|Draven Bells Necromancer (Dead men do tell tales)
Author: axmly PM
Draven Bells is one of the few necromancers with a soul, meaning he is fully aware of the evil that looms inside him. Everyday he must fight financial battles, love battles, and, of course, trying to suppress the uprising darkness that threatens to erupt like a time bomb that could kill everyone he looks at. But, no big deal, right?Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Fantasy - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,240 - Published: 01-23-13 - id: 3094669
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was a dreary day, the sky was overcast and the forecast on channel 15 called for rain, though not a single drop was seen. There was just a sliver of sun cutting through the clouds, delivering a small bit of optimism for those who were hopeful enough to take the gift. Some people would have taken advantage of the gray weather as an excuse to stay inside, though the people of the colony of Warden's Clearing took advantage of the bit of sun, using it as an excuse to perform labor intensive tasks and practice meaningful skills, as was common of these people.
The people of Warden's Clearing were one of four colonies for the Terramantic house of magic. Terramancy is the art of using the earth to create magic, for use of building up or tearing down. They had the building blocks of the world, and it was their choice how they chose to use their abilities. The Terramancers worked constantly, they were simple people that chose to live off themselves rather than using society's tools. They had seen the Earth, it was their mother, and they wanted to respect it by using its own resources.
Our view focuses on two junior Terramancers working far out in the forest in a small archery range, practicing. They were young, perhaps 16 years of age, yet they worked vigorously at whatever goal they were trying to achieve. A few yards away leaning against an oak tree was an older Terramancer, the father of one of the junior's, looking upon the two with an amused expression. He was a broad man, laden with muscle from head to toe with a blunt and irritable personality, and a steely gaze that could make anyone give out a little squeak of discomfort. His name was Edgar Trams, a renowned warrior in the community. He gave a snort, spat on the dirt ground, then proceeded to walk towards the two kids.
"Hello, Edward." He said, walking past his son. Edward shot an arrow to his target, missed by a few centimeters, and cursed before addressing his father.
"Hello, dad." He replied without turning to him, and began shooting again. The other kid shot a perfect shot, gave a smile to the two of them, and put his bow behind his back and said hello to Edgar.
"Hello Lee, I see you are progressing much more in this field then my worthless son here?" He gave a hearty laugh and clapped Edward on the back hard, making him stumble forward. Lee took a look at Edward's next attempt, which he performed with shaking hands and trembling fingers. The arrow shot up and hit a tree, falling back down to the ground.
"No, no, sir. Edward is doing quite well." Lee said politely. Edgar scoffed and turned to his son.
"Why do you keep persisting on practicing such a useless skill? Real Terramancer men know the art of wielding a sword!" He drew out his own steel claymore, shining with polish and began swinging it around. Edward sighed, put up his bow and looked at his father. "Have you been practicing, Edward? Have you?"
"To be honest, sir, I have not."
Edgar gave his claymore a twirl and put the tip at Edward's neck. "Take out your blades and fight me."
Lee looked upon this scene with interest, as Edward slowly brought out his duel blades, two short swords, to battle against his father's large claymore. And very slowly, they began to fight. Edgar was skilled, he had worked as a battle Terramancer for a long time, and just recently retired, but even though Edgar had the experience, Edward had the advantage of the spring of youth, as they quickly got into the rhythms, it turned into almost something of a dance, and Edward had the upper hand in the fact that he wasn't as stiff and robotic as his father. Years of service following the system's ways and ordinances, you have no room to stretch out your arms and do things yourself.
Edgar's claymore was heavy, and could break a man's back by struggling against it with anything less of itself, but with Edward's twin blades, he could block and give a stab at the same time. And that was what he did; Edgar would swing hard into Edward's feeble form, and with the extension of one hand, he could block his father's swing and turn its trajectory off, while getting a hit in there. Edward did not have the skill his father was looking for, the same stiff swinging stick to the book fighting, but Edward had skill that surpassed that of his father in a way. Despite his preference to the bow and arrow, Edward did know how to wield a blade.
