---------- Legends of Kingdoms at War - Feather Hunter's Version Part One — The Journey Prologue: Strange Memories ---------- Save the dumb split essence freak, same the whole world, huh? Feather thought bitterly. What about my memory? Walking out of Tigris' palace had been one of the most courageous things Feather had ever done - that he could truly remember, at least. It was nightfall, now, but Feather knew that whatever had happened to his memory had been done purposely, a genuine malevolent act. Feather sat down from exhaustion. The blistering heat from the day's earlier activites had left Feather sunburned and ridiculously angry. Now, the air was cool; cold, even. The only thing still maintaining the heat from earlier was the extremely fine sand that his heel was now digging into as he took off his shoes, and even it was now losing its heat. Feather slammed his hands down on the ground in anger, the powdery sand lifting off the ground in little clouds, pushing outward from the impact. Feather knew something dangerous was going on from the moment he'd been set free. ~~~~~~ Four Rays of Morning Moonlight Feather looked off into the distance, his back against a wall. It was very early in the morning, and in Tige, when the sun went down, everything froze. When it made its glorious rise, everything burned under its powerful gaze. Right now the sun was still down, and the moon was still wallowing in her praise. The citizens of Tige worshipped the moon, marveling at how... Well, Feather didn't exactly know why they worshipped the moon. He just knew he wanted to leave this place. The Tigerians weren't very welcoming. They slept during the day and worshipped at night. They didn't even have the courtesy to welcome the newbs. Feather stared up at the sky once more. He had never felt more alone than he did now. Sure, he'd made some new friends among the newbs, but how long would that last? They were all out on individual quests, which he'd been forced to give them. It'd been hard enough to survive in this god-forsaken place when he was a newb. I'm such a hypocrite, Feather thought. He wondered how many of them would survive. It was a known fact that the chances of surviving during an influx, especially one of such a large magnitude like this one, was only one in four. He buried his head in his hands, quietly whispering prayers of forgiveness to a God he wasn't even sure was real. “Dumb Android Newb influx.” Feather muttered, his eyes beginning to sting with freezing tears. Feather had been informed that the Admin had chosen Tige because of the citizens lack of hospitality and it's almost inhospitable conditions if you weren't a native. He of course had already figured that out, but it just made it all that much worser that everyone else knew it as well. Feather began to stand, but fell back down with a grunt. He tried again, but was once again pushed back down. “Who’s there?” Feather asked. Since he'd had his head down, Feather had regret to notice that clouds had swarmed towards the moon's light. He was in more or less total darkness. Feather could hear the screams of the dying Android Newbs in the desert, hear the astonished cries of the Tigerians inside their kingdom's walls. “The Nefarious One,” A silky voice whispered in his ear. Feather tried to twist and see who it was, but the had him pinned, although he felt nothing on his body but his own clothes. “If you try to move again, I will be required to hurt you. I'm only here to check on you, to see how you're doing.” “Tell me, what did you do yesterday?” The man, Feather assumed it was a man by the sound of his voice, sounded genuinely interested. Words spilled out of Feather's mouth uncontrollably, as if they were being pulled from somewhere deep in his body. “I traveled here. I met no one but the birds that decided to accompany me. They love it when I whistle.” “Good, good. It's still working then...” The man said thoughtfully. While they'd been talking, Feather had seen and felt two things: Whatever was holding him down loosen its grip on his body, and the clouds migrate away from the moon. What Feather did next came naturally: Feather rolled out from under the force holding him down, but when he stood, his twin blades in hand, nothing was there. He began twirling his blades, frozen sand lifting of the ground and heading for the funnels they were making. Still, Feather was unsure whether he should pretend like nothing had happened or find answers. He chose to pretend, but that was before he realized his shadow was gone. Strange, Feather thought, The moon is way past its zenith, yet my shadow is g-- Feather let the sand go, allowing it to shoot outwards from his swords in a wide, three hundred and sixty degree arc. It spewed out, and his shadow came running at him from ground at the base of the wall, crouched with its head down. It began to spread, encircling him. Feather grabbed at his head in pain. Heed the darkness of the divine, His silk-laden voice yelled in Feather's mind. Heed the power of the Nefarious One! ~~~~~~ Five Rays of Morning Moonlight Feather had lied when he had told himself he had never felt more alone, earlier. Even the guards had abandoned him. The dark, gloomy dungeon wreaked of despair and death. He was it's only prisoner, and he could tell the dungeon knew it. Some sort of fungus or mold, or whatever type of bacteria or creature it was had come together in one massive colony and had been slowly creeping across the wall toward his shackles. His eyelids drooped from sleepiness, and finally closed. ~~~~~~ Five Rays of Night Sunlight “All hail the Tige's one hundredth and eighth sultan!” Feather's head snapped up. Had he heard right? Why was the sultan visiting the dungeons? He couldn't be down here to visit Feather, could