Castle Shyr

YAY! Chapter two.

And of course more Tev goodness. You can\'t pass up the random Tev soldier shit, it\'s awesome... at least, I always enjoy writing for random Tev soldiers - they are so expendable, and none of them have seemed to realize this yet.....


-Not Tev, Not Nanion-

The trek back to Tevlar Castle was not a pleasant one for the Tev. Their spirits were low not merely because of the dangerous path and the dismal weather, but for the knowledge they carried with them: the knowledge of defeat. King Valagor did not look highly upon failure of any kind and with his waning sanity the troops were unsure of what his retribution for their incompetence would be. Due to an immense onslaught of rain, the weary and bloodied soldiers had ample time to think on their fate for the swamps of Tevlar were treacherous to cross when the sky was blue, none would even dare try during a storm. Adding further to the wretched state of the men was the loss of one of their more motivating captains, a woman by the name of Noya. She had risen from the position of a stable-girl to that of a Captain in only a few short years, her skill rivaling that of Shakir, Valagor’s son and heir to the Tev throne. The blue-haired warrior had last been seen tramping into the woods after a fleeing group of boys from Crawyn, and when a few soldiers followed suit only moments after they found many of the Nanion slain, but Noya was missing. They searched for the remainder of the day but could not locate her body.

“It is a mystery - and we’ll never know the truth of it.” Atwater’s deep voice boomed as he shouted to his companions over the roar of rain above them. “She was too strong a Tev to be taken captive! Not even a hundred Nanion could have tied her down!” He slammed his fist into the damp glove of his other hand before tossing it aside with his discarded cloak.

“You give her too much credit, Atwater; she was a woman after all. Besides, there is no other possible explanation for her vanishing.” Harken said stiffly as he leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, causing the walls of the tent to shudder.

“Watch where you’re leanin’, Harken. If this comes down you’re puttin’ it back up!” Snapped the eldest in the tent, a worn Tev with uncountable scars adorning his flesh. “And while we’re speakin’ on it, I didn’t see you beatin’ her, so who’re you to doubt her skills?”

“Nobody asked your opinion, you dry-rotted carcass.” The blond retorted with a vicious glare to the older man. Chane snarled as he pushed himself up to his creaking knees, pointing at Harken with a fierce-set determination in his eyes.

“Watch who you’re throwing your insults to, boy! I trained that girl, she was like a daughter to me, and she coulda whooped your sorry tail before you knew what hitcha!” He balled his hands into fists, squaring his footing as Harken stood and nearly towered over him. Harken put a foot forward and tilted his head down so that his nose brushed Chane’s, and he swerved his eyes to lock onto the other Tev’s in a challenging way, letting out a snort like an angered horse.

“You know what I think really happened? I think she ran off like the girl she really was. War is a man’s job - little girls who wanna swing sticks in the air need to learn when dress-up time is over.”

“You’re full of hawk shit, Harken! You know he’s right!” Atwater laughed from his corner of the tent, slapping his thigh. The night had been dull up until then, and if a fight broke out it would give the Tev something to do. A sly smirk crossed Atwater’s face and he leaned to the side a bit, nudging his charge in the ribs to wake him.

“Get up, boy, or you’re gonna miss it.” He chuckled deep in his chest, watching as the nineteen year old stirred, rubbing at his eyes.

“Mi-miss what?”

“Chane’s finally snapped, and he and Harken are gonna go at it like the dogs they are.” Atwater explained haughtily, eyeing the boy. “I’m surprised they’ve gone this long, actually.” Orban gave a small nod and turned to gaze at the two Tev standing nose to nose in the center of the tent, posturing like animals. Chane’s old bones were stiff and his shoulders tightly squared as he balanced up on the balls of his feet, trying to match his adversary’s height. Harken kept his head forcefully tilted downwards, bumping his forehead to Chane’s in further attempts to keep the old man down. Their eyes were dead-set on each other, and neither one blinked, not even a twitch. Orban could feel the rising tension between them, the force which threatened to materialize like lightning and shoot around the tent, and he knew they were merely stalling, sizing each other up and letting the adrenaline build, waiting for the right moment to strike. With a dry crack one of Chane’s ankles gave out on him, and his heels met roughly with the floor, sending jarring pain up his legs. The slight drop forced Harken into an ungraceful forward stumble, and he threw his arms out to his sides to maintain his balance. That was the breaking point for Harken, and Orban could see it in his eyes, the red flush that ran briefly across his cheeks before he cocked back his fist, and let it swing.

