Avenio Naemig

(( Disclaimer: Discretion for mild expletives, violence, gore.)) The Xaela clan known as Buduga is identified - and sometimes dreaded - for its unique look on proliferation. They recruit only males, and therefore cannot produce more members sexually. Instead, to swell their ranks they will resort to kidnapping and brainwashing, either ignoring or slaughtering the remaining souls that do not stand up to their arbitrary inspection. Oftentimes there will be recruitment raids, generally comprised of a cadre of specially trained Au Ra who will descend upon a settlement and either raze it to the ground, or operate covertly. Either way they will strip the town of all males deemed fit, or die trying. During one such raid over a decade in the past, the Buduga descended upon a Xaela encampment of the Himaa tribe, known primarily for the strangely common trait of multiple births. The attack was swift and merciless, exacted with near-surgical precision. Screams and shouts permeated the air, transforming the small camp into a bloody battlefield, yet it was hardly worthy of the title. The tribe's meager defense force had been the very first target, and had been quickly overwhelmed by the highly trained Buduga. Some of the male fighters had been clapped in irons, though the majority were slain on the spot without mercy. In one of the nearby tarpaulin shelters, yet untouched by the carnage, a set of young boys barely approaching pubescence cowered. Not two or even three but four identical boys hid under blankets and stools, and could do naught but listen to the horrific noises floating through the walls and the single window. Shock and fear gripped the lads, suppressing them into inaction. "Do you think they'll see us?" one dared to query of his brothers. "Shut your mouth!" came the hissed reply, "You're going to get us found!" "These bastards hardly seem like amateurs," mused the third as he rose to his feet from behind a dresser. "Evan! Get down, you fool! Do you want to get killed!?" admonished the second. "I don't think they're going to kill us," said the lad with trepidation. An uneasy silence followed as all three of his brothers very specifically did not voice their opinions on the matter. The boy who had stood approached the window, ignoring the hastily whispered warnings (and then insults) floating from behind him. He came close enough to see his reflection in the window, and through it the view of mind-numbing violence. Blood ran freely through the dirt, bodies of the dead piled up, all of whom had been walking, talking, living, breathing only hours before. The staggering horror clawed its way through the young Au Ra's stomach, instilling in him a resentment which already festered hotly. His vision blurred, and refocused on the reflection. He, like his brothers, was coming into adulthood boldly. Dusky skin of rich mahogany, and hair of starless raven cut a striking figure, along with the radiant blue limbal rings. A perpetual frown graced the youth's face, framed by long lashes that made it easy to understand the boys' popularity in their daily lives. Or... their former lives. But vanity was not what had taken the lad's attention. He saw with rising dread that there was a dagger poking through the canvas behind him. Without thinking, the standing young man dashed to the back wall, to the confused cries of his brothers. He arrived just in time to watch it fall away, sliced into ribbons as a huge Buduga raider dropped the jagged dagger he'd used to peel open the tent. As soon as he spotted the lad, he grinned vibrantly from ear to ear. It all happened so fast. While his brothers could do little but look on with stunned horror, the boy puffed up his chest and pointed back over the figure's shoulder, "Get the seven hell out of here!" The raider's grin barely wavered - in fact, it only grew. He seemed almost proud of the youth... or was it proud of himself for his find? He drew a wickedly curved blade from his hip, and thumbed over his shoulder where the boy had indicated, "Sure will. And yer comin' with me, pipsqueak. Got a set 'a stones on yer, doncha?" "Not on your life!" replied the boy, surging forward and throwing a punch towards the large man's neck. "It's not mine that's in danger here, laddie," chuckled the raider darkly as he swatted the attack aside carelessly. He raised the blade then, already stained with the blood of the townspeople. He did not seem like the type to bluff. But the boy did not back down. He launched another punch, but the raider's patience had already grown thin, and his weapon swung down to meet the second attack. Stunned into shock, the Au Ra youth staggered a step backwards, staring at his maimed hand as if unable to understand what had happened. He looked up, into the eyes of his assailant, and heard the sound more than he felt it. It sounded wet, and sticky, and wholly unpleasant. The man was grinning again. Then there was the sudden realization that the raider had already attacked. And this time, the sword had gone right through his belly. Both of his hands trembled as they gripped the weapon impaling him. He gasped for air that would not come. "NEVAN!" one of the boys finally found his voice, but the display of unfettered violence had cowed him into torpor. The raider's grin remained, and he noted to himself to search the dwelling thoroughly. These Himaa camps were great for recruitment. Yet recruitment did not await the boy who had been brave. With hardly a thought, as if he were simply some monster that had dove upon the sword, the raider extracted his weapon and swatted the youth upside the head, toppling him over into the growing pool of his own blood. His last thought before darkness came was of his mother.