he? Maybe he was the Nefarious One! A beautiful woman stepped into Feather's line of sight. “Hey, you're pretty and all, but the sultan is supposedly down here. Do you mind moving out of the way?” Feather asked her. Her hair fell forward, shrouding her face. She moved it away in a very obvious and exagerrated gesture. She looked at him expectingly. “Could you just move out of the way!?” I said impatiently. Her hand shot out, grabbing Feather by the neck. She leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I am the sultan. To call myself a anything other than sultan would be to relinquish power.” Feather looked at her with confusion. He began laughing tauntingly. “Is this some kind of joke? I've been stuck in here, waiting for this Nefarious man to show up, and all I get is a girl. What's your name?” “Tigris. I am the all powerful ruler of Tige and the Newb Oasis. I have come to free you,” Tigris said, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. “Since you laughed, a couple more hours might do you good. I was ordered to make you serve only twelve but, well, this is my kingdom!” Tigris looked at Feather with contempt. “I'm sorry!” Feather pleaded as she began to leave. “Please dont leave me down here! I feel so alone!” “Often times, abandonement is the only punishment that can right our wrongs.” She turned to the guards, two surly men in orange and blue armor. “Free him, then send him to the throne room.” The two men came towards him, one with a key, the other with a bag; his bag. Once he was out, rubbing his wrists to try and ease the pain, he retrieved his bag and was escorted to the throne room, heading up the spiraling staircase quickly. The huge and elaborate gold doors adorned with images of the moon and stars, made of silver and gold, burst open. Tigris, sitting on her throne, had servants bring him an array of quills and several different types of quality parchment paper. “Write down everything I tell you. It might save your life. Two days ago, I decided to start writing down every single thing I did that day in a diary to see just how I used my time. Yesterday, when my servants asked me if I wanted to write in my diary, I asked them what diary. I had no idea what they were talking about. They showed it to me and all that I had wrote in it from the day before. That's when I realized that something was happening to my memory. A lot of what I wrote down I don't remember! Now that you've been attacked, and it's getting closer midnight, I had to inform you that you are most likely a victim of this mind game, too. The Shadow Master, as he demanded I call him, had a ghostly green light emanating from the hood of his cloak. I didn't get to see his face because of the hood, but there was definitely a glow surrounding the edge of it. He asked you what you did two days ago, and he also asked me what I did yesterday. I made sure to tell him only what I remembered and not to mention anything in my diary that I had read but didn't remember. The halo leads me to believe this is the work of the mods. Or possibly they are on orders from the Admin himself. Please, do not lose what you have written.” She paused, giving him a serious look. “I hear people can hide stuff in the linings of bags like that. Have you ever looked inside the lining of yours? Of course you haven't. You have no need to.” She said, answering her own question. “Anyway, I had a dream yesterday. I wrote it in my diary to make sure I didn't forget it. A woman in the dream told me to tell you to find the one with split essences. Whatever that means is up to you. She gave me maps, too. Strangely, when I woke up, the maps were in my arms. They lead to the Forums. Why aren't you talking?” “I'm trying to figure out why you're telling me this. I don't even know you. I don't even know if I believe you. I'm still wondering why I wrote all this down!” Feather ran out of the throne room, clutching the notes in his hand. “The man who attacked you was trying to make sure the false memories were holding up! He was making sure you didn't remember what they didn't want you to remember, and that they were being replaced by false ones. You have to believe me,” Tigris shouted. He just needed to gather his thoughts. When he was ready, he was about to enter when the doors closed and he was pulled back. “You must leave! You must leave, now! They're coming for her! Leave before they find you, too!” One of the guards whispered-yelled, ordering the palace guards to put the palace in lockdown. “Get out now!” He yelled one last time before taking off towards the entrance of the palace. ~~~~~~ Present Time “False memories, huh?” Feather muttered aloud. “Well, we'll see about that!” He began shaking, blood running from his nose in uncontrollable bursts. Then, a hand descended onto his face, a cloth within it making strange smells travel up his nose. Before he knew it, he couldn't breathe, and he blacked out.
