Abattoir-by Revans Rubber Duckie, Chapter 2, Fantasy/Young Adult

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Abattoir-by Revans Rubber Duckie, Chapter 2, Fantasy/Young Adult Empty Abattoir-by Revans Rubber Duckie, Chapter 2, Fantasy/Young Adult

Post  Revans Rubber Duckie on Tue Mar 13, 2012 7:04 pm

Abattoir-by Revans Rubber Duckie, Chapter 2, Fantasy/Young Adult Cover212
(Click for full view if interested--it seems to of have cut off the side a little)
Ethessa is a human experiment, along with hundreds of other children, given the ability to destroy and create her cells in exchange for sacrificing her memories. Put through brutal tests and unrelenting experiments, she has learned her only purpose in life is to kill and be the perfect soldier.

Her abilities and morals are put the test when she's put on an assignment--something that has never happened before with any child experiment. Tasked with escorting a noble girl, Ethessa soon finds that she is about to be thrust into the middle of a war that may very well bring everything she believes crashing down on her.
As usual, I, and any other thema here, am keeping some kind of record. I want to know why. I mean, most of us don't even write anything useful. We're not allowed to leave it blank or write 'I have nothing to say' so it's filled with junk. More to the point, there's' something going on here. Somehow, I get the feeling they're hiding something and we're the pawns to hide it. This journal, even if they give the pretence that it's in case we sacrifice a memory of something important to re-remember it, seems to have some other meaning to it. I'm going to figure out what.
--Excerpt #37, Seak'thema 32

Koir Vesarm walked through the dark halls, sending a charming smile at any girl he met on the way, who responded with quiet giggles. He was dressed in traditional Dra'schon royal garments, used primarily for ceremonial purposes. It consisted of a black silken tunic, which started overlaying itself at the centre, exposing collarbone and neck, lined with red at the hems and golden designs all over to accent the colour. Loose fitting pants and boots of the same colour adorned him. Over all of that he wore red layered plate armour. A very expensive looking sword lay at his side, engraved with various runes, some magical, and symbols. No one bothered to stop him. If he was dressed in ceremonial clothes, then he needed to be somewhere important.

The young man came to a halt in front of the large ornamented doors. He took a deep breath, knowing full well what he was to do. He knocked twice, awaiting permission to enter. There were a few hushed whispers, not loud enough for him to make out, before the commanding voice allowed entry. Silently, he pushed the doors open and knelt before the warlord, his head bowed. He waited until the hand came off his head before standing.

“Soon enough this will be the other way around, won't it?”

Koir gave a grin and accepted the older man's embrace. That was true. Soon enough he would be the warlord, and the 'old' man will be kneeling before him. Pulling away, the boy gave another infamous grin.

“Well, that will only be true once my wife arrives, and we're not expecting her for another few days.”

“If she comes at all.”

Both royals turned to the only other man in the room. Adorned in the finest armour their country had to offer, the man stood tall and proud. The helm, golden to match the rest of the armour, with dragon wings attached to the sides over where his ears would be, was held between his arm and side. His long greying hair covered the house seal that would usually be visible over the left breastplate.

“General?” the warlord asked, a glint twinkled in his old eyes, almost like a warning. The other two males looked suspiciously at the general. Traitors were easily taken care of. They all knew it. The only real problem was that this was the war general they would be up against. The most skilled, professional, cunning, and sly swordsman in the current time period. Cold and calculating, it would not be a surprise if he was a traitor at all. Especially if all that was left of the royal family was either too young to take control of the throne, or in the same room as him.

The general grinned, “Well, taking into consideration your womanizing, I wouldn't be surprised if she decided not to come at all. Forgive me,” he made a slight bow of his head, “My idea of a poor jest.”

“I'm free to do as I please until the marriage. After that, I'm chained down and will be loyal to her,” Koir turned back to the warlord, his tone clearly stating he did not find the joke funny in the least, “I doubt you called me here to discuss my plans, however, so shall we?”

