One: The Beginning

Origines

The streets of Semnis were dusty as usual. The air was still and dry. Just like every other day. Sa walked past the bakery where she worked on the weekdays. Today was a weekend and her only day off in a month. Tomorrow, she'd be back at the bakery slaving away for peanut wages which, if she thought about it, was the best anyone would pay something like her. The smell of salt and fish mixed with sweat and dust, coupled with the stillness of the air, created an odour that was far too overpowering for her extra sensitive nostrils.

But, despite the initial recoil of disgust, Sa spread her lips in a smile as she gazed on the Sea of Marn. It was her favourite thing in the world. She climbed a dune overlooking the busy port and watched the humans and elves go about their trades. She sighed. If only her life could be that simple. She took her bag from her back and took out the decanter of water she kept inside it. She opened it and took a draft of the bitter liquid inside. She sighed as the pleasurable heat of the hard drink burned down her throat. Taking another swig from the container, she closed the bottle then took an apple from the bag. She rubbed it on the rag she wore as an excuse for clothing and then took a healthy bite.

Casting her eyes up, she noticed the Tyron birds as the flew up from the water or dived towards the sea. The magnificent birds were the singularly most beautiful things she felt existed in the world. She, when she was younger, would sit on this spot and wonder what it would be like to be like them. A bird. Free. Free to roam and hunt and do as she pleased.

To her, it wasn't a question of status, this freedom thing. Even those who sat in high places. They called themselves free men, but that was just in their minds. They were no better than their slaves or the riffraffs like her. They were slaves to themselves. Which, to her, was worse than being a slave in actuality.

The sun hung lower in the sky than when she arrived. The Tyron birds had reduced in number, most already sated and retreated for the coming night. The weather of Salminai was one of the weirdest things about the world to her. It was burning hot during the day and freezing cold at night. Although she supposed it was due to the area being a desert. She had lived all her life in the country. More precisely, in Semnis, and she had pretty much gotten accustomed to it. But it made her halfling status even more prominent. Her ashen skin looked even paler. It didn't help that she was black too. There was no way to explain it accurately, but her skin looked weird.

"You know, mother has that same face when she was thinking too much."

She whipped her head around and got up hastily. She pulled the small knife she always had on her, out of its sheath and pointed it at the man. He chuckled and smiled at her. The way an older brother would do when watching his younger siblings plot in a not so-conspicuous manner. As looked him from head to toe. Or more like from toe to head and gulped.

He was tall. In fact, tall was an insult to this hulking beast before her.

He must be at least six feet eleven inches tall. Probably seven. His eyes were green as the forests of Elendor and his mouth opened slightly to let out his much-too-long canines. His chest was as broad as the wheel of an ox-cart and his arms were like perfect pillars of sheer power and masculinity. His legs went on forever and were built like towers.

What the fuck did his nana feed him?

His hair billowed softly in the wind. It was blue like the sky at twilight. His ears were long and ended with a rather sharp-looking point.

Must be one of them bloody elves... She'd heard stories of how beautiful the Elvenfelk were. But she'd never seen one before. Looking at this... being before her, she could say for sure, the stories, did them no justice. This man was magnificent. Even his skin, which was a pale grey, seemed to shine.

Wait a min-

"You're an Orc?" she asked in wonder. The being chuckled again.

"You could say that," he said walking towards and past her to watch the, now less busy, port. He uncrossed his arms and breathed in deep. "She loved this place you know?" he asked her.

"Who?" Sa'na asked curiously. She sheathed her knife knowing fully well, that even with it, she was as defenseless as a new-born.

He turned to face her. "Ma," he said simply. Sa'na whipped her head up faster than she should if the dizziness instilled into her brain was any indication. She stumbled awkwardly as she tried to stay on her feet, but she slipped and went headlong down the cliff. Her scream lodged itself in her throat instinctively from years of abuse and knowing there was no one to come to her aid.

Until she opened her eyes and found herself... floating?

*****

Prince Dale Bealfrost walked down the corridors of the West Wing of the Iridian Palace. Servants and knights bowed their heads to him as they scurried about their own duties. He acknowledged them with subtle nods and made his way to the throne room. The doors were opened for him and all eyes shifted to him, most importantly, his father's steel grey orbs clashed with his and a small smile played on the old man's lips.

King Finnigag Avereus Baelfrost loved his son who, with his intense blue-green eyes, high cheek bones and medium, straight nose, was a spitting age of his late queen. The queen disappeared twenty-one years ago, and was presumed dead, but her memory lived on through their son, Dale.