---------- Legends of Kingdoms at War - Feather Hunter's Version Part One — The Journey Chapter One: Remembering a Body Part One: Two Weeks ---------- Grey light filtered in from arched glass wall to his west, giving the room a picturesque look. Light on the west side, Feather thought. Must be morning. A bordered desk and a bookcase with several books lining each shelf sat on either side of the bed Feather was in. He sat up, peeling his blue covers back. He shuffled out of bed, his feet sliding into his warm slippers. Feather yawned loudly and looked out the window. Storm clouds were gathering outside, lightning flickering in the distance. The first drops of hot rain water slammed against the glass wall. Feather went over to the eastern glass wall, the one on his right – which wasn't arched, just a plain rectangle – and saw that storm clouds were brooding in the distance on this side as well. “Looks like I'll be inside all day,” He said dejectedly. He went over to his bookshelf, selecting a random book off one of the crammed shelves. He sat down at his desk, looking at the book's cover. Innocence, it read. Feather, already intrigued, eagerly began reading. He was laughing out loud two hours later, realizing what the author had done with the names of two characters. Irin and Niri! Feather thought. Genius... Suddenly, Feather stopped laughing. He set down the book quietly, getting up from his desk and moving swiftly to one side of his doorway, making it so he was hidden from view. He listened intently for a few moments before he heard it again: tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap... Someone was in his house, in his hallway, heading for his room. The intruder stopped at the edge of the doorway, still not able to see Feather. The intruder finally stepped into the room – and was promptly tackled by Feather. A woman's face stared up at him, her eyes searching his face for an answer. To what, he was unsure of. She was clearly startled, and so was he. For several minutes, he just stared into her eyes, her dark blue eyes. He finally stood up and held out his hand. The woman's red velvet hair fell over her face as she rolled to the side, avoiding his hand entirely. She gripped the doorknob as she got up, giving Feather a harsh look. “Why did you attack me?” She shrieked angrily, grabbing him by the collar of his nightshirt. “I—I don't know you.” Feather stammered, wishing he knew what was going on as well as wishing he'd brushed his teeth. “My name is Pimella. We've gone through this process for at least two weeks now, but this is the first time you've ever tackled me,” said Pimella, brushing a kiss across his cheek and giving him a secretive smile. Her smile was quite dazzling in Feather's opinion. “Why don't I remember you?” Feather said uncomfortably, removing her hands gently and backing away from her. “Because of what they have done to you. When I found you, you're nose was bleeding and your whole body was shaking. I ran back here and went to your room, where I got your nosebleed salve. I poured some on a rag, drowned the rag in water, and ran back here as fast as I could. I put the rag to your nose so you could breathe in the vapors, but you fought me and hit your head hard on the wall and had a concussion. You have a nosebleed every day – or night, at midnight, when they infiltrate your memories and change them. I've been attempting to heal you, but you block my powers.” Pimella said, walking towards him again and putting her hand on his cheek. Feather backed into his bathroom door, slipping one hand behind his back and slyly opening the door. He rushed in, slamming it closed and locking it. The smell hit him first, the stench of copper and salt, the stench of blood. It was sharp, making his nose burn. He gagged but hadn't eaten any food that morning, so he was safe from throwing up for now. At the moment, he was on the floor, curling up, his chest heaving, body aching from having to deal with what he was seeing. He gripped the sink hard with his right hand, his knuckles turning white. He tried to stand, leaning heavily against the wall. Feather looked in the mirror across the bathroom. He looked terrible, blood from the floor covering hid bedtime attire. A person stared back at him in the mirror, but he wasn't Feather. He had Feather's light brown eyes, Feather's gold-bronze skin, and even Feather's curly dirty-blonde hair, but he was moving, while Feather wasn't. The guy staring at Feather in t h e mirror had a sense of raw urgency about him, bending down and running his hand along a blue – well, it was red now – blood-covered bathroom floor tile and writing across the mirror four words. When Feather read them, something clicked in his brain. His nose began bleeding. He grabbed one of the numerous bloody rags littering the room and held it to his nose as he opened the window, climbing out cautiously. “Feather! Let me in, Feather! How can not remember me?” Pimella shouted, banging on the bathroom door. Silently, he fell from the windowsill, hitting the ground on his feet. He took off, heading towards the mountains, heading for the eye of the storm.
---------- Legends of Kingdoms at War - Feather Hunter's Version Part One — The Journey Chapter One: Remembering a Body Part Two: Red Chairs ---------- Feather ran and ran, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. His muscles and lungs hurt, but he continued to run, heading for the mountains, where the eye would be located. He closed his eyes as he ran, enjoying the darkness. A cold wind whipped through his hair, drying the sweaty curls matted to his face and allowing them to flow freely again. Rain began hitting his face as soon as his curls were dry, hot and stinging. He felt them run into the crevices of his closed eyes and down the sides of his face like tears. This rain will ruin my slippers. It was amazing the thoughts Feather had while running. Running felt natural to him, as if he had been doing it all his life. He felt the urge to turn around and go back and search his bag, but he ignored it, pushing it to the back of his mind. A coniferous forest was fast approaching, Feather could sense. The smell of pine and other evergreen trees was strong as Feather opened his eyes, taking it all in. Green needles, comfortable and firm matting the forest floor; wet moss squishing under his feet; light winds caressing the trees: it was beautiful. The far-reaching branches of the evergreens shielded him from the rain as he slowed his pace. He was sitting by a tree thirty minutes later when he heard the hard crunch of moss under a pair of – boots, maybe. Feather's spine went rigid. He was perfectly still, waiting for the traveler to pass. He tried to calm down, get his breathing under control, lower his heartbeat. The footsteps had stopped. Whoa! Talk about déjà vu, Feather thought. “You're trying so hard to control yourself, your heartbeat, your breathing, how much you move. I work with horses, and I can sense even the smallest changes in their behavior, hear the tiniest variations in the sounds they produce. I know you are there.” A female voice whispered in his ear. Feather scooted away quickly, looking to his right wear the voice was coming from. It was a woman - or a girl, he couldn't tell. She pushed her long black hair to the side, flashing the dark red streaks in the process. “Are you hurt?” The girl-woman asked, staring at him like he was some kind of criminal. “No! Wait, n-no! It's my blood, but it's from a nosebleed!” Feather defensively replied in response to her shocked glare. “Why is there so much blood?” She inquired, bending down and stroking his hair. When she brought them back, dried blood was stuck to her fingers. She tried to wipe it away on her leather arm guards, but when it was still there, she scraped it off with an arrow from the quiver on her back. Why is she touching me?! He wanted to scream, but said it mentally instead. “Why do you care,” Feather spat, pushing her away angrily. “What is this, twenty questions? Strangers don't behave this way to strangers, miss. They certainly don't invade each other's personal space like this either!” A smile brandished itself across her face for a moment – as if she was secretly happy about Feather's reaction – before being replaced by a look of hurt. Tears filled her eyes. Maybe I was too harsh... Although strangers don't act this way towards other strangers, they aren't usually mean to each other, either, Feather thought sadly. “It's called empathy. Empathy is what ties all of us together, the understanding of everyone else's feelings, their experiences; everything is connected by empathy.” She paused, her petite body swaying in the wind. “I have empathy for your situation: you have chronic nosebleeds, I can tell because of the paleness of your bronze skin.” “I-I'm sorry – It's just, there's a woman in my house who touched me the way you did, and I don't remember who she is! I don't know her.” said Feather abruptly. “I snuck out of my window and ran here, to the mountains, where I knew the eye of this storm would be. It calms me, running...” He trailed off silently, and turned back to her. “I understand empathy. I am hoping you will be able to empathize with my situation. She says that people are changing my memories, and I had a concussion, and I guess when they go in, the damage from the concussion causes the nosebleeds. Do you know why someone would want to change my memories? And who are these people? What is your name, you'll have to excuse that bit of solecism.” She wasn't even paying attention, He realized. She was just staring off into space. “Hello! I said my memories are being tampered with!” She cocked her head, turning away, as if she was listening to something he couldn't hear. “Can you hear me? My memories! Tigris said they were being replaced with false ones!” He yelled. He saw her eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly, but she quickly put them back down. “What? Huh? Sorry, I sort of got distracted...” The female replied. “What is your name?" Feather demanded, grabbing her shoulders and making her look at him. “Storallelite,” She exclaimed defiantly, grabbing his arm and flipping him forwards with ease. “You can call me Stora. Oh, and: Never. Ever. Touch me.” “Okay, Stora. I guess that's one more thing I have to apologize for. My name is Feather, by the way.” His back was aching doubly now. “We are going to confront this woman in your residence. What I will do will be in the morally grey. Are you willing to accept this and cooperate?” Stora asked, walking deeper into the forest. He followed instinctively, telling her he would do whatever it took to get answers. She bent down beside a tree, lifting the forest floor, exposing bars of bamboo and vines that she'd weaved the various plants' roots into. This allowed her to dig a gigantic pit beneath the area, she explained, and make a huge home. She hopped into the hole she'd created, and the smell of feces slapped him in the face as he jumped in too. He realized there were horses down here. That explained the equestrian boots, but what really shocked him was her home. Although he was only able to take a glance at it, it was massive, built and intertwined in the root system of what was probably a ultra-large tree. She built a community underneath the ground, Feather thought. How amazing... He continued on, marveling at how she was able to thin the ground above her so considerable amounts of sunlight could filter through – without it collapsing. Stora was saddling two horses, one I assumed was for me. “I call him Nyt, because of his black coat.” Stora said absentmindedly, handing me the reins. “You will ride him to your home, and he will go back here, to mine. Understood?” “Yes,” He answered, getting on. They set off, her horse leading his. Their path had a slight incline the entire way, and her horse finally broke the surface, racing through the forest at high speeds. Feather felt Nyt speed up as well, and held on tight. When they emerged from the tree line, he sensed that the storms he had seen earlier had finally met, and were battling for control of the skies. Rain and wind battered him from all directions as he buried his chest into Nyt's sleek and shiny black coat, trusting him to follow Stora. He had to turn his head to the side to comfortably lay on Nyt, exposing his left