(( Part two of two. Part one is on the Bulletin Board and can be found here. Since this post grew much longer than anticipated, I moved it to its own post so as not to spam the Board. Hope you enjoy. )) Years passed, and the events that led up to the battle of Carteneau were merely a backdrop to life in the small, relatively idyllic town of Nophica's Landing. Garlean occupation had made life difficult but not impossible. Many and more had already chosen to emigrate - or more accurately, to flee - shrinking the already tiny blip on the map to a suburb of Ala Mhigo barely worth mentioning. Yet, life marched inexorably onwards, as it is wont to do. Until the day that changed everything. The day that heralded the end of the era. Having suffered the exodus of over half of its population, the skeleton town boasted a number of ruinous empty houses and streets that served well enough as playgrounds for children and places of curiosity, but many who chose to stay saw only abandonment and reminders of those who ran. Yet the whole of it was still home. As Dalamund made its crawling earthward plummet over the skies of Mor Dhona, the residents of Nophica's Landing could only watch, and pray. Now eighteen and grown into a man of his own right, Avenio had worked to form a citizen's militia with the young adults left behind in the village. Weeks ago, his father had managed to sneak his way out of the town and join their compatriots for what was supposed to be the battle for their independence. Avenio had ached to join him in the battle for the region, but the man had asked him to stay - to protect his mother, their hometown, and the remainder of its inhabitants. Even the occupying Garlean force was at its minimal, every able hand available called to the great battle. While the battle raged malms away, Avenio and his paltry militia of under a dozen young souls sat in one of the myriad empty, dilapidated houses on the outskirts of town. They were planning to retake their home. A crude map was drawn in the dirt, with rocks and sticks to indicate key points and people. "Of course it will work!" growled the blond highlander hotly, shoving the stick he had been using to draw into the ground with enough force to embed it in the dirt, where it twanged out of his hand and wobbled in the air, "Have you seen those guards? Most look like they'd rather be napping, and one of them is older than Gramps Tolgo! They'll never see us coming." "I still don't know, Veny..." spoke the voice of sedition. He was a scruffy, redheaded Keeper named R'karil that served as his lieutenant. He was also Avenio's best friend, having grown up in the ghost town side by side, "Shouldn't we just stay out of trouble? We have no idea how this crap is gonna play out." "I told you, it's Aven now. And that's exactly the point - no one does. What better time to fight for Nophica's Landing?" "But, what do we do once we have it?" The speaker this time was Jenna, a fair midlander brunette barely past fourteen who had yet to come into her womanhood, but who was still ready to fight for her home, should it come to it. Irritated with the flagging of courage that seemed to have the entire group by the short-hairs, Avenio steeled his jaw and peered around the room. He met the stares of the assembled crew, ten pairs of eyes aimed one way - all under the age of eighteen, save him. Among them were his closest friends: Triga, a highlander girl who had developed a long-time infatuation with Avenio and would follow him anywhere, a simple conjurer's staff in its holster on her back, inlaid with a single, brilliant emerald in its tip; Meedy, a short, dark-haired male hyur who had a love for gil and had a penchant for keeping things that were not his, but who could disappear in the midst of battle and only be seen again once his dagger was between the shoulder blades of an enemy; Baltur, a thick-skinned and swarthy highlander who was already growing a beard at the tender age of twelve, and whose accuracy with a bow was unparalleled in the town, regardless of the fact that his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth any time he aimed an arrow; and the silent Sea Wolf youth who never spoke, but fought like a demon with his two-handed greatax - Meedy had taken to calling him 'Garrulous', and the nickname had stuck. "All those people fighting out there are fighting for us. Do you all not see that? They fight for our future, our livelihood, and our freedom. We owe it to them - and to ourselves - to at least try! If we stay together and they begin to overwhelm us, we can pull back and hide in the Empties. We know this city far better than they do." Slowly, R'karil rose to his feet. He raised a fist and thumped his chest with it, and opened his mouth to reply-- What followed instead was a terrifying sound that caused the very earth to quaver as if it were made of jelly. Karil fell on his backside, and the group shared a momentary, desperate look before they rose as one and streamed outside. At first glance, it literally appeared as though the sky