Subjects and Kings

“Stop crying Moses,” Jobe said to his baby son cradled in his arms. “We are almost to the top.” He gazed through the blizzard to the top of the mountain. “This climb will change your life forever...”

Age 15 (Day 1,098)

How the hell did she do it? Moses thought while breathing a slow, fresh smell of pine. An image of her running through the woods with nothing but her silver bracelet flashed by him. Hmm, how easily his mind strolled into thoughts, his mother would deem impure. His mind may have wandered at times, but the thoughts of her were ever vigilant within him. She was a stunning girl, with bright sapphire eyes that mercilessly stole his attention. Surely the slave hunters would have spotted her silver bracelet glimmering in the parcels of sunlight that often broke through the canopy of trees. If not for her bracelet being her demise, the starving Wargs, their horse-sized wolves they rode, would have picked up her sweet scent.

Speak of the devil. A ravenous snarl echoed throughout the tree line twenty paces east of him. A slave fugitive hunter, mounted on his warg, was patrolling the area and heading the boy's way. He thought to run back to the others, but he knew that was a terrible idea. The hunters seemed to smell panic, and the warg’s sensitive ears would certainly pick up the movement of his feet. He searched the forest grounds for something “anything” that could hide him. If he were caught this far from the encampment, they would proclaim him to be an escapee; punishment for this would be most harsh. The fugitive hunter was starting to wind through the only patch of trees that hindered his direct sight of Moses. To his left was a billowing of giant, white boulders stacked amongst each other. It would have to do.

Moses began walking quickly, making sure to land his feet quietly upon soft earth. His heart was beating fast, and for the moment, it was the only thing he could hear. He paused and held his foot in the air, mid-step; it hovered over a fragile branch beneath him. The snap made by landing on it would have been his undoing. As he moved his foot past the death trap, he could feel his body tremble with fatigue. The warrior slave training’s first three days had been gruesome. He had only been brought here to his old work to help with the first day of harvest.

At last, Moses came to the white boulders. He took a short breath and looked at the small climb before him. He could hear the warg’s heavy panting as it neared the clearing Moses had been in. Moses exhaled and leaped up, snagging the boulder's first ledge; he scurried onto his feet and leaped to and fro through the boulders until he reached the top. With ease, Moses kept each step and leaped silently. The fugitive hunter rounded into the clearing just as Moses dropped behind the last boulder, sailing seven paces down to the ground. He ducked under the largest rock and crept into a small hole beneath it. As he lay in wait within the shadows, he could hear the warg snarling and muttering about as it neared the rocks.

Moses’ heart sank as he heard the clamor of small rocks clanking against the boulders next to him. In his rush, his foot had spilled loose fragments of rock from the boulder above. "Uh!" The Orc fugitive hunter uttered as his ears collected the noise. The warg beneath him seemed to respond in turn, and it instantly bound up the boulder above Moses. The tempo of the boy's heart picked up the pace as he saw the saliva of the panting Warg rain down from above him. He crept further back beneath the rock. Unfortunately, there was no further to go.

A horn blasted off in the distance. “Agh! Let’s go,” the fugitive hunter bellowed to his warg as he snapped the reigns. The warg and hunter bounded off the rocks heading further west. They were responding to the call of other hunters; another slave had been caught trying to escape. Moses waited for a decent time to pass, that is until his heart returned to normal speed. He crept out from his hole among the rocks and glanced back into the open forest to the north. Now may have been an actual good chance to escape, but if he were found missing, then his mother, back in the district, would pay the price and that he could not allow. He caught one last glance of the open forest, again envisioning the girl with the bright sapphire eyes disappearing through the woods. Surely, she did not make it; how terrible. His heart shrunk in his chest; what a loss.

He moved quickly south and regrouped with the rest of the slaves harvesting the fields; hopefully, the other Imperials did not notice him missing or suddenly reappearing. As he worked alongside his friend, Alistair, who somehow had not noticed his disappearance, Moses’ eyes continued to drift to the east. There remained bits of reminiscent memories of the only thought that could compete with the girl, his old home, and that fateful day, his twelfth birthday.

Turning Twelve

“Wake up son!”