cheek. The sky had changed to a furious shade of purplish-grey, a product of the setting sun. He looked up as the sound of thunder began echoing through the valley and saw his house fast approaching. Parallel walls of glass and multicolored stone. Giant doors as an entrance and a white balcony on the side of the house. My house, Feather said mentally, is absolutely amazing. Stora hurried off her horse, her quiver of arrows bumping against her back. Feather followed tentatively, going ahead of her and unlocking the door with the key he hid beneath the mat. “She might have left, though it's not certain.” He mouthed, letting her walk in. She entered the foyer, slamming the door hard. “I want her to know we are here.” She said loudly. Feather heard a drawer shut and the sound of rattling metal. “She is getting a knife!” He said anxiously, watching as Stora retrieved a short dirk from her right boot, silently walking down the hall. She paused at the entrance to the kitchen, then walked calmly in and threw her dirk. “Wait, this wasn't part--” Pimella stopped, a loud thud and metal hitting stone carrying down the hall to Feather's ears. “The subject has been taken care of. The interrogation process will begin now, Feather. Do not interrupt.” Stora said quietly. She motioned for him to come into the kitchen. His kitchen was a disaster. He thought he'd cleaned it last night, but no. Dishes were piled up in the sink, food crumbs were on his table, and the floor hadn't been swept. To say the least, Feather was disgusted. Focusing on the more important matter, the dirk had successfully been thrown so that it dislocated Pimella's shoulder, Feather saw. The pain must have caused her to drop the knife - my knife. “Who are you?” Stora said, grabbing some rope from her quiver and signaling for me to get a chair. “My name is Pimella,” Pimella said in pain, “And I've been taking care of Feather for the last year, though I'm sure you know that.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You said two weeks earlier. Now it's a year?” Feather said astounded. “You are a liar, and although I don't know Feather very well, I assume he doesn't like liars.” Stora whispered as Feather brought her the chair. She ripped out the dirk forcing Pimella to scream in pain as she began tying her to the chair. “Why are you here,” Pimella asked, fighting through the pain. “Why are you doing this to me?” Stora slapped her, hard, causing a gash to open up on Pimella's face. “I can make this a terrible experience for you. You do not ask me questions. Now, how did you find Feather?” Stora's voice was slathered with venom now, and she was staring at Pimella intensely as she recounted the story she'd told Feather. Tears filled her eyes as Stora continued the questioning, and he had to look away in sorrow. “I'll be upstairs.” He said, but he was sure they didn't hear him. How could they over the sound of Pimella's screams? When he reached the top of the spiral staircase, he had to make a decision: Go to the left and into his master bathroom, or to his right and into his room. He entered the semi-open hallway, gripping the railing that separated it from a twenty foot drop. I need to wash the blood away anyway. Feather turned left, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He shut the door quietly, pulling his nightshirt off over his head. He opened the hamper, throwing it in. Water splashed his forearm as he turned on the faucet over his bathtub. He felt like a robot as he removed the rest of his nightclothes and undergarments, throwing his slippers away in the process. He sunk into the tub and when it was full, reached out and turned off the water. He exhaled in a sigh of relief, but then stopped. He could still hear their conversation downstairs. “I'm going to remove her from the premises,” Stora hollered as he heard the door shut. He stood up out of the tub slightly, watching them go across his lawn. She was dragging her back into the forest, Feather understood, as Stora tied Pimella to the back of her horse. He saw that Stora had gagged her, yet was still speaking to her. He opened the window, trying to make out what Stora was saying to her. “I'm going to take you to the mods, but I need to make a stop at my house.” He heard her say. What really surprised him was when he heard Pimella's reply. How was that possible, when she was gagged? Even with that, he couldn't deny that it was her voice he was hearing. It sounded as if there wasn't even a gag there to hinder her from talking, that's how clear her voice sounded. Stora's lips were moving as he listened, but yet he wasn't able to hear her voice. As Stora turned around, getting onto the horse, Pimella looked up pleadingly at Feather. When she knew she'd gotten his attention, her eyes began repeatedly pointing at Stora, and there was fear in her eyes. He opened the window wider, leaning out and cupping his ear. Pimella's voice reached his ears again as Stora's died down. He focused on Pimella's mouth, but it wasn't moving at all; not even the gag moved. Stora tilted her head to the side a little, and Feather once again saw that Stora's lips were still moving. ------ Soon after there departure, Feather was still leaning out of the window, enjoying the breeze, when he noticed that his chair, the one Stora had tied Pimella up in, was in his lawn. How he hadn't seen it earlier, he didn't know, but that wasn't what bothered him. His chair was now red. Now that bothered him.
