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The little red haired girl gripped the large blade with trembling porcelain white hands half stained crimson. The blood oozed down the longsword's blade and onto her hands, hot and sticky. She could feel the man's hot breath on her neck, feel the final beating of his heart through the blade as he died atop her. Her large blue eyes were saucers of fear, staring at the man's eyes. Dead Man's Eyes...
She screamed, soul piercingly, and tried to scramble her way out from beneath the dead man, her bare feet slipping in the blood-soaked ground. Her simple, peasant's dress was torn, muddied, and stained with blood. The young girl finally managed to slide from beneath the warm corpse, shivering in terror and adrenaline. She curled up into a ball, shivering, breathing fast in shock...
Warmth... The shining man gently slid his cloak around the child's shoulders, regarding her. She was no more than eight years old, a simple child. Her eyes turned up to him, and he knew that she would someday charm men with those large, dark pools. The man patted her head, squatting next to her, his heavy armor creaking with the motion.
"It is the way of the world that we must fight for survival. You have suffered, but it was Tempus' will that you fight, and you have done as he bade. What is your name, little fire-hair?" His voice was cultured, melodious, deep. A real man's voice, even more than her father's had been.
"E-E-Ember..." She squeaked, then lunged to hug at his leg. "Mama...Papa...Sissy! They're...they're...." The little girl's body began to wrack with sobs as she clutched at the man, unable to speak. She felt his hand upon her back, comforting, and he said no word for many minutes, until her tears washed away the blood and mud on her face, and her cries subsided into whimpers.
"They are dead." The man patted her back again, and slowly stood up, dislodging her grip from him. She huddled beneath the warrior's cloak, staring at him with wide eyes as he kicked the dark haired corpse over, and retrieved the longsword buried in the dead man's chest.
I put it there... I made the blood... The thought came unbidden to her mind, and she bit her lower lip, face pink with worrow. The warrior cleaned the blade off on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed the blade at his side, turning to face the girl. "You did well..."
She stared at the sword's hilt, golden and gleaming in the noonday sun. It was the gleam that had caught her eye when it had flown past her to stick in the ground. The gleam that had made her grab it when the warrior had shouted to her to fight for her life. The gleam that had made her grab it in her tiny hands, and hold it up just as the slaver charged at her with his knife. He had impaled himself on the sword, but it was enough, to hold the blade, a symbolic act of fighting. Yet the death on her hands wasn't symbolic at all. It was real. And she was scared.
"Little Fire Hair Ember, I am Tain..." The warrior, old as her father and maybe more, knelt in front of her, looking at her sternly with his brown eyes. She saw his face for the first time, her psuedo-savior - a man with dark brown hair, salt and pepper at the temples, a thick beard and mustache... He looked to her like a knight out of stories. But instead of kindness, there was a harsh, strong look in his face. "I am the leader of these men..." he motioned with a hand, and she looked around, eyes wide, noticing for the first time the armored men unloading the slaver caravan's carts, breaking open the lockboxes, and raiding the food supplies. The ex-slaves stood clumped, staring at their saviors. Corpses littered the ground, among them her entire family, her papa, and mama, and her older sister... Everything she had. "...we are the Company of Steelfang. You will come with us. Although I gave you my sword, it was you who slew that man, not I - you fought for your life. I take this as a sign from Tempus, Lord of Battle."
Her dark eyes stared as he gave her his hand, and lifted her up, her Not-So-Knight in Shining Armor...
***
Twelve Years Later...
Ember stared at herself in the mirror, eyes wide, lips smiling. She looked good in her red and white armor. It was comfortable armor, and it fit her well and snugly, padding her curves and protecting everything that needed protecting. She turned, peering at her side... Then she reached up to the greatsword hilt poking over her shoulder, and whipped the blade over, the bat-wing crossguard glimmering like that long-ago longsword's. She posed with the sword, moving from dramatic position to equally dramatic position, grinning to herself dumbly.
"The whole universe is in this sword...I have to be careful. Can't let the universe get broken, can I?" She stared at the sword, as if awaiting an answer, but the gleaming steel blade was silent. Because it was steel. Not a mouth. After a few moments of silence, she just closed her eyes, and felt the grip of the sword. Only it wasn't a grip. It was a joint. Her joint. Bone and sinew and steel and muscle melded into one in her dark world. Behind her eyelids there was only darkness, and the light of the sword, seen perfect and clear in the blackness. It was her arm. She could feel her blood coursing through the steel, and could feel the air on the blade of the weapon.
It was a part of her, not seperate steel, but a part of her body. More than that, she could feel the sword's every nuance. It wasn't just her flesh. It was part of her soul. She was one with the blade. There was no difference...
And that meant...
"The whole universe inside my sword is inside me."
She didn't hear the words as she spoke them crisp and clear, In fact, she didn't even know she had spoken. She was lost in the universe of her sword, herself, floating in the blackness of oblivion. She was at peace... breathing deeply, she reached out through her body, feeling the blade move through the air...
...and then the impact as it smashed into the nearby window, the wooden shutters snapping loudly with the advent of the giant blade's swing. Ember's eyes snapped open in horror, staring at the broken shutters of the second floor window. Half of one was swinging over the open air... until it finally snapped, and fell. She rushed towards the window, then heard the cursing from below, and stopped, mortified.
She could hear the innkeeper rushing up the steps already - straight to her room. And then she heard his bellow - "EGAN!!! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME!"
Ember gulped, and quickly tried to hide the sword behind her back, half of the blade poking up over her head. Just in time, she painted a giant, innocent smile across her face, as the door slammed open, and she stood facing the wrath of the angry innkeep...