Moses peeled his eyes open and hastily rose out of bed. His spear was sitting near the old door illuminated by the sunlight crashing through his one, solitary window. Like a trapped beast, it pleaded for Moses to take it out, the boy obliged. His father, Jobe, slipped out of the bedroom with a light chuckle echoing through the hallway. Moses chased Jobe through the oak scented wooden hall and out the back door. He dashed outside and lunged forward with his spear; Jobe pushed his sword forward, parrying the attack.

Early morning training was how they started each day since Moses was old enough to wield a staff. In fact, training was a staple of nearly all day.

“Use both ends of the Scorpion staff,” Jobe instructed. He was training the boy in the art of the Scorpion Staff, a battle art used by few, effective but complex. A staff with mirror weapons at both ends, this is what made a Scorpion Staff. There were no true blades in this fierce battle, just the sounds of wooden ricochets echoing through the crisp air.

The boy began rowing his weapon in near-perfect fashion making each staff end strike Jobe's blade in quick, fluid succession. Moses had always responded well to his father's counsel.

“Good work son.” Jobe took a short breath and struck thrice at his son’s staff. With the third strike, the staff flew out of the boy's hand. Jobe held his wooden sword toward the boy. His stern gaze broke into hearty laughter, “Don’t think I would let you win just because it’s your birthday!”

Moses laughed along, “I will beat you by next birthday!” They were soon interrupted.

“Breakfast!” Ruth, Moses’ mother, yelled from inside the house. She was a young and vibrant woman with long, curly, dark hair. Her green eyes matched the color of the rolling hills in the countryside near their village. Edin was a small, isolated community, like all places in the deep Imenso forest. The dirt paths were sprinkled with a few palm trees. They were foreign to the village; Jobe had planted the seeds there long ago. They were a favorite memory from his travels, an artifact of his earlier days. However, the natural pines of the Imenso forest completely surrounded Edin; it was the grandest forest of the land and the heart of the continent, Condora. Life moved a bit slower in Edin, especially for Jobe. But, a slow life was a peaceful life.

Moses rushed into the kitchen, and Jobe came trailing in behind him. Theirs was a neat and quaint little house, made of shale wood, only a story tall and graced with a flat roof on top. Most of the houses in Edin were fashioned this way. “Is that poached eggs with Halatia fish?” The boy exclaimed as he caught a whiff of breakfast.

“Yes, your favorite,” Ruth declared. “Happy birthday!” She set the plate in front of him.

Moses dug into his food. The Halatia fish was a rare breed that only swam in the southern seas, far from Edin. The fish was a bottom feeder and often grew to twenty feet long. Its bright yellow scales released a sweet flavor when cooked just right. Ruth and Jobe laughed as they watched their son scarf down his breakfast.

“Jobe, honey, how does the day look?” Ruth asked her husband.

“The day is fair, it is cool, yet there are no clouds...”

Moses loved his life. He had never ventured far out of Edin in his twelve years, but he never felt the need to see distant lands. Edin was an adventurous place; he had many good friends in the village and a good family to come home to.

... “But I can’t seem to overcome an odd feeling about this day,” Jobe finished.

Diamond War

The storm above the mountains gleamed with lightning. Thunder erupted from red split clouds tattered by a dying sun. Beneath those clouds was yet another brutal battle on top of the Ralmus Mountain on a leveled clearing known as Diamond Peak. The mines below held a vast wealth, a reservoir of precious metals. The three tribes that surrounded the mountain flanks had contended for this rich deposit and magnificent Imenso icon for nearly ten years. This mountain stood tall just a day’s walk west of Edin. As the sun dropped and the red tint of the clouds dispersed, each tribe found their way back to their own grounds. As usual, no clear victory could be seen for either side, and many were lost. The morning sun rose, and the three tribal Kings prepared for another day…

A broad two-handed sword swished through the air, finishing in a bone-rattling crunch as it met its destination, finishing off an enemy Orc. The wielder was the Orc’s brother, Trock Hortar. The crowd of Orcs surrounding them went into an excited frenzy. With this last blow, Trock had secured his dominance of the tribe. The Red Leeching was a brutal affair, at least it would seem so to most races; for the Orc, it was necessary entertainment. The father of Trock and the former leader of the tribe had passed. The Red Leeching was a fast lane catalyst to determine the heir apparent of the offspring; heartless but effective. It suited Trock.

