Been a while since I wrote this guy
Feb. 22nd, 2014 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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dailyprompt's prompt "I think it's broken"
He could not identify when it all went wrong.
The old mage stood on the sandy shores looking at the sun set over the ocean. Yet the sharp tang of salty water could not mask the smell of blood, especially when so much of it came directly from his memories. He leaned heavily on his gnarly cane, eyes half-closed, as he dove deep into his mind and sought a reason, or even a cause, for the disaster he was stuck in.
Athanaric could identify when it started going wrong for him, though it was so long ago that he did not think anyone he was fighting with now would know of it in anything but books. He had been born into a family that stood proudly for their country and its beliefs -- and those beliefs were that of conquest. It was their destiny to conquer lands, for the good of the world and the progress of humanity. His incredible power, obvious even as a babe, had not been pure luck but a sign from the gods that he was meant to lead them to victory. Throughout his youth he had been trained with the idea that he would be a great warrior -- the great warrior.
What a crock of lies that turned out to be. He had believed it, of course; who didn't want to dream that they were brilliant, destined to greatness, perfect among men? But then he saw the impact he had on other people -- people who apparently were in the way of humanity's progress, simply by existing. He had seen power-mad soldiers shoot and slice down defenseless children, forcing men to kill their families on the pretense of letting them live, violating women and men both with whatever could be found... And he was expected to celebrate it, consider it progress.
He was a traitor now in the Welen Empire's cold eyes, but shooting that soldier and taking that young scared family to safety was the first thing in his life that had felt right. Athanaric could feel no regret over the death of that man, not after seeing what he had done. He would have felt no remorse if the family had chosen to kill him, too, to keep themselves safe. He had willingly and defeatedly stood on trial in the remains of their country in the remote mountains, agreeing that he had murdered civilians for naught... And that decade of prison had seemed too little punishment for humanity's greatest warrior.
After he was released, he vowed to never fight again. He tried to live a quiet life by moving across the ocean to the fledging nation in Garanee, to offer his assistance to the settlers in how to live peacefully with the natives...
But it seemed all he was good at was fighting, and now that fledging nation was broken.
Behind him came the sound of wings, then clawed feet stepping down onto the sand. He knew who it was, and continued to stare out at the sea, though his so-called charge had long ago been lost beneath the sun-lit waves. The footsteps that approached him were the soft falls of a human, and soon in his peripheral vision he saw an impossibly-tall woman whose skin glittered faintly in the light.
"You have been gone long, Master." Her voice had an ancient, extinct accent -- he knew of no one else who held it, a walking relic of another century. She glanced over at him and he could feel the burning of her gaze. "He has joined the merfolk. You should come back before the sun sets."
The woman was clearly not human, or at least not fully human. She wore no clothing, and her entire body looked to be covered in tiny yellow-golden scales, while short webbing started at her elbows and continued to her webbed hands. Her legs were large and muscular, the toes ending in tiny claws instead of nails. Her black hair was thick and short, standing straight up. And then there were her large, reptilian violet eyes.
A weredragon, those elusive and rare people, considered by most to be a legend. Athanaric had no idea how old she was, and apparently after a while Haakon had stopped keeping track. He guessed at least a century from her mannerisms and speech, but she looked barely older than 30 or 40. She stared down at him the way he would look down upon an unruly child.
"The soldiers are whispering that you have fled. You should return if only for your reputation."
"I have nothing left to uphold." The mage looked back across the waters; all the better for not seeing Haakon's reaction to the statement.
"Nothing?" Confused distaste coloured the weredragon's tone. "You are a Master. You have much to maintain. You have honour--"
"I lost my honour decades ago."
"Why, because you killed some other humans?" Haakon snorted; Athanaric winced at her blunt, unemotional tone. "Most humans kill each other. It's normal."
"Just because it seems normal doesn't make it right." They had this debate at least once a week, it seemed, and each time it brewed fire in his soul. He turned to face the weredragon head-on, meeting her bright eyes with his own -- ice blue, an instant indication of his powers. "We should be above it."
"Is a wolf above killing other wolves?"
Athanaric, formerly Perduellis, is the most powerful lightning mage in the world, and a pile of issues.
Speaking of prompts, I put one up atdailyprompt today. You can tell I'm back into Pokemon Fusion, but maybe it'll spark something in you guys :)
Also in a month or so I should have some exciting news to share about work. Teaser: I am getting a promotion and raise. Details aren't all nailed out though, so we'll see!
Tschuess.
dailyprompt's prompt "I think it's broken"He could not identify when it all went wrong.
