User Blog: angry

It seems so long ago, but, being my 50th birthday I am constantly reminded of my family duty. It is afterall branded into my memory like an internal tattoo that only I can see. A constant reminder every year of a redemption that must be sought.. and.. being so long ago it angers me even more that such a duty has failed me thus far and that time is running short. Just like my previous birthdays i sit back, and my mind wanders back to that eventful day.

'Morning warmth and Happy Birthday Bragnor!' my father shouts as I enter the living quarters. He beams that cheeky big grin from a big scraggly bushy beard that would make any man welcome in his presence. And what a man, built like a Stonehaven keg, legs and arms as thick as tree branches and bulging with muscle. A leader of a respectful hamlet and giving voice and reason to all.
'14 seasons, you are becoming quite the man'. He looks down upon me with love and admiration and presents me with a gift.
'Take this son, it was my first sword as handed to me from my father may you wield it with strength and accuracy'. Slowly he hands the sword down to me hilt first and with a smile beaming from ear to ear I can't describe my elation; my first sword! Long have I waited to fight with the men. I take the sword and to my astonisment feel it thump imediately to the floor, slightly embarrassed i look up to see my father laughing. 'We'll have to work on those muscles son, enjoy your day, you are free of duties till tomorrow', placing his hand on my shoulder he gives me a wink and heads for the door before uttering 'Sorry son but I must leave early, we have reports of a small group of salamanders that have entered our territory on the outer swamps. Best we deal with them now or we'll never get rid of them. They breed like rabbits.'
As my father takes part my mother enters sleepily. 'Morning Warmth Son, Happy Birthday' she gives me a kiss and a lovely smile that only a mother can give. "Mother, look at my sword'. This time a raise the sword, and practice a thrust at an imaginary Kobold. Mother however dosnt seem to take to the same enjoyment but smiles. 'I'm glad you are happy Bragnor. What would you like for morning meal'...

And so my day started with happiness and eagerness to start practicing with my sword, but this day would soon become the saddest day of my life the day I no longer call my birthday. To me it was now the day of Remembrance, the day of Revenge!

Sitting outside our house i notice one of my fathers fighting men riding into the hamlet at full pace. Shouting from a distance in urgence, but not yet understandable. He seems desperate. It was also noticable at this time that all the men were out, whether secretly or not I dont know, but something didnt seem right, in the far distance behind the approaching rider I could now see the a village force defending. This was no
simple irradication of Salamanders. The woman and children in the village all looked out too now leaving their huts a talking in concerned voices. Clearly something was wrong here.
The rider reched the centre of the hamlet sweat dripping from his brow, blood oozing from sliced flesh wounds in both arms and legs. 'Run... run to the portal.. NOW! When you reach back to Stonhaven you must submit to the tabernacle. No mortal man can defeat this!. Move! now.
Stunned at first the village folk too young and old to take battle did as was told, confusement, screaming and crying could be heard all over, everyone heading to the sanctity of the Stonehaven portal. Some old veterans refused to leave, taking a stolid stance to make sure the woman and children were at safety first and until they learnt more of the danger. I too stood with
the old veterans while my mother shouted at me. 'Bragnor.. No.. come.. Now!'
At this moment in time i was at apex of indecision, to heed my mother or take battle, I was scared, yes, but I also felt tinge of duty and a small burst of courage building inside. The veterans looked at my sword as if it was known to them like a fellow warrior and said nothing as if to acknowledge it was my decision. From behind I was grabbed by the collar, my mother surprisingly had slung me back and dragged me towards the portal; her strength was astonishing, it took me quite a struggle to resist. 'Mother.. No i must stay. Please..' My mother looked at me with anger. 'Bragnor we must leave, you are not seasoned for battle, I implore you.. you must head to the portal!' Seeing the anguish and tears in my mother i was caught in an indecisive course of action. 'If you stay I will stay' she said, and it was this that made my decision. 'Mother no, we will leave then, to the portal.'
In hindsight i believe my mother knew what my actions would be at her stance.

As we ran to the portal I searched back towards the battle. The lone rider giving warning to the village had headed back to the battle at my fathers side of which was now easily visible from the village. This lone rider and three others remained, including my father. In front of them
was a black legion of warriors in such great numbers it was obvious that no-one could survive. Appearing over the rise behind this force was a creature of such evil you could almost smell it. It stood 3 feet taller than its army, and just like its warriors its armour was black as sin; a full helmet covered its features unrecognisable. Heavy black plate armour from head to toe. It took no part in the bloodbath but stood and shivered as though laughing with glee at the slaughter in front of him. The last stoic elders in the village eyes popped out of their heads almost. 'Its Kilmath!'. With the last of the village stragglers entering the portal and knowing they would be no more helpful alive than fighting the black legion they also returned to the portal. My mother now entered and turned facing me, her body shimmering as the portal took hold. I stood there transfixed and took one last look at the battlefield, the last to enter the portal.
The remaining fighters had died around my father who stood there now alone circled by warriors. Teasing him sadisticly. My father, using all his skills, circled quickly, dodging and jumping a sword here and there trying to make a free path when..then .. everything stopped. The warriors seemed to freeze on the spot, my father fully surrounded. They opened a small pathway for Kilmath. Totally encircled by warriors 10 deep my father stood there and awaited. Kilmath approached slowly, towering, everystep left a small smouldering imprint of fire in his footsteps, clearly he was magically attuned until he stopped no more than 10 feet in front of my father. Pointing to the first inner most ring of warriors he commanded 'Finish him!' The first row of circled guards came forward at a rush. My father jumped in the air twisting and spinning his sword slicing through the air in an arc decapitating 5 warriours, a fresh row came forward and then another. Fighting braveley to the end he was finally caught by two pinions through the back, the ends of their spears thrusting right through his back to the front of his chest, they raised his body upwards off
the ground and held the end of the spears to the ground. Held up 2 feet of the ground by the spears Kilmath stept forward now face to face with my father. Slowly the life ebbed away, blood dribbled down the corners of his mouth from his punctured lungs. Kilmath unsheathed a finely honed daggar from his scabbard placed the point to my fathers neck grinning. 'You mortals are weak Jolston!'. With the last of my fathers life he spat a globule of frothy blood into the eye of Kilmath, his head slumped down finally leaving this world for ever. Kilmath took a backward swing and thrust the knife into my fathers lifeless body ripping the blade upward to the sternum.

Tears ran down my cheeks and in the back of my mind i heard the words. 'To the portal son, you must join the new religion, Join the tabernacle!'

All those years ago, only to relive it every birthday as though it was yesterday. I now kneel before the sword handed to me by my father, it now implanted in stone into the headstone of his grave honouring his death; and still I seek revenge.

'Jolston, last of the mortals'

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For more Short Tales by SirRupert > http://www.daimonin.org/blogs/angry