[OrigFic] Let the Darkness Free the Light
Feb. 27th, 2011 02:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nathanialroyaleTitle: Let Darkness Free the Light.
Prompt: Free Space
Rating: (PG)
Content Notes/Warnings: The Battle for Tuima, the gathering of the force that under the General Lianna Ebonheart would have part in saving illander, the Holy City.
Warnings: Violence.
Main Character/s: Lianna EbonHeart
Plot: The Seige of Tuima and the gathering of an army.
Location: Tuima, Capitol city of Royale.
--
My father’s country.
I knew nothing about Royale except the rumors and lies spread by the Gaelians, that the Royalians were dark haired and darker skinned, golden like those in the north who lived beneath the harsh sun. They were a people who speak a foreign tongue, ugly on the ears, and they worshiped Nanqa God of Darkness, Undead and Chaos; it even being said they sacrificed their children to this dire deity. Some of this could be true, but much of it was hogwash, after all, my mother’s people were spit upon by the Gaelians as well. That’s me; born of a Royalian man and a Daranigh woman, less than the trash that littered the Holy city’s alleyways. But we, the Daranigh do not give up on our own; they had looked at me oddly when they first were introduced to my father. But hands were held out and taken, shaken and there was a call for ale, the hated banded together.
And that is why I am doing this, that is why I am spurring my horse on all the faster over destroyed farmland. The hated band together. I was not going to allow my father’s people to perish without a fight, I know little of them, but I am willing to learn. Father had attempted to teach me their speech, and though it is broken coming from my lips I would damn well try! There was one thing I did know, and that unlike the Gaelians, the Royalians respected their women, knew of their strengths. I would harness this; I had no formal training, a woman getting sword training and being taught to lead men in battle? No, not in illander, humans counted more the organ between their legs then the passion beneath the skin. Father taught me all that he could with a blade and my mother through connections had me learn how to ride like a man by the Daranigh who worked in the Royal stables.
I would kill my horse if I kept this up, but I had no time! They were approaching far too quickly and Tuima could not know, they had only fought off another wave days ago. I did not know what I would see when I arrived but it did not matter, I had survived what had come to pass onto the Holy City when Prince Drefan lost his mind. We had been running, my father, mother and I, among the others who screamed and surged toward the city gates. I felt the icy claws of death rip my back, my mother’s scream, my father’s yell. But we had managed to make it, people spilling into blood slicked grass. So many had fallen and I pulled my father to his feet. My mother though, she was white eyed, gone beyond our calling and pleading. My father would not leave her side even as I saw people who had been felled rise again within the city. But my father and I had been spared, there were a few others as well, but no he would not leave her. He told me to run; that the Bitter Prince had lost his mind and Nanqa had deserted his people. It gnaws at my mind at night, leaving him behind there to perish and become undead like all the rest. But I did what I had to, and I see now what my father had spoken so cryptically.
It was not only the Bitter Prince who walked the paths of the Abyss, lost to the world of sanity, it was Nanqa as well. For what sense was there in the destruction of our own people? In the people who worshiped you and set you above all others? Regardless of how terrible a God this Deity was, there was no sense in the act of destroying your own people.
Rearing up as I neared the stone walls that gave Tuima defense I could smell the smoke, and remains of burning bodies. The next force of undead was a day away; I had no time to prepare these people to fight again, standing as they were on their last legs. But I would find a way, Royale would not become another Beaulieu, these proud and misunderstood people would not perish to Drefan’s armies and only be known through history books. I had already lost enough to this Age.
The hooves rang as I walked beside my horse onto uneven cobblestone into the city. My eyes swerved, taking in the people who already had suffered one siege barely a week before. Spirits were flagged, hope seemed to have deserted and I marched my way forward. My blond hair was a tell tale sign of my heritage not only being Royalian and I ignored the stares. Situating myself in the center of the market with hands on my hips, I called out a greeting in Royalian and more moved closer now to listen. My words were not impressive, broken as they were, but an elderly woman stepped forth and told me she could translate. I asked of her if so many men had fallen in the last siege and she nodded, and with disdain spoke up that the men now after losing so many of their own had no taste for battle. Without a surety of winning they would not defend. My eyes grew hard and I nodded, very well then. If the men would turn their backs on us then it was up to the women.
