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[Bhatair]

[So the creative spark is lit and just wont die. I've decided rather than fight the urge I'll give in and write this story about a mage. It's going to be sort of episodic, and this is just the prologue. If you like it there will be more to come, until it's finished or the spark finally dies out.
Well, lets get this snowball rolling and I'll deal with the backlash later. ]

Prologue: A Spark

"Mommy! Come look!"
    The boy, no more than the age of six tugged his Mother's hand, trying to pull her if only he had the strength. They were at the market, so naturally he was dressed in his best attire. These garments were little more than rags, stained with dirt and grass as a child's clothes tend to be. Yet they were adorned with a more recent medal of childhood - burns.
    "Garren, Mommy is busy. Can't it wait?" Velain ignored the tugs of her son, her full attention had been set to the choice cuts of meat before her. She had little coin to spare, it was stretched so thin these days. Between the needs and wants of little Garren it was getting harder and harder to keep food on the table.
    "No! No you have to come see this!" Garren cried, jumping up and down, wildly gesturing his hands to the door of the shop, his face split with a smile wide as any valley. This was more important than any boring errand.
    Velain sighed and placed her face in her palm. She smiled politely to the shopkeeper, who grinned back at her with a look that only parents can share. The shopkeeper nodded to the boy, and tucked the meat away far from the displays.
    "Now, my precocious little boy, what is so-" Her thoughts were lost as she looked at her son for the first time since they had arrived in the market.
    "Garren! Where did these come from?" She asked harshly, her voice raising shrilly with fear and confusion. She fondled the cuffs of his shirt which had been burned, the material crumbling and landing silently on the shop's floor.
    "That's what I'm trying to show you!" Garren said impatiently, his smile widening to a point that it almost threatened to envelope his features. He bolted out the door without another word, laughing and jumping.

-
   
    In a daze Velain silently followed. Her head was pounding, as if her heart had decided it was no longer content to live in her chest, that behind her right eye was a much more comfortable spot. Garren got into trouble, sure, a tumble here a slip there. A few scrapes and bruises, but burns? What had he got into now?
    Or who had got to him. Her head/heart gave one mighty pound at the thought.
    She followed her son out of the shop, and saw him dart around the corner to an alleyway. Fearing the worst she chased the boy, her steps moving with the beat of her head/heart.

-
   
    "Here!" Garren exclaimed triumphantly, pointing to a small, smoking pile of dried sticks and leaves.
    "You shouldn't start fires Garren" Velain shouted angrily. She shouted not because of fear or anger, but so she could drown out the incessant drumming of her head/heart. "It's dangerous, someone could get hurt. You could get hurt!"
    "I didn't start it! It was some of the older boys, I just found it." Garren shouted back to his own defense. His smile faltering for only a moment.
    "Well put it out, and come back inside. I can't believe you dragged me out here for this. That food might be gone when we get back and there isn't anything else we can afford!" She knew this wasn't true.

-
   
    "Wait, this is what I wanted to show you!" He stretched his arms towards the pile as if it were a raging campfire, the only one nearby in an endless void of snow.
    "Garren-" Velain started, but couldn't finish. The smoke started to raise faster from the pile. A spark jumped, crackled. Another
and another
and a leaf began to burn.
    Without warning the pile was engulfed in flames that reached higher than Garren could stand on his toes. As quickly as it flared, it died and the pile was only sticks, leaves, and smoke once more. Garren turned to his mother, calmly patting away the flames that had caught to sleeves. His smile was full, ear to ear, and rivaled the size of the fire he had just created.
    "Well? It's neat right!" He said and laughed "What do you think?"
    "Maker's breath." Velain managed, before everything went dark, and the only thing that seemed real was the constant pounding of her head/heart.
    Soon, even that was gone in the darkness.
    Garren was a mage.

Modifié par Bhatair, 12 janvier 2010 - 05:31 .

[MarcusDeVarro]

*gasp*

a mage

lol good prologe can't wait to read teh whole thing

[Bhatair]

Chapter 1: Encircled

    It had been two years since Garren's little display in the village. Velain had fainted and was out cold for hours before she awoke in the village chantry, the Revered Mother perched over her with a worried look on her face.
    They had asked her what happened, and she lied. She told them she was coming down with a fever, and heat of the day had caused her spell. She hurried out before they could question her further, or worse, ask Garren.
    She scraped together what savings she had and moved to a small cottage that was outside the village, and it was there she had kept Garren safe.
    Until today.
   
