History of Richard 3
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
History of Richard 3 by Beowulf Thormear
Chapter Four - Torturous Past
"On this day, you have all passed your tests to become sword masters of the Way. Many of your friends have perished in this training, and many more of you shall perish in future engagements. Dawn your blades and begin a day of concentration, after which you will be required to fashion your own suit of armor using shadow iron mined by your own hands. Complete these simple tasks and report to the barracks when you are finished for combat orders and stationing." A monotone Zealots voice drifted over a group of twenty teenagers assembled in a small clearing of forest. A young child of no more then 9 years stood amongst the crowd, standing more then a foot shorter then the rest of his companions.
"Richard, Keil. You two stay behind." The voice of the Zealot was suddenly stiff and piercing as the two friends stopped in mid motion, watching the rest of their companions exit into the dense woodlands.
"Richard, your father has sent me specific orders. You are not to receive your passing ceremony, you are not finished your training yet." The man spoke in a harsh tone directed at the child, almost grinning as he saw the shocked look on the child's face as the announcement was made.
"Alongside these orders, he also gave me specific orders for you. He wishes you to be grateful that he has allowed you to progress upon the path of the master. He believes it will take your life, as it has every other student for the past hundred years. If by chance you pass the test, he shall greet you as his rightful son. The Zealot spoke once again in a monotone voice, as if reciting words placed in his mouth by a droning diplomat.
"Now for homage to your father& he asks that you slay your friend. He cannot have you splitting allegiance to a mere child and himself, your father must be the only one you confide in. You must draw your blade now and end his life without hesitation, anything less and I am instructed to kill you where you stand." The Zealot spoke in an almost pleasurable tone as he fingered his blade, eyeing the shocked child and his equally shocked companion.
"For my father." The child drew his blade in one fluid action, and thrust forward while looking into his friends pleading eyes, ending the boy's life mercilessly.
The zealot burst into a loud roaring laughter as the older boys form slipped from the younger child's blade. "Excellent! I expected nothing less from you Richard. Report to your sleeping quarters immediately, pack up your belongings and throw them into the sea. Where you are going there shall be no sleep, no friends, no comforting items, only yourself and death. I shall look forward to planting your ashes young one." The Zealot turned away leaving a young boy looking down at the twisted corpse of his best friend, not seeing the tears that streamed forth from the child's eyes as he collapsed to the ground in despair.
Chapter Five - Trial by Fire
A lone child stood faithfully in the center of a burning gauntlet, white hot fires poured fourth from the lava-like rock that lined the primordial flooring of the volcano interior. The child stood with eyes closed, feet planted firmly upon the molten ground, shaking as sweat poured from his now tanned features. A blackened figure in the corner of the room eyed the child intensely as he muttered subtle curses, trying to thwart the young boy's attention.
It had been two hours and already Richard began to tire. His concentration would not hold and the burning rock would melt his skin and turn his flesh to ash. His father knew this, and that is why he was here now, he was here to die. The Zealot Terangal stood in the far corner, untouched by the more intense heat, while he muttered loud curses into the fiery air, doing his best to break the child's concentration. The test of the master was an ancient rite to determine the Way's master swordsman, the one who would teach several generations of future soldiers in the arts of the sword. In the end it didn't matter, Richard would die, and his father would live peacefully in the fact that his child was weak, a pup to be thrown from the litter. He couldn't let that happen, he would remember what they did to Keil. Keil& why did he kill him? The question floundered through his thoughts as the heat of the flames began to leave sickly black patterns upon his skin.
Terangal's voice began to rise louder, the Zealot had seen the child's skin begin to give way to defeat, he knew it was only a matter of time before the child was consumed entirely. The heat of the volcano suddenly flared, scorching the back of the child, sending ripples of laughter surging through Terangal's body. The Zealot began to stride with confident steps toward the now spastically shaking child, making sure not to accidentally step in the searing hot lava that waited below. Terangal hopped to a rock beside the child with surprising grace, dancing past the flames, dodging the sudden spurts of fire that shot up from the volcano. Looking straight into Richards closed eyes, Terangal began to shout louder curses, seeing the boy flinch and twitch as more of his flesh began to burn.
Richard felt on the verge of tears as the determined Zealot burned him with words, mirroring the flames which joined in with the Zealots aggressive onslaught. Thoughts of Keil flooded his mind; his friend would be watching him now and laughing, waiting to return the torture in death that Richard had inflicted upon him in life. Richard's thoughts began to drift to the day at the ocean, the month before he had been forced to take his friends life& the ocean& so calming.... he had seen the blue of his eyes reflected back at him as his figure twisted and moved in the flowing waves. His form had changed in the illusionary watery mirror; the waves reflected a child, innocent face and glowing eyes, rustled hair and dirty clothing, not a murderer, not a monster. Richard's eyes suddenly opened, staring at the cursing Zealot in a newfound determination. The child of his father could not live through this day& but he could, he had the strength. It did not come from endless years of training, it did not come from his father's blood which flowed through his veins, it came from him, and he was stronger then anything they could have imagined he would be. With a quick motion, Richard brought his foot out, sweeping the Zealots shins, sending Terangal face first into the molten pool that seemed to welcome the Zealots flesh with dancing arms, locking him into a fiery embrace. Terangal screamed curses, as he tried in vain to move his now blackened flesh from the encasing molten rock, the Zealot had been undone by a child. The thought sickened him as the warm fires of death extinguished his form.
The ocean sat below him, its waves crashed upon the shores in a rhythmic tune of serenity, no flames or searing rock could touch him here, he was all alone, he was at peace.