“Hear me! There is another force quickly approaching, it is not more than a day away, its numbers are in the thousands. What will you do now? Run? The undead will follow; regardless of where you hide or run they will follow. They are out to make more of themselves, to kill, eat and make more. What of your children? Your family? If the men will not pick up arms to defend us then we cannot sit back and wait for the end! I know little of your ways, and little of your language, but my father was of this land, my mother of the Daranigh. I owe Camar’a nothing! Both of my parents have been spit upon and forced to do back breaking labor for a penance, because they speak another tongue, believe in different Gods! I will gain nothing from this except knowing that my father’s people will not die the same way another people did three years ago. I have never lead people in battle, but I am here, I am willing. I ask of you to rise up, one last time, to hold off this horde! Think not of now, but of years of come, of your children, and your children s children! Prince Drefan has lost his mind to the Abyss alongside Lord Nanqa, but you are the people of the darkness. Nanqa’s people do not lay now. Your deaths would only be vindication in the eyes of the ignorant!”
I could tell many of the men, already wounded either in mind or body would not step up, but I could see it in the eyes of the women. They had a fire in them, like my mother’s people, these people were strong.
A young woman spoke up, her words in Royalian before after a time they were translated to me.
“Let the men hold the children and the sickly inside of the castle, we will make our stand. Use the walls to take out as many as we can before they enter, fall back to the castle’s yard behind iron wrought fence. We make our final stand there, to defend our children within.”
I nodded and it seemed with a plan in making, the women with a new drive handed off children to their husbands or young daughters and shoed them on toward the castle to the north. Women left toward their homes, and when they returned I saw the blades they held. Many were rusting, old, but still most were strong, blades that had been passed down generations. Smaller then a long sword, but heavier than a short sword, made specifically for a woman’s hand, I did have a force on my hands, these women did know how to fight.
It was after then that we began to draw up plans on a map of the city, translation slowing things but at least I was able to understand everyone else when they gave their input. The undead would attack under the guise of night, when they were most powerful, and humans most afraid. The last of the lamp oil was sacrificed to keep the entire city a glow that night. We would see the bastards coming, and we would get in our shots before they took to the city gates.
The women had little issue listening to my commands, only a few women and of the few men, only one had issues with my tactics. But that was dealt with the help of the elderly woman who translated for me and the woman who had spoken up after my speech. Paydzar she had said her name was and she stuck herself to my side, becoming my shadow in the night attack. I owe my life to her, a dozen times over for the times she had my back and deflected blows that would have had me. In the battle I could not speak to her very easily, but I knew what she was about, she had made herself my bodyguard.
The fighting lasted hours in the darkness of night, but the city stayed a glow with torch and lamp light. We rushed to burn the kills before they could rise again, even those on our side who fell we quickly doused and set a flame, and we could take no chances that night. I would not call the battle a victory, not with the amount of women who perished. Nanqa had given up on his people, the clerics had lost their powers three years ago, and we had no way of healing or resurrection. But the battle was won in the early hours of morning, and those bodies not yet burned were set to.
From the forces I had started with of the Royalian women, I had a quarter of it left. Exhaustion was palpable, and after cleaning ash and remains men were sent out to scout so we could get our rest.
I was shaken awake by Paydzar and I followed her blearily out of her home she had let me stay in, into the streets of Tuima. The voices were all raised in amazement as we watched the black roses bloom and grow, twisting from the cracks of cobblestone. A cleric touched one of them and jerked her hand away, proclaiming something and I could make out only part of what was said. I riddled it to myself, as people moved about gingerly, never daring to step on a black rose.
“Souls. They house the fallen.”
I turned to my side to find the elderly woman who had translated so far everything for me and she smiled, “Nanqa has not completely deserted us. Those black roses are the men, come I will show you more.”