A weathered yet stout Cyclop passively stared into the depths of the Imenso Forest perched on an outreaching rock from the mountainside. His mind raced with memories of the distant past. Back in his youth, he never stayed in one place long; back then, he was without care. His lust for wine and women had been replaced with a lust for power and wealth with age. His thoughts tottered off as he was interrupted by his most trusted soldier.

“King Kerjack, the Orc and Satyr tribes are moving into formation.”

Kerjack Paige turned to his Commander, Hasten, and as he turned, his salt and pepper beard rolled at his beltline, his single green eye met his gaze. “Very good Hasten, go and prepare the troops; I will meet you there soon.”

Hasten stood at attention. Like most Cyclops, he stood closer to seven feet than six. “Yes, Kerjack!” He turned and left the King to finish his thoughts.

“What a waste!” Jade Sabor declared, “You mean to tell me that these three tribes have been squaring off against each other for decades?” Jade was the newly established leader of the Satyr tribe on the mountain. The Satyrs were nimble creatures; they stood just a foot or two taller than the average Dwarf. Their body was like a man from the waist up and that of a mountain ram from the waist down.

“Yes, I suppose that is true sire,” his second in command Torgal said sparingly. The feud for the mountain made perfect sense to him.

“I shall make this right,” Jade declared, stroking the small spruce of a goatee that was common to most Satyrs, his curling head horns perfectly accessorizing with his hairy chin. “We should align ourselves as allies; not enemies.”

“I cannot imagine just giving up the fight,” Torgal earnestly replied.

“Not to worry, Torgal. We will have plenty of fighting ahead of us, union or not. There is so much land beyond this mountain to obtain.” Jade had not been in the tribe long. His cousin, the former leader, had requested that he join them. The former leader knew that his disease would soon overcome him, and Jade was the only family he had left. Jade quickly left his home in the far south-eastern Chaos peninsula of Condora, a place where a war for one piece of land was divided among five nations.

“What do you intend to do?” Torgal asked.

“I do not intend to see another war fought where all fail and none taste victory. I intend to unite us. From there we can take all of Condora as one. Go now, prepare the troops. We cannot simply walk into the battle carrying the flag of peace.”

Torgal sprinted off.

“Yes.” Jade cooed to himself, “Order will fall into place.”

Many days passed over the mountain, and the tradition of three-sided battles marched on. It was a three-way stalemate, as it had nearly always been. On this day, in the thick of battle, the three Kings’ paths crossed, and the night was spent in a new manner, for the King's looked each other in the eye and each found that the others were tired of wasting troops in an endless feud. It was time to trade bloodshed for the union. And thus, the Ralminian Empire was born.

Gifts

Back in Edin, Jobe and his son finished another training session. Moses laid his soft, hazel hair on the ground and gazed at the stars hovering over him with his matching hazel eyes.

“Father, you never gave me a birthday gift.”

“I thought you would never ask,” Jobe chimed, “You’re twelve now, you’re too old for gifts.”

“Right…”

“Just kidding my son,” they laughed for a moment. “I have a surprise present for you in the morning.”

“I have to wait till morning!”

Jobe pulled out a small, brown leather book from his back pocket. “I do have something for you now. This is my journal that I kept in my Paladin days. There is so much I wanted to tell you from those days. Nobody can retell those days better than this journal.”

“Thank you, father,” the boy whispered in delight as his father set his head down on the long, green grass of Edin.

He opened up the golden buckle that clasped the book together and turned to the first page; the shimmer of the moonlight coupled with a nearby torch was enough light to read by.

Jobe’s Journal

This is the journal of Jobe Indigo, son of Noah and Mary. I, Jobe Indigo, have chosen to leave my home in Edin. My father and mother are humble people who lived humble lives. But to work as a simple metal worker like my father or a fruit seller like my mother is not the life I could follow. My family: father, mother, two sisters, and brother were recently slain in an Under-race raid. These plague creatures, servants of the sin-seeking fire god, hate those above them with instinctual hate.