“Fight!” Atwater cried delightedly, leaping up from his seat and dashing around the fighters to exit the tent. “Fight!” He cried again, cupping his hands around his mouth to help carry his voice over the rain. He smiled a little as he lowered his hands, ignoring the water as it seeped into his tunic while he waved curious onlookers over.

Chane had little time to recover from Harken’s first hit before he was shoved roughly backwards. He threw out his arms, his spindly legs barely supporting his twist as he dodged a second punch. Crouching a bit he threw out his own fist, stiffening just before it connected with Harken’s side and sent the Tev doubling over. Chane took a step back as Harken quickly recovered and let out a shout as Harken suddenly grabbed his shirt collar, jerking him to the side before tossing him out of the tent. His mind raced, knowing how to react to keep him upright, but Chane’s old body wasn’t as agile as it once was and the rough toss sent him to his side in the muddy swamp outside the tent. He pushed himself to his back as quickly as he could, then up onto his elbows, smearing the muck away from his cheek with the back of his hand.

Harken pulled his lip back into a rabid snarl as he stepped dauntingly from the tent, enjoying the way his shadow fell over his downed prey - already weighed down with mud and water. He reached up and set tawny blond locks behind his down swept ears before following his victim outside, wrinkling his brow at the cold rain. He chuckled as Chane spit onto the ground and forced his crooked limbs to support him once more, narrowing his eyes at Harken as if the younger Tev had only made a mistake. Harken threw his arms out to the side arrogantly, looking down his nose at Chane and grinning widely.

“What are you going to do, Chane?” He taunted, encouraged by the slowly forming crowd. “You’re way past your prime! You can’t possibly hope to beat me!” Harken narrowed his eyes as Chane suddenly lunged forward, tossing a punch at his square-set jaw - a punch which Harken dodged easily.

Chane narrowed his eyes as Harken dodged his punch, then immediately bent his elbow and thrust it backwards, listening with satisfaction as it connected with the back of the younger Tev’s skull. He followed through until he’d forced the boy to almost double over, gagging at the pain as if he were about to vomit. Chane quickly bent down, a feat for the old Tev, and grabbed Harken’s leg just above his ankle then with one strong pull flipped the boy to his back in the mud. He spun, the movement almost graceful with the added slickness of the mud, and glared down at Harken from his momentary position of advantage.

“Prob’ly not, but I sure as Hell can give ya a good fight.” He chuckled, watching the boy move up to his elbows, a fire burning in his eyes.

Harken let out a shout and rushed forward on his knees, smacking his weight into Chane’s thighs and lower torso, it was just enough to knock the older Tev off balance, and both soldiers were sent back into the mud. Harken quickly scrambled about to secure his position atop the downed Chane, and wasted no time in wrapping his thick fingers around the elder’s frail neck. He pulled up slightly, growing satisfaction on his face as Chane’s eyebrows drew into a wince and he reached up as if to smack away Harken’s hands.

Fighting away the panic in his body Chane called upon all his training and experience for a way out of the stronger man’s hold, and let the grin spread over his cracking lips slowly. Harken blanched for only a moment, his eyes widening a bit as he took in the confident look on his opponent’s face, but he quickly recovered and tried bending his hands at the wrists in a further attempt to break the old man’s neck. Chane stiffened and suddenly bent up his legs, shifting Harken’s weight atop him as his knees slammed into the Tev’s back, however he wasn’t finished. He suddenly kicked up with his left leg so that the toe of his boot connected with the back of Harken’s head, much like his elbow. It seemed too agile a move for an old man to make, but it worked and Harken’s grip lessened just enough for Chane to bolt upright, pushing Harken off him and to the sucking mud once more.

Harken blinked furiously, trying to see through the haze the pain in his head caused, and moved to stand on his hands and knees. He had barely collected himself before he felt a shocking pain in his stomach, which sent him to his face in the mud, the wind knocked from his lungs. He tried to scramble to his elbows, to get his face from the ground so that he could clean his eyes, maybe take a breath, but there was a new force on his back, and he could not move. He suddenly felt the scrape of sharp nails through his hair and his head was jerked upwards, pulling painfully in the back of his neck. As soon as his face was clear of the mud, his ears were assaulted with laughter, and he gasped in a breath.

