Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

[Avatar of Evil]

Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Prologue

A man only known as Dale stopped briefly at the gate of the village and inspected his surroundings. “The clouds…a storm’s coming. Big one too”, he said to himself. Nodding politely to the patrolling guard, who you could tell had been drinking on the job, he continued on his way to the pub, eager for a drink and gossip.

The village of Brookwell had grown in size over the last 20 years. What had once been a group of houses numbering in the single digits had turned into a bustling hamlet. The people were close, and felt that they had known each other all their lives. The crops were the best in miles, and traders were often seen traveling the roads around and through town. Every few weeks a group of bandits would attack, but the towns’ militia had long ago learned how to easily dispatch the attackers without any casualties.

But strange and sad things have been happening over the last few months. People had shown up dead or went missing in the middle of the night. The crops weren’t producing much food, and the food that came from the crops wasn’t fit for a dog. The traders hadn’t been seen on the roads in weeks. Brookwell had lost contact with all the surrounding towns and villages. And even stranger, but made the people happy enough, the bandits hadn’t been seen in months. No one knew where they had gone. But then again, as long as they were gone, who cares?

“Horace!” Dale yelled as he stumbled through the doorway, “Get me a pint, would you? My throat’s full of dust and dirt.”

“Coming right up, Dale”, he answered. “Have a seat. Your usual table is free. Hell, drink’s on the house tonight. From the look of things, we’re gonna be full tonight, thanks to tha’ storm comin’.” The pub often filled up when a storm approached. It was easier to keep track of everyone, and it made the unpleasant experience more endurable.

“Thanks Horace”, Dale replied, and walked to his table with his mug, and with a deep sigh, sat down heavily, making the chair creak loudly.

“How much longer do you think we have until the rain starts?” asked Dale.

“Eh, I wager 15 coins that it starts to fall in about 10 minutes. You know how I am at predicting the future.”

“Horace, every time you gamble you lose. And on those rare occurrences that you won, didn’t something horrible happen to you afterward? Your dog for instance; didn’t he get stomped by that carthorse? Or when you came down with the pox? What about that time when you-“

“I know, I know. But this time I feel like today will be a day. There’s something in the air today, besides the rain,” replied Horace.

“It’s not in the air, it’s in your system, and it’s called alcohol,” said Dale, with a smile. “For your own Horace, I hope I win,” Dale finished with a laugh. Horace scowled and continued to clean the glasses on the bar. Dale then sat quietly, listening to the random gossip. Some were discussing the crop predictions. Others were talking about the recent scandal between the butcher’s daughter and one of the other farmers. That one kept his ear for a while, until a trio of men speaking in loud voices burst through the door and headed straight for the bar and each ordered a pint of mead.

“Yeah, that’s right. Two more people, gone missin’. But I don’t care. They were just a couple of vagabonds. As far as I’m concerned, who ever done it is doin’ us a favor and cleanin’ up the town.”

“Come now, Bill. Sure, so far the drifters have gone missin’. But what happens when this person gets bored with the homeless, and your little Jenny gets taken next, and then your wife? I don’t know about you, but I’m hoping the town guard finds them before the ‘nappers find me. If nothing changes, I’m packing up my belongings, taking my family and movin’ on to Albion,” said Gart, slamming his fist on the bar, drawing attention from the other regulars. He took a deep breath before he continued

“I was down in Arbon a few weeks ago, before we lost contact with them,” Gart said in a much calmer voice. ”I was shopping for supplies before the rain came. But you should have seen the place. Compared to them, life here has been paradise. People sleeping on the streets, picking each others pockets, begging for food. I’m pretty sure that a few of those people sleeping weren’t sleeping, if you get my meaning.”

“Bah! It’s all nonsense!” exclaimed Bill. “It’s just a bad year, that’s all. This time next, everything will be better than ever. And this guy that keeps kidnappin’ and killin’ people will eventually get caught by the guards.”

“The guards aren’t even sure if what’s doing this is human,” said Len quietly, causing the other two men to stare at him in surprise for a very long minute. Even Dale turned around in his seat and looked to see if the man was joking. From the look on Lens face, he obviously wasn’t.