had fallen. Eleven youths stood at the lintel of their makeshift base, watching Dalamund's final descent and imminent destruction. They stood transfixed, watching helplessly as the battle raged half a continent away, yet it was clear enough that the shape of history would be changed for ever. In silence, they watched in horror as Bahamut awoke, and wreaked havoc upon the the Carteneau Flats, the land unseen over the horizon. Jenna gasped wordlessly and pointed, and ten heads swiveled south. The first of the Twelve signs had burst forth in the light of the Gods from Gridania. One by one, each pillar lit up as the dazzling show continued far in the distance. Yet it was not to be, and hope was shattered into mere dream as Bahamut's fury was not slaked by the valiant efforts of Louisoix and the Scions. In the wake of destruction that followed, Bahamut's ire was indefinite. Fire rained down upon the continent at large, on an unimaginable scale of devastation and ruin. "Look out, it... it's coming this way!!" Triga's warning shout was moot, as it was quite impossible to miss the gargantuan, irascible dragon that had flown a lap around Aldenard like it was nothing and was now headed eastward. "Move!" was all Avenio had time to shout as he grabbed R'karil's hand and made a break for the open ground in the centre of town. The militia followed closely, and then the attack struck. It became difficult to catalogue the real from the distorted then, as burning liquefaction dropped from the sky and rendered the earth asunder. Slowly Avenio became aware of his deep, gasping breaths, though it took him several panic-stricken heartbeats to realize why he could not see a thing. Smoke and dust cleared, while fires raged amongst the homes indiscriminately. Coughing, Avenio pushed himself off the ground and managed to get to his feet. Then, he saw R'karil, whose eyes were wide with fear. Though it may not have been an unexpected reaction, Karil was staring directly at him. Or rather, not quite him, but... He looked down, and saw it then. A sickeningly familiar kind of blackness that had begun to etch its way over the skin of his left forearm all on its own, creating neat and perfectly straight boxes, rectangles, and other geometric patterns. He stared in horror as it scrawled over an area smaller than he recognized, then stopped. What followed flooded his brainbox with pain and light, and then he was staring at the sky again, full of rising smoke but as apathetic as ever. He rose from the ground a second time, and looked round to orient himself. The town was in ruins. What had not been completely demolished was set aflame. Citizens shouted and ran through the streets, some in abject horror and unmitigated panic, others trying to organize efforts to put out some of the flames. His militia had suffered a few losses. Though most of them remained, he counted only eight left standing. All of them were staring directly at him - none of them had missed the strange transformation. "Uh, Avenio?" ventured R'karil tentatively. "I don't know what it is, okay!?" snapped the blond, pulling his sword out of the dust and sliding it into its sheathe with a bit too much force, "It's from Father, I think. Come on, let's get to the guardtower." "You still want to do this?" balked Meedy. "Of course I do! Could we have asked for a better opportunity? The Legion has bigger problems to worry about now. Let's clear that tower and be done with it." Without further deliberation, Avenio stalked off towards their target. The rest followed. The plan had been simple. With Baltur on the roof to cover them and the singular entrance to the tower, Meedy would take down the pair of guards at the town's front gate while the rest assaulted the tower together. It rose only two stories, with the upper level open for visibility, covered with a flat stone roof. Over the past few weeks of observation, there had never been more than six guards on duty at a time. What Avenio had no way of knowing however, was that beneath the tower lay a basement barracks that was well-fortified and contained an Aetheryte crystal. Though the first few guards had gone down quickly, the sweet taste of victory did not last long. As Avenio watched Garrulous take down one of the last remaining guards, a dozen more poured through the tower door, while half that number climbed out of the ladder-hole on the second floor, armed with ranged weaponry. After that, the battle took a turn for the worse. He had asked Jenna to secure the tower's entrance, and was forced to watch her get run through with a spear, her fingertips clutching at the wooden haft protruding through her chest as she fell to the dust. The guards moved swiftly to engage the rest of them, and his shield came up to bash into the face of one such Garlean. Avenio left him to stagger about, screaming and holding his broken face. "VENY!" The shout came from behind him, and he turned to see Karil's fear-stricken expression, his finger pointing desperately upward. Following the digit to the tower's top, Aven saw