* * *

Rafe the Demonslayer, Rafe the Merciless, Rafe the Unshakable

Harbinger of Death

It is 'Spirit of Knowledge' in the archaic language of the Milarians

It now means 'Wrath of Elos' in the language of the Tehans

It now means 'Legend' in the language of the Alcatans

He was the youngest person to ever be enrolled at Nastros Alhas

He has fought the archangels of Elos

He has lived with demons

He has killed demons

He has loved and lost

He pillaged and burned the cities of Celyia, Thrud, Sheppe, and Marhend

He exterminated the surviving Kehuul of old

He is the savior of Nastra Acadamia

He killer of God-Kings

He has enslaved Demons and Angels

He is Evil

He is Good

He is Inscrutable

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So begins his story

Rafe's breathing was no longer that of the excelling hunter. The dark green pools which were his eyes let small streams of tears seep down his face. His smooth tanned face was now covered by a mask of mud, leaves of the forest.

The images of his uncle being murdered replayed through his head as politicians replay their speeches in their heads. He could see the dark red blood, practically black, spew from his gut and back as he was surrounded by 4 assassins. Rafe watched his uncle be stabbed in the back as he killed one assassin, his sword stuck in the murderer's ribcage. He pulled away, swinging wildly, knocking himself to the ground, as he saw the three remaining assassin's, he could see a petrified boy, no older than 11, standing in the brush behind them.

"Where is the boy?" the lead assassin demanded. He was the only man to not wear a mask. His eyes were bloodshot, each a separate color. One burned a bright amber color, as if the sun itself burned within. The other, the other was black, the pupil matched the iris, it showed no color, no warmth or comfort, only emptiness.

Rafe's uncle, a man who called himself Kaye, looked at the three assassins, the copper taste of blood seeping along his teeth and tongue.

"You expect me to tell you?" Kaye laughed, his red teeth grinning. "Go to Hades you whoreson."

With that the men attacked Kaye. The bleeding uncle fought a battle which was obvious he'd lose. Though he stopped the first blows, he could not hold 3 men off forever. As the two-eyed man thrust a sword through his gut Kaye pulled out his own dagger stabbing him in the back of the shoulder, it was a survivable wound.

Kaye saw the face of the boy he had raised himself, with tears dripping down his cheek he opened his lips mouthing the word, 'run', to the boy. Rafe read the command but stayed still. How does an 11 yr. old boy deal with the death of his father?

The world slowed to him. He saw the corpse slowly go limp, he saw the eyes dilate, the body lose its strength and collapse into a heap upon the floor. It was at that point he let out a sob. He closed his mouth instantly, the three assassins looking for the source of the noise.

"Here boy…" one echoed, his voice calm and menacing. He called Rafe as he would a dog.

At that point Rafe's fear no longer paralyzed him. It fueled his legs to run as they had never before. His mind was numb from thought, thoughts of survival consumed him. The lessons of tracking filled his consciousness. The voice of Kaye filled his skull, the orders he had bored into the lessons consumed his thoughts.

As he moved through the forest he could hear the assassins giving chase. He dove under fallen trees, went downstream with the rapids of rivers. His sense of time disappeared as his blood sped across his body. Still the assassins gave chase. They neither slowed nor grew weary. It wasn't until Rafe was far enough out of sight he could maneuver into the trees he had climbed so often in his youth.

His weathered hands grabbed hold of the tree, its sap furiously clutching to his hands, and moved through the branches until he could jump to another tree. By the time the assassins had caught up to where Rafe could watch them, Rafe was hidden away in the brush of the tree, his body clutched together, his dark green and black cloak enveloping him.

The chasing assassin's stopped their chase as the young Rafe's trail disappeared from the forest floor. The noise of animals filled the forest; the smell of pine needles filled their nostrils, the humidity of the day stuck to their sweating skin.

"Where is the bastard?" one questioned.

The lead one looked around, his eyes scanning the forest with the ferocity of a lion hunting for prey. The scarred eye looked to the trees, looking for anything that would give away Rafe's location; Rafe was already 5 trees away.

Staying absolutely still Rafe breathed quietly, his shakes were controlled, and his heart was forced to slow. His eyes were the only vessel which he permitted himself to move.

The assassins were dressed in black, their movements clinked with chainmail, their belts were studded with sheathed swords and knives. Their breathing came out as a snake would hiss.

"Split up and find him," the leader ordered. "When you do…keep him alive, I want to gut him myself. Fingers…hands….toes….feet…everything to make that bastard squeal…heh-heh-heh." The leader went from a chuckle to an all out cackle, the disturbing laugh changed pitch and volume until the sadist was out of breath.

Rafe was entirely paralyzed with fear. His moments of silence had allowed his mind to catch up to his body. He felt sore, his muscles remained a fire in pain, his mind was broken over the loss of his uncle, the only family he had. The man had raised him as a not just an apprentice, but as a son.

As Rafe sat alone in the branches, waiting for the assassins to leave so he could run back to the city of Ceylia, memories of his life were quickly buried under his mind. His mind refused to delve into insanity, and was too traumatized to not respond. So in order to protect himself he simply…forgot.

