Difference between revisions of "Nikink/Lamentations"

Latest revision as of 13:10, 7 April 2019

Beast of Seven Lamentations

Every traveler knows the citizens of the Varang City-States are ruled by Astrology. The instant they are born, the local Astrologer-Priest calculates their horoscope. Down to the finest nuance, their lot in life is determined by the position of the Sun, Moon and Maidens. This man will rule, this man will serve; this woman will heal, this woman will steal.

Few know that outside the City-States, in the bordering mountains, the wild (and Wyld) mountain tribes follow the same beliefs. Of course, this is not so unexpected to the learned. After all, Varang Ancestors came from these mountains, and many Varang outcasts flee (or are exiled to) them. And trade (of many varieties) has kept many cultural similarities alive well beyond reasonable expectations in more than one region of Creation!

My tale begins here, then, in the wild uncivilized mountains of Varang, many years ago, with a Tribe known as the Simmerhaze.

It is a day of Festivals, a day of great Auspices. Luna is full, and at Noon the Sun is eclipsed as the Celestial Lovers Unite revealing the Five Maidens in a perfect circle around them. This magnificent spectacle lasts just one hour, from start to end, and all who gaze upon it are awed and blessed. At its height, to the very instant, a boy is born. The Simmerhaze rejoice, and a Shaman is called upon to divine the child’s horoscope and future fate. Surely this birth is destined for greatness!

The Astrologer announces to the assembled crowd, “Behold! Here lies the greatest of Warriors! The swiftest Hunter! Sing hymns in his honour for from dawn to dusk he shall tirelessly endeavour to bring peace to all of Creation!” and the tribe rejoices in their good fortune.

Years pass. The boy, now a mere 4 years old and named Seven-Glorious-Virtues, is gathering wood for his father’s forge. The forest around him falls silent, and he looks up. A wiry painted man, branded with the markings of the Guild, is watching him. The man smiles, revealing teeth filed to points. Suddenly the wood bursts into life as a Fae retinue appears and rides past. Blood-curdling cries and jeers of inhuman beauty and danger fill the still mountain air. Three glorious Fae Lords lead a band of Commoners, Thralls and Wyld-Beasts at supernatural speed towards the Simmerhaze village. The painted man wails and leaps at the boy. The boy runs, of course, heading straight for his village, terrified of the vicious apparition trailing behind him, taunting and goading. He arrives to see devastation. The Fae have razed the village; its inhabitants have been slaughtered. The boy sees his parents cut down as they spot him. Wicked grins adorn the cruel lords as with one flicker of graceful motion they behead them. The boy yells out and grabs a fallen sword. They laugh at him as he is effortlessly held, disarmed and captured by the painted man before being thrown into chains with the other children.

The children are led in chains east through the mountains by warders and thralls, while the Fae Nobles journeyed west. Heads bowed, they neither know nor care where they are taken. Occasionally they join with other processions of children, and occasionally some are separated and led away. The boy can see no reason or logic to the journey, but the Fae are unnatural, and beyond any man’s reasoning. Eventually the children are brought to a great machine in the wylds of the mountains. They are chained to it in half day shifts, and forced to turn it’s great wheels and cogs. The machine turns endlessly as all passions are drained from the children, hour-by-hour, week-by-week, year-by-year. Some children die quickly, some die slowly. Often, children would be led away by Fae, Wyld men or Guild Traders to fates unknown. Sometimes new stock would arrive. Over the years, Seven-Glorious-Virtues grows strong, even as the Fae machine saps all his emotions and dreams. At times even powering the great machine by himself! For seven years, this continues.

Then, one day, the last of the machine’s slaves, he is unchained. A man, Wyld touched and Guild member has bought him from the single remaining overseer with a fistful of coin. He is led far from the Fae machine, which grinds slowly to a halt before never existing in silent flash of rainbow hues. The man talks to him, but it has been years since Seven-Glorious-Virtues has spoken so he just listens and tries to comprehend what is said. “I’m taking you to Nexus, boy. You’ll learn to fight or you’ll die. That’s the way of the world. And either way, you’ll make me a very rich man.” And so they travel out of the Wyld Mountains, north then, through Varang. The man tells Seven-Glorious-Virtues many things as they journey, and the boy pays attention, but can neither bring himself to care nor understand. It is enough that he is free.