that Baltur had somehow managed to cut down the ranged forces to two all on his own. However, the Keeper had noticed a gunman on the roof, already aiming his pistol. Without any other recourse, Avenio hefted his only weapon - his sword - and held it like a spear, grasping it by the blade itself. Ignoring the gouges it opened in his hand, the highlander pulled back, and heaved with all his might. He held his breath as he watched it fly in a perfect arc, sinking into the man's shin and causing him to yelp and tumble off the roof - but too late. The shot had fired, and the horridly familiar scream above and behind him told him the missile had found its mark. Without time for grief, Avenio called for a regroup. The only ones left standing were himself, R'karil, Triga, and Garrulous. They formed a tight circle as the Garlean forces slowly advanced to flank them, easily outnumbering them now. Weaponless, Aven shifted his shield to his right arm and gritted his teeth as his mind raced. His left arm itched madly, and he scratched mindlessly at it before looking down, and saw the mark. He could feel its power. When it first had awoken he had ignored it, but it was definitely there, crawling beneath his skin like some kind of dream barely beneath the surface of wakefulness. He knew that all he had to do was reach out, and it would be there. "Triga," he muttered under his breath as the Garleans closed in their circle around them, "Do what you can to prepare, I... I don't know what will happen when I do this." Tossing the blond a forlorn look, the hopelessly smitten girl followed the order without hesitation. She channeled the earth around her, and tapped her staff upon the backs of her companions; their skin went grey, hardening under magickal protection. Next came the power of water, which trickled around them, not in the intention of healing directly but of a weak but long-lasting mending spell, to slowly knit wounds together over time. Then, Avenio made his second mistake. He reached for the power lurking within which he had yet to understand, grabbed a fistful of it, and pulled. What followed took place in only seconds, though they would be moments in his life that the man would relive until his dying day. An uncountable number of coin-sized, circular, impossibly regular blades coalesced from nothing into a spinning mass in front of him. Even the Garleans' advance paused as they waited for whatever strange spell this was to resolve. With dread, Aven realized that he was no longer in control of it - he had only summoned the blades, and though he tried to will them forward, they ignored his direction. He lifted his shield. "Get behi--!" was all he managed, before the blades simultaneously burst, speeding outward in an omnidirectional circle. The world became a blur of pain, blood, and darkness. Finding himself coming to his senses on the ground for the third time that day, Avenio let out a howl of anguish. Every inch of his body was on fire, and the amount of blood soaking the ground was incomprehensible. It could not possibly all be his, though the agony that wracked his entire frame made it nearly believable. Yet he could feel his flesh knitting itself back together at a snail's pace, and he knew immediately that Triga's spells and his shield had saved his life. Slowly and with great difficulty, Avenio pushed himself to his feet one more time. Groggy due to blood loss, Aven cast his glance around quickly, looking for his companions. "Is everyone alr...." he trailed off once he saw what his power had wrought. None were left standing. The Garleans, the guard tower, and even the nearby buildings were sliced to ribbons. He looked down, dread coursing through his veins like liquid stone, pulling him to the ground with unfathomable weight. He saw the bodies of Triga and Garrulous, torn asunder by hundreds of tiny blades, parts of them so shredded as to be unrecognizable as human. R'karil's lifeless eyes stared up at the sky, as if in silent supplication to the unhearing Gods. If the town's survival had been in peril before, it was now obliterated. Panting with exertion and pain, Aven's gaze swept about, looking for anything that was not in tatters. Sound and movement behind him caused him to whirl, thinking his own death finally upon him. Instead he saw Meedy, crouched behind the rubble of a brick wall that had been shorn cleanly in two at waist height. Relief spread through him as he stumbled a few steps in the direction of his friend. But Meedy's eyes were full of terror, "I-I saw the whole thing!" he stumbled over himself as he backpedaled, pushing himself to his feet and away from the staggering highlander, "That was you, you sick bastard! You can die with the rest of them for all I care, you freak!" Avenio heard more than saw the midlander retreat, as by then the young blond was once more laying face down upon the earth. He could feel Triga's spell still at work, though the girl's body was already cooling fast. He knew death would not come. Not today. This time, he made no effort to rise.