They fought for a little while more, when Edgar became short of breath and requested a rest. The father and son sat against an oak tree, regaining their breath and watching Lee take more well aimed shots at the archery target.
"Well done, son." Said Edgar through a short breath. "Looks like you just might have some of the old family skill in you after all."
"Thank you, father." Edward replied, slightly surprised at his father's praise. It was not something he got a lot of, and he appreciated what he could get.
They sat in silence awhile, until they saw Lee stop his activity, and drop everything on the ground.
"Something wrong, Lee?" Edward asked. Lee stammered for a bit, before turning around to run, yelling
Eversors, masters of destruction. They can use and pervert the elements to use them as tools for other's demise. They are wild, raucous people that never know when enough is enough.
It stood maybe five feet, wearing a button down with an elaborate vest, and white gloves on each hand. It had a head of wild red curls, and goatee. Edgar and Edward stood quickly, both to do separate things. Edgar drew out his claymore, and Edward prepared to run behind Lee, but his father held his hand out to stop him.
"This is your chance to prove yourself. Stand your ground and don't let it pass." Edgar said gravely. Edward groaned softly and began to say something, but his father hushed him. He drew out his blades, twirled them in his fingers and began to approach the Eversor.
"Oooh, Terramantic Meat!" The Eversor cooed. "Is that really your blade of choice, those two little steak knives? How do you like this?" The Eversor raised his arms high, conjuring flame as he went, then caught it in his palm and launched it at Edward. Edward fell to the ground and clutched it tightly until the flames shot by had passed.
"Oooh, you can duck! You must make your family so proud!" The Eversor taunted. Edward, still clutching the ground, looked up at the Eversor with loath. He looked back at his Father, who scowled at him and remained standing his ground. Edward jumped up and with furious force started jamming the swords at the Eversor. It just cackled and raised a hand, and there formed a blade of pure ice, sharp as a scalpel. The two went back and forth, Edward giving quick and cautious glances back at his Father, who had sheathed his sword and proceeded to watch the fight.
"You must make your family so proud." The Eversor grunted, struggling against Edward's duel blades. "Your father is oh so eager to help you out; you must be the star child."
Eversors, they never know when to quit. Edward stared at his yellow, wild eyes, and gave out a roar, proceeding to slam the side of the blade against the Eversor's wrist, making it drop its ice blade. He attempted to drive the other blade into its gut, but it jumped back and stumbled down, tripping over the archery targets. It lay in the dirt, whimpering and trying to make bargains for his life.
"Oh, please." It moaned. "I never meant any harm." Edward scoffed.
"You don't start fights without meaning any harm." His father strode over to him, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You've done well. I'll give you the honor of finishing him off."
"Thank you, father." He said, then leaned down low and held the blades like scissors over his neck, and laughed. "Easy enough."
And ever so softly the Eversor conjured up another blade… and Edward didn't even notice until the ice blade was drove into his gut, and he dropped his blades and fell over, clutching at his stomach which was bleeding profusely. The Eversor jumped up, snatched the blades and grinned his yellow smile.
Edgar looked at his son, who was close to if not already dead, and let out his first tear in many a year. Then he took out his claymore and raised it high over his head. "You son of a bitch!" He cried. "My son!" He swung the claymore hard into the Eversor's arm, which took it off in a bloody spray. It let out a static-like screech and gripped at his bleeding stump. Edgar took this time to try and finish him off, though with a hiss and a wave, a blast of wind shot Edgar into the oak tree behind him, which created a loud snapping sound, and Edgar fell to the ground, his sword spinning in the air away from his grasp and landing in the ground next to the Eversor. It reached for it and lifted it up easily as if it were a feather, and walked over to Edgar.
"Big man, huh? What kind of man constantly tortures your son like you did? You're not a man!" And the Eversor spat on Edgar, who was clumped in a ball, and raised the sword high. "Your son wouldn't be dead right now if it weren't for you. You were always trying to mold him in your own image. I have some information for you, Edgar, this is your damn fault!"