    Velain looked around at the bare walls of the shack. Her gaze lingered on it's pitiful larder. In the past weeks it stores had dwindled to scraps. She would make routine trips to the village for work, anything that would pay.
    Well, almost anything. There had been propositions, but she refused to believe they were that desperate. She had cleaned shops, washed laundry, and even tidied up privies. She wrinkled her nose at the last memory, phantoms had swooped in to deliver the unpleasant smell of the past.
    She moved her eyes to the shacks only window, beyond which the stretch of woods that surrounded it could be seen. Garren loved to play in the woods these days. Better the privacy of nature than near the prying eyes of the chantry. She thought.
   
-

     She had considered, for a time, simply living the rest of their days out in that shack away from those who would do harm to her son. Apostates had been made akin to demons by the chantry, surly her sweet boy could never turn to any evil with her guidance.
    It was only recently, when work was becoming harder and harder to come by, that she realized these were just the idle fantasies of a protective mother. It was this realization, coupled with the barren larder that had caused her to do what she did. Caused her to do the unthinkable.
    "Does he always stay out this long?" The man whose presence Velain had been trying to ignore asked. He stood attentively near the doorway, the sunlight reaching through the window to caress his silvery armor.
    She huffed and glared at him. She couldn't help but think how knightly he looked with the sunlight glinting off that armor, contrasting the dark robes beneath it. How it seemed to give life to the symbol of the sword that adorned it's breastplate.
    But this man was no Knight, this she knew. He was a Templar.

   
--*--


     Garren romped through the woods, head tilted high. He loved the way the trees spread their arms wide to make it seem like there was a ceiling outside. He loved watching the birds flit too and fro between them, mocking his silly wingless form.
    He chuckled, they could mock all they want for he had something they never would have: his Spot.
   
-

    He remembered the day he found his Spot. It had been months since they left the village and Garren was exploring the unknown land that mother called the woods. Such a strange place, full to bursting with sights, smells and sounds. The towering size of the trees made him feel tiny, and the grassy floor was so soft. It made for much more fun rolling around than the hard, dusty road of the village.
    He was chasing a squirrel one afternoon when he found it. An oak tree, bigger around than even their cottage was, had fallen. Its roots stretched far over the hole they had once called home. Garren could only stare in amazement, the squirrel he had been chasing forgotten (much to its relief).
    A grin slowly drew itself on his lips, he could see it plainly: this would be his Spot.
   
 -

    Mother had told him not to do it anymore, his Trick. He had tried not to, but the perfection of the Spot was too bold to be ignored. Day after day he climbed down into the earthy womb, his arms always full of sticks and leaves. He would set them in the center of the Spot in a meticulous, almost ritualistic fashion. Little sticks went down first, with big sticks on top. He would place each leaf gingerly on this foundation.
    When it was just right, he would smile and wave hello to it. As if in greeting it would respond by first crackling and with a whoosh it would accept his warm welcome by offering its own warmth in return.
    Here Garren would sit against the walls of his Spot, stare at his creation and daydream until it sputtered and died.

 - 

    He was abruptly pulled from his reminiscing as he reached his home. There was a horse out front. How could this be? Mother never had visitors, she went into town to do her boring errands.
    Cautiously he stepped by the horse, their gazes locked until he was safely behind it. He hesitated as he came to the door. The portal to his life that always seemed so comforting now carried uncertainty.
    What would he find behind it? Did bandits come to rob them while he was away? His forehead creased with each terrible thought that passed beneath it.
    Before he could muster the courage to open it, the door banged open.

   -

    "It's about time you showed up." A voice above him boomed. With a startled gasp Garren followed the voice up a body dressed in armor, real armor like from the stories his father told him long, long ago; to the angry face of a young man.
    "I was starting to think you had me dragged all the way out here for nothing." He sneered turning his head back into the cottage. Garren traced the man's vision to his mother, sitting alone at their only piece of furniture - the table. Her eyes were wide and glistening with threats of tears.
    "Maker, it's strong with this one, you weren't lying." He said bending down. Before Garren could utter a sound of protest the man's arms were around him, picking him up.
    "Stop! Hey!" He yelled. "Mommy, what's going on?"
    Velain slowly rose from the table, managing to utter between sobs.
    "Honey, please understand this is for the best. We have so little here, you at least have a chance at a better life - there." The tears which before had only threatened flowed freely down her cheeks.
    "Right, I've wasted enough time here as is, off we go then."  He clutched Garren tight and began to make his way to the horse.
    "Mommy, wait stop!" Garren yelled, tears now freely flowing down his face.
    He continued to scream as he was carried ever closer to the horse. Velain was in the doorway now, and she watched as the Templar placed first her son then himself on the horse. She watched as Garren wrestled fruitlessly against the Templar's strength. She watched as they turned and started down the single path from the cottage, her son's screams never ceasing. With eyes like two oceans of tears she turned back into the cottage and shut the door.
    She never saw her son again.

Modifié par Bhatair, 12 janvier 2010 - 01:36 .

[Bhatair]

Thanks, Marcus