---------- Legends of Kingdoms at War - Feather Hunter's Version Part One — The Journey Chapter One: Remembering a Body Part Three: She Can't Stop Herself ---------- Present Day, Eleven Rays of Night Sunlight Feather sank into the hot water, placing his hands on his bent knees. His knuckles just barely penetrated the area above the water, he notice as he closed his eyes. He felt the water lapping at his ears as well as tickle his chin. Finally, he could relax. That was, until he remembered that he only had a little time before the supposed "memory wipe - change thingy" was supposed to happen. He scoffed. There were perfectly good explanations why he didn't know why those bloody rags were in his bedroom bathroom. There was even a perfectly good explanation why he'd seen himself, or what looked like himself, write Do Not Trust Her in the mirror in there. He just had to come up with them. I'll worry about that later. Right now, Feather was going to sleep while his body soaked up the hot water, hopefully soothing his aching muscles. Sleep was silently approaching him, he could feel it. If only he would stop thinking... ~~~~~~ Midnight, Present Day He couldn't open his eyes because something wasn't letting him. He watched — well, to say he was watching would be a lie, seeing as his eyes were still closed. He was having a lucid dream, he realized. Flash The image flickered. Feather could feel his body toss and turn in the water. He felt his hands grab the sides of the tub. He even felt the blood running from his nose as it trickled down his chin. It was like exactly like a dream, except he could feel what was happening to him externally while stuck in the dream. Flash The image he was viewing came back into focus. It was him, as usual, running. His body shook as the series of events in his head unfolded, and he felt himself relive that day all over again. This time, though, it would be unedited. A raw memory that as soon as this was over, would disappear forever and be replaced with a revised version. Flash Darkness. Is it over? Feather wondered, before his head was pushed under the water. He tried to open his eyes but couldn't. He cried out, reach for a hand he couldn't see to help him out of the water, to save him. But no one would come to his rescue. No, they were probably the ones trying to drown him. ~~~~~~ One Year Ago, Five Rays of Night Sunlight Location: Tigris' Palace, Tige, Tige “Get out now!” The guard yelled one last time before taking off towards the entrance of the palace. Feather, instead of just taking off at full speed, crept his way through the hallways, taking every precaution. He stuck to the shadows, his back against the wall. The darkness thickened as the lights went out all throughout the palace. A glowing green light bothered his peripheral vision. He only had a moment to gasp as his legs were kicked out from under him. He crawled away quickly, someone's foot narrowly missing his head as it moved past his ear. He heard the crackle of fire and could see in the darkness a single match hit the ground. The fire roared, quickly spreading and dividing him and his attacker while partially illuminating the hallway. The silhouette of the person – a female, he realized, definitely a female, because of the extreme curves – outlined with green approached him. The glow of the raging fire between them quickly revealed her identity. “Hello, Feather,” She whispered, seductively. “I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time.” Don't let her distract you, Feather coached himself. She's here because you're vulnerable right now. The heat of the fire was beginning to smother Feather. Sweat rolled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. Through his blurry vision, he watched in horror as she backed away into the darkness again, only to dash forward and leap across the fire in a perfect back flip. She landed in front of him, pushing him hard in the chest. “Fight back. Now!” She screamed. “Bellemorte commands you to fight back!” “Only the admin can command me to do anything!” Feather grunted, grabbing her fist and twisting her arm behind her back. “You are not the admin, Bellemorte.” Bellemorte lurched forward, untwisting her arm and grabbing Feather's arm instead. She swiftly put both of her feet on the wall and pushed off of it, sliding between Feather's legs without her body ever meeting the ground. Feather, unable to stop her momentum, felt his body jerk towards the floor and then into the air. His back slammed against the ground and he heard the crack of bones breaking in his back. “I never claimed to be.” Bellemorte said in his ear. “Don't try to move. It'll only make the paralysis last longer. Anyway,” She wrapped his arms around him, sitting down and putting his head in her lap. “I came here to kill you.” Feather stared up at her in fear, unable to move. Something whispered in his ear as he shut his eyes, waiting for the final blow. “What'd you say?” Feather asked shakily. “When?” Bellemorte replied, running her hands through Feather's hair. “After you said you came here to kill me.” “I said when.” He heard her say, aggravation in her voice. Feather made a shushing sound and waited. At first all he heard was the sizzle and pop of the fire, and he pondered for a second whether she had put something on the floor to keep it from spreading past a certain point. She must have, seeing as the fire hadn't reached them yet. She's losing control... He still had enough common sense to know now that the voice was inside his head, and not outside. Why am I so calm? He asked himself. I mean, I'm hearing voices inside my head that obviously aren't mine, Bellemorte says she is going to kill me, Tigris claims I am supposed to save somebody, and my own shadow attacked me! I mean, come on Feather, any normal person would be going insane by now. You're not normal, though. The voice replied back. It sounded like metal against metal, nails on a chalkboard, something -- horrible. He couldn't find any thing to compare the sound of the voice to. “You're losing control.” Feather