NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 9

Chapter Nine - Hit That

Blank sank to his seat in relief once the battle was over. “That was far too intense for me.” He panted, “I believe I’ll be more content in writing down these sorts of skirmishes as opposed to witnessing them for myself.”

Narche just laughed, “You spend your days surrounded by books, I wager.”

“Truth be told I’m usually found at a client’s house. Most scribes are summoned to a home in order to record all sorts of lore, made up or real. But I have heard of enough tales, I’ve pictured them in my head but I never thought I’d actually get to see the real thing. It is a different experience altogether for me.” He admitted. “I wish I had a little more spine, apart from my work there’s little excitement in my life. It must be nice to be able to take part in battles. If I ever find myself in such a situation, I fear I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“If you manage to live through your first taste of combat, you learn from it. You grow from it. You need to. Otherwise the only things you’ll have to show for it in the end are a few new mouths that will never shut.” Narche spoke solemnly.

“Why did you become the healer of your group? I mean, you seem built for the fray.” Blank asked.

The man with sky-colored hair looked thoughtful for a moment, “I guess it was when I saw Surge. But I don’t think it’s really any of my business to tell you the whole thing. Then again you can’t very well ask Surge himself since he was facedown when I met him.” Rubbing the back of his head, Narche seemed torn. “The others were all in the infirmary and Surge’s opponent can’t speak anymore. His throat never healed right, though I did do my best to fix him until the best healers got to him.”

Blank was now officially curious but he could read the reluctance in Narche’s eyes to share more. It didn’t seem fair for him to prod the bright tressed unofficial healer further, nor was it safe. Still, he kept the idea in the back of his mind to ask and promptly remembered his earlier note to ask the Edelbertons of what would befall any poor soul who had the misfortune of listening to Feste. To make certain he wouldn’t forget this time, he quickly jotted this down on his hand. It wouldn’t do to have him writing personal things on the tome Raoul had given him. That would be highly unprofessional.

The arena was filled with a hum of idle murmurs, but the scribe heard them only as white noise, static. You could easily lose yourself in them without ever realizing you were listening to something until silence falls. Narche had lost all desire to converse with the scribe.

Then again, Blank thought the azure-haired man had simply forgotten he was there. Though he hoped that Narche’s warrior instincts would not permit him to commit such a careless thing. Certainly Blank posed no threat to anyone, not even to former clients for the scribe prided himself far too much in his work and professionalism to allow him to divulge any secrets. Unless bewitched with a spell or some sort of potion. Even then, Blank would like to believe his will was made of sterner stuff that would not bend to such cheap tactics.

He neither tried nor wanted to strike up a conversation with Narche, knowing that his curiosity might surface once again and he’d risk offending (or worse angering) Surge’s friend. But warriors did not always deal with discomfort with violence, it would be foolish and insulting to assume so. Still, there was something that kept Blank’s tongue in check, though he assured himself that it had nothing to do with the constant clenching and unclenching of Narche’s fists.

The scribe’s thoughts seemed focused on his own assumptions regarding the matter. Plucking snippets of past recollections and passages from old recorded exploits from the recesses of his mind (as one would when choosing an attire for a very special occasion) Blank tried his best to muse over this curiosity.

It must have something to do with Surge’s berserker state, most definitely. Two people have confirmed this, Miss Sharel and Narche and neither seem to benefit from lying. Narche admitted that he had chosen to take on the role of bone setter and flesh mender when he met Surge. But what could such a friendly fellow have done, have shown Narche to cause him to give up the warrior’s path? For all Blank pondered, he was left dejectedly to decide that he would have to ask Surge himself. Imagination was never really Blank’s strong point. Perhaps if he had more of it he’d have been able to stand out more and people would have taken notice.

Rather than be passed over not out of spite or ill feelings but simply because no one realized he was there. Blank didn’t know which was worse, the malicious intention of being ignored or the mere fact he wasn’t important enough to be remembered? His thoughts were interrupted when the reassuring buzz of the arena panned into a dead silence. Curiously, he glanced at the ring but found it to be empty.

Turning his attention back to Narche, Blank felt slightly delighted that the amber-eyed man had not forgotten his presence but had merely been in deep thought. Though the cold sweat that had broken over the bright-haired man’s brow seemed to indicate his musings were not as scholarly or as pleasant as the scribe’s had been.

“The last fight’s about to start. Vrin’s too banged up to continue, that and he seems not to wish to face his would-be opponent.” Narche smirked a sympathetic smirk, or at least as sympathetic as smirks went.

“Oh? Who was he supposed to face?”

“Do you only listen when people are telling you to write stuff?” Narche snorted, “It’s Surge naturally. Though that means he wins his match against Vrin by default and is automatically going to face the last man remaining. Let’s hope Surge doesn’t get struck by fancy tonight. For his opponent’s sake.”

“I shouldn’t think Surge will need to tap into his berserker abilities as you described earlier.” Blank seemed confident.

Narche looked as if he wished he could say the same, “He’s used it on far weaker people.”

“Well, Kairhn should have set up some safety measures, unless he wants an excuse to kill his own cousin. But you’ve run in their circles far longer than I have, so you’d have more right and reason to judge so.” Blank half shuddered and half shrugged at the possibility. Chills ran up his spine when Narche nodded in accordance at his suggestion.

“I trust Kairhn as much as a wolf can deny his urge to howl.”

That day was just filled with dread, wasn’t it? Blank hoped to the gods and unseen forces above that the rest of his days were not as ominous as this had been.

* * * * *

Surge and his opponent emerged into the ring, the differences in feature and form even more evident once they stood before each other. The other man was clean shaven, with features that seemed to have been chiseled from stone. His entire body seemed to be made completely out of iron with thick, pulsating veins protruding grotesquely beneath stretched hide. His motions were swift for such hulking proportions, surprising many when made the first move. Heavy, powerful feet with ground devouring strides charged at the Edelberton.

Surge was lanky, awkward, all elbows and knees rather than the sculpted, well-toned muscles one imagines a warrior was supposed to possess. He looked as if even the slightest wind could knock him off his feet, and the beret adorning his head made him look more ridiculous than intimidating. But such was his charm, and his advantage to be underestimated and looked down upon as a lesser fighter. Easily side-stepping any attack the larger man threw.

The better fighters, Narche had told Blank, never made the mistake of underestimating their opponent. Overestimating was not nearly as grave an error, but it helped mentally prepare them for the worst possible outcome. It was the novices, the greenhorns who would judge their opponents based solely on appearance. Surge was strong, contrary to what his thin frame may suggest. His feet were clad in the very gales themselves, though anyone could easily guess that from his spry gait. But what few people ever suspected that behind the boyish smile and the gentle-looking eyes existed a demon.

“Surge has a tendency to think all his foes are superior to him.” Narche seemed more willing to talk, having decided that there was something cathartic about sharing his thoughts and opinions with Blank. “Somehow I think this gives him an excuse to go berserk. It takes so little for him to give in to his urges.”

“Do you ever regret hurting anyone you’ve fought?”

“Hurting? No. Killing? Some.” Narche admitted, “But Surge...” His words died on his lips as he shook his head as if managing to keep himself from committing a grave transgression. “I don’t think it would be wise for me to speak of him in such a way. You should ask his cousin, Sharel about him. They’ve grown rather fond of each other ever since she became a well-known beast tamer.”

Blank found it safe to assume it was about that time she became a consort that Surge and Sharel become fond of each other. The envelope in his jacket started to push and poke at Blank, irritated that the scribe had stopped recording the battles. He excused himself from Narche who was tact enough not to point out the odd stirrings in the non-warrior’s garments.

The scribe plodded towards one of the passages connected the arena to the estate and stood beneath one of the torches that lit the long strip of road. He had barely brought out the envelope when the parchment zoomed out to angrily smack Blank’s nose.

What are you doing getting all chummy with that man rather than writing down my nephew’s exploits? You also forgot to write down that most climactic battle between Rass and Vrin!

“Begging your pardons, sir, but my services is technically restricted to transcribing the issues you were never able to learn when you still breathed.” Blank wrinkled his nose in disdain. “I am not being paid extra for those other bouts I have written down, and I would not even have managed that were it not for the man whom I was getting chummy with.”

The roar of the crowd reached Blank’s ears, as it did Raoul’s it seemed for the parchment gave the scribe a swift, stinging paper-cut across the bridge of his nose.

What are you doing standing around here for?! Go! Go! I can’t see what’s going on if the envelope isn’t present at the location!

Blank was not one for thinking profanity, let alone muttering it. But his patience had been tried the entire day and he felt himself entitled to a choice expletive or two. Stuffing the envelope back into his jacket, Blank hurried back to see what had caused such a reaction.