Edgar looked up at the Eversor, who had the towering sword held above him, while he was practically defenseless, and slugged him in his nose. The Eversor stumbled back, merely surprised with the sudden violence. It grinned down at Edgar, while its nose bled. "It'll take a lot more than that to kill-"
SLAM! A heavy heel came into contact with the Eversor's face, and it fell down, letting the sword fall from its grasp. "That's for insulting me…" He stomped on its gut, sucking the wind from its lungs. "That's for hurting me…" He pointed a finger at it and held a spell on his tongue. "And this is for killing my son. I have some information for you, Eversor, I loved that boy."
"Oh, how sweet," The Eversor taunted, "The big man loves his boy! Let's talk, how about this?" It held out its hand, and Edgar stared at it in confusion, missing his chance to blow out the light on the Eversor. It tilted its head and grinned bearing its sharp, yellow teeth and bellowed, "Feuer!"
A large column of flame erupted from its outstretched hand and threw Edgar back, landing hard on the ground. He stumbled up quickly and struggled to reach for the sword, but the Eversor just strode on over to it and picked it back up. "I like to enforce the eye for an eye way of doing things." It murmured. "I think that you can live without your right arm, correct? You can go back as a warning to your brothers that the Eversor are coming, and if I were a pain in the ass for a big war hero like you…" It leaned down close to Edgar, its lips touching his ear. "Imagine what a whole colony of us can be for all your women… and children… "
"What the hell is going on here?" A voice came from the thickness of the forest. The Eversor snapped his head up to stare up at the green trees, finding nothing. It rose and put the sword over its shoulder. "Don't even think about leaving." It snarled, and began walking into the foliage.
"Over here!" The voice came again. The Eversor apparently didn't hear it, as it walked further into the forest. Edgar, on the other hand, called out for the help of the mysterious person. He walked out of the forest behind the small archery range, in red and black armored robes, a beat up staff in one hand and a ball of fire in the other. He was a young man, with stormy hair and badly kept short beard.
"Who are you?" Edgar asked.
"Draven Bells," The man said. "Necromancer." Edgar turned his head and crossed his arms immediately.
"I'd rather die then put myself at the debt of a necromancer."
Draven gave him a quick, breathy laugh. "You're funny! Now grab my hand and let me pull you up." Edgar was unrelenting, and continued his position. "Oh, you're serious. You know I am sick and tired of all this prejudice, not all of us necromancers' are-"Draven suddenly lifted his head towards the thick foliage, where the Eversor went to examine. There was a slight crackling, and the sound of footsteps in the distance. He turned back to Edgar. "Please, man, just let me help you! He'll be here any moment, just let me get to Warden's and we'll be good."
But Edgar kept his word; he'd have no contact with a necromancer. Draven complained loudly about his pay and stomped around until the Eversor walked out of the trees, sword dragging behind him, his red hair displaying a wonderful assortment of stray leaves and twigs intertwined through his curls. When it spotted Draven, its eyes got wide and it began looking around quickly for some place to hide before Draven spotted him, but just his luck Draven caught his eye.
"George?" He asked. The Eversor gulped and started stammering. "George, is that you?"
George squirmed around uncomfortably. "Erm… Draven? I wasn't aware you'd be here."
Draven put his hands on his hips and tsk-tsked. "Really, George, I thought we had a deal." George the Eversor sighed and looked down at his feet.
"We did…" He admitted, sounding quite like a young child. Edgar stood up and walked over to Draven.
"You know… it?" He asked. Draven muttered something about 'skinny little bastards' and turned to Edgar.
"Yes, I do. I met George here a couple years back. The kid and I came to an agreement about attacking people, and he's just broken it." Draven crossed his arms and looked at George in disappointment. Edgar turned to the Eversor.
"It seems you two have some stuff to work out." Edgar said cautiously. "I'll just leave." George stuck out a finger.
"Don't you go, you were my catch. I'll send another column of flames your way if you move." Edgar held up his hands in surrender and slowly sat down.
