Damien Tirkin
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Warning
The following novel contains material that may be harmful or traumatic to some readers.
It contains graphic descriptions of murder, violence, and other unpleasant texts.
-Omnis
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-The Year 1270-
-Unknown Place-
-Twenty years later-
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A wooden, semi-dilapidated building in the middle of the forest, gives the impression of being abandoned. Above the door is a medium-sized, semi-collapsed sign that reads "Tavern of De-". The rest cannot be read.
Inside, the condition is similar to the outside. The tavern is in a miserable state, with the innkeeper behind a dirty counter, with a bald head and one eye wiping glasses with a dirty cloth.
The wooden tables are pierced and cut off by swords, and they are occupied by the various existences that were at the table. They all had swords, and at first glance, it looks like they're criminals. They're all conspicuously looking at the same place, including the innkeeper.
A man dressed in black sitting on the far left of the counter.
At first glance, one might think they were homeless. But the way he was covered up made it hard to judge.
All you can see of his shrouded head are a few long black hairs that have fallen out. He carries a glass of water, not exactly clean.
...
~Door Opening~
A door opens and a large group of people emerge. Judging by the slightly battered armor, and the not-so-sharp swords and crossbows, they may be mercenaries.
"What a ride!" Says one of the mercenaries. The others smile until they laugh lightly and head towards the empty tables by the bounty board.
Everybody sit down. The last of them, carrying a bloody bag dripping blood at short intervals, heads for the counter. Dirty brown hair, and a few scars on his face with brown hair. His build was medium height, with a protruding navel.
He places the bag on the counter. The innkeeper takes one look at it, then looks at the mercenary.
"A, B or C?" The innkeeper replies in a gruff voice.
The mercenary smiles proudly.
"Level B today, old man."
The innkeeper puts down the glass and the cloth, walks over to the sack which he opens and pulls out a bloody head with white eyes by the hair.
The veiled man looks slightly at his head, then takes a sip from his glass of water. The mercenary notices him, and then looks at the innkeeper.
"Who is it?" The mercenary asks.
"I don't know. Anyway, the head of a defected soldier of Diatsia Kingdom and his group. That's 250 gold pieces." The innkeeper drops the head into a sack, which he ties and throws down at his feet.
He's gonna go in the back and get the gold.
The mercenary looks at the cloaked man.
"What are you looking for? You look like someone who's interested in something." The mercenary asks with a smile.
But the veiled man doesn't respond, and takes a last drink from the glass of water, where there is little water left.
"Hmm." The mercenary walks very close to the cloaked man.
"When someone is talking to you, it would be polite to answer the worm." He replies with a smile, appreciating the few teeth he has left.
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-The Year 1255-
-City of Waatia, Kingdom of Arlia-
-15 years ago-
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A very young Damien trains with his father on the training ground with practice swords.
A training ground surrounded by connected buildings, and soldiers who are just keeping an eye on their training.
The weather was sunny, which could be seen on young Damien, who was sweaty and slightly dirty. And he was tired, but he fought on.
Damien lunges at his father, his sword above him, ready to strike, but his father Michael dodges the blow, hitting him hard in the back. This hurts Damien until he falls to the ground.
"You attack too imaginatively. Your movements are easily predictable."
Michael draws his sword, looking to hit young Damien in the back. But Damien quickly puts the sword behind him and defends the blow. His foot kicks his father's hand, and one hand bounces a few feet away from his father.
That will surprise his father.
"I can't understand this."
"When you attack, you fall to the ground. But when you're about to be finished off, you can get up again."
"It's as if your instincts only ever kick in at life-and-death moments." Michael says, but he doesn't let that sway him.
"Attack again." Says Michael.
Damien sighs, draws his sword above him, and takes another swing at his father. Just like before.
Michael sighs, ducks a punch and hits him in the back again. This time he immediately attacks the falling Damien, who immediately bounces off his father.