Surge with his beret now buried beneath rubble, was straddling his opponent while his fists mercilessly pounding into the larger man’s face. Blank wasn’t certain if you could even call the bloody mess of flesh and muscle becoming even more bloodied and messy by the second the remnants of a face. Over and over again he heard Kairhn’s voice yelling: “No fatalities Surge! What are you doing?!”

The worbles ventured as close as they could to Surge without risking their own lives and they projected throughout the entire arena the maddened delight that twisted the young Edelberton’s features into a beast. His mouth was curled in a wicked snarl, his eyes ablaze from the sight of blood. Were it not for such cruel conditions, the scribe would have sympathized with the sheer joy Surge emanated.

Blank shuddered, visibly, unashamed and unconcerned whether it made him look less of a man. Some of the weak-hearted guests had fainted, while the rowdier ones cheered Surge on.

It was then the scribe spotted Narche grabbing Kairhn by the collar, the azure-haired man was shaking the latter roughly while yelling. Blank was not a lip-reader but as he rushed towards the two (along with a slew of guards) he used his talents to drown out the rest of the noise and focused on what Narche said.

“-You idiot! You knew Surge would have gone berserk and you let him join all the same!”

“Do you have so little faith in your comrade? And you call yourself his friend.” Kairhn sneered, unaffected by the rough handling. Narche was suddenly gripped in a choke-hold as several guards pulled him away from Kairhn.

“He’s going to kill that man unless you do something!” the azure-haired man yelled.

“Fine, fine, I meant to give him a few more minutes to try to snap back to his senses but since you insist so passionately,” Kairhn merely adjusted his clothing before turning his gaze to his cousin. Speaking directly to a worble, Kairhn’s amplified voice declared “The winner of this battle is Surge! If he ceases his attacks he shall be disqualified!”

And Surge instantly stopped moving. Whatever spell had fallen upon him or trance he had been in, Kairhn’s words managed to calm the young Edelberton back into his friendly, affable state.

NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Beautiful Ones

The arena, as it turned out, was what remained of a coliseum before it fell beneath the Edelberton’s property. The estate and most of its extensions and gardens were built directly on top of it and the family had left most of the ruins as it was. Of course they also remodeled certain portions in order for people to actually be capable of getting in the arena. And such, several passages were built to connect the arena to the manor.

The facilities were improved upon, and despite the decrepit appearance the spectator’s seats, they were well lit, and proved to be far more comfortable than what one would have expected of cracked, lichen-covered lime and marble. Several winged creatures whose spherical shapes served to amplify both sounds and images fluttered throughout the arena. They landed by people who were seated far away from the main ring, those who were dismayed at the thought of getting blood on their garments. Still, others fluttered into the warriors’ area to give the participants a visual account of what was happening.

Blank smiled upon recognizing the little creatures as worbles and reached out to stroke one between its gossamer wings. The worble ducked and bobbed, burbling in amusement as it teased the scribe. When the creature saw others of its kind zoom past, it took chase, promptly forgetting about Blank. Which left him to return to his task at hand. He weaved his way towards the fighters’ area and was promptly blocked by large, burly, masked guards. “Non-fighters are forbidden to go any further.” He was gruffly told.

“But I have to talk to Surge.” Blank explained.

“Non-fighters are forbidden to go any further.”

Once more, the scribe tried to explain to the guards his reasons but was denied with yet another declaration that “Non-fighters are forbidden to go any further.”

Oh well, Blank couldn’t say he didn’t try. He certainly wasn’t about to risk his neck for something he wasn’t being paid to do. Besides, injuring his writing hand would have put his real task in jeopardy. Sighing, he turned back to find a seat when he spotted Narche standing by the closest possible location to the arena itself.

Curious, Blank carefully made his way towards Surge’s friend. “You’re pretty good at sneaking up on people.” Narche uttered, a smile across his face. “For a non-warrior that is.”

The scribe canted his head, he wasn’t really sneaking around was he? “I, uh, thank you?” he blinked. “Pardon me for asking this but what are you doing out here? I thought you were going to take part in the games? I mean, being a warrior and all.”

Narche looked quizzically at Blank, “You thought I was a warrior?”

“You did say, and I quote “Last I recalled you were the one who ended face-down when we met.” After all.”

The amber-eyed man suddenly began to laugh, “Oh you misunderstand. I’m not a warrior, at least not like the others. I’m the healer, the cleric if you will. Surge was in need of a patch job after he finally ran out of steam when he went berserk.”

“B-berserk?” Blank gawked.

“Yes, I thought everyone in the Edelberton circle knew that Surge had the uncanny ability to tap into a berseker’s rage without completely losing himself.” Narche quirked a brow.

“I believe that is due to the fact that I’m not part of the so-called circle you speak of, Narche. I’m just a hired scribe who is starting to feel quite the wide-eyed country bumpkin at a slave market.” As Raoul had put it earlier.

“Ah, don’t be too hard on yourself.” Narche cheered, lightly slapping the scribe on his back. Blank found himself winded despite the larger man controlling his strength. “Oh, did it hurt?” Narche asked, though he wasn’t being intentially mean about it.

The scribe was glad his pride was in his abilities and memory rather than in brute strength or unimaginable endurance, this way he wouldn’t feel as slighted whenever he was bested time and time again. Even by other women, but Blank thought better than to think about gender roles and whatnot.

“Just a smidge,” Blank honestly responded, secrets were safe with scribes, but their emotions need not be secrets. They had far too many of them as it was. “In any case, would it be alright for you to, um, relay the battles to me? I mean, my eyes are trained to follow words and my ears are more attuned to voices rather than the ringing of metal and such.”

Narche wasn’t certain if he found Blank an utterly pathetic, spineless wimp who would most likely have ridiculous hobbies such as knitting and needle-work, or a man who was comfortable and secure enough in his manhood to admit such things to a complete stranger. Luckilly for Blank, Surge had vouched for him so Narche was more inclined to believe the latter.

“I guess it would help me develop my focus even more.” The blonde thought, “Alright, why not? You’ll have to forgive me if I make some remarks now and again. It’s nothing against the contestants.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Blank nodded, he could easily note Narche’s comments as they came. Again Blank slipped into the trance, aware of the almost tactile sounds erupting all around him as the first fight began. He weeded out the noise, filtering out all other voices save for Narche’s. The blonde man spoke with passion, with excitement whenever his companions won and Blank found himself smiling as if he too shared the victory. The blonde man spoke with resignation whenever one of his friends lost and Blank became solemn as he wrote. And there came a moment when the blonde man didn’t speak at all.

Blank had to force himself out of his reverie to see what was the matter. Even in his normal state, it was easy for him to sense the tension in the air. Somehow it didn’t surprise him that the pair that was about to duke it out had this effect on the spectators. After all, their little clash in the ballroom was cut short. It was time for Vrin and Rass to settle things without any interruptions.

Kairhn stood in the middle of the arena and motioned to the two men to approach. “As I’ve stated, no fatalities are allowed, accidental or otherwise. You may use whatever weapon you have at your disposal save for magick. We don’t wish to risk a cave in after all.” He smirked. “This shall be single combat, no aide allowed during the fight. But what am I telling this to you two for? It isn’t as if anyone would be foolish enough to put their lives at risk, eh Rid?” Kairhn called out to the woman seated closest to the stage amongst a gaggle of yes-men and self-proclaimed friends.

One of the winged critters dashed to the woman’s side, while the rest immediately projected her image. Rid retrieved a fan from the folds of her voluminous skirt and opened it with a resonating snap. All the while hiding the grim line her mouth was pressed in behind the furious motions of her fanning.

“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re talking about, Kairhn,” She cheerfully responded while batting her lashes. “Rass luvie, show ‘em what you’re made of!” She cheered and waved. Though it was evident she was directing her attention at the person who was seated directly across her on the other side of the stadium.

Ergo sat coolly ignoring Rid’s attempts at riling her up, she had encountered the other woman enough times in the past to allow her to ignore the flamboyant woman. But she couldn’t help but twitch when she heard Rid call Rass luvie. In retaliation, she muttered an expletive that most women were too embarrassed to even think, let alone say. The men seated around her looked uneasily at each other before promptly scooting away from her. This suited Ergo just fine. She wasn’t one for causing a scene but if one were to come up, Ergo had no qualms if she had to deal with it using her fists.

“With that out of the way,” Kairhn leapt backward and landed gracefully out of the ring before declaring “Begin!”

* * * * *

It was Vrin who attacked first, launching himself headlong towards Rass. The blonde stood his ground, widening his stance to center his balance as he leaned back to avoid the initial strike aimed at him. Vrin followed with quick jabs, his face unreadable, completely devoid of emotion. It looked extremely easy on Rass’ part to dodge and avoid the lightning fast punches from so much as glancing him, though Blank would later hear Narche murmur in awe at the sheer amount of focus both Vrin and Rass were exhibiting.