“What do you mean not human?” asked Gart, breaking the silence. “What else could do this? And how do you know this? As far as I know, the guards haven’t said anything.”

“They don’t have to. You just have to open your eyes. Even since the first disappearance, there have been strange things happening. The animals are acting funny. They are all quiet. Not one animal is making a noise. Do you remember what a sheep sounds like? Cause I don’t. And they’re not eating much either. And what about those strange tracks I found on my round in the woods?” Len was the towns’ best tracker, and thus in charge of a team of men who would go hunting twice a week. When not hunting, Len would scout the woods for herds of deer and other sorts of food. Once he followed the prey back to its den, he would go back to town and prepare the men for the hunt at dawn the next morning. “These tracks…there’s something strange about them. I’ve never seen anything like it. They’re shaped like a mans hand, but bigger and wider. Now that I think about it, they look more like claws. The fingertips seem to be sharp and left gashes in the ground.”

“Sounds like a guy who has massive feet and needs to cut his toenails, if you ask me,” joked Bill, trying to lighten the mood. But Gart made hushing noises at him and told Len to keep talking.

“Well, my first thoughts were pretty much what Bill said. But those thoughts went away when I saw the second set of tracks. I realized that this thing walks on all fours. But it can get around on two legs. Not easily, but it can.”

“How can you know it can walk on two legs just by looking at its tracks?” asked Gart.

“When I saw the second pair of tracks, I knew immediately that they were a set. I noticed that the second set, the larger of the two, left bigger cuts in the ground. This shows that the hind legs take most of the weight, while the front legs are used more as a way to balance it self, or used when running. The front legs don’t take as much weight.”

“And you know all that just by looking at some tracks?” asked Gart.

“Of course,” Len replied.

Bill then leaned forward and began poking and prodding at Len until he looked satisfied and slouched back onto his barstool.

“What was the point of that?” asked Len.

“Well, no normal person would know all that. Just wanted to make sure that you’re human.”

They laughed at that and tended to their drinks until Len spoke up once more.

“If I were to make a guess,” he said, “I’d say that this thing is a mix between a man and a dog. Most likely a wolf. Probably around 7 and a half feet in height, and 200 pounds of muscle. One thing’s for sure: I don’t want to meet up with this thing anytime soon.”

By now the room had become too loud for Dale to listen. The storm was about to start and so the townspeople had gathered at the pub, as usual. Dale glanced over at the bar and at Horace: the man was gathering coins from the other regulars with a big grin on his face. Dale pulled out his pocket watch and cursed as he heard the rain start to fall on the roof. Horace had been right after all: it had been 10 minutes. He walked over to the bar and gave the man his money.

“I sure hope your right about today being a day, Horace,” thought Dale, as he saw lightning go off in the distance. “Because I’m getting the feeling that this will be the worst day of my whole life.”

But as the rest of the village began to enter the pub, and he saw friends he hadn’t seen in months, his worries slowly went away until they disappeared completely. What did he have to fret about? He was surrounded by friends. Friends who could defend themselves if it came to it. Friends who could handle almost any natural disaster. What’s the worst that could happen?

Hours later, the townspeople could hardly see a thing outside except in the brief flashes from the lightning. The thunder is almost deafening. We can barely hear the music and laughter and boisterous talking coming from the pub. We hear footsteps, and we see boots, a sword, and the badge. And a very forgettable face. The name to that face is Greg.
Greg is your normal everyday guard on his normal everyday beat that stretches around the perimeter of the town. He stopped at the entrance that leads to a massive valley; the valley that was the pride and joy of the village, and looked out into the darkness. Even after all that had happened, its lush, rolling green fields had never changed. He sighs knowing that it is pointless to be looking out there in the pitch black, and closes his eyes in irritation from the flashes of light, and looks once more looks out to the valley as the lightning struck again. Once more, he begins his walk.