For over a half hour the assassins made their way through the forest until Rafe no longer heard their voices. As the young boy climbed down from the trees his grip failed and he slammed his head on a branch before his body smashed upon the ground. The sounds of birds were drowned by the pumping throb of his heart and skull. Still nothing stopped Rafe. Quickly looking at the sky Rafe figured how he was to move out of the forest and get to the small fishers dock where he had arrived on the island from. He knew he had no bronze pennies to pay for the trip, but he felt no anxiety over that. From the moment he realized he had no money, he decided to pickpocket it. Only his survival instincts remained in command of his body.

The travel through the forest was the dimmest memory Rafe would ever have. He moved through the woods with little idea of where he was, only believing he would get where he wanted to, and he did.

After hours of trudging through the forest with no food or sleep, the frail child came to the doorstep of the old fisherman who had taken himself and Kaye over from Alcatas earlier that week. The man with several missing teeth was one of the few souls who'd ever take pity on the young Rafe. When the door opened and the exhausted boy collapsed the man saw speckles of dried blood upon his torn shirt and tattered cloak. He looked around for those who could've caused the harm before he took the child in. His voice remained silent as he gave the boy all of the little he had.

Rafe slowly recovered from his fatigue within the next day, though his mind would take considerable time to mend itself.

"What happened son?" The fisherman, Clyd, asked, his dialect that of ancient northern Milarians.

"I…I can't remember…Blood, screams…fear," Rafe shook his head, responding in the same language. He felt a warm tear drip upon his well formed cheekbone.

"Well calm down now," Clyd ordered, his eyes widening in surprise at the boy's linguistic talent. "Where were you going to go? You running back here for a ride across to Alcatas?"

"I…yes I think so," Rafe stuttered, swishing a cloth into a cold basin of water and pressing it against his throbbing forehead.

"Alright…don't worry about money child," the fisherman said. "In fact I'd recommend you stay with me for awhile. Less you got family to take care of you; street urchin life ain't no life for a bright boy like yourself."

"I have…I'll be better off in the city. It'd be better for both of us," Rafe stated, his mind remembering the fear over being caught by something or someone.

The fisherman was about to tell Rafe that a boy of 11 does not know what's best when he looked at the boy's dark green eyes. They flashed as he felt the fear again, the dark green pools almost swirling as emotions and fogged memories filled Rafe's mind.

Something just wasn't right about the boy; his age was nowhere close to his intellect and seemed maturity.

"Very well son," the fisherman said. "That said I'll need to be out tonight to have you back at Celyia's docks during the day time. Understand."

"Yes sir," Rafe responded, nodding his head in gratitude. "Thank you Clyd."

"You're welcome…sorry I never got your name," Clyd said.

"Go by Rafe," Rafe responded, his mind terrified as he realized he had trouble remembering the answer to that question.

"Alright Rafe," Clyd spoke. "Get as much as you want to eat now and I'll give you a small package of food till you can get back on your feet in the city."

"Many thanks," Rafe replied, his hunger eating away at the corners of his mind.

Rafe calmly put down the wet rag and got out of bed. He hid the pain as his head went through circles. Instead he quietly sat down on at the old wooden table the fisherman had left his food; before him lay a freshly cooked fish, a chunk of bread and a small portion of an apple. As he ate the food and took a swig of the man's malt he felt his head relax and his dizziness fade slightly. With the fisherman out on his small boat Rafe went to the water and began washing his clothing. There was no soap, but to Rafe, the smell of salt water was preferred to the smell of sweat and dried blood.

As Rafe stood up at the coast of the island, he let the waves slowly wash upon his feet. The birds sang in the air, the wind smelled of salt water, the quiet wash of waves echoed in the stillness. For a moment Rafe had images flash of similar scenes. H saw no one in the scenes, just remembered smells, sights, sounds, even the feel.

It was not till night came Rafe had his mind fully restored. His head was feeling better and the pain in his leg no longer concerned him. As the man and the boy left the shore of Valhata Island Rafe remained silent. His demeanor was indifferent, neither hostile, nor benevolent, Clyd wasn't concerned with how his questions would be taken.

"How you going to make out in the city?" Clyd asked. "No job, no family, what can you do to put food on the table?"

As Rafe thought of the question he instantly remembered stealing literally daily. He saw his hands quickly take food from markets upon the street. More than that, he remembered stealing books. He would take volumes worth 3 silver kyats and get away with it. As he remembered all the lessons of a thief, he still could not remember how he learned them.

"I've done it for a long time," Rafe responded, his voice trailing off, his mind drifting as it subconsciously prevented the thoughts of Kaye to return.

"Well alright Rafe," the fisherman said quietly. "Just stay safe."

Rafe mumbled assurance but his eyes were glazed over as he practically slept with his eyes open. His dreams were devoid of thought, his dreams ending as the man called his name again telling him they had arrived at the city.

Rafe blinked rapidly shaking his head as his mind sharpened. The sun was rising and he could hear the sounds of the dockworkers at the shipyards. The sounds were the sound of a mother calling a child to dinner.

The fisherman's small boat came to the harbor and was expertly guided to the docks.

"Thanks Clyd," Rafe slightly bowed. "Your generosity will not be forgotten."

"Stay safe Rafe," Clyd responded, gripping Rafe's arm in a friendly gesture.

"I will," Rafe responded.