"George, you don't have a catch. You'll be letting this gentleman go now." Draven turned to Edgar and made a shooing motion with his hand. Edgar looked at him uncertainly, and George injected with a whining tone.
"No no no! He's mine! MINE Draven! Have you no sense of personal property?"
Draven paced back and forth, trying to let out some steam before he tried conversing with the Eversor again. Eversor are hot headed folk, and if set off they will release all their frustrations out in a powerful spell, taking down most everyone around them. Draven knew this, and acted carefully, so as not to let that happen. "George, you've already killed his son. Isn't that enough of a harvest for now?" George stomped around wildly letting out childish moans of complaints.
"No! I want him! He's mine!" George cried, then held the sword high and ran to Edgar. Draven groaned and held out his staff, the jagged crystal on top glowing dangerously red and pointed at George.
"Efrey!" He roared, and a beam of flames danced from the crystal tip before hitting George in the chest, making him topple over and begin rolling around. Draven laughed and turned to Edgar. "Seriously, now would be a great time to escape." There were muffled groans of protest coming from George, but they both ignored them. Edgar stood up, and shook his head.
"I appreciate your help, but this little shit killed my son." Edgar looked at George. "I can at least help kill it."
Draven held out a hand to Edgar. Edgar shook it, and for the first time in a long while Necromancer and Terramancer were working together as a team. Draven first walked over to George, who laid face down in the dirt, his belly pushing himself up slightly as he breathed. Draven poked George with the end of his staff.
"Be careful, he's still breathing." Edgar said. Draven nodded, and from his robe he pulled out a katana from his sheath, which was very unclean and still dotted with dried blood. He raised it high above his head, and began to swing it down.
"Kalte!" George screamed, rolling over on his back and wrapping his hand around a forming icicle, and rammed it far into Draven's thigh. Draven's eyes widened and he dropped the katana and fell to the ground, groaning in pain and attempting to yank it out. George scrambled up and grabbed the katana with his one arm, and Edgar ran for his claymore. George ran after him, but Edgar reached the claymore before George could reach him, and ran forward to confront George. The Eversor stopped in his tracks, and started shouting out for Edgar to wait.
"Nam mater nostra, terra!" Edgar roared "Et filium meum!" He ran to George and before he could even raise the katana Edgar swung the claymore hard across George's neck and his head flew across the forest, falling to the ground with a thump.
Draven pulled the icicle from his leg with a loud, painful grunt, and looked up at Edgar. "What's going on, did you kill him?" Edgar nodded, then walked over to Draven and took a knee by his side. He tore a sleeve from his shirt, and wrapped it around the bleeding wound. "It isn't that bad," Draven began to say, and then he looked down at the wound and let out a loud whimper.
"You are such a child, necromancer." Edgar laughed. He finished wrapping the bandage around Draven's lower thigh, and gave him a hand up. "Now," he said, walking over to the corpse of Edward, his expression now grave. "I must plan a funeral."
Draven, like the Eversor, never knew how to keep his mouth shut. It seemed to be a skill that evaded even the most intelligent people at some time or another. He squeezed the make-shift bandage tight, then stood up and spread out his arms. "What, now you aren't going to kill me?"
Edgar picked up Edward's body, and without turning to face Draven, spoke softly. "If I see you again, yes, you will fall dead by my hand. I don't keep necromancers around for long, but you saved my life. And on general principle, I don't kill people who save my life, necromancer or not,"His head fell down, his forehead resting on Edward's stomach. "I just wish you arrived quick enough to save my son, but for what you have done, I will spare you. I thank you dearly."
Draven grinned. "Fuh-get about it."
There was a small bout of silence for a bit, and then Draven realized that Edgar was sobbing softly. He stammered for a moment, and then scratched at the back of his neck. Edgar turned around and Draven saw his bright red eyes, still wet with tears that were no longer falling. "I'm sure I never will."