(( Part one of two )) “By the Spinner… what is that thing anyway, Father?” The boy had seen hints of it before, but its location made is easy enough hide under most clothing and, though he did not realize it, his father took pains to ensure it rarely saw the light of day. But a man had to bathe, and the child had been thoughtful enough to bring him a towel, freshly off the clothesline and still warm from the sun’s rays. The adult highlander started at the sound of the small voice, and turned to glance over his shoulder. He sighed. It was no use hiding the boy’s own destiny from him, though stubbornness and hope had coalesced into some kind of makeshift bulwark. Yet a sharp young mind and ample curiousity could pry apart such defenses with hardly a thought. The man was absurdly tall – possibly well near if not past seven feet – but a rankling self-consciousness suffused deeply within the man’s bones gave him something of a perpetual slouch. Even this did not detract from the highlander’s massive bulk. An obvious warrior, the thirty-four year-old blond looked like he could munch on pebbles for breakfast, with a rumbling, rocky voice to imply that he did just that – though he seemed to have a penchant for keeping his silence. The boy’s gaze was arrested by the strange and archaic lines transgressing over his father’s right shoulder. Made of some kind of mystic ink so black it sucked the light in from around it, the lines formed a geometric pattern of boxes, rectangles, and other shapes that meant nothing to a casual observer. Yet there could be no denying that this was not the work of man. On close inspection, the pattern perpetuated into obscurity; the lines far too small to have been tattooed, let alone fully observed. Not that the heavy highlander allowed any such observation. Turning around, the fighter took the towel from his son’s hands and padded himself off in a silence that resonated with emotion. “Do you still not trust me?” asked the child. The question shore through his defenses like an arrowhead through flesh, and the quiet man physically winced. Now dried, the fighter pulled his shirt back over his head with a sigh, obfuscating the mark from view once more. “Veny, my son…” Looking at his progeny, the fighter’s jaw clenched to keep the emotion from his face. Barely pushing twelve, the lad was growing into a fine young man. Hair of flaxen gold like his father’s, gaze of the deepest ocean like his mother, and a broad back upon which to carry the world’s weight. He was deft, clever, and absurdly curious – something his father had wholeheartedly encouraged throughout his upbringing. The lad squirmed under the inspection, his twisted body language procuring a soft chuckle from the fighter. Likely he thought himself in trouble. Again. The words he spoke then would carry the lad into adulthood, though he would not know it for quite some time. “There will come a day,” he rasped gently as he knelt before the lad, “When you may feel your hand forced. There is no excuse, no matter how just, that will rationalize full and absolute release.” The boy’s lips pursed as he digested his father’s words, his adolescent mien bunching at the brow in equal parts confusion and irritation, “I . . . I don’t understand, Father. What do you mean?” “Promise me, Veny,” his father’s hands shot up and gripped his shoulders squarely, preventing him from moving or looking away, and the sudden direness of his voice quickened trepidation subtly onto the lad’s face, “Promise me you will heed these words.” “I promise,” said the boy with neither hesitation nor reservation. Such was the trust he had in the man. “Good,” satisfied, the highlander stood with a grunt, and flashed a rare smile at the young man before raising to his feet once more, “Is that fish I smell?” “Mmhm. Mother is cooking perch,” confided the boy with secret glee, knowing the reaction it would glean. “Oh-ho! My favourite!” the man’s eyes lit up, and he bounded for the exit of the baths, “You’d better hurry before I eat yours!” By the time the lad turned, his father was already out the door, “W-wait up, Dad!” Though those dour words were swiftly forgotten, their portentous nature would see them cycle back into the lad’s life much sooner than either of them would have expected. (( Part two has been written! But, due to its length, I've separated it into its own post. Part two here! ))