whispered. “Losing control of what?” Bellemorte demanded angrily, although fear shined in her eyes. “Your body!” He blurted, not knowing where the answer originated. Your body, Bellemorte mouthed. “No I'm not.” said Bellemorte calmly. Then her mouth twitched. Feeling returned to his legs, and he scrambled to get into a standing position. Bellemorte mirrored him perfectly. He placed his foot on the wall, and with satisfaction, saw her do the same. I guess the bones healed, Feather thought. “So, that's why you're such a good fighter. What do you call this ability?” Feather said curiously. “The Alchemist calls it adoptive muscle memory.” Bellemorte explained impatiently. “He also says he didn't give it to me. That liar.” She mouthed her own words back silently. Feather began running back and forth across the hall, not even looking behind him. When he stopped, she was still doing them, running even faster. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, she continued to run. He walked out of the hall and around the corner confident-looking, but allowed his façade to crumble when he was out of her view. He punched a whole in the wall angrily, feeling his knuckles shatter. He was in too much shock for the pain to even register. He bolted out of the door, hearing it slam shut and the click of the lock being turned. ~~~~~~ One Year Ago, Six Rays of Night Sunlight Location: City Wall, Tige, Tige He sat down from exhaustion. The blistering heat from the day's earlier activities had left Feather sunburned and ridiculously angry. Now, the air was cool; cold, even. The only thing still maintaining the heat from earlier was the extremely fine sand that his heel was now digging into as he took off his shoes, and even it was now losing its heat. He knew that Bellemorte must have seen through his confident air when he had discovered she couldn't control her body. He had been terrified of her, the thought of her suddenly stop running and breaking his neck – it was gruesome. Feather slammed his hands down on the ground in anger, the powdery sand lifting off the ground in little clouds, pushing outward from the impact. Feather knew something dangerous was going on from the moment he'd been set free. “False memories, huh?” Feather muttered aloud. “Well, we'll see about that!” He began shaking, blood running from his nose in uncontrollable bursts. Then, a hand descended onto his face, a cloth within it making strange smells travel up his nose. Before he knew it, he couldn't breathe, and he blacked out. ~~~~~~ Midnight, Present Day Feather's eyes shot open, and he sucked in water. He thrashed around, kicking and punching at his attacker. He emerged from the water, his shouts dying down. He tried to breathe, and began coughing up his bath water. His skin was wrinkled from being in the water so long, and all his tension was back. He sighed, then frowned. It was eerily quiet in his house. He took a sharp breath, looking around. He was the only person in the room. He collapsed back into the water, gripping his knees hard with his fingernails. He felt the skin rip and let go quickly. Blood swirled up from the torn skin, and he stared at it quietly. I'm insane... ------ End of Chapter One, Remembering A Body. Part One: Two Weeks Part Two: Red Chair Part Three: She Can't Stop Herself
--------- Legends of Kingdoms at War - Feather Hunter's Version Part One — The Journey Chapter Two: The Visitations Part One: Streaks ---------- Friday, Two Days Later Six Rays of Morning Moonlight Rain was striking every available surface, some of the drops yelling, some whispering, others speaking monotonously. The quieter drops streaked across the western glass wall, making my view of the outside world translucent. The sun was emanating a soft glow beyond the clouds, its rays spread out in all directions, a few piercing the cloud cover. Splash splash splash, humongous drops screamed as they slammed into the rest of their friends. He could see the river down below in the valley annihilate its banks, roaring and surging upwards and forwards. The rain began changing directions rapidly, continuously switching. Feather backed away from the glass wall, taking it all in. Nature was so complex — such a destructive beauty. It was dangerous and unpredictable, although some claimed to be able to predict the weather. No one really like those people. He knew already that his home might be flooded today, but he didn't care. As he walked across his bedroom, gazing out of the eastern glass wall, he looked on silently as his garden was destroyed. Nature had created the most beautiful scene Feather had ever seen, and he didn't want it to stop. He grabbed some easels from his bedroom closet and gathered all of his oilbased paints, deciding in that moment he would paint the all the different scenes, that way they could never be forgotten. ~~~~~~ Midday, Twelve Rays of Night Sunlight Drained and hungry, Feather entered his bedroom bathroom. His attention was immediately brought to his broken mirror. It almost looked as if it had been punched in. Large shards of glass lay at his feet, stained red, almost as if by blood. He wiped at them with a clean wet rag, but the red substance still wouldn't relent. He dropped it, allowing it to break into several tiny pieces. I wonder how all this happened... Feather brooded over it mentally. I don't remember it being like this. Ignoring the pieces of glass at his feet, he moved to the mirror above the sink, which for some odd reason hadn't been damaged at all. He stared into the it, letting himself examine his appearance for the first time in a couple of days. Bags had formed under his eyes from his recent insomnia. His skin had paled significantly, causing his veins to stand out. The color in his eye had become