Each blow thrown was blocked, each kick was dodged, each attempt at causing a near-mortal wound missed by the breadth of a hair.

“Come on, when are you going to land a hit?” Rass sneered, his fist thrusting forward as Vrin pulled back. “Or should I show you how it’s done?”

The pale-haired man looked grimly at the incoming blow aimed at his face. He made no movement to dodge. He didn’t need to, for he had waited for this moment and instead drew out his silver knife. When the gauntleted hand was but a breath away, Vrin plunged his knife deep into Rass’s wrist.

Most expected to hear metal ring against metal, anticipating that Vrin’s move would only change the direction of Rass’s attack. Blank watched in disbelief as the weapon sank through the armor as if it were made of paper, the force effectively halting Rass’s attack. The arena burst into a collection of gasps and cheers at the sight of blood dripping down the blade’s hilt.

None was as surprised or horrified by this result than Ergo.

“This blade was specially crafted to never stop unless it tastes blood.” He explained with a smirk. Smoothly yanking the weapon free from its fleshy sheath, Vrin somersaulted away to coolly slip his weapon back into his clothing. Rass didn’t so much as blink, instead he pulled his chipped gauntlet off and hurled it away. The metal glove fell with a heavy thud, leaving a clearly visible indentation on the ring’s floor.

“That all you got?” Was Rass’s snide remark, though it was evident he was quite annoyed that Vrin still kept his face a careful mask. “That ain’t enough to beat me, you pansy!” And in that instant, he charged at Vrin.

The pale-haired man barely saw what was coming and found himself nearly folding in two from pain as Rass’s bare fist slammed into his gut though it felt more akin to a sledgehammer’s strike.

“Come on, show me what the fuck Ergo ever saw in you.” Rass hissed, retracting his hand in order to deal a hammer blow to Vrin’s back. The pale-haired man quickly rolled to his side as clasped fists smashed the ground leaving a small crater where Vrin had been just seconds earlier.

“Heh, not bad.” Rass admitted, “Most people don’t ever get up after I hit ‘em.”

Vrin did not seem impressed, “Your point being?”

The blonde grit his teeth and lunged at Vrin, who merely leap-frogged out of harms way. Landing smartly on his feet, Vrin ducked as a kick soared over him and in return he lashed out with his dagger. His speed was rewarded with the sickening sound of metal piercing metal, flesh and bone. Deftly, the liaisons officer pulled his weapon free and once more rolled away as a fist narrowly missed him.

“Come on, show me what the fuck Ergo ever saw in you.” Vrin taunted, for the first time throughout the battle. Despite the ease in his movements, Vrin was hurting from the sole blow that Rass managed to connect. He didn’t dare touch it, using every ounce of control he possessed to keep himself from so much as wincing each time he breathed.

If I can frustrate him enough, Vrin planned. He knew the barbarian had too short a temper but he also took into account the fact that Rass was a veteran among veterans. If he weren’t, Vrin would have defeated him minutes ago. Rass was aware of the liaison officer’s intentions to rile him up, to make him careless enough to be defeated.

I’m not going down that easily, pansy, Rass spat before charging again. He was slower this time, the wound in his leg was seriously compromising his speed and both men knew it. It was a chance Vrin wasn’t about to let slip through his fingers.

The dagger, aimed at Rass’s shoulders, flew through the air. But before the blade could pierce armor, Rass made a clean swipe at the hilt, effectively changing its course. Vrin’s eyes widened, not because his opponent had so easily redirected his weapon but because the dagger was now hurtling towards Ergo.

“No.” the pale-haired man whispered before making a mad dash for his blade. He hadn’t even intended to avoid the tackle Rass had halfway positioned himself in; all that mattered to Vrin was that Ergo would remain unharmed.

“Come back he- oh fuck.” Rass realized just why the pale-haired man suddenly turned tail. Grunting, he took chase, not after Vrin but the weapon. He wasn’t about to let the pale-haired man upstage him by saving Ergo twice in one night.

Those seated near the brunette gasped and scrambled out of the way. Except for Ergo herself. The same intense concentration Rass and Vrin had been openly displaying to the spectators was now clearly seen on her face.

And while the rest of the crowd was watching Ergo, Blank found himself curiously looking at Rid. The scribe shivered at the manic glee on the woman’s face. It was obvious earlier that evening that Rid despised Ergo, but still, shouldn’t she show some measure of concern for another human being? Then again, compassion and mercy seemed such unheard of concepts when you were seated in an arena watching two people beat each other senseless. He stared at the bright-haired woman until the stunned gasps called back his attention.

Three hands had reached out to grab at the dagger; two grasped the hilt, one the blade itself. Blood seeped from the wound, down to the razor sharp edge and dripped thickly onto Ergo’s skirt. A gauntleted hand drew back, unharmed, unbloodied.

“Vrin...” Ergo whispered, relinquishing her grip on the hilt to reach out to the carmine-eyed man. “I can’t believe you’re using the blade I forged for you.”

The liaisons officer chuckled and pulled his arm to his side, “My apologies for placing you in danger.” He murmured.

Before Ergo’s fingers could brush against his face, Rass’s fist beat her to it. His punch sent Vrin flying back into the center of the ring.

“VRIN!! Rass, that was uncalled for!”

“We’re still in the middle of a fight and we ain’t done yet!” Rass growled, enraged that Vrin had showed him up once again. With his injured leg, he stomped down hard agianst the fallen Vrin’s sternum. The sound of bones cracking echoed as his ribs fractured from the pressure. Rass lifted his foot once again and motioned to finish him off when Kairhn’s voice suddenly interrupted him.

“Remember, no fatalities. Especially not when it involves someone currently under Edelberton employment.” Though the mad glee on his face seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Fuck, you’re lucky there was someone here to save your hide.” Rass spat at the still form of Vrin. He turned to walk away, assured that Vrin wouldn’t be capable of getting back to his. He was proven wrong when shadow loomed from behind him and instincts caused him to face the incoming danger. Vrin’s dagger sank deep into the armored man’s flesh, inches beside his heart while missing any major organs.

“If I were to pull this out, you’ll slowly bleed to death.” Vrin uttered calmly, ignoring the fire burning in his own lungs caused by his broken ribs.

“N-no fatalities, you dumb fucking pansy.” Rass snarled, keeping himself still lest he unwittingly kills himself.

“It’s not fatal since if you get patched up quickly enough you will live.” It was Vrin’s turn to sneer. “Admit it, Rass. I’ve beaten you three times in the span of one night.”

“Three times? What the fuck you talking about?”

“The wine glass, stopping the dagger, and this. I’ve bested you at all three and you know it.”

The blonde’s expression turned ugly at Vrin’s demand but eventually became resigned, “I yield.” He said, barely above a whisper.

A worble had flown in close enough to allow the others to project Rass’s declaration and the arena burst into cheers.

“Call a druid or cleric. Rass requires healing before I can retrieve my dagger.” Vrin instructed to the worble. The pale-haired man himself needed the restorative powers of a healer, but he was currently taking comfort with the memory of Ergo’s voice calling his name.

Rass appeared deeply troubled. It was not so much as the fact that he lost to Vrin but over the way Ergo looked at Vrin when he had saved her from the dagger by grabbing the blade. Not to mention that it was Ergo who had forged the dagger the liaison officer had been using. Was there still something between them?

NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 7

Chapter Seven - Makes Me Wonder

Blank wordlessly stepped outside the room, dazed, confused and was absolutely certain that he was in over his head. “I have got to tell the agency to do background checks before accepting clients.” He winced as he stumbled down long halls and dark corridors, trying to find his way back to the dining hall. His stomach rumbled and his head felt light, he seriously felt like he could eat an entire cow if given the chance.

“Oh wonderful, I really am lost.” He sighed after finding himself staring at the same dead end with the same portrait of a man in a powdered wig. Desperately he took out the envelope housing Raoul’s instructions. “Alright you got me into Miss Sharel’s room now get me back to the dining hall. I can’t properly function if I don’t get to eat!” He ordered, lightly smacking the packet with the back of his hand.

But he received no response, “Don’t tell me you’re on a dinner break.” Blank frowned. Sighing, he went back to his futile attempts at navigating the impossibly huge manor. Down another corridor and descending yet another flight of stairs, Blank was beginning to think he was going to wander for all eternity.

Until a chipper voice greeted him from behind, “So this is where you are!”

Blank nearly leapt out of his skin and he hadn’t been able to keep a rather girly squeal from escaping his mouth, which prompted unabashed laughter from Surge. Blank would have demanded what was so funny if he hadn’t found himself chuckling at the ridiculous way the beret looked atop Surge’s head.

“You have an affinity for hats, don’t you?” Blank stated, pointing to the aforementioned article of clothing.

