The Soul's Plight

[Rabbit55821]

Hey guys! For a while now, I have been working on a world known as "The Soul's Plight". In the course of this work, I have written numerous short (like, really short) stories to both aid and use my world building through writing. Recently I have decided to share these works with the TWC community, and this is the result of that decision.

These stories will, inevitably, vary. Some may be myths that are told, in much the same fashion I tell them, by wise old men and storytellers throughout the world. Some may be completely factual accounts of events that have occurred. Some may be long lost excerpts of history books or books of stories. In short, don't trust everything you read, as you will likely know, in a short manner of time, more about this world then the common man within it.

I cannot make any promises as to the regularity of my updates, but I hope you enjoy what I do put out! Comments and feedback are appreciated!

[Rabbit55821]

The Tale of You

"There's something in the trees."


"What?"


"In the trees. Something moved."


"I didn't see anything. Could just be a rabbit or something."


"Rabbits don't shake trees."


"What? You said something moved, you didn't say-"


"It shook the tree."


Blade in hand, a white light illuminated the grass below Tdamiun's^[1] feet. His sword glowed in a wonderful fashion, as if it had been blessed by the Gods themselves.


The tree shook again. This time acorns and pine cones fell from it. A pair of bright green eyes flashed for a moment, staring at the two before disappearing again into the underbrush.


"Do you think it could be a messenger?" Tpilydide asked.


"I wouldn't trust it to be one. We are far to close to the White Grove to trust mysterious things in the woods."


"So, what do you want to do?"


"We need to leave."


"What about the verithide?"


"We'll return another day."


With his words spoken, Tdamiun spun on his heel and began to walk back towards the town, his eyes still locked on the forest behind him and blade still in his hand. Then, in a moment of panic, he spun around and swung his sword, striking a horned creature which had appeared from the tall grass. The creature shrieked as it fell to the ground, before it pounced again on it's prey, Tdamiun, and began to rip him apart with teeth and claws. Tpilydide ran the opposite way, hoping to escape his certain fate.


As Tdamiun's body fell to the ground, finally released from it's attackers grasp, blood splattered over the once beautiful grass. Pieces of flesh and bone alike had been scattered around during the creature's ferocious assault, and Tpilydide soon was met with the same fate.


The Prince was dead.


Another man would die soon after; a huntsman who sought to be the first to kill the beast.


Then three more died, supposedly armored men of tremendous martial skill. It was true that they were great warriors, but few would say that the single square plate they wore was truly armor. The fourth man of the group escaped, but his arm was gone and his face and chest were scarred.

Soon, the creature became an even greater hunter, for in it's bestial consumption of it's prey, it had become even smarter.

Soon, the beast was a beast no more.


When the creature walked into the town months later, no one expected that it would transform into a man. The beast had went deeper into the forest and found the ancients spirits which dwelled in the White Grove. They had agreed to teach him how to survive in a world where men with two legs and bronze tools.


"King. Speak. Us."


"You want to speak to our King?"


"Yes. You."


"Us?"


The Beast-Man shook it's head and put it's finger on it's chest. "Speak. King."


A single arrow pierced the air and found it's mark in the Beast-Man's shoulder. Battle soon followed as the Beast-Man reverted to it's more primal form and slaughtered every man around him who sought to challenge him. When the bloodbath had ended, he became a man again. He was scarred, but it was a far cry from the bloody corpses his opponents were left as.


It would take three more attempts by the Beast-Man before the King finally agreed to speak with the Beast-Man, who seemed indestructible. In his quest the Beast-Man had managed to kill even a pair of Holy Magi, who came upon him with their spells and invocations, as well as nearly a dozen warriors. When the two spoke, they spoke separated by nearly a full warband of men, as well as several adventurers from foreign lands.


"You wanted to speak with me?" the King asked.


"Yes. You speak King."


"What do you mean?"


The Beast-Man tapped it's chest. "You." He then pointed to the King. "King."


The King realized what the Beast-Men was saying. "So, You, what do you want to speak of so desperately?"


"Sorry."


The soldiers tensed up for a moment, ready for a fight. "What are You sorry about?"


"You sorry death."


"You are sorry for the death you have caused?"


"Yes. You kills. You want not kill."


The King was silent for a moment, running his hand over his knee and looking at the Beast-Man before him. "Did You kill my Prince?"


"Know not."


"You don't know?"


"Yes. Name?"


Composing himself, the King remembered his son. He had not had much time for his son, but yet he still had loved him dearly. "Tdamiun. His name was Tdamiun."


"You kill Tdamiun."


There was a long pause. The King felt tears coming to his eyes. He had had his suspicions, as the whole court, but the method in which the Beast-Man had made his confession forced him to remember his failed responsibility. He was supposed to protect his son, no matter what. Tdamiun had not only been his heir, but he had also been the King's friend, his son. He had killed Tdamiun.


"Kill You." he muttered.


The soldiers began to advance, but they didn't have to. Without a moment of hesitation, the Beast-Man began to rip apart his chest. He spoke his last words as he gripped his rib cage and torn it loose. "You beast."


The Beast-Man, You, died soon after he spoke his last words. He bled out on the floor, his soul having no taker but himself. The King had pity for the creature, though no man in the court could understand why. He believed that You was loyal to him, for some reason. The scholars would explain it away by the fact that the souls of the King's subjects were those You had taken, thus giving him his loyalty, but the King didn't care. He had already made up in his mind that You had become his son, a theory backed up by those scholars which sought to satisfy him.


The way You had spoken had left many confused, but to the King it was confusing for an entirely different manner. He translated the Beast-Man's words as accusations. He translated the Beast-Man's final words not as "I am a Beast", but rather as "You are a beast".