The old mage stood on the sandy shores looking at the sun set over the ocean. Yet the sharp tang of salty water could not mask the smell of blood, especially when so much of it came directly from his memories. He leaned heavily on his gnarly cane, eyes half-closed, as he dove deep into his mind and sought a reason, or even a cause, for the disaster he was stuck in.
Athanaric could identify when it started going wrong for him, though it was so long ago that he did not think anyone he was fighting with now would know of it in anything but books. He had been born into a family that stood proudly for their country and its beliefs -- and those beliefs were that of conquest. It was their destiny to conquer lands, for the good of the world and the progress of humanity. His incredible power, obvious even as a babe, had not been pure luck but a sign from the gods that he was meant to lead them to victory. Throughout his youth he had been trained with the idea that he would be a great warrior -- the great warrior.
What a crock of lies that turned out to be. He had believed it, of course; who didn't want to dream that they were brilliant, destined to greatness, perfect among men? But then he saw the impact he had on other people -- people who apparently were in the way of humanity's progress, simply by existing. He had seen power-mad soldiers shoot and slice down defenseless children, forcing men to kill their families on the pretense of letting them live, violating women and men both with whatever could be found... And he was expected to celebrate it, consider it progress.
He was a traitor now in the Welen Empire's cold eyes, but shooting that soldier and taking that young scared family to safety was the first thing in his life that had felt right. Athanaric could feel no regret over the death of that man, not after seeing what he had done. He would have felt no remorse if the family had chosen to kill him, too, to keep themselves safe. He had willingly and defeatedly stood on trial in the remains of their country in the remote mountains, agreeing that he had murdered civilians for naught... And that decade of prison had seemed too little punishment for humanity's greatest warrior.
After he was released, he vowed to never fight again. He tried to live a quiet life by moving across the ocean to the fledging nation in Garanee, to offer his assistance to the settlers in how to live peacefully with the natives...
But it seemed all he was good at was fighting, and now that fledging nation was broken.
Behind him came the sound of wings, then clawed feet stepping down onto the sand. He knew who it was, and continued to stare out at the sea, though his so-called charge had long ago been lost beneath the sun-lit waves. The footsteps that approached him were the soft falls of a human, and soon in his peripheral vision he saw an impossibly-tall woman whose skin glittered faintly in the light.
"You have been gone long, Master." Her voice had an ancient, extinct accent -- he knew of no one else who held it, a walking relic of another century. She glanced over at him and he could feel the burning of her gaze. "He has joined the merfolk. You should come back before the sun sets."
The woman was clearly not human, or at least not fully human. She wore no clothing, and her entire body looked to be covered in tiny yellow-golden scales, while short webbing started at her elbows and continued to her webbed hands. Her legs were large and muscular, the toes ending in tiny claws instead of nails. Her black hair was thick and short, standing straight up. And then there were her large, reptilian violet eyes.
A weredragon, those elusive and rare people, considered by most to be a legend. Athanaric had no idea how old she was, and apparently after a while Haakon had stopped keeping track. He guessed at least a century from her mannerisms and speech, but she looked barely older than 30 or 40. She stared down at him the way he would look down upon an unruly child.
"The soldiers are whispering that you have fled. You should return if only for your reputation."
"I have nothing left to uphold." The mage looked back across the waters; all the better for not seeing Haakon's reaction to the statement.
"Nothing?" Confused distaste coloured the weredragon's tone. "You are a Master. You have much to maintain. You have honour--"
"I lost my honour decades ago."
"Why, because you killed some other humans?" Haakon snorted; Athanaric winced at her blunt, unemotional tone. "Most humans kill each other. It's normal."
"Just because it seems normal doesn't make it right." They had this debate at least once a week, it seemed, and each time it brewed fire in his soul. He turned to face the weredragon head-on, meeting her bright eyes with his own -- ice blue, an instant indication of his powers. "We should be above it."
"Is a wolf above killing other wolves?"
Athanaric, formerly Perduellis, is the most powerful lightning mage in the world, and a pile of issues.
Speaking of prompts, I put one up at
dailyprompt today. You can tell I'm back into Pokemon Fusion, but maybe it'll spark something in you guys :)Also in a month or so I should have some exciting news to share about work. Teaser: I am getting a promotion and raise. Details aren't all nailed out though, so we'll see!
Tschuess.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-23 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-02-24 12:05 am (UTC)But then I'd lose out on not only Athanaric, but the weredragon. So maybe Tegre just needs a filler so the story can still exist, haha.