I let myself be lead by her slowly among the roses toward the twisted iron wrought gates and I gasped, tears entering my brown eyes, “The women...”
There were far more here, twisting up, growing from beneath the cobblestone, empowered by the blood of those who had given their lives to defend this place. But these black roses were different, I knelt down before one, these were black but were speckled with pink. Every one of these flowers told a story of strength and passion.
Nanqa, you are far more then the Gaelians make you out to be.
“What is Nanqa to the Royalians?”
“Lord Nanqa is the God of Darkness, of Undead and Honor.”
“Honor?”
If it had been yesterday, if it had been before this fight, and the birth of these sacred roses I would have doubted. But not today, I unfurled from where I knelt and looked to her.
“The fight cannot stop here.”
“No, the women are prepared to follow you. We will go into the Holy lands; we will fight our Prince Drefan’s forces to stop the march.”
“Why would Royalians fight for Camar’a?”
“Because Camar’a will not fight for us.”
Honour.
By Shyr’ Vaero God of War, she was right.
All I could do was nod and speak, “Then we will march on the Holy Capitol, we will stop Prince Drefan.”
“We wish to end our Prince’s suffering, it is better to die then have your mind within the Abyss. We all our loyal to the Royale’s, and so we will fight, and we will stop Drefan and Nanqa, it is all we can do.”
Starring at the roses I nod, pushing my thick blonde hair behind my shoulders, “Then we march on illander. So the darkness can free the light.”
The old woman laughed, “Yes. We honor our Prince and our God; we hold no hate of Camar’a. Only they for us, without the light there can be no darkness. We have known this a long time now, but the Gaelians take longer to see things. The light blinds them, where as the darkness allows us to use all of our senses. Royale will fight for the light this time; bring the darkness so those who are blind can see. We are not the enemy.”
I had always felt a nugget of shame at my father’s heritage, growing up in illander as I did. But now I felt a surge of pride in my breast, I was a child of two repressed and misunderstood people, two peoples with deep honor and courage.
I turned back to the city watching as the women readied themselves for the long march ahead.
Let the darkness free the light.
Irony, such good irony.
Prompt: Free Space
Rating: (PG)
Content Notes/Warnings: The Battle for Tuima, the gathering of the force that under the General Lianna Ebonheart would have part in saving illander, the Holy City.
Warnings: Violence.
Main Character/s: Lianna EbonHeart
Plot: The Seige of Tuima and the gathering of an army.
Location: Tuima, Capitol city of Royale.
--
My father’s country.
I knew nothing about Royale except the rumors and lies spread by the Gaelians, that the Royalians were dark haired and darker skinned, golden like those in the north who lived beneath the harsh sun. They were a people who speak a foreign tongue, ugly on the ears, and they worshiped Nanqa God of Darkness, Undead and Chaos; it even being said they sacrificed their children to this dire deity. Some of this could be true, but much of it was hogwash, after all, my mother’s people were spit upon by the Gaelians as well. That’s me; born of a Royalian man and a Daranigh woman, less than the trash that littered the Holy city’s alleyways. But we, the Daranigh do not give up on our own; they had looked at me oddly when they first were introduced to my father. But hands were held out and taken, shaken and there was a call for ale, the hated banded together.
And that is why I am doing this, that is why I am spurring my horse on all the faster over destroyed farmland. The hated band together. I was not going to allow my father’s people to perish without a fight, I know little of them, but I am willing to learn. Father had attempted to teach me their speech, and though it is broken coming from my lips I would damn well try! There was one thing I did know, and that unlike the Gaelians, the Royalians respected their women, knew of their strengths. I would harness this; I had no formal training, a woman getting sword training and being taught to lead men in battle? No, not in illander, humans counted more the organ between their legs then the passion beneath the skin. Father taught me all that he could with a blade and my mother through connections had me learn how to ride like a man by the Daranigh who worked in the Royal stables.