Surge adjusted the beret, “Yeah, I have one for each day of the year. They make great conversation starters, especially with the ladies.” He laughed but not with a slight blush. “And speaking of ladies, Vrin told me Jenta scared you away.”

“She did not!” Blank gasped, it was his turn to crimson.

“Hey, calm down, man. I was going to say you aren’t the first to run.” Surge held his hands in front of him as a shield of sorts, though Blank knew very well the lanky young man in front of him was more than capable of holding his own in battles. And despite the accounts he had just gotten from Sharel, Blank felt at ease around this particular Edelberton. No suspicion prickled his skin, no impending doom lurked over his shoulder, no intimidation burrowed into his mind.

“Sorry about my behavior earlier, I kinda acted like a jerk. I’m not always like that. Marlene just brings out the worst in me. A-anyway, you seen Sharel?” Surge asked, quickly changing the topic.

“Oh, she, um, I had seen her earlier but then she had to go elsewhere.” Blank finished lamely. He didn’t tell a single lie but it didn’t sound completely truthful either. Secrets are safe with scribes, they must be, else they lose everything. Whether Surge could tell, he did not show it.

“Great, run off again.” Surge sighed, rubbing the side of his head where a scar peeked from between strands of hair. “She always does this, every month she’ll just up and vanish just when I have something to ask her. Are all women this, well, flakey or just her?”

“I, um, I d-don’t believe I’m in any position to answer that.” Blank spoke the complete truth, he had never been fortunate in matters of the heart. “When you spend most of your time writing down other people’s stories, you tend to forget that you have one of your own.” He laughs. “A-anyway, I won’t have much of a life if I don’t get something to eat soon. Mind showing me the way back to the dining hall?”

Tipping his beret to cover his scar, Surge smiled, “Sure. I can’t have the only guy who’ll let us get our inheritance waste away into skin and bones. Besides, that look’s taken by yours truly.”

There was an odd sense of comfort that emanated from Surge. It calmed Blank, making him relaxed enough to ask “Think after I eat I could talk to you about these issues your Uncle Raoul wanted to learn of you?”

Surge stiffened slightly but then again it could have just been the hunger pangs messing with Blank’s mind. “Sure, why not? Unless Kairhn has something planned, though I don’t doubt it. Even if Sharel was the one who planned all this, Kairhn’s not the sort who likes being delegated to the background. He’ll have something to upstage her for sure.”

They finally reached the dining hall and found no one really missed Sharel or Blank’s presence. This irked Surge far more than he let Blank notice. “Freakin’ bloodsucking social parasites.” The pale-haired man muttered beneath his breath.

“Excuse me?” Blank blinked, he thought he heard Surge say something.

“Meh, it’s nothing.” Surge waved in casual dismissal. “Where were you seated?”

Blank gestured to the empty chair in front of Jenta, which Surge acknowledged with a soft “Eep. No wonder you turned tail and ran. She did the thing under the table with you, didn’t she?”

The scribe nodded, “You seem to know a lot about this woman’s activities.”

“Hey, she’s always looking for new clients. You’re not the first one to get an “under the table” sample as she calls it.” Surge explained with the matching air quotes. “And I doubt she’ll stop trying to get you on her list. So whaddya say? Wanna sit with me and my friends? Sharel won’t mind if we re-arrange the seating plan, not like she’s here to nag, yeah?”

* * * * *

Surge’s friends were perhaps the friendliest group Blank had met at the ball. They were also the most conspicuous ones, apart from Sharel’s own selected guests and their particular choice in clothing. They were rowdy, loud, the sort of bunch you’d find in seedy taverns drinking ale and singing tawdry songs about women. Muscles rippled against tight clothing, strained against the formal garments they had donned so as not to appear too out of place in such lavish settings. The way they sat, ate, even spoke showed a certain level of discipline that most men wouldn’t even be able to mimic for too long.

Bladesmasters, Soulcleavers, Bonebreakers, they were all just titles, just fancy labels the many cultures of Silar came up with to distinguish one style from another. But the scribe had written down exploits and stories involving men like these, a great deal enough of them to know that most of these people were far more comfortable being simply called Warriors.

Surge introduced him, explained his situation both with Jenta and the will. No one seemed to mind his presence or questioned why the chapeau'd Edelberton invited him. In that case, Blank took it upon himself to do the wondering.

“So, how’d you all meet?” Blank asked the one of the four men, doing his best to strike up a conversation that involved neither a beating nor a bedding.

“Is this one o’ them issues Surge’s uncle be wantin’ t’ know?” Lenny, the tall, heavily tanned man with a drawl quirked a faded-sapphire brow.

“Oh, no, no, this is just my own curiosity. I’m not always out to write down stories.” Blank replied.

“Why? Our stories not quality material for you?” Narche, an azure-haired man beside Surge demanded as he narrowed amber eyes at the scribe.

“It’s never the scribe’s position to judge whether or not a tale is worthy of being immortalized on parchment. That’s up for the readers and the person telling the tale.” Blank shrugged, he had heard this question far too many times in the past to let them rile him. Never mind that they could easily pummel him senseless.

“Well?” Surge eyed his companions.

“He’s got guts, I’ll give him that.” The heavily scarred one who went by the name Aggre grinned. Lenny voiced his agreement with an ever so eloquent “Ayup!”

“I guess we could let you know how I ended up with these losers.” Surge laughed.

“Losers? Last I recalled you were the one who ended face-down when we met.” Narche playfully punched Surge in the arm. Had he hit some poor sap with no combat experience whatsoever, someone like Blank, Narche could have very well broken a bone or two or five.

“To be honest, the five of us met at a tourney.” Surge said cheerfully with a youthful boyish smile that almost made Blank forget Sharel’s words.

He had become a beast. It was difficult for Blank to come to terms with what Sharel described and what he was seeing before him. Surge’s enthusiasm, the genuine embarrassment at admitting his lack of experience with women, his loyalty to his family even though he admitted there were times he wish someone would have done something to knock some sense into Marlene.

“Speakin’ o’ them wenches, you ever manage t’ work up the nerve an’ talk t’ tha’ one?” Lenny jeered as he gestured to a woman Blank recognized as Rid.

Surge crimsoned completely.

“I’m going to take a wild stab at that being a definitive NO!” Aggre laughed as the others, including Blank, joined in.

How can be have become a beast? Was what Blank found himself wondering. Little did he know that Kairhn was about to give him the opportunity for Blank to find out. The soon-to-be head of the Edelberton name and fortune began to tap his knife against his wine-filled glass, the tinny sound somehow managing to ring throughout the dining hall and eventually silence everyone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Kairhn began once he had the guests’ attention, “On behalf of my cousin Sharel, I wish to extend our deepest apologies. She seems to have been called away and is unable to grace us with her presence. To make things up for everyone, I have arranged for the arena to be availble to any interested warrior. Fret not for the squeamish ones that Marlene had invited. This is a friendly game, no fatalities allowed unless they wish to be sent to trial for murder. Or executed on the spot. Whichever is more fun.”

Squeals and gasps rippled throughout the hall, some of feigned indignation, some of genuine delight, while others like Surge and his friends were too busy grinning from ear to ear to make a sound. Eagerly, the five men and some others got up from their seats to approach Kairhn under the excuse of “discussing important matters.” Though it was clear as day that they wanted to be part of the evening’s events.

Blank felt the envelope thump in his chest again and carefully slipped away to see whatever it was Raoul wanted of him this time.

I know it’s not really part of your contract since you were hired to record tales and whatnot. But please, please, please, please, PLEASE immortalize the upcoming scrimmages that are about to take place!

“Why? Couldn’t you watch it from where you are?” Blank asked, curious at the desperation he read from the words.

Yes, I suppose I can. But as I told Sharel, I have memory problems and I’m certain some of these fights are going to be spectacular and well, I’d like to have something in order to remember them.

“I don’t know.” Blank was genuinely hesitant, he was neither bard nor poet. Yes, he could jot down poems, lyrics, songs, tales and epics, but he could never quite find the proper words if they were to ever come from him. It was an easy feat for him to take down everything if someone else did the talking. But he knew he lacked the muse to inspire him and the confidence to come up with eloquent words from his own mind.

You aren’t squeamish are you? Hearing is different from seeing? Is it because you have no imagination? The parchment scoffed, Condmen it all to hell, was it a mistake hiring you?

“Begging your pardons, sir. But I am a scribe, not some mandolin-toting minstrel! There is a difference between accurately writing down stories that may or may not be accurate, and spinning a completely original story altogether. Though one may argue that originality has long died once man learned to communicate with one another.” Blank snapped, narrowing his eyes at the now-blank parchment.