However, the father appears immediately at Damien's side, holding a sword under his neck.
"And that's the end of you." Says Michael.
But Damien's expression is stony. He drops the sword, and surrenders.
Michael drops the sword, grabs his shoulder and pushes him to the ground.
"You can't handle the attack. The defenses are easy to break."
"You are not gifted with the sword. You're not gifted with a bow, or even with magic." Michael says, disappointed.
"Are you gifted at anything at all?" Michael says, looking at Damien's stony face.
Damien looked at him with his turquoise-blue eyes.
"That's all you know."
"I can't tell anything from your look."
"Sadness, joy, anger or indignation."
"You just look at me, and that's it if I read you something." Michael sighs.
"At this rate, you'll never get close to the Black Crown of Da-"
"The Black Crown is a myth, Father." Damien says calmly and stands up. This surprises Michael, and the others watching their fight.
"The Black Crown is just to be a motivator for those miserable sons of Kings or Emperors you're messing with." Says Damien.
"Including me, Father." Damien finishes.
Michael looks at Damien for a moment, then walks over and slaps him.
"If-that your words from your mouth are meant to be true, then you know nothing."
"Your mother sacrificed her life so that you could live to become the King wearing the Black Crown."
"Don't say anything about the Black Crown being a myth." Says an indignant Michael.
"The only myth is your abilities, which are nowhere in sight." Michael adds, turning to the servants.
"Wash him, give him royal clothes. The Emperor and his family are due to arrive shortly." Michael finishes and leaves.
Michael stops halfway through, looks disappointedly at the ground.
"Are you even my son?" Michael asks, waiting for an answer. He doesn't get one from Damien.
"When someone is talking to you, it would be polite to reply Damien." Michael finishes and leaves.
...
Damien doesn't respond, and walks off in another direction, followed by the servants.
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-The Year 1270-
-Unknown Place-
-Current-
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"When someone is talking to you, it would be polite to answer the worm."
The veiled man picks up a glass that is empty and looks into it. He puts the jar down and reaches inside his clothes.
The mercenary reaches for his sword. He doesn't know what to expect from a cloaked man.
But he pulls out 4 pouches of gold and throws them on the counter, next to the mercenary.
"Tomorrow at this time, an imperial carriage with the heir to the Herlin Empire is due to pass through."
"I want you to attack him and capture him." The Veiled Man says, surprising the mercenary.
"Capture the heir of the Emperor?!" The mercenary says in surprise.
"You are mercenaries. Money is the main thing for you, isn't it?"
"For four purses-"
The cloaked man throws four more pouches of gold in front of the mercenary, interrupting the mercenary's words.
"One thousand, two hundred and fifty gold pieces."
"His defense should be average, and not as great as it used to be."
"The chances are many times higher than a few years ago and I think the reward is high." Says the veiled man.
The mercenary looks at the pouches and thinks hard.
"I'll-"
"I'll Ihave to ask my boss if-"
"And the boss accepts it." A gruff voice from the doorway interrupts the mercenary.
A huge, muscular man with a bald head, no armour and a half-naked torso on which you can see huge scars.
He's going to the counter. Every step he takes shakes the pub.
"Get lost." Says the Mercenary Chief, and his subordinate immediately runs to the table, to his colleagues.
The boss looks at the purses he takes. He feels their weight, and you can see his joy. He tosses them to the table where his mercenaries are.
"Hide it."
The veiled man smiles a little.
"My name is Harlin." The boss reveals his name and offers his hand for a handshake.
The veiled man looks at his hand, stands up. His height is equal to Harlin's neck, and the veiled man shakes hands with him.
Harlin is surprised by his height. He also notices his body mass, which is visible despite his obscurity.
"I expect success, Harlin."
He uncovers the top of his head.
"My name is..." His long black hair, turquoise-blue glowing eyes, and several scars leave Harlin with mixed feelings.
"Damien Tirkin."
To be continued...