In the largest Varang city, Kirighast, the man has a horoscope cast for his new slave. The strange bald-headed Astrologer can easily see the mark of Celestial Favour upon the boy, but could only inform the man that his slave’s future is filled with battle, strength, hardship and blood. For the man, this is enough. “As an animal you are, boy! Blessed by Heaven both, are we, for you are fortunate, and I have you! I shall name you Little Fortune, and in Nexus I shall make a large one! Haha!” By ocean to the Realm, then East to Lookshy and beyond into Nexus they journey.

In Nexus, the man flings Little Fortune into a great pit surrounded by screaming people. Confusion fills the boy’s mind as another man enters. This man is naked except for a wickedly curved blade that he rakes casually across Little Fortune’s chest. The naked man laughs, the crowd yells for blood; Little Fortune begins to feel things for the first time since his parents died. Fear and confusion; anger and hate. Blood fills his vision; his heartbeat drowns the cries of the crowd.

Then Little Fortune is lifted from the pit amongst cheers and catcalls. The naked man lies dead in the pit, and his master is holding a flagon of ale to his lips. “Well done, my lad! Well done.” In time, the thrill of the Pit is all Little Fortune knows. But he knows it intimately. No man can face him barehanded and live. His master heaps praise upon him, then gifts. Soon he eats nothing but the finest meats, drinks the finest wines, is serviced by the finest slave-girls and hired by the finest noblewomen.

For six years this continues; and uncounted victories against men and beasts, Dragon-Blooded and Fae, Wyldtouched and Little Gods. Against them all, Little Fortune fights and learns. He learns how to remain calm, to focus his fury, how other creatures fight and how other men die. Slowly, he learns how to dream again. He dreams of his parents and tribe, of Fae and vengeance and of battle and blood.

Now it is Calibration. Little Fortune’s master comes to him, drunk and heady from drugs. He looks at Little Fortune, lying calmly after a fight on his bed and chained to his room. He fumbles for his iron keys, and unlocks the door, then enters the small room and unchains the muscular young man before him. His breath reeks and his eyes are glazed as the Maiden of Endings gleams in the sky though the window. “Go, boy! Go! You are free now! Know that I, Cynis Mugal Labaresk, have set you free, and thank you for bringing victory and wealth, these few long years. Go now, and find your fate elsewhere in Creation. And may your fortune be equal to your deeds, as mine has been to me! Haha!” As his master collapses, the young man gets to his feet in slow confusion, then begins to run.

Little Fortune runs out of Nexus, south to the lands of the Marukan, then east. Unused to freedom, or the niceties of civilised folk, he turns to banditry to survive. As is the way of such things, he soon gathers a small band of followers, cowed by his might. Together they raid all about the southern Scavenger Lands. Farms and villages, Guild Caravans and wanderers; none are safe. They become known as the Nine-Lives Gang, in reference to the great luck that seems to ward their leader. Little Fortune becomes known as the Inevitable Lord.

Eventually, their banditry leads them west. To the very mountains the Inevitable Lord once called home. And it is here his story ends. A clear night, high in the mountain passes. The Maiden of Endings blazes high above and a small camp-fire flickers in the cold air below. The Nine-Lives Gang relax; their quarry is still a days travel ahead. The men laugh and joke.

The air grows still. Arrows beyond number rain down upon them. Screams erupt. Cries of anger and fear. The very mountain shakes with the might of the Fae warband. A huge winged spider consumes the horses. Hobgoblins fall upon the men like an avalanche. And through the midst of it all strides a Fae Noble. It's inhuman speed scything the men so fast they could not even register they had been hit.

And then they were gone.

The Inevitable Lord lay there. Every breath rattled shallower than the last. As his vision dims he sees his Second-in-Command, a waifly girl known only as Red-Handed Singer, crawl slowly forward. A silver flash lights the carnage. A tall man clad in luminous robes reaches for Red-Handed Singer. As they touch, a blinding flash and the man is gone. She releases a feral howl and races down the mountain. The Inevitable Lord breaths his last and collapses. His eyes glaze over and reflect the uncaring twinkle of the Maidens.

There is a voice.

"It's not fair, is it?"

"All the signs were in your favour."

"You were the lucky one."

"You were destined for greatness."

"Now you are dead."

"Alone."

"What would you give?"

"What would you give for revenge?"

"For a chance to live again?"

"For a new fate?"

"A fate written in stars only the dead can see?"

"Would you give your name?"

"Come with me."

"Do you feel lucky?"