Alright, fine, fine, I apologize. But isn’t there anyway for you to somehow get a gist of things? Maybe if Kairhn had thought to hire an announcer? Someone who is accustomed to giving a detailed report on what is going on in battles?

That notion hadn’t struck Blank before, but of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? Surge and his friends were skilled warriors, they could easily tell him what goes on in the battles. He only hoped they’d be fine with helping him.

NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 6

Chapter Six - Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep

“M-Miss Sh-Sharel!” Blank croaked, mouth going dry as he scrambled to his feet. “I, I seem to have gotten lost! I thought this was the lavatory but it obviously isn’t.” he explained, “I, I’ll be heading back to the dining hall.” Never mind the fact Blank knew he wouldn’t be able to get there on his own.

The whip cracked at his feet, tripping him flat on his back. A leather boot rested lightly against his sternum, before Sharel began to apply more and more pressure. “Are you certain that is all you were doing? You weren’t trying to find our vault and rob us, were you?”

Blank seemed indignant, “I most assuredly was not! I may be a humble scribe but I have no need to resort to thievery!” Though he struggled beneath Sharel’s foot, he couldn’t manage to get any leverage to throw her off balance.

“Save your strength, Blank. You don’t have what it takes.” Sharel grinned smugly as she dug her heels deeper into his chest. “But don’t worry, I won’t kill you. My cousins don’t have the patience and might do something stupid. Like attempt to break the enchantments our Uncle had placed on his worldly goods.” She lifted her leg off his torso and with smooth ease, bent forward to pull the scribe to his feet.

“Head back to the dining hall,” she commands, gathering the whip in one hand with a mere flick of her wrist. “You do know how to get back, don’t you?” she sneered.

Blank started out of the room, but the envelope in his breast pocket started to thump against him, aiming at the spot where Sharel was slowly sinking her heel in. Oh for Malj’s sake, he grunted as he retrieved the packet. Pulling out the contents, the parchment leapt right at his face, smothering him.

“Arrrrrrgh!” Blank yelled, landing painfully onto his back yet again. Sharel didn’t so much as ask him if he was alright. In fact, she actually stepped over his supine form. Snatching the parchment from his face, Blank furiously hurled it away. Only to have it crumple mid-air and fly towards the back of Sharel’s head. The bespectacled woman easily caught the scrap and carelessly tossed it at the scribe.

For something that was made out of paper, the impact made a sharp smack and left a red welt on Blank’s forehead. As he rubbed at the spot and blinked away the tears of pain stinging his eyes, he saw Sharel looming before him.

“Did you honestly just try to attack me?” She quirked a brow in disbelief.

“N-no! This stupid thing your Uncle left me started acting up!” Blank stammered, holding the now smoothened piece of parchment up to her.

Hello there, Sharry! The paper greeted as more words began to form.

“I no longer go by that name.” She narrowed her eyes.

Be nice to the poor lad, I know you’re not as cruel as you pretend you are.

“Just what do you know uncle?” She snorted, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

Not as much as I’d like, which is why I hired this young man to document your answers for me. I’ve become rather forgetful, the last few years of my life and I fear I’ll keep that trait in my afterlife. So please, humor your Uncle Raoul, just this last time.

She looked unmoved, steely eyes staring uncaringly at the piece of parchment. “Why on Silar should I?”

The paper was blank, silent for the next half a minute before answering Because I remember how you were when you were smaller, when you were the one who stood up for your cousins and defended them, rather than the distant woman you are now. When you still smiled from simple pleasures such as watching the rain patter against the windows, rather than finding only happiness in the misery of others.

When you used to know what “blood is thicker than water” meant.

Sharel’s eyes softened, “Fine.” She moved to the door and pushed it shut before locking it, effectively sealing herself and Blank inside. “You needn’t be so melodramatic about the whole matter, Uncle Raoul.” Clapping her hands, the room lit up and Blank swore he could hear soft, animal cries murmuring behind him. And they were coming from the quilt?!

The leather-clad woman sauntered towards the mewling piece of cloth, cooing and hushing. The quilt snarled and barked as she drew closer, a portion winding around her outstretched hand. Blank heard ripping flesh and saw the wadded cloth stain red before the discoloration disappeared as if nothing had ever happened.

Sharel started to stroke the quilt, murmuring gently as her fingers brushed over certain squares while tapping others lightly. She giggled and laughed, her entire personality had done a complete switch as far Blank could tell. When the quilt finally released the woman from its hold, Blank just stared at the long gash that had split along Sharel’s arm.

“It’s just a scratch.” Sharel shrugged, and disappeared behind the quilt. Only to emerge moments later holding a chair in one hand and a stool in her injured one that was now wrapped in tight bandages. “Now I believe you are required to ask me of some things my Uncle Raoul wishes to know about. But first, I wish to know you found this room.” She stated and kicked the stool towards the scribe.

Staring at the piece of furniture, the young man cautiously sat down on the stool before answering “The envelope started acting up and led me here.”

The parchment hovered in front of Sharel, It’s true!

Sharel grunted and folded her arm across her chest, her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I always suspected that Uncle Raoul knew of this room and that he simply chose to pretend it didn’t exist. You’ve just proven me correct. Alright, you’ve answered my question, I am ready to answer Uncle Raoul’s.”

The scribe suddenly started to scan his surroundings, “Ah! Err, wait a moment, I seem to have misplaced the...” he trailed off before finding what it was he was searching for. He leaned backwards, reaching for the discarded envelope that the parchment would hide itself in. His fingers brushed against it and curled inwards, dragging the envelope to his fist. Unfortunately, Blank failed to estimate the distance and found the stool tipping backwards.

He yelped and shielded himself in anticipation of the impact. What he felt instead was the whip winding around his torso and a sharp jerk that kept him from falling completely. He turned to face Sharel to see her effortlessly keeping him balanced despite such an awkward position.

“How did you come to be so strong?” He couldn’t keep himself from asking.

“I am under no obligation to answer your questions.” Was the crisp response, before she slowly pulled him back upright. “Now then, let’s get down to business. The guests may not be concerned whether or not you are present, but they shall certainly wonder why the host of the ball is not dining with them.”

Blank fidgeted with the envelope before digging his arm in to search for the materials he was to use to jot down Sharel’s secrets. Pulling out the small tome and the other writing implements, Blank then glanced at the parchment that now floated in front of him. “Alright, what is it you wish to ask of Miss Sharel?”

I wish to know how it was she ended up with one of Corsae’s Chosen and has become his Consort.

Both Blank and Sharel’s eyes widened at this revelation. The former wisely avoided looking into the bespectacled woman’s face and instead sat himself down on the floor to rest the tome on the stool and open the ink pot.

“Well, that certainly explains her unusual strength.” The young man murmured to himself as he licked the quill’s tip before dipping it in the ink.

“I can hear you, you know.” Sharel hissed.

“Sorry, didn’t realize.” Blank apologized quickly, though he didn’t seem all that frightened. “Now then, please repeat the statement written on the parchment before answering.”

Sharel quirked a brow at the young man’s even tone and found herself doing as he says. Somehow, having a quill in hand kept Blank calm, enabled him to keep his wits while allowing himself to become completely lost within her voice, her words. Each letter, each syllable flowing from her lips into his fingers, into the quill through the ink and onto the page. He found the rhythm to her speech, understood the nuances and subtle accents, and while he did not preempt her answer, neither did he scramble to take down her response.

He seemed as if he were one with Sharel, as if her thoughts were projected directly into his mind to allow him to fulfill his task with ease. It all looked so simple, but every good scribe knew this took an extreme amount of concentration. And Blank was not lacking in this quality whenever he was working. At his peak, there was nothing that would, or could, keep him from listing down every single word.

By this, Sharel was impressed and allowed herself to trust the young man with more than just the carefully calculated, cautiously chosen words she had been telling him. She found herself unable to deny him what it was he had been hired to record.

The truth.

“I suppose I should start from the very beginning...”

* * * * *

I suppose I should start from the very beginning, though none of that really matters when you think about it. After all, Uncle Raoul, you were there when we were growing up. We lived here in the Edelberton estate, our four families and some other distant relatives by marriage. It may sound strange that I am narrating to you my childhood, but that was where it began.

Yes, I would not have this life, this secret, this curse, had it not been for the days of my youth. But I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? The four of us were inseparable in our younger days. Kairhn was the leader obviously, he would come up with the most interesting and unusual adventures that made any mundane day memorable. Surge was the natural lackey who would scout ahead and run back to us to warn of approaching danger like our governess or any heavy handed nanny. Marlene was the decoy, the distraction, able to draw attention to herself by crying crocodile tears at will or screaming her lungs out.

I was the mature one, the responsible one. I was the one who cleaned up after them. It meant I wouldn’t get the brunt of the punishments for going along with them and not stopping some of their more dangerous games while at the same time not risking alienation from my cousins. Then again, even if I wanted to stop them, I had no ability to stop those three.