Then he walked off into the thick of the trees. Draven stood there watching him walk off, his expression turned sad for the Terramancer and his son. Eversors are masters of deception, they like to play tricks, and they like to taunt, as said before, they often take it much too far, but that just lures you in farther into their trap. Despite their small size, they have a large ego and even bigger brains. They know humanity, they know their minds, and they know how to twist it. This is where they find their strengths.
Draven limped back over to the place where he set down his staff, and picked it back up, settling it inside his long heavy robes. He crossed his arms and smiled sadly. He had the information he needed, but at what cost?
Then he heard the sound of a dozen skittering feet, and snickering laughs coming from the trees in front of him. He gulped. He knew what it was, and he was instantly more afraid and cautious then he had been for awhile. He drew back out the staff, and began walking slowly towards the sound. He stumbled across his katana, and picked that back up and put it away. He walked slowly until he got to a small clearing in front of him, where he could see Edgar walking away in the distance with the body, apparently oblivious to his surroundings.
"Terra!" Draven screamed. "Watch out!" Edgar looked back just as the two of them were tackled to the ground hard, by ninety-five pounds of red headed fury. He heard Edgar's loud grunt as he fell.
Draven fell on his back, and struggled with his attacker with one arm, keeping his staff arm out of the way of the Eversor's short reached grasp. The Eversor clawed at Draven, grasping onto one leg, muttering curses like a drunken leprechaun. Draven kicked him in between its short legs, hard, repeatedly. The Eversor dropped down, breathing heavily. Draven began to run towards Edgar, and the Eversor screamed out, stretching out a hand, "Strom!" And a current of electricity ran through his short stubby fingers and shot at Draven's back. He let out a groan, then his body became stiff and fell to the ground, but it didn't disable him for long. Draven fell to his hands and knees, then shook off the echoing electricity and looked back and shouted,
"Efrey!" And a beam of fire squirmed from the jagged crystal of his staff and hit the Eversor, engulfing him.
"That should hold the bastard for at least a minute," Draven muttered, then ran off to find Edgar. He found him to the right of the clearing he saw him in a few minutes ago, three of the Eversor's on him, and five around the body.
Draven prayed it wasn't a corpse.
He ran at them, letting out some generic war cry and wielding his staff wildly. He had a bone to pick with the Eversor's now, why, he didn't know. He had never met Edgar before, he didn't have any attachment to him, and he wasn't one to just generically care for the human race in general. But he seemed to take to this Terramancer, perhaps it was his loyalty to his people, or his stubbornness, something Draven could relate with. Maybe he wanted to prove to Edgar that not all necromancers represented something sinister, but he just had to help this one out.
He raised his staff, and baring all his teeth, slammed it into the nearest Eversor's nose. He heard the crunch, and it fell. One of them grabbed onto his leg, pulling him down, and one jumped onto his back, but he did not submit. The next blow slammed the crystal tip into the neck of another, performing an amateur tracheotomy, and the Eversor ran away clutching at his neck, until about two yards away, he fell to the ground unconscious.
Draven kicked slammed his shin into a nearby tree, making the Eversor at his leg drop, and tried to throw a backwards punch at the one hanging by his throat, but couldn't manage it. All of them hurt or not, were snickering like gremlins and all attempting to jump at Draven.
"Strom!" Came a nearby voice, and Draven was hurled across the clearing, slamming into a tree and falling. He felt the cool dirt under his cheek, and it felt nice. He thought himself more powerful then the little monsters, but in this case it was obviously quantity of quality, and Draven was wearing out.
But dying? That was what would happen, and to these bastards? Draven didn't want to think about it. He pushed his arms out in front of him, palms facing the ground, and rose himself up slowly, knocking two of the Eversors off, who were jumping on him like a jungle gym. All very slowly, while everything around him seemed to go faster, he drew out his katana and shoved it in the gut of the nearest Eversor. All the others gasped and stopped their childish jumping. The stabbed Eversor moaned in pain and, clutching his stomach, fell to the ground with a light thump.