Due to my restlessness and loss, I have chosen to take arms with the Paladins. It was the Paladins that saved my life from the Under-races that reached my family before they reached me. It was their leader, Holbein, who wrecked the herd of Under-races that meant to wreck me. Holbein, the Dwarf, came into the clearing like a mad bull swinging his Scorpion Spear, saving my life.

I have chosen to take arms with these Paladins. Their organization is set aside for one goal, to cleanse the Under-race filth from whatever pocket of Condora that they may seek to harm those of the High-races.

Massacre

An Edin farmer came rushing from the fields to them, “Jobe! We’re in trouble; an army of monsters has surrounded the village!”

“What? No! Damn! Gather all the men you can that are able to fight,” Jobe exclaimed to the farmer as he stood. He turned to Moses, “get inside, whatever happens, make sure you and your mother stay safe.”

“But dad,” Moses whined, “I can fight!”

“I don’t want to hear it Moses! Get your mother and try to hide!” Jobe rang out his twin machetes and disappeared through the fields, “Not again,” he whispered to himself.

Moses went inside and told his mother the grave news; he comforted her as she huddled in a faint fear. He scaled the ladder that led to his roof and sat there to observe all that he could, deeming this as the "safe," that Jobe had commanded him to find. He was not worried; his father was strong. He soon heard the sounds of war and saw its horrors. The band of monsters was known as the Ralminian Empire, and Edin was the first victim in that war machine’s path of destruction. The dark of night soon faded into the red flames of the burning palm trees in the distance. Moses could tell the army was coming closer as each tree burned in a line towards his home. The odds were against them, but he held faith in his father.

The boy could see the Orcs, Cyclops, and Satyrs rushing down the road toward him. They broke into his neighbor's homes and dragged the people out, both dead and alive. Moses gripped his Scorpion Spear next to him and rattled his fingers on and off on the hilt. Jobe came rushing down towards the house, hacking his way through the mob.

In a sudden clamor, the back door bashed in, and two Ralminians went rushing inside. I won’t let this happen, Moses thought. He grabbed his spear and leaped off the roof as he heard his mother scream. Jobe heard the screams as well, but he was surrounded. He cast the Divine winds forth, pulling his foes into him, and hastily gutted them with a swing of his dual machetes. "Moses!" He shouted, his voice tinged with both anger and pride. "Save her! I know you can!"

Moses opened the front door, and an Orc turned to face him. The fowl creature cast his ax overhead to chop at Moses with a snarl. The boy leaped back to dodge the attack, and the Orc's ax smashed into the ground. Moses darted forward and pierced the spear into the heart of his foe, and the Orc hollered in pain as he collapsed to the floor. Moses ran past him as he fell. He came into the kitchen to rescue his mother. She was kicking and screaming as a Cyclop held her in his arms. He held his sword across her chest; there he stood, staring at the boy who glared back at him with malice.

Chills ran down his spine, and sweat searing from his skin gave chase after. He could not-would not let his mother be harmed. His conscience took a step back, and energy deep inside of him resumed control. It was the boy's energy he did not know of, yet it came soaring out of him like a well-practiced skill.

In a flash, his hands lit with an amazing power he had never known. His left hand emblazed with the wrath of fire illuminating the room, and his right hand lurked towards the Cyclop, frozen blue with tears dripping from his fingertips. The Cyclop began shouting obscenities in his confusion. He had never seen a boy so young wield such power. The water from Moses' hand shot forth in a wave; it engulfed the Cyclop and slipped Ruth out of his grip; the water froze and held the captor in place. Moses let out a boyish war cry, and his left hand released brilliant fume of fire, shattering the Cyclop within his frozen prison.

Ruth, dizzy and encumbered by shock, fell to the ground sobbing. Moses came to out of his bizarre state; he felt exhausted. He moved to comfort her, but it was too late; he fell to his knee from the unseen, fisted blow to his head. Moses peered out the open door as he fell; outside, he could see his father fall to the ground as well, surrounded by a horde of Ralminians.

King Trock entered the house and walked towards Moses. “This one is violent, I like that.”

Moses looked up at the olive-green Orc: he stood six-foot-two; he was bulky and glistening with muscle; his round black eyes, shaded by a heavy brow, met in a deadlock with Moses. "Let's keep him." Moses blacked out as yet another heavy fist met the back of his twelve-year-old head. Happy Birthday.