"Kiri."

Dale smiled softly at his father's endearment for him. The old king was one for such. He hardly ever referred to anyone by their given names, choosing, instead, to call them by a nickname.

"Pa," Dale returned and proceeded to take his place behind his father's throne. He bowed regally before his sire before ascending the short steps. "Forgive my tardiness My King."

King Finnigan shrugged the apology off with a wave of his ringed hand. "Forgiven," he replied. Dale placed a hand on his father's shoulder before finally standing behind the monarch. King Finnigan cleared his throat and looked at his court. "Shall we continue?" The court resumed session at the king's words and a man stepped forward. His hair was swept back, as was the popular custom amongst the Iridian nobility. His eyes were brown and friendly and showed concern. His face reflected both youth and the weariness of a man saddled with too much, too young. He was tall and well built. A fine specimen of noble blood.

"Your Majesty," the young lord said with a bow.

"Lord Stromham," the king greeted back with a smile. Alan Jorum Stromham was one of his favorite Lords. A young man with as much guile as a newborn foal, the fifteenth Earl of Stratsbrine was an... anomaly... so to speak. He came into power by mere coincidence. His dark skin and dark hair, gave him away as one of the Thrush. He was the bastard son of a bastard daughter. His only relationship to the highly esteemed Stromhams was that his grandfather was the first son of Lord Alistis Brodean Stromham, the thirteenth earl of Stratsbrine.

After a plague which swept through all of Iriduin had all but killed of the entirety of House Stromham, he had been found while a search through the records of the great house where being searched by order of the Crown. The lad had been found working in the farm where the Stromhams had hidden him and his mother on the outer edges of Iriduin, but the border of the Iriduin and the desert.

"Your Highness," Alan greeted the Crown Prince with another bow.

"My Lord," the prince greeted in reply.

"What brings you all the way from the Western Reach laddie?" Finnigan asked in that deep voice of his. Alan smiled ruefully.

"Forgive me my liege, but as you well know, I have only recently been inducted into this grand setting of courts and politics and I am afraid, my efforts to grasp the reigns thrusted into my hands have been rather..." Alan sought the right words to convey his distress. His face lit up slightly at finding the right words.

"... futile."

King Finnigan arched one eyebrow. "Oh?"

Alan squirmed slightly under the king's steady gaze.

"And what seems to be the issue?" the king asked as he balanced his elbows on the arm rests of his throne and crossed his fingers. Dale watched the Lord who seemed to be about his age. The young man was obviously distressed and felt out of 0lace in such a grand setting. Everyone knew of the young lord who had suddenly shot out of obscurity and been thrown deep into the world of nobles.

Alan cleared his throat firmly before speaking. This time, his voice rang clear and steady. "As you know, my people are still recovering from the strange affliction which swept the kingdom. We barely have enough as it is, to care for all the convalescing people. And while that is a great matter in itself," Alan paused, then continued. He knew the next words he spoke would, at most, be scoffed at. "We have had sightings."

Both the prince and king had identical frowns on their faces.

"What do you mean "sightings"? the prince asked. "Salminians again?"

Alan chuckled ruefully. "If only it were just Salminians my king." It would have been a matter easier resolved. The king cocked his head to the side and pondered what the lord must be talking about. So far, besides the Salminians, and the Demon Fever, that had wreaked havoc, he only knew of the Orcs and Elves who were always trying to wrest more land from him. The Orcs were more amiable and easier to handle. They just needed hunting grounds and places to camp temporarily. Those matters were easily resolved. The elves, however, were a harder lot to handle. They possessed power that even his most skilled experts found hard to handle. Plus, the orcs and elves were at the North. Not the West.

So it should just be the Salminians. So what other things did the young lord find on his lands that would cause him to run to the capital?

"I'm afraid we do not understand you lad. Speak plainly. I have not all day," the king commanded. Alan looked up, his eyes hard and resolute.

"Monsters my king," Alan said.

"What do you mean, "monsters"," another lord piped up, irritation obvious in his tone. Alan turned to look at him then at the other nobles. He turned back to face the throne.

"Godbeasts Your Majesty."

The entire Court plunged into pandemonium.

*****

Sa'na still had not recovered from her shock. Sitting on her stool behind the counter in the front of the bakery, she awaited customers coming to buy the dry, tasteless bread. She never understood what the people saw in the bread. It was hard and dry and flat. But maybe it was like that to her because, half the time, her tongue tasted of Arak, a hard drink the Salminians were world famous for. She always seemed to have some of it on her person at all times.