Uncle Raoul knew of their gifts and abilities, and he was also aware of mine or rather lack thereof. Not that I complained, mind you. I was comforted by the knowledge that these three would need me to keep them grounded, remind them of their mortality, and provide wise council. Had things remained the way they were, I might have grown to become a different person.

But they didn’t. One by one, they were sent away to hone their skills, enhance their abilities and develop their talents. We exchanged letters, saw each other during special days and went on the occasional adventure for old time’s sake. But I knew they would never regard me the way they had when we were younger. While they didn’t look down on me, they pitied me. Patronized me. And I hated them for it.

I made new friends, found new acquaintances and discovered my own talent. Beast taming called to me, drew me into its fierce, violent embrace. And for the first time, I was the one who took center stage. My cousins marveled at the creatures that bowed down to me, I had regained their respect once more for I had proven that I was still one of them. But I allowed myself to foolishly believe things would go back to the way they were.

It was the night of the new moon when everything went wrong. I had invited my cousins to watch my taming of a rare beast that lurked somewhere amongst the caves of Kalnore. I have to be honest, I felt insulted that only Surge had been able to attend. Marlene and Kairhn had previous engagements they could not afford to miss. Had I not always been there for their exhibitions and tournaments? The least they could have done was asked me if it were possible to tame on another time!

But no, I had been blind to the fact that if I have changed they must have as well. I committed the greatest mistake a beast tamer could make. I allowed my emotions get in the way of my focus. I would pay dearly for this lapse in judgment. The beast I aimed to tame was the ursa moss, the largest of bears in the whole of Kalnore. Moss grew within the bear’s fur before the sun would draw it out onto the surface. Ursa mosses are difficult to track and even more difficult to tame. They are a hybrid of flora and fauna and there were few successfully tamed ursa mosses. It would have made an incredible addition to my steadily increasing quilt.

Yes, the very same quilt you witnessed attacking me, Blakeford. Are you aware that a beast tamer must have a means for keeping track of the creatures that view them as master? Some choose log books, others used picture albums. I opted for a quilt.

In any case, Surge was the only one who accompanied me to the taming. It wasn’t often I would be able to share something such as this with my cousins and it infuriated me that Marlene and Kairhn weren’t present to witness my triumph. I would later be glad for their absencefor I did not succeed. The gods know Kairhn would have lorded this over me for eons to come and Marlene is incapable of keeping a secret.

Needless to say, I had failed to tame the ursa moss. A proper taming was a dance of power, of giving up one’s rule over the self to serve the other and it was the tamer’s duty to demonstrate that they meant no harm. That their authority was worthy of being followed. I was angry, distracted, and this enabled the creature to sense my hostility. I had no way of gaining its trust once it read my heart. But I was with Surge and I needed to prove to him that I was not the same boring cousin he had grown up with. I needed him to marvel at my skill and be in awe of having a creature bend to my will.

The ursa moss saw all that was in my heart, and retaliated. But rather than attacking me, it went for the source of my feelings. It attacked Surge.

“Stop beast!” I yelled, lashing at the bear with my whip. Moss and fur flew into the air as my weapon connected, but the bear continued to charge at my cousin. He seemed surprised, as if he had expected me to be able to stop the bear. I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me, not Surge. He had been the only one who would listen to me, follow me during rare times I’d go against Kairhn’s plans.

I lunged after the bear, my whip winding around its thick neck before I pulled. Hard. And I felt my shoulders dislocate as the beast broke free to continue charging at my cousin. My screams of pain rang out through the mountainside, and that distracted my cousin enough to allow the beast to strike him clean across the head.

I watched, helpless, my arms dangling uselessly at my sides while Surge was lifted into the air from the force with his boater sliced to shreds. Blood streamed down his face and he fell down to the ground with a dull thud.

“SURGE!” I screamed, stumbling forward, losing my footing and landing face first. He neither stirred nor responded, the bear had stopped attacking, believing it had won against Surge. It then turned towards my fallen form. I had to think quickly, trying to calm myself to once again make an attempt at taming.

And that’s when Surge rose up. He seemed unmindful of his injury and held two blades by their hilts. He said naught a word, rather he laughed to draw the beast’s attention. The bear sniffed at the air nervously, sensing something was amiss with this human. But none of us could have missed the challenge that shone clearly in Surge’s eyes nor the cold, manic grin spread across his face.

I knew what that smile meant. I had seen it before during one of his tournaments. Whenever he took on this smile, his opponent never rose again. And while I would have understood Surge’s need to defend himself from the bear, I didn’t condone the slaughter of innocent creatures. Especially when it was my fault it was enraged.

“Surge don’t kill it!” I ordered him in the same way I had done when we were children. But my cries fell upon deaf ears as he mercilessly carved away at fur and flesh. I could smell the blood oozing out onto fur and moss as I stood transfixed, gaping before the scene unfolding before me. When his maniacal laughter ensued, I knew I didn’t have much time before he completely slaughtered the bear. I refused to be the witless witness. So I racked my mind for ideas, for something, for anything that could at the very least distract him. I had no weapon, no means of getting through to him. I could have summoned any of my pets to my side but I didn’t wish to risk their lives as well.

This was my fault, I had been too focused on the pent up resentment that festered in me. I had allowed it to get in the way of my taming and rather than creating a bond of trust and respect, I ended up instilling my rage and have sent an innocent creature to its doom. I could use the Tone of Authority to force the bear to retreat, but I knew Surge would only chase after it to finish what he had started. It was only when I saw the mad gleam in Surge’s eyes that I realized my cousin had forgotten his humanity and reverted to a primal state.

He had become a beast.

And that meant I stood a chance at taming him. The Tone of Authority had no effect on humans. Usually. We are conditioned to recognize the world differently from animals and beasts. This conditioning is what keeps beast tamers from controlling people, not that I’ve tried beforehand, mind you.

I cleared my mind of all anger and focused on calming thoughts. Whenever a tamer uses the Tone, they emit a certain brilliance from their bodies. The more sincere their desire to tame, the brighter the glow. I wasn’t aware of my radiance was when I used the Tone, but the attendants that were at the camp we set up thought a portion of the mountain had burst into flames.

I would be lying if I said this bit of information didn’t please me. But at that moment, I was too preoccupied with urging Surge to stop. The bear was no longer fighting to kill Surge; only that it was merely trying to defend itself.

“There’s no point to this, Surge. You’ve already won.” I reasoned. Surge paused mid-strike and glanced at my direction. I couldn’t tell if he was contemplating on finishing the bear, attacking me, or both. A strong gust of wind blew his hat off, and our eyes met. This allowed me to see into him, past his silly demeanor and causal nature; I saw that indeed he was a beast. I could scarcely believe that my cousin housed within his lanky, awkward frame a feral side that only managed to manifest itself in battle.

“If you slay your opponent, you will lose the match and be disqualified.” I continued; banking on the hope that it was his desire to win that made him fight so viciously. And I was correct.

Surge sheathed his blades before crumpling to his knees, “I, I’m so sorry Sharel. I just lost it.” He whispered, trembling. I would have given him a gentle pat on his head had my hands been of any use. Instead, I hushed him quiet, just like the way I did when we were young. I whispered to him with the tone still lingering in my voice that he should sleep.

“Rest and forget all that has happened. Do not try to remember. Do not allow any nagging doubts to worry you. I have cared for you and the others in our youth. The years have made no difference.”

He smiled up at me before his lids closed and I guided his body to the ground as best as I could, given my limited mobility. I knelt by him for a few moments, watching his chest rise and fall in an even, steady pace. At that point, flocks of birds took flight and the ground began to tremble. I started to rise when a large, reptillian hand broke through the rocky ground beneath me. The force knocked Surge and myself into the air before I felt the large appendage grip around my body. Instinctively I yelled out to Surge, to command him to awaken to save himself. But the acrid smell of blood rose stung my eyes and threatened to suffocate me. Blinking away the tears as best I could, I watched as my cousin’s sleeping form plummet to the ground.

And was caught by the very same bear he had tried to slay moments ago. I knew the ursa moss was not under my command and that there was a chance it would slay Surge. But the creature merely released its hold on my cousin before lumbering towards me. It growled low, but its target was not me but the enormous hand that held me captive. Was the beast trying to save me despite all its wounds? Despite how I was the cause of the pain it had gone through?

“Get to safety!” I ordered just before I found myself being dragged down beneath the soil. I suppose the only thing I could be proud of was that I did not give into panic or fear as I descended deep beneath the surface into a dark, underground cavern.