At once, nine spells were shot at Draven. He just barely dodged all of them by making himself collapse to the ground again. On the ground, he slammed the end of his staff into the closest Eversor's kneecaps, and with the force of a baseball bat shattered them. The Eversor fell; Draven jumped up, and in one swift motion brought his staff hand and his other together, raised it high and bellowed, "Purro!"
A large gale of wind swept through the forest, blowing the trees back and forth violently and throwing the eight Eversor to the ground. While they struggled to get up, Draven ran for Edgar's claymore. He grabbed onto the hilt, started to raise his hands… and he couldn't do it.
"Damn sword." Draven muttered, letting the hilt fall back into the dirt. He grabbed his staff by the bottom of it again, and swung it down at a fallen Eversor. It let out a huff, and collapsed, the wind knocked out of him. Four of the remaining Eversor ran off into the thick of the trees, not to be seen. Two of them ran at Draven, one of them wielding a sharp icicle blade, the other had its hand up ready to shout out a spell. Draven slid to the left, dodging the stab of the icicle blade, and swung his staff at the back of the Eversor's knees, tripping him and making him fall to the ground, where he slammed his head against a tree trunk and stayed silent. The other stuck its hand out to Draven and screamed,
A much more intense bolt of electricity streamed through the Eversor's fingers, and reached out for Draven. Draven, with quick instincts held out his own hand and sent a beam of fire at the spell. The two spells merged, the blue bolt of electricity wrapping around the fire to form a large, heavy weight spell, very capable of fatality. It was a battle of strength, the person who could gain the most leverage on the spell would be the only one left standing, and both sides had the skill.
But Draven had the will. He twisted his hand and shoved the spell at the Eversor, and it slammed into him with extreme force and knocked him across the clearing. When the smoke of the spell cleared, a very charred, distorted piece of Eversor remained. Draven looked around, figuring it was over, until a voice called him out.
"Necromancer," It said. "Take a look over here!"
Draven twisted his head over his shoulder to see the source of the voice, and found yet another Eversor standing over Edgar's body, icicle in hand, hovering over his heart. Draven turned around and stared at him, very careful not to indicate any form of hostility at that point, not counting the fact that he just killed off nearly ten of his friends.
"Just wait." Draven said, holding up his hands in surrender. This was the end of the line, if Edgar was killed, not only would Draven lose the contract, but he would miss his chance to try and declare peace between himself and the tribes of Terramancers. They had a formal truce to stay neutral with each other, but that wasn't enough. The Terramancers could be a great ally to Draven, and he needed that. So it was up to him to formulate a plan to stop the Eversor, and they weren't easy beings to reason with.
"Wait for what, the satisfaction of taking our kill? Not possible. We have to finish what was started, you murdered George and it's up to us to take over."
Draven was slightly impressed, no snide remark or joke. A serious comment, it wasn't something you usually heard in an Eversor.
"I'm sorry, but he isn't yours to kill. I had a deal with George, and he violated it by trying to take down this Terramancer here. This tribe is supposed to be protected from the Hunt."
The Hunt was a monthly event in the world of the Eversors, it was their opportunity to take down their prey and prove their power over others. For such little creatures, they had a lot to compensate for. Draven was hired a year back to make peace with the tribe of Eversors in this area to protect the clan of Warden's Clearing from any attacks.
"You had the deal with George, not with me. He's gone; his body will remain a reminder to those who dare reckon with the power of the Eversor!"
Draven began walking slowly to him, taking slow steady steps. "Please, spare him. He didn't do anything against the Eversor. This clan is under my protection. You kill him, I'll kill you."
"His mere presence is an assault against us! Such rotten giants you all are! You chop down our morals, our beliefs, to make way for your own! It's repulsive!"
Draven groaned lightly. "It wasn't us, Eversor. It isn't our fault. I formally apologize for the things our people have done against you."
The Eversor lowered his hand. "Really, you are?"
"Yes, I am. On behalf of all of us… giants, I apologize."
The Eversor stood up. "Well… I- I thank you, necromancer. That means a lot. I guess I'll spare this one."