Just another day in the life of a mercenary.
She screamed, soul piercingly, and tried to scramble her way out from beneath the dead man, her bare feet slipping in the blood-soaked ground. Her simple, peasant's dress was torn, muddied, and stained with blood. The young girl finally managed to slide from beneath the warm corpse, shivering in terror and adrenaline. She curled up into a ball, shivering, breathing fast in shock...
Warmth... The shining man gently slid his cloak around the child's shoulders, regarding her. She was no more than eight years old, a simple child. Her eyes turned up to him, and he knew that she would someday charm men with those large, dark pools. The man patted her head, squatting next to her, his heavy armor creaking with the motion.
"It is the way of the world that we must fight for survival. You have suffered, but it was Tempus' will that you fight, and you have done as he bade. What is your name, little fire-hair?" His voice was cultured, melodious, deep. A real man's voice, even more than her father's had been.
"E-E-Ember..." She squeaked, then lunged to hug at his leg. "Mama...Papa...Sissy! They're...they're...." The little girl's body began to wrack with sobs as she clutched at the man, unable to speak. She felt his hand upon her back, comforting, and he said no word for many minutes, until her tears washed away the blood and mud on her face, and her cries subsided into whimpers.
"They are dead." The man patted her back again, and slowly stood up, dislodging her grip from him. She huddled beneath the warrior's cloak, staring at him with wide eyes as he kicked the dark haired corpse over, and retrieved the longsword buried in the dead man's chest.
I put it there... I made the blood... The thought came unbidden to her mind, and she bit her lower lip, face pink with worrow. The warrior cleaned the blade off on the dead man's clothes, and sheathed the blade at his side, turning to face the girl. "You did well..."
She stared at the sword's hilt, golden and gleaming in the noonday sun. It was the gleam that had caught her eye when it had flown past her to stick in the ground. The gleam that had made her grab it when the warrior had shouted to her to fight for her life. The gleam that had made her grab it in her tiny hands, and hold it up just as the slaver charged at her with his knife. He had impaled himself on the sword, but it was enough, to hold the blade, a symbolic act of fighting. Yet the death on her hands wasn't symbolic at all. It was real. And she was scared.
"Little Fire Hair Ember, I am Tain..." The warrior, old as her father and maybe more, knelt in front of her, looking at her sternly with his brown eyes. She saw his face for the first time, her psuedo-savior - a man with dark brown hair, salt and pepper at the temples, a thick beard and mustache... He looked to her like a knight out of stories. But instead of kindness, there was a harsh, strong look in his face. "I am the leader of these men..." he motioned with a hand, and she looked around, eyes wide, noticing for the first time the armored men unloading the slaver caravan's carts, breaking open the lockboxes, and raiding the food supplies. The ex-slaves stood clumped, staring at their saviors. Corpses littered the ground, among them her entire family, her papa, and mama, and her older sister... Everything she had. "...we are the Company of Steelfang. You will come with us. Although I gave you my sword, it was you who slew that man, not I - you fought for your life. I take this as a sign from Tempus, Lord of Battle."
Her dark eyes stared as he gave her his hand, and lifted her up, her Not-So-Knight in Shining Armor...
***
Twelve Years Later...
Ember stared at herself in the mirror, eyes wide, lips smiling. She looked good in her red and white armor. It was comfortable armor, and it fit her well and snugly, padding her curves and protecting everything that needed protecting. She turned, peering at her side... Then she reached up to the greatsword hilt poking over her shoulder, and whipped the blade over, the bat-wing crossguard glimmering like that long-ago longsword's. She posed with the sword, moving from dramatic position to equally dramatic position, grinning to herself dumbly.
"The whole universe is in this sword...I have to be careful. Can't let the universe get broken, can I?" She stared at the sword, as if awaiting an answer, but the gleaming steel blade was silent. Because it was steel. Not a mouth. After a few moments of silence, she just closed her eyes, and felt the grip of the sword. Only it wasn't a grip. It was a joint. Her joint. Bone and sinew and steel and muscle melded into one in her dark world. Behind her eyelids there was only darkness, and the light of the sword, seen perfect and clear in the blackness. It was her arm. She could feel her blood coursing through the steel, and could feel the air on the blade of the weapon.
It was a part of her, not seperate steel, but a part of her body. More than that, she could feel the sword's every nuance. It wasn't just her flesh. It was part of her soul. She was one with the blade. There was no difference...
And that meant...
"The whole universe inside my sword is inside me."
She didn't hear the words as she spoke them crisp and clear, In fact, she didn't even know she had spoken. She was lost in the universe of her sword, herself, floating in the blackness of oblivion. She was at peace... breathing deeply, she reached out through her body, feeling the blade move through the air...
...and then the impact as it smashed into the nearby window, the wooden shutters snapping loudly with the advent of the giant blade's swing. Ember's eyes snapped open in horror, staring at the broken shutters of the second floor window. Half of one was swinging over the open air... until it finally snapped, and fell. She rushed towards the window, then heard the cursing from below, and stopped, mortified.
She could hear the innkeeper rushing up the steps already - straight to her room. And then she heard his bellow - "EGAN!!! THIS IS THE THIRD TIME!"
Ember gulped, and quickly tried to hide the sword behind her back, half of the blade poking up over her head. Just in time, she painted a giant, innocent smile across her face, as the door slammed open, and she stood facing the wrath of the angry innkeep...
Just another day in the life of a mercenary.
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