Greg quickly does a double-take, and sighs in relief. He thought he had seen an outline of a giant of a man, 6’5’’, in plate armor with a sword as big as a man, and a massive monster at his heels. Between the flashes of light, Greg thought that he could see the dull light of magic on the mans hands. The monster had long sharp claws, powerful legs, and eyes that could paralyze a man with a single glance. But it was the mans eyes…yes, those eyes that made Greg's insides freeze. They seemed to absorb the darkness around him, but at the same time, they shined like diamonds. The lightning flashed again, Greg blinks to clear his eyes and looks again and sees only a tree and a boulder.

“How long have those been there?” Greg asks to himself, taking a few more steps towards the valley. “There was always something creepy about that place,” He thinks .He shrugs, blames the beer he had earlier, and continues on his beat. Greg suddenly stops once more. Not from laziness or boredom, but from the fact that there was a blade, black and cold and smooth as death itself protruding from his chest. Our beloved Greg drops, and now we fully see our attacker.

Blood encrusted boots, gloves soaked with the gore of thousands of people, much like the villagers here. His armor was as hard and dark as the night. Spikes are lined along his spine, as well as his knuckles, elbows, and shoulders. There were images of such horror and misery, that if any normal man looked upon them for long enough he would go mad with grief and rage, etched upon the surface of his chest plate. He wore no helmet, for it restricted his sight. His eyes were brightly glowing with that strange light that only his eyes carried. His straight hair grew past his shoulders, and was as black as night. Streaks of hair casually covered his eyes. His face could not be compared to any other mans, for doing so would be an insult. The beauty of his face outmatched even the most handsome man. And though his arms looked slender, but well defined, his strength was far greater than any man who walked on the earth. His wrath was unrivaled in this world.

The stranger knelt down next to Greg, looked him in the eyes until he passed beyond the veil. Our Stranger took off his glove and closed the eyes of the town guard, muttering words that no one but himself knew. He stood up and looked back out towards the valley. The lightning flashed over the empty land, and he thought with some sadness about what was about to happen to this peaceful place. How this night will be filled with screams of pain, agony, and sorrow that will forever echo in this valley.

Again, the light flashed overhead, and revealed a sight that would even stop the almighty gods in their footsteps. Within a few seconds, the valley had flooded with the strongest and most horrible beasts one could imagine: Balverines. They were silent, waiting for orders. If you were blind, you would not be able to sense their presence. The Stranger looked upon them once, and turned around to examine the village that was about to suffer like so many villages before it. It would be a slaughter.

Without a glance at his warriors, he said in a low voice that was barely heard over the whistling of the wind and the crash of the thunder,

“…Go”

And the Balverines rushed forward with blinding speed, passing the Stranger as he stands still as a statue. And if there had been any survivors, they would have said that he was a statue, were it not for his hair blowing in the wind, and the silent tears of sorrow that fell from his face and into streams of blood that had quickly began to run into the valley below.
___________________________
Well, there you have it. The Prologue. Please post all feedback you feel neccessary. Good, bad, or ugly, I'll take it.

 

[Ahmad Abu-Gdairi]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

this is grate! on a scale of 1-10 give you a 13.7! Writing is a gift very few have, use it wizely, and keep it up!!

 

[Avatar of Evil]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Chapter 1.

25 years earlier…

When you think of a child, what do you see? Playing in the fields with his friends and family? Or perhaps hunting for the first time with his new bow he got for his birthday? Maybe, running through the front door to hug Mother and Father?

This was not the case for young Dravik Taservor. He never played in the fields with friends. He never had a birthday celebration or received gifts from loved ones. He never had a house to run to or parents to embrace him. For years, from ages 1 to 15, Dravik had been on the streets of Bowerstone. There were days spent wandering around asking for gold and food. But in most cases, he would just pick the pockets of the nobles of Northern Bowerstone. Dravik had long ago figured out a way into the north part of town. It was simple. The hard part was staying hidden.

And the nights were sometimes passed with looking for left-out merchandise. Most of these nights were spent beating away other pickpockets or bullies. Others were filled with dreams that ended up with Dravik waking up in a cold sweat and screaming. Much like tonight. You might not think that it’s weird to be having nightmare, especially after what the boy had been through. But the dream was always the same. He remembered every detail. And it always felt as real as if he were actually there.