Draven smiled. "Really?"
The Eversor smiled back. It started off sweet, then his bushy red eyebrows furrowed down and his smile turned into a dark grin. "Nope!" He laughed, and drove the icicle deep into Edgar's heart.
"Shit." Draven said, and ran after the Eversor. He sent out another gust of wind, and he was knocked off his feet. Draven ran over to the fallen Eversor and slammed his staff against his back, making him flail in pain, and then Eversor turned around, laying against his injured back and let out another bolt of electricity, which hit Draven with force, making him fall to the ground and begin convulsing. The Eversor stood up, hunched over in an attempt to lower the pain of his back, and sent another bolt at Draven, laughing wildly.
"This is your end, you pest! This will mark the day that an Eversor actually took down a full blooded Necromancer!"
The Eversor let the spell loose and turned around, and there stood Edgar, wavering on his feet looking as if he was very drunk, raising his heavy claymore. The Eversor cringed instinctively, as he knew what was coming and there was no way around it. The claymore was swung, and in a not so clean cut, off came the Eversor's head. Then Edgar collapsed.
When the spell had made its way through, Draven came out very weak and powerless. His magic was drained, and he was fatigued and in pain. But he crawled over to Edgar, and fell back down.
"I thought he killed you…" Draven said faintly. Edgar shook his head.
"No, but he was close. He just barely missed my heart."
Draven lifted himself up with his hands, and sat on his legs. "We'll get you through this, let me just find your clan and we'll get you help."
"There's no way I'm going to survive, Necromancer. But you have done more for me in a day then most people can do in a lifetime. You would have done well in our military." Edgar let out a groan and turned to his side to face Draven. "You've achieved peace with me, necromancer."
Draven smiled. Finally, he'd gotten the peace he so wished to receive. He pulled out a handkerchief from his robe pocket and began dabbing at Edgar's wound, wiping up all the blood. "Thank you."
"Thank you, my good man. If I may ask one more…" Edgar cringed, and his breath came out heavier and in shorter bursts. "Request, it would be for you to give my son a proper funeral, and have him buried alongside me."
Draven wavered for a second, and put his hand out to keep his balance. He nodded to Edgar. "Of course, sir, I will make that my first duty." Edgar smiled at Draven's words, his eyes closing slowly.
"Now, before I die, I have to say this…"
"What is it?"
"Tell my clan…" Edgar began to say, but just as he tried to sputter out the last words, his eyes closed shut, he let out one last, gasping breath, then he shuddered, and he was gone.
Draven sighed. Death was never something easy to witness, even when you've held a grudge against the whole of humanity for your entire life; it was difficult for Draven to be a witness in the event. He finished wiping up the wound, cleared the hair from his face, then waited for the icicle blade to melt, and he used the water to clean off the dirt from Edgar's face, making him look as if he was merely peacefully at rest. He stood up carefully; holding out his two arms for balance, then walked to Edgar's favorite sword, the steel claymore, and dragged it over to one side, then found Edward and put him by his other side, his head leaning on his father's shoulder.
Draven picked up his staff, and stared over at the bodies for a minute, giving them the moment of prayer that they deserved. He was almost finished, when he heard rustling and the sounds of twigs breaking. He snapped open his eyes, holding out his staff in a defensive position so he could protect the bodies from being disturbed any further before he could get to Warden's.
Out of the trees came a man in his early thirties dressed in laborers uniform, staring at Draven, and the bodies. His jaw dropped, and his face twisted in rage and sadness.
"Edgar, Edward!" He cried. "You abomination!" He drew a short dagger from an ankle sheath and pointed it in Draven's direction. Draven's fear and anger bubbled up, making the crystal glow red with his emotions. The man mistook it for an attack, let out a cry and ran for help, screaming the entire way.
Draven looked around, trying to quickly decide what to do. He grabbed his katana which had fallen out of the sheath in his convulsions, got a better grasp on his staff, and as he heard the stern voice of the Terramantic authorities, he only had one idea.
To simply run like hell.