But at the moment, the frown on her face was caused by reflection on what happened over the weekend.

Did that really happen?

She wasn't a wind or light mage. In fact, to the best of her knowledge, she had no affinity for the arcane arts. So how had that happened? The whole matter was confusing at least and terrifying at most. She was jolted out of her thoughts by a palm slamming down on the counter.

"Wetin you dey tink?" She looked up to see the young man in front of her. She gulped visibly as fear took over her body. Only one word rang in her mind: shit.

"No be question I dey ask you?" the man asked obviously getting angrier by her silence. "Abi pesin don commot ya tongue?" His voice rose steadily, ever more threatening.

"Oga, Abeg, no vex." Her voice came out soft and pleading and in stutters. "I no go do am again."

Her boss looked down condescendingly at her. He was one of those men who enjoyed his supposed "superiority" over women. In fact, over anyone considered to be lower than he was. He was a typical Salminian man. Dark skinned, dark haired, well built with an overdose of male pride and ego and an unhealthy slice of male chauvinism, Ejiro Kwame, was literally, a pain in her ass.

She was sure there were Wyverns with more humility than most Salminians.

But now was not the time to focus on why she despised the man before her. He was the son of the Chief Baker and right now, he held her job in his hands. Which when she thought about it, translated to her life.

Seriously, think about it. How would she get her tobacco and arak? She needed that shit to survive!

She got down to her knees. "I swear! I no go do am again," she pleaded even managing to conjure up fake tears. She placed her palms together in a praying motion and rubbed them in opposite directions in the traditional begging motion of the Slaminian race.

Ejiro smirked. He loved seeing the woman beg. Ever since she'd rejected his advances, he had become this to her. How could she reject him? His father was the most famous baker in all of Semnis. The Kavvi of the great city was a regular patron of their shop, going as far as even recommending Obasi Idris Kwame's services to the great Hadid, Jamal Al' Oussein Olamilayo Ije Onyeama the first. And his mother was the younger sister to the Kaavi. So, yes. He was someone to whom she should be incredibly honored to even be considered, that he noticed her.

But no. The stupid bitch had the audacity to spit on his intentions. So no. No matter how much it pained him, which was not very much when you think about it, he would exact a continuos revenge of penitence and ridicule and humiliation from her.

He looked over her with a malicious smirk. "You know wetin you go do now na?" Sa'na gulped. The forced down the bile rising in her throat as she got up from the floor and walked into the back into the back room, while Ejiro locked the door to the bakery. He took his sweet time thinking about all the things he planned to do to the halfling and rubbed his palms together in malicious glee. He felt himself harden at the untold pleasures he was about to receive.

He followed her in.

Sa'na gripped the amulet underneath her shirt. She was too sober for this shit. It was too early. She had managed to go almost a year without this shit. Why now?

That guy! It was his fault. He did something to her. He did. It had to be him. It just had to be him. How else could she explain what happened? People don't just start floating for no absurd reason. Neither do men just... disappear out of nowhere. Her mind casted back to the incident. Tall, dark and mysterious. The man had appeared out of nowhere and vanished the moment she had realized she was floating.

Or was it before?

Either way, she should have realized something was up with him with his sudden appearance. A sudden slapping sound drew her out of her head and thoughts and back to the present. The fear and dread and self-disgust came rolling back and curled into an ugly ball of hate and shame in her belly. The tears pooled in her eyes.

"Please don't make me do this," she begged. Ejiro smirked.

"Bitch. You too talk," was all he said in reply. "On your knees."

"Please," she pleaded once more. He slapped her.

"Shey you def ni?" he asked her. "E be like say you need make I teach you wetin you suppose do abi?"

Chills ran down her spine as she heard the threat. Her back still had scars from when he still used to "teach" her what she should do. Why couldn't she just up and leave? Why did she let herself go through this?

Oh. Yeah, that's it. She had no where else to go. Sir Kwame had been kind enough to let her work in his shop. He was the only one who didn't judge her for her birth. But him not judging her was different from him trusting or believing her. She couldn't tell him what a monster his son was. Who would believe her? The half-breed? The Khansa? The Outcast?

No one! That's who.

As she sank to her knees, shame and anguish and feelings of hatred swelled and pulled her insides apart and sewed them back together until she reached a crescendo where she burst into tears.

"You too dey waste my time," Ejiro muttered angrily. "No wahala. I get anoda tin wey I want make you do sef." He grabbed her harshly and shoved her anterior to the wall. Roughly, he ripped her dress and pulled out his cock from his breeches before roughly entering her.