I would kill my horse if I kept this up, but I had no time! They were approaching far too quickly and Tuima could not know, they had only fought off another wave days ago. I did not know what I would see when I arrived but it did not matter, I had survived what had come to pass onto the Holy City when Prince Drefan lost his mind. We had been running, my father, mother and I, among the others who screamed and surged toward the city gates. I felt the icy claws of death rip my back, my mother’s scream, my father’s yell. But we had managed to make it, people spilling into blood slicked grass. So many had fallen and I pulled my father to his feet. My mother though, she was white eyed, gone beyond our calling and pleading. My father would not leave her side even as I saw people who had been felled rise again within the city. But my father and I had been spared, there were a few others as well, but no he would not leave her. He told me to run; that the Bitter Prince had lost his mind and Nanqa had deserted his people. It gnaws at my mind at night, leaving him behind there to perish and become undead like all the rest. But I did what I had to, and I see now what my father had spoken so cryptically.
It was not only the Bitter Prince who walked the paths of the Abyss, lost to the world of sanity, it was Nanqa as well. For what sense was there in the destruction of our own people? In the people who worshiped you and set you above all others? Regardless of how terrible a God this Deity was, there was no sense in the act of destroying your own people.
Rearing up as I neared the stone walls that gave Tuima defense I could smell the smoke, and remains of burning bodies. The next force of undead was a day away; I had no time to prepare these people to fight again, standing as they were on their last legs. But I would find a way, Royale would not become another Beaulieu, these proud and misunderstood people would not perish to Drefan’s armies and only be known through history books. I had already lost enough to this Age.
The hooves rang as I walked beside my horse onto uneven cobblestone into the city. My eyes swerved, taking in the people who already had suffered one siege barely a week before. Spirits were flagged, hope seemed to have deserted and I marched my way forward. My blond hair was a tell tale sign of my heritage not only being Royalian and I ignored the stares. Situating myself in the center of the market with hands on my hips, I called out a greeting in Royalian and more moved closer now to listen. My words were not impressive, broken as they were, but an elderly woman stepped forth and told me she could translate. I asked of her if so many men had fallen in the last siege and she nodded, and with disdain spoke up that the men now after losing so many of their own had no taste for battle. Without a surety of winning they would not defend. My eyes grew hard and I nodded, very well then. If the men would turn their backs on us then it was up to the women.
“Hear me! There is another force quickly approaching, it is not more than a day away, its numbers are in the thousands. What will you do now? Run? The undead will follow; regardless of where you hide or run they will follow. They are out to make more of themselves, to kill, eat and make more. What of your children? Your family? If the men will not pick up arms to defend us then we cannot sit back and wait for the end! I know little of your ways, and little of your language, but my father was of this land, my mother of the Daranigh. I owe Camar’a nothing! Both of my parents have been spit upon and forced to do back breaking labor for a penance, because they speak another tongue, believe in different Gods! I will gain nothing from this except knowing that my father’s people will not die the same way another people did three years ago. I have never lead people in battle, but I am here, I am willing. I ask of you to rise up, one last time, to hold off this horde! Think not of now, but of years of come, of your children, and your children s children! Prince Drefan has lost his mind to the Abyss alongside Lord Nanqa, but you are the people of the darkness. Nanqa’s people do not lay now. Your deaths would only be vindication in the eyes of the ignorant!”
I could tell many of the men, already wounded either in mind or body would not step up, but I could see it in the eyes of the women. They had a fire in them, like my mother’s people, these people were strong.
A young woman spoke up, her words in Royalian before after a time they were translated to me.
“Let the men hold the children and the sickly inside of the castle, we will make our stand. Use the walls to take out as many as we can before they enter, fall back to the castle’s yard behind iron wrought fence. We make our final stand there, to defend our children within.”
I nodded and it seemed with a plan in making, the women with a new drive handed off children to their husbands or young daughters and shoed them on toward the castle to the north. Women left toward their homes, and when they returned I saw the blades they held. Many were rusting, old, but still most were strong, blades that had been passed down generations. Smaller then a long sword, but heavier than a short sword, made specifically for a woman’s hand, I did have a force on my hands, these women did know how to fight.