The hand belonged to an enormous snake-like creature with scales the color of polished resin. It stared at me with unblinking, slitted persimmon eyes while I wretched as its forked tongue lapped at me. I gagged at the stench of the saliva that coated my skin and suddenly felt my body absorb the disgusting liquid. Electricity jolted through me, but it felt incredible, wonderful, soothing. The ominous sound of cracking bones rang in my ears and I shrieked in pain as my shoulders snapped back into place. My body grew limp and my breathing came in haggard gasps.

“Well done, human.” A voice rang in my ears and my initial guess was it was the serpent. But no, it was the figure that stood atop the beast’s head. “I applaud you for your integrity and for your rare gift of perception.”

My brows furrowed in confusion, Perception? What is he talking about?

“Come now,” he clapped, and the serpent raised me towards the unknown figure. “There is no need to be modest.” When I was close enough to see his features, my eyes widened and my blood ran cold. I knew who he was and more importantly I knew what he was. He was one of the Nameless Many. A demi-god, one of those whom Corsae had bestowed favor upon.

He possessed paws as opposed to a human’s hands and feet, feline ears were pressed flat atop his tan-haired head and a long furred tail twitched to and fro behind him. Though he retained some aspects of his humanity, it was simply impossible to mistake him to be human.

“W-why?” I stammered weakly, it was all I could do to keep from screaming.

He grinned wolfishly, revealing sharp fangs. “You’ve interested me with your taming and you’ve won my respect for protecting the life of an untamed beast. Such a feat does not go unnoticed.” He clapped once more and the snake released its hold on me. I stumbled forward, allowing my legs to gain their balance before somersaulting backwards away from him. I did not know what he meant by his words, but when I stared into his face, I saw the hunger shining in his eyes. Again the serpent caught me in mid-air and held me captive.

It was not mindless panic or irrational fear that urged, nay, begged me to keep my distance from him. It was the way my body had grown warm and flushed when I was near him. I could not trust myself in his presence, and that was why I had to flee.

“So you can sense it.” He smiled and was extremely pleased “And it was not just mere luck or desperation.”

He wanted my flesh, and I knew I could do nothing to stop him. I was freed from the serpent’s grip only to be held captive in his embrace. I felt his palm rest upon my breast and I felt the fabric of my clothes dig into my skin briefly as he ripped my blouse open.

* * * * *

Sharel fell quiet after that. Her eyes were glossed over as if her mind was devoid of all thoughts. The silence eneabled Blank to emerge from his trance, his rhythm gone as his connection with Sharel was broken.

“M-Miss Sharel?” He cautiously got up before stumbling back down, realizing his legs had fallen asleep. The noise seemed to rouse the bespectacled woman out of her own reverie and for an instance, the expression on her face was primal. It didn’t take long for the cold, condescending glare to return.

“What happened next?” Blank asked.

“I cannot properly recall what followed afterwards.” Her steely gaze never wavered, but Blank could tell she merely chose to tell him she didn’t. He didn’t think it would be wise to pry her for anymore than she was willing to give. But she was not his employer, Kairhn was though only in name, only to keep the complicated matters as they are rather than making them even worse. His real employer was in the very same room. In the form of the low-hovering piece of paper. Glancing to the parchment, Blank waited for Raoul to give him further instructions.

Good enough for me. The words read, and for the life of him, Blank couldn’t be certain if it was written in good faith or resignation.

“We are done, now. Miss Sharel.” Blank murmured before he began his routine of clearing away. He held out the envelope to the paper expectantly while the sheet began to fold itself

“Wait,” Sharel piped up, “Uncle Raoul, I have to know how you found out. I have gone through great lengths to keep this a secret. There isn’t a soul alive that would know of my gift!”

The parchment unfolded itself, You mean no one knows those montly gatherings you’ve been attending were only excuses so you could hide when you take beast-form?

Sharel pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a smirk now on her lips “Sarcasm loses its edge if not spoken, dear uncle.”

Without warning, she grasps at her throat to fight back a scream from escaping. Slowly, she was lifted off the chair by unseen hands, and before Blank’s eyes, her body started to shift. Dark blue-gray fur began to force its way onto the surface of her skin. Her ears seemed to grow larger, longer, drooping down to her shoulders. Transfixed, Blank could do little but watch as Sharel’s face elongated into a snout while her body retained its size and most of its bipedal structure. Her glasses had fallen off, clattering noisily on the floor but they remained whole as Sharel was lowered to her side, twitching.

Was it not for actually witnessing the transformation, Blank might have gone into a catatonic shock upon finding the harsh, whip-toting Sharel had taken on properties of a fluffy, lop-eared hare. He watched her, dumbstruck, as she felt the floor for her glasses and once she located them, carefully tucked them away in what remained of her clothes. Resting on her haunches, Sharel began to asses her new form before she calmly faced Blank.

His expression the perfect physical manifestation of his name only made Sharel sigh, “I do not know which beast I will turn into or when. None of it is of my choosing. I am bound to his will, his choices for I am his Consort.” She clenched her fist and slammed it against the floor. As polished stone cracked and powdered from her blow, Blank couldn’t help but notice how her face was twisted and filled with rage that seemed impossible for a gentle, fluffy bunny to project. “Do you have any idea how hard it was; how long it took for me to come to terms with this arrangement? I have tried to hide from him, to bury myself in some god-forsaken wasteland, but every attempt has been a failure.”

And failure is sometimes worse than death to an Edelberton... the parchment printed to itself before folding away into the envelope.

“C-can you change back to a human again?” Blank stammered.

“Not until he’s had what he wants,” Sharel whispered venomously, and Blank couldn’t help but picture her as a lioness who had just witnessed her cubs slaughtered in front of her. The scribe thought it was best to take his leave, but she decided to take her anger out on him but as he finished packing away, she suddenly spoke.

“Do you know why I became a beast tamer?”

“Um, because you found a talent no one thought you possessed?” Blank recalled her words from earlier and turned to face her. Only to have blood rush up to his cheeks upon finding that she had started to remove her clothes. The leather peeled off with difficulty, the fur had made the already tight clothing even more constricting.

“M-M-Miss Sharel!! W-what are you doing!?”

“I’m making myself more comfortable, because soon I must be in peak condition. When he comes for me.” She snarled, as best a hare could. She stood up straight, as straight as any human before clapping to dim the room. “In the event you were interested, I became a beast tamer in order to have things to care for and control. Once I tamed things, they were mine and I would make sure they’d never leave me. The tables may have turned, but he made a mistake of thinking he’s tamed me.”

With her back turned to Blank, the young man wouldn’t have been able to see the vicious smile plastered across her muzzle. Perhaps the reason why the demi-god had chosen her was because he could not tame her. The door leading to the rest of the estate opened just as Sharel disappeared behind the quilt, declaring “I shall never be tamed!”

NaNoWriMo-vel Chapter 5

Chapter Five – All The Small Things

Blank gawked in shock at the sight of Rass punching Vrin square in the jaw. A collective of gasps rippled throughout the ballroom, mostly from the older guests. Vrin had slid back a good distance from the force of the blow, his face still turned away. Slowly, his head swiveled towards Rass, carmine eyes ablaze with hate and rage. Blood seeped out from his mouth, staining the back of his gloved hand as he wiped away the trickle. His skin paled as he visibly restrained himself from lunging at the blonde.

Rass took on a stance, a feral grin spreading across his face, his amethyst-colored eyes shining in anticipation. “You still gonna give me that bullshit about being a professional? What about your pride as a man?” he sneered, mockingly gesturing with hand for Vrin to attack.

“My pride,” Vrin glowered, “Is in my ability to keep myself under control. Unlike some people.” Though his jaw throbbed and was evidently bruised, the liaisons officer merely brushed his jacket off and adjusted his hair.

“You fucking coward!” Rass roared as his heels suddenly pushed against the ballroom floor to launch himself at Vrin. A flash of steel and Vrin had his dagger drawn, raised to defend himself as well as attack.

But before things could escalate into a full out battle, two figures suddenly leapt in between Vrin and Rass. Blank along with the rest of the guests, could hardly believe their eyes at the sight of Rid and Ergo standing back-to-back, arms outstretched.

Both women looked determined, ready to take the full brunt of any blow. While Rid’s eyes stared longingly at Rass, Ergo’s pleaded desperately with Vrin. Immediately the two men halted in their tracks, fists and blades stopped mere inches from the bodies that blocked their way.

“Baby, don’t be embarrassing yourself any further.” The turquoise-haired woman pouted. “I can calm you down right. Just the way you like it.”

“Vrin, stop this. You know better.” Ergo chided, though she spoke so gently, so tenderly that it seemed she was singing him a lullaby. “I take full responsibility for everything, so please, don’t hurt him.”

The pale-haired man was the first to stand down, slipping his dagger back into his jacket. At this, Rass reluctantly followed suit. The pairs stared at each other, wordlessly for what seemed like an eternity before someone began to clap.