“On the contrary, it was due to your plans that I called you here. We have developed some ... difficulties. Our escorts were ambushed, as you know, so we called in a special kind of reinforcement. We would like you to meet up with them and your wife. We think it best you get to know your wife on the way back,” The general cut in, his trained eyes looking for any kind of reaction.

Koir gave a slight nod signifying he understood. It made sense. But then, why the cause for ceremonial garments? Unless....

“Either you have forgotten custom, or you are truly prepared to give everything up,” his father looked at him with sympathy, but his eyes held something else. They held the sympathy evident on his face, but there was something else, too. Something Koir had never seen before.

“Custom dictates you are not allowed to leave until the marriage is complete.” the warlord continued, “The punishment is--”

“Is exile, and death upon return,” Koir finished. Something wasn't right. They could send someone else, especially if they had this in mind. Just what were they getting at? As though reading his thoughts, his father started to elaborate.

“Our hired backups are not the most honest of people. Their loyalty lies to neither us, Crebar, nor any of the neighbouring countries. If they were told to kill your fiance, they would. Our most trusted warriors were those who were ambushed. If we sent anyone else, they could be bought. The general is too busy with plans, and I must help with those along with other business. That leaves only you.”

“What about my brother? Couldn't he go instead?”

“He is too young. Inexperienced. Easily buys what is said. Understand?” The general had an odd tone in his voice. As though he were trying to say he was speaking of someone else, and not Koir's brother.

“Then how're we supposed to pull this off without me being banished?”

“Simple. We, as in your father and I, create the illusion you are partaking in a Crebarian tradition of purification. This tradition will dictate you are to see no one and have been confined to your quarters to ensure this,” the general explained.

Koir nodded assessing the information. It was not all too thought out, but he figured there were things he was not being told. Not that he cared, but he did not like not knowing things. He needed to know everything. He should know everything. It was his right as successor to the throne, and as a prince. If he did not know everything, he could easily be betrayed or lose influence. He had to keep family honour in highest regards. It was the least he could do, after all.

“When do I begin my cleansing?”

“Now,” The general advanced, sword drawn and posed for a quick jab. Koir grabbed his own weapon, ready to defend himself. Between the adrenaline rush and the confusion, he had not even thought of why his father was not joining in on the fight to help him. He only saw a blade and an open space. Should he take it? Biting down on his lip, he took the chance. The general easily blocked the blow, causing the prince to fall and his blade to skitter away. The general took a step back, waiting for the boy to get up and take another shot.

Koir picked up his blade again pushing himself up. He took a defensive position, readying for an attack. His mind raced, looking for an opening of some sort, taking the time to analyze the footwork and technique.

“You've failed,” the man said, smiling and sheathing his blade.

“General Tok, that was an unfair challenge, don't you think?” the warlord asked, sharing that smile if only for a moment.

Tok grinned. Koir looked from his father to the general in confusion, still holding the blade up.

“What's going on?”

“A test. You failed, of course,” Tok explained with a shrug.

“What's that supposed to mean?! That wasn't a test! That was an attempt on my life!”

“Did I attack?” Tok raised an eyebrow, looking as though he was trying to remember something that was just slipping by.

Koir stopped, coming to the realization that all the general had done was raise his blade, which easily could have been a symbolic knighting. Koir shook his head, “No, sir.”

Tok nodded, “Don't assume things. It could cost you something dear one day.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, sounding and looking like a whipped dog.

“Good. Now, off you go. And try not to do anything...erotic,” the general replied, waving him off. Koir did exactly as told.

The two remaining men waited until the boy was out of sight and out of earshot. For a few moments they just stood there. Then, the warlord turned to his old comrade, raising an eyebrow.

“When did you become his father?”

The general just grinned in response. Sighing, Warlord Shatan shook his head and started walking back to his throne, a small smile tugging at his lips. The two had grand plans to discuss.
Revans Rubber Duckie
Revans Rubber Duckie

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