As Dravik was losing consciousness, he knew what he would be dreaming of that night.

Here he was once more. In a land that looked as if it was once a great kingdom, but the years had worn away what was . He looks around to see if there is anyone else was around, but he knew the answer before he began his search. He was alone. He was always alone. Out of place. For years, he dreamt this dream. He knew what it meant. There was no place for him. No meaning of life. Whenever he wanted to leave, the path would always come back to this spot. No matter how fast he ran, or how far he traveled, there was no escaping his destiny of being nothing and having nowhere to go.

And in his dream, years go by until he is an old man. In those years he had seen men and women travel by, never noticing him. As if he was invisible. The agony of the seclusion drove him mad. He tried to follow the travelers, but they would zoom ahead of him and fade into the scenery. Soon he gave up. And as soon as he gave up, madness set in where determination had once been. The kind of madness that only guilt, fear, anger, loneliness, and suffering could give birth to.


Once more, Dravik awoke with sweat on his face, and his lungs gasping for air. As soon as he had calmed himself down enough to remember where he was, he untangled himself from his rag of a blanket and walked down to the harbour. The sound of the water was the only thing that helped quiet the voices that he heard after the dreams. The ones that told him he was nothing and would never amount to anything. Of how useless he was, or else his parents would have kept him.

As Dravik sat there, he heard footsteps behind him. Footsteps, which from the sound of it, didn’t want to be heard.

“Not another one”, he muttered to himself. Thieves were well-known to wander around the docks at this time of night. The sound of the steps sounded light; maybe 70 or 80 pounds. Another pickpocket like himself. Without moving, Dravik flexed his arms and legs repeatedly to warm them up. He slowly repositioned himself so he would be able to surprise the thief by turning the tables.

“Almost there … now!” Dravik twirled around on the ground, kicking the legs out from underneath the thief. When thief dropped to the ground, he immediately rolled to the side. He picked himself up in a flash, and quickly went into the offensive, swinging at Dravik’s stomach, and then his head.

Dravik block the first swing, but was too slow to pull his arms up to ward off the second punch. Dravik had been in his fair share of fights, and always came out of them victorious, along with a number of bruises and cuts, but he had never felt anything like this before. It looked as if the thief had barely swung at all, but to Dravik, it felt like a cannon ball had just become acquainted with his face. Dravik stumbled backwards and grabbed on to the trunk of a tree and tried to support himself, but the blow was too much. Everything was spinning around him. He slid down to the ground and tried to focus on breathing. He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because when Dravik looked at his opponent 20 feet away, and then blinked, the attacker’s face was not even 5 inches way from his own. No one could move that far in the blink of an eye.

“You cannot be him,” said the masked man. “The Last of the Undecided would not be so weak.”

Dravik had no time to think about what he had said, for at the moment the thief had his hand at Dravik’s throat, and was steadily picking him up with nothing else. As he hung 6 inches in the air, pinned to the tree, Dravik began to sink into unconsciousness.

“Well, this is it, I guess,” thought Dravik. He slowly closed his eyes, and waited for death’s cold embrace.

In his mind he saw himself in a pitch black room. Suddenly he saw a ring of light shine on the ground. In the center of the ring of light floated a black orb. As he stood before the orb, he saw images that he didn’t understand. Ancient symbols scrolled in all directions across the surface in a golden light. He continued staring at it for what felt like hours before he saw a symbol he recognized from one of the books in the guild: power. He slowly stretched his hand forth and touched the orb. As soon as his fingers grasped the orb, the symbols on the orb stopped moving and shined brighter and brighter, until Dravik had to cover his eyes with his other hand for a moment. The symbols had begun spinning again, but at such high speeds that they were a blur. Dravik tried to remove his hand, but couldn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was frightened, or if the orb wouldn’t let him go.

The symbols stopped once more. Slowly they began to glide across the orb onto his hand, then his arm, and eventually covering his entire body. When the last symbol had left it, the orb began to grow heavy and dropped to the ground. Dravik didn’t know if it was because of this dream world or if he was crazy, but when the orb fell, it seemed to take twice as