Everyone turned towards the source and saw Kairhn standing at the ballroom’s entrance. Draped all over him was a proverbial flock of women. “Good show, but it needed a little more blood.” He laughs and his girls join in.

“I think it had just enough blood, but it lacked in dramatics. I mean couldn’t there have been lightning or at least rain just as the fight started?” Marlene suddenly chirped from behind the honey-skinned man. “Or at the very least one of the girls should have been swept off her feet before being kissed passionately.” She squealed and feigned a swoon.

Much to the embarrassment of Surge and Sharel whom both shook their heads in dismay. Sharel strode to the center of the ballroom before cracking her whip overhead, “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner shall be served shortly. Please allow the servants to escort you to your seats.” She announced, authoritative and commanding, only a select few did not seem the least bit threatened by the whip she brandished. Blank was not one of them.

As the crowd shuffled over to the dining hall, Vrin was back by Blank’s side.

“You alright?” the scribe asked. Vrin nodded, slowly before risking a glance at the crowd to search for someone.

“If it’s of any interest to you,” Blank whispered, “Your name came up in the will.”

“I am aware that I will be the beneficiary of certain properties that Master Raoul owned of which I had been tasked to manage during his life.” Vrin responded, turning his attention back to Blank.

“In that case, would you be available for a sort of interview? After I speak with the four Edelbertons that is.” Blank realized, cringing at the prospect of being alone with Sharel. “Hopefully I make it out in one piece, especially with Miss Sharel.”

Vrin allowed himself a soft chuckle, “I’d worry more about Master Kairhn or Mistress Marlene.”

“Is there something about those two that I should know about?” Blank asked, concern audible in his voice.

“Just this,” Vrin stopped and quickly whispered into Blank’s ear, “These two are willing to kill to ensure that some secrets remain secrets.” He straightened himself up, “Then again, I suppose everyone named in Master Raoul’s will has the potential for that. Even myself.”

Blank felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to swallow. “I-I’ll keep that in mind...”

Vrin gave him a small smile, “Fret not, until the celebrations are over, I will not allow any harm to fall upon you. Master Schyll would have my head mounted on a wall if I were to fail in such a simple task. But once I resume my proper duties, you shall be on your own.”

The heavy feeling of dread that had formed in Blank’s stomach grew to not only occupy his bowels but drape itself over his shoulders.

* * * * *

Blank was fortunate enough to be seated between Schyll and Vrin at the dining table. He peered to his left and right, trying to see the ends of the long stretch of cloth-covered wood for any signs of the four Edelbertons in Raoul’s will. As far as he could see, or tell, none of the cousins were at the table.

“Well, I arrive fashionably late just this one only to have missed the highlight of the evening.” A woman sighed dramatically, and Blank saw it was the woman seated across him who had spoke. “If you wouldn’t mind relaying the events, Vrin, I would be tickled pink.”

She wore a dress sewn completely from maroon lace with strategically placed details that left little to the imagination and was batting her lashes a Vrin. Luxurious indigo hair was piled high into a bouffant, adorned with strings of black pearls matching the twin orbs that peered curiously through thick lashes painted red. The experience in her eyes far surpassed the twenty eight autumns her body possessed.

Blank would have been uncomfortable had he been Vrin, but what could he do to help? It didn’t seem like the woman even noticed Blank was there.

“Certainly, Miss Jenta.” Vrin smiled warmly, though Blank noted how the liaisons officer’s smile never fully reached his eyes. The scribe was surprised to hear Vrin retelling the events without bias or making any snide comments about the other party involved.

“Vrin is very professional and takes his duties very seriously.” Schyll beamed as he leaned towards Blank.

“Yes, he is, I got to see it first hand.” Blank nods.

“If he weren’t supposed to handle other affairs, I’d have arranged for him to watch over you until you finish whatever it is Raoul requires of you.” The old lawyer sighed in regret. “But I’m sure no one will dare lay a finger on you, at least not until they get their inheritance sorted out.”

Blank could have done without that last part and began trying to steer the topic to something less menacing, “Uh, I hope you don’t mind my asking but who are all these people? I mean those that don’t seem to be related to the Edelbertons. Not even through marriage.”

“Well, some of them are business associates of Raoul in one way or another. He liked to dabble in an assortment of activities apart from collecting enchanted things or enchanting things for that matter.” Schyll subtly motioned towards Ergo and Rass. “Others are friends of his nieces,” he turned towards Rid before setting his gaze on Jenta. “Or nephews.” And this time he motioned to a group of young gentlemen Vrin had not been able to introduce to Blank.

“What about them?” Blank inclined his head towards the group of women around Kairhn.

“Them? Oh, they’re not important, they change every week. Fickle is the Master.” Schyll sighs. “In any case, have you begun doing what Master Kairhn has hired you to do?”

Blank shook his head, “I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to any of them personally. The paper says that I am to converse with them whenever they are alone. And with this ball and all, I haven’t had a chance to even be by myself.”

“I see, so I suppose you haven’t figured out whom among the four you are going to speak with first?”

Blank merely shook his head and stared stupidly at the empty plate in front of him. It wasn’t long before he had the strangest notion that he was being watched. Sure enough he was, by the woman Vrin called Jenta.

“C-can I help you?” He blinks, realizing that she was mentioned in the will as well.

“You look like you need a warm body pressed against you tonight.” She smiled seductively.

“Uh, do you happen to be selling pets?” Blank nervously turned towards Vrin, asking for help from the older man. But Vrin seemed preoccupied with his seatmate and was engaged in polite chatter for the moment.

“Oh you’re a cute one, I know which girl will keep you very happy all night long.” At this, Blank suddenly felt something brush against his leg. He peered down and lifted the table cloth slightly when he felt it again and found it was a stocking-clad foot that was teasing against him.

“Uh, Miss Jenta-” Blank began.

“Call me Madame.” Her smile widened wickedly, seemingly delighted at his discomfort. “All my girls and clients do. I take it you will be a client, hmm?” she licked at her lips. “I have boys as well but I can tell you prefer the soft, gentle curves only a woman possesses.”

“M-Madame, please, I am simply not um, that is to say,” Blank stammered, voice squeaking as he felt Jenta’s toes climb higher and higher towards his knee.

“Yeeeeeees?” She leaned back in her seat, allowing her limb to reach Blank’s more sensitive areas.

“I can’t quite, ah, focus at the moment. Agh!” The man yelped and suddenly pushed away from the table. “P-pardon me!” He exclaimed, rushing out to the hallway with his hands trying to shield his crotch. Leaving behind a laughing Jenta. Curious eyes followed after him briefly before settling back to their idle conversations.

Blank had never met anyone like Jenta, evidently. No one had shown any interest in him, at least not in that way.

Calm down, Blakeford, she’s not really interested in you. She’s just trying to find more clients, that’s all. He breathed as he stumbled past carved busts and paintings in search for the lavatories. The servants scurried away at his approach, like vermin fleeing from light. Some help they are, Blank muttered. He needed to cool himself down and his pants had become uncomfortably tight. Part of him wished Vrin had followed after him while some other part of him hoped he hadn’t. Blank thought he’d die of embarrassment either way. This thought seemed to distract him enough to allow the bulge to cease its swelling.

He wandered up and down halls, passing by the same landscape painting several times until it seemed like he was going in circles. It was then the crimson envelope he had slipped into his jacket began to push out against the fabric caging it. It nudged and tugged to the left and Blank felt he had no choice but to obey. He turned left at two hallways, right at a landscape painting hanging near a corner, and up a flight of stairs before the envelope ceased moving.

In front of him was an ordinary looking door. No, wait, it was an open, ordinary looking door. Did he dare? The envelope leapt out from his jacket and the flap opened, releasing a strong gust of wind that cause the door to swing completely open.

Blank didn’t need to be a genius to figure out Raoul wanted him to go inside. So he did. Within the dark quarters was a quilt that spanned from the twenty foot ceiling down to the floor and its width surpassed Blank’s wingspan by at least two times. After a quick mental calculation, Blank estimated the quilt was composed of a little over a hundred square patches. Inspecting the needlework, he saw that each unique patch was that of a creature that roamed the realm of Silar. There were so many of them and what’s more, when he reached out to touch a square that depicted a stunningly realistic lightning hare, that portion of the cloth lunged at him.

Blank couldn’t help himself. He squeaked in surprise and stumbled back, falling clumsily onto his rump. Oh well, things weren’t so bad, right? There wasn’t anyone around to have seen him enter a stranger’s room, let alone discover this curious piece of needlework.

Right?

“And what do we have here?” A familiar voice proved him wrong. The scribe broke out into a cold sweat as he hesitantly turned to look behind him. Standing in the doorway, whip at the ready, was a very, very displeased Sharel.