Chane chuckled a little as Harken’s body convulsed beneath him while the Tev coughed and gagged through the mud blanketing his face. Unfortunately he lowered his guard to do so, and it was a mistake he didn’t realize until it was too late. He felt the boy shift beneath him and looked down just in time to see a hand clamp around his wrist, trying to pry his fingers out of Harken’s hair. He narrowed his eyes and dug his fingers deeper into the boy’s scalp, but the hand wasn’t merely pulling, it was bending. Chane’s eyes grew wide and he let out a horrid shout as the snap of his wrist pulsed through his bones, spilling pain like spider webs through his hollow body.

Harken took immediate action and rolled to his side, flipping Chane off him. He slammed his knee into the older Tev’s chest, right at the break in the ribs, and pushed down hard, forcing the man deeper and deeper into the mud. He hadn’t intended on killing him at first, just embarrassing him, but now - now he would slit his throat. As he continued pushing downwards with his weight on his knee he began to grope around his muddied belt for his dagger, finding it with a triumphant grunt.

“It’s good to see we all know who the enemy is.” Called a sarcastic and completely unimpressed voice from the mass of onlookers. Harken paused, his breathing harsh and ragged as he turned his head to look slowly over his shoulder, his dagger poised at the old Tev’s jugular.

“C-captain Mordecai!” He gasped, spitting mud from the corner of his mouth. He immediately scrambled off Chane and bowed stiffly to one knee, faltering a bit as the world began to spin around him.

Mordecai took a few steps forward, his face still set in stone, expressionless. His heavy armor drooped downwards, pulling viciously towards the ground in such a way that his thin frame pointed out from underneath. He reached up, shaking his hand free of his robe and pushed back his hood to reveal the many tribal-like tattoos scattered over his bald skull, yet another aspect of his unusual appearance which made him seem older than the twenty one years he was. He took a moment to scan the gathered soldiers, almost completely ignoring the two at his feet.

“Pack up. We’re moving out.” He said after a long hush of silence, his voice sharp over the rain. He did not wait to hear the response he knew was coming, the groaning and whining, the questions and gripes; he simply turned and walked away. It was times like these when he was most reminded of what he was, and more importantly, what he was not. He strode up to his mount, already burdened with his baggage, and rested a hand on her shoulder, inclining his head towards her in an almost gentle way as he stared out at the heaving swamp before him.

He was not Tev. The Tev were born fighters, strong-bodied men and women of unnatural muscle who thrived on blood, on destruction. War-lust boiled in their flesh and crawled from their eyes, a disease eating at their core, only subdued when blood spilled anew. Though not opposed to killing, Mordecai had no lust for war - it was not his want. He did as he was told; and he did not revel in the gore he left in his wake. Furthermore there was the darkness, the shadowy homeland of the swamp which the Tev called home. They knew the dangers, they knew to fear the night and the beasts, but to them it was home. They knew the land, they understood the way things were - it was as if they were all linked to the shadows that crawled through the marshes. Mordecai was not. He could not see in the pitchness that lurked in the castle; the shadows hurt his joints, froze his blood. The swamps were not his home. The Tev were not his people.

He would not deny, however, that he felt more Tev than Nanion. The Nanion were light-skinned creatures that dwelled high in valleys, basking in the sun which was a constant pain to Mordecai’s eyes. They were lovers of art and music, they could sit for hours and daydream about hope and happiness, things that Mordecai, that the Tev, knew very little of. He was not like them in the least. He had no dreams for his future; he had no wants, no desires. He had learned long ago that of all the differences between the races that was the only one that mattered. The Nanion had hope, they knew that tomorrow could be better - that something more lay in wait for them. The Tev had no such thing. They knew that what they had now, they would have forever or loose before they were ready to let go. Hope could not survive in the swamps of Tevlar.

Vala shuddered under the gloved hand of her rider, spraying him with water from her mane. He sighed and sprung onto her back gracefully, running a smooth hand down her neck before urging her forward. He could hear the men still moving behind him, still packing and griping like the fools they were - but he would not wait for them.

He would not wait for anyone.