It was after then that we began to draw up plans on a map of the city, translation slowing things but at least I was able to understand everyone else when they gave their input. The undead would attack under the guise of night, when they were most powerful, and humans most afraid. The last of the lamp oil was sacrificed to keep the entire city a glow that night. We would see the bastards coming, and we would get in our shots before they took to the city gates.
The women had little issue listening to my commands, only a few women and of the few men, only one had issues with my tactics. But that was dealt with the help of the elderly woman who translated for me and the woman who had spoken up after my speech. Paydzar she had said her name was and she stuck herself to my side, becoming my shadow in the night attack. I owe my life to her, a dozen times over for the times she had my back and deflected blows that would have had me. In the battle I could not speak to her very easily, but I knew what she was about, she had made herself my bodyguard.
The fighting lasted hours in the darkness of night, but the city stayed a glow with torch and lamp light. We rushed to burn the kills before they could rise again, even those on our side who fell we quickly doused and set a flame, and we could take no chances that night. I would not call the battle a victory, not with the amount of women who perished. Nanqa had given up on his people, the clerics had lost their powers three years ago, and we had no way of healing or resurrection. But the battle was won in the early hours of morning, and those bodies not yet burned were set to.
From the forces I had started with of the Royalian women, I had a quarter of it left. Exhaustion was palpable, and after cleaning ash and remains men were sent out to scout so we could get our rest.
I was shaken awake by Paydzar and I followed her blearily out of her home she had let me stay in, into the streets of Tuima. The voices were all raised in amazement as we watched the black roses bloom and grow, twisting from the cracks of cobblestone. A cleric touched one of them and jerked her hand away, proclaiming something and I could make out only part of what was said. I riddled it to myself, as people moved about gingerly, never daring to step on a black rose.
“Souls. They house the fallen.”
I turned to my side to find the elderly woman who had translated so far everything for me and she smiled, “Nanqa has not completely deserted us. Those black roses are the men, come I will show you more.”
I let myself be lead by her slowly among the roses toward the twisted iron wrought gates and I gasped, tears entering my brown eyes, “The women...”
There were far more here, twisting up, growing from beneath the cobblestone, empowered by the blood of those who had given their lives to defend this place. But these black roses were different, I knelt down before one, these were black but were speckled with pink. Every one of these flowers told a story of strength and passion.
Nanqa, you are far more then the Gaelians make you out to be.
“What is Nanqa to the Royalians?”
“Lord Nanqa is the God of Darkness, of Undead and Honor.”
“Honor?”
If it had been yesterday, if it had been before this fight, and the birth of these sacred roses I would have doubted. But not today, I unfurled from where I knelt and looked to her.
“The fight cannot stop here.”
“No, the women are prepared to follow you. We will go into the Holy lands; we will fight our Prince Drefan’s forces to stop the march.”
“Why would Royalians fight for Camar’a?”
“Because Camar’a will not fight for us.”
Honour.
By Shyr’ Vaero God of War, she was right.
All I could do was nod and speak, “Then we will march on the Holy Capitol, we will stop Prince Drefan.”
“We wish to end our Prince’s suffering, it is better to die then have your mind within the Abyss. We all our loyal to the Royale’s, and so we will fight, and we will stop Drefan and Nanqa, it is all we can do.”
Starring at the roses I nod, pushing my thick blonde hair behind my shoulders, “Then we march on illander. So the darkness can free the light.”
The old woman laughed, “Yes. We honor our Prince and our God; we hold no hate of Camar’a. Only they for us, without the light there can be no darkness. We have known this a long time now, but the Gaelians take longer to see things. The light blinds them, where as the darkness allows us to use all of our senses. Royale will fight for the light this time; bring the darkness so those who are blind can see. We are not the enemy.”
I had always felt a nugget of shame at my father’s heritage, growing up in illander as I did. But now I felt a surge of pride in my breast, I was a child of two repressed and misunderstood people, two peoples with deep honor and courage.
I turned back to the city watching as the women readied themselves for the long march ahead.
Let the darkness free the light.
Irony, such good irony.