slightly faded. His ribs poked against his shirt. He speculated that he was dying — or worse. Feather thought about everything he had read about in his psychology books and why this sudden lack of need for food and sleep had came upon him. He decided to come to terms with what he came up with: insanity. That was much worse than dying. “Shhhhhhhhh...” He whispered to his reflection. “Everything will be okay.” A tear slid down his cheek, pooling in a drop at chin then sliding off. Feather bent his head in sorrow, taking it all in. He picked up a piece of glass at his feet, ready to throw it away in the trash bin beside the sink when he noticed that some of the reflective tape had come off. His tear had landed on the edge of the glass, and as he examined the tear drop now, he picked out something swirling in it. Taking a closer look, he saw that whatever it was was red. Curiously, he peeled back the rest of the reflective tape, picking up his wet rag and wiping at the surface of the glass, which was stained red. With one wipe, all the red was gone. He sniffed the rag and a wave of nausea hit him. Flash Feather gripped the sink painfully tight. The acrid scent of blood was traveling up his nose. He placed his other hand on his full-body mirror to steady himself as he let go of the sink. Flash He looked up in surprise, four words written in blood across his hand. Ne dimittas me hinc. It was Latin, Feather noted, a language from the past that no one used anymore – much less read or spoke. Well, almost. “Do not let me go from here,” Feather spoke aloud, asking himself the obvious question. “What's that supposed to mean?” Rain hit the bathroom window hard, causing Feather to jump. He exited the bathroom, deciding to bury any memory of what had just happened. He obviously didn't need any more evidence to further his insanity theory. Looking out the eastern glass wall as he came out the bathroom, he was awestruck by the size of the storm clouds hovering above the mountain range. Looking down the valley to the west, he saw the river surge once more as the flood began. It's once pristine waters turned black and brown with sediment and mud, climbing up the valley walls. It clawed and gouged out huge chunks of rock, roaring all the while. “That was a funny joke!” Feather yelled, laughing hysterically. “Tell-te-tell it again!” He grabbed his abs, trying to control himself as he stuttered. The river had reached his lawn now, and was rapidly rising. His eyes began adjusting to the darkening light, and he spotted rocks floating in the river. They seemed to thrash and try to fight the pull of the current. That's strange... Feather spoke in his head. Simultaneously, the rocks were pulled under, and what appeared to be -- Oh no. He was so shocked and scared, he — unfortunately — blacked out. ~~~~~~ Two Rays of Night Sunlight Feather gasped when he finally came around, absorbing all the details of his surroundings. A crumpled body lay on the patio, its hand clasped around the stem of one of his saplings. His living room was flooded, and muddy water dripped from his curls. He groaned in pain as he crawled to his backdoor, water sloshing over his body. His clothes, heavy with river water, stuck to his skin like glue. He blinked several times, getting the water out of his eyes. He heard a slosh behind him, and when he turned around to see what it was, he discovered a trail of murky red water leading to his body. Turning over and craning his head to stay above the water, he discovered a huge gash in his skin above the area where his appendix was located. I guess I can't feel it because I'm in shock, He said in his mind. He continued crawling, grabbing hold of the sliding doors. The glass had caved in because of the pressure outside it, he guessed. Needless to say, he cut his elbow on a piece. He smiled when he didn't feel the pain. “Are you okay?” Feather called out as he reached the first patio chair. A soft mumble answered his call, and he quickened his crawl. Umbrella... second chair... first sapling... second sapling... third sapling, Feather ticked off in his head, stopping at the body. It mumbled again this time clearer, “Ne dimittas me hinc.” Feather froze, about to move the person frizzy black hair out of its face. “What did you say?” He replied, still frozen. “Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc.” It began chanting, over and over again, steadily raising it's volume. At that point, Feather found out the gender of the person: female, definitely female. Gently, he moved her hair out of her face. Her chanting stopped, and she lifted her head, allowing him to get a better look at her. She was of South Highland descent, he could tell. Her arms, legs, hands, and feet were all covered by clothing, as well as her face and neck with her long black hair. Now that she had lifted her face, he marveled at her beautiful, soft brown skin. Her eyes were the lightest of browns, made even more vibrant in the stormy sunlight. She extended her leather-gloved hand, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. “Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc. Ne dimittas me hinc.” She began chanting again, sobbinng and screaming. She collapsed into his arms, black tears contrasting hugely with her brown cheeks. “Stop yelling that!” Feather pleaded as the woman collapsed into his arms. “I sum infecta.” The white of her eyes turned black, and she let out one final scream. He himself screamed too, but — determined not to repeat earlier — pulled himself together and dragged her into his house. He ran into his barn and whistled for Eagle, his pet eagle. Eagle swooped down from the rafters, extending his talons and snatching up the message I had thrown in the air for him. “Take it to Storallelite!”