Well, like EOM Harry is a poet I'm a storywriter at heart. I tho
Nokigon’s beginnings
The boy was running.
He could hear the panting of men behind him. He knew
that they’d kill him, if only for the slight charge of overhearing their plans.
He had to run for his life- but he was tiring.
Run. Run.
Run.
He could hear them getting closer. They were men,
after all, and he was a boy not yet reached thirteen. Soon they would reach
him, and his short life would end.
Run. Run.
Run.
The boy risked a look over his shoulder. He could see
them, three men with scars on their faces. He could even see the things that
would end his time in Illyria- cruel, short knives.
Run. Run.
Run!
The men were nearly upon him. They wielded cruel,
short blades- deadly ones. He upped the pace, but he couldn’t outrun them.
Run! Run!
RUN!
If he stopped for a second they’d reach him. As it
was… the boy wondered whether it would be quick.
RUN! RUN!
RU-
A man had grabbed him from behind, cutting off his
desperate flight. He attempted to fight, knowing it was hopeless. The man
pulled him to face him. He saw the scarred face, the pitiless eyes, the black
hair and the brand on his cheek.
The knife readying to stab.
Thwack!
An arrow had suddenly flashed through the air and
landed with a smack in between the
man’s eyes. He gave a strangled cry and fell down.
The boy fell to the floor, and then jumped back up. He
saw a shadowy figure leap at the remaining people- and there was at least six-
and slaughter them in seconds. His sword looked like a bolt of silver lightning
from the gods, come down to Illyria to punish the mortals. And once the
terrible killing was done, the shadowy figure turned back to the young boy and
stepped into the light. The boy studied the face of his saviour, and felt a
flicker of relief.
The man was young, 23 at the very most. A long scar
went sideways across his face, but it was old. There was enough scars on his
face to suggest military experience, but not enough to suggest he was
constantly being struck.
His eyes were blue, and had a hard line of steel
running through them. They were the eyes of a man that had killed, and been
hurt many times before. Yet they had a soft hint of compassion somewhere therein,
along with a touch of pity and sympathy. He clearly felt deeply for this young
boy.
“Finished staring?” the man asked gently. The boy
nodded softly.
“Good. Now run, boy. There may be more people nearby.
Run to your home, and don’t stop running until you are in the house with the
door locked. Have you got that?” The boy nodded again, still in a daze.
“Then run!” The tone of command in his voice brooked
no argument. The boy started to go, then stopped. He turned back.
“Wait! I don’t even know your name!” The man looked
him in the eyes, and a small light of approval flickered there.
“Nokigon Cediris. Captain of the Guard in Mortifera.
You?”
“Tukkymukky.”
Nokigon nodded, a small smile coming up at his lips. “Nice
to meet you, Tukkymukky. Now RUN!” He actually shouted the last few words, and
as if by a spell Tukkymukky was running. Running for his life. He risked a
glance over his shoulder, and saw Nokigon readying himself once more.
To be
continued…