are born here, no nothing of the harshness of single living. They have their unqiue partners next to them, and can excel in what makes a dragoon a dragoon. And that is, well....”
“Well what?”
“That’s for you to discover. Its different between everybody. One can't really throw out a correct answer to the question, though there are some of those who will try.” He pointed to a stairwell alongside the stone cliff. “We have to head to the top. Those in waiting will have seen your summoning, and be waiting for your arrival.”
“More walking?” Grey sighed.
So what did make a Dragoon? He’d doubt he’d get an answer if he asked someone. He’d probably look crazy. There was nothing to do but see this through till he awoke. It was a rather interesting dream, after all.