He called for the highest servants of the Lamaedei^[2] and brought them to his Church, and he demanded that the Beast-Man's soul be restored to his body. They complied, but only after a great bribe was given, which the King agreed to with little concern for the amount asked, for his coffers were large and full from trade. When You came back to life, the first man he saw was the King, and both smiled.


"I'm sorry." the King said.


"You sorry." the Beast-Man answered.


And thus was the Tale of You.

---

[1]: In the tongue of the Aeraedei, all consonants immediately followed by another consonants are pronounced as though the letter a was separating them.

[2]: Lamaedei: The literal translation is "One associated with Light", "Lam" meaning "Light", "-aede" denoting a person associated with a thing, place, or word, and "-i" denoting a plural, much in the style of the Greek word Hoplite.

[Scottish King]

Will follow this with great interest. I like a good attempt at worldbuilding. Keep up the good work.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

That, if you don't mind my saying so, asks more questions than it answers. I'll be interested to discover - in due course - what the answers are...

[Scarecrow_1]

You've captured my attention. I too will be interested to see how this story progresses.

[Alwyn]

Welcome to the Writers' Study, Scarecrow_1!

Rabbit, I like your idea of building a world through myths and stories. Reading this one, I enjoyed the way that King tried to make sense of the Beast-Man's mysterious style of speech.

[Rabbit55821]

Thanks for the comments guys! I'm glad you enjoyed the first post, and hopefully you will enjoy the proceeding ones just as much! This one may be a bit of a downer, but it will make sense in the context of the next few posts.

---

Chronicles of Akrosea I
A Death in the Family

The sky cracked for a brief moment, and unleashed a great blast of lightning. The blue energy erupted and struck the a high tree, setting it alight. The tree burned a great red and orange color, but the flames soon began to diminish as the rain attempted to tame them. Only a few moments later, screams began to echo through the halls, and the high head of Rneve the Wise dropped. He stood at the window of his palace watching the burning tree, and soon the door was thrown open and a man entered with a saddened face.

"I am aware of what has happened." he said, "Tell Qmrse that I wish to speak with him in the morning, and that his word was true." He stood and pointed out the window at the burning tree, and the man was shocked. "Remember the location of that tree in case I do not. I may not be much use to anyone for a while."

Rneve turned and left his guard, striding with purpose through the halls of his palace. Water came to his eyes as his facade of cold emotion withered away. As he finally arrived at his destination and opened the door that encaged it, tears began to fall from his eyes and carve watery paths down his face.

Three women sat around the bed in mourning; one his wife and two his daughters. They wept almost as much as the young boy who sat at the foot of the bed. Rneve stopped and ran his hands through the boy's hair as he gripped him with the other arm.

"It will be alright, Rcae. It will--" Rneve stopped short of speaking. His voice was lost to him. His son had died, his life taken by a revolting patch of green skin which had grown from the mark of a blade.

Another man stepped forward and patted Rneve on his back, comforting him in much the fashion Rneve now comforted his son. "Rcutu, I will need you to handle the matters of court, save for those concerning the Mage Qmrse. I seek to speak with him myself."

"I understand." Rcutu answered.

"Thank you, Grand-Uncle. We will need to dispose of his body in a fine fashion, but I do not seek to do so immediately. See if we may preserve it for a time, even if magic is required. I wish to be composed at his funeral."

Hmtha looked at her husband in spite. "Can you even say his name?"

"Rneve Dici^[2] Vente." Rneve answered calmly, his voice near monotone.

"How can you be so calm? How? He was your son!" Hmtha shouted.

"Compose yourself, woman. The children are here."

"Compose myself?!"

With frightening strength, Hmtha reached down to pull Rcae away from Rneve. As his arms sprung open, so to did his knees, as Rneve rose to his feet and slapped his wife across the cheek. "We are parents. We are here to comfort, not sadden. We may mourn on our time, but now we must look out for our children. Stay in line."

Rneve returned his position, opening his arms for Rcae to return, which the child willingly did, though he was frightened by both his parents. What nearly equated to a waterfall poured down from Rcae's eyes as he wept for his lost brother. In his young age, he did not even yet comprehend that the death would, in the long term, play in his favor, for the child's mind had not yet been corrupted by the power games of adults. He only thought of the many memories he had made with his brother, in times both sad and happy.

"This is your fault. You wanted the war." Hmtha muttered.

Rneve shot a stern glance to his wife, and she was suddenly silent, choosing to instead hug the two daughters of theirs. Everyone in the room was saddened by the death. Most of the court would be saddened also, though for vastly different reasons, save for the few among them who still had hearts.

Yet this was only a beginning, for this death left a mark on all, but none so permanent that which had been delivered to the boy Rcae. For him, this event was only the beginning of a long descent.

---

[1]: Dici is the ordinal version of "Two", meaning "Second"

[Scottish King]

Another update Its always sad to lose a child no matter how old they may be. I hope the family can come together. There seems to be a rift between the king and queen that may have been there before the long before their son died. I predict that Rcae is going to go from an innocent boy to a dictator just you watch Nice update.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

You're definitely going for a slightly cryptic feel here, aren't you?

It is indeed a sad story, with the loss of a child. I, too, am interested to see what happens to the family - and what exactly the 'descent' of Rcae will lead him to.

[Alwyn]

I wonder what effects Rneve's coldness and violence towards Hmtha (and his style of communicating, trying to order her about) will have on Rcae. If Rcae sees Rneve's apparent indifference to a sad death and Reneve's callousness towards Hmtha as an example to follow, could this be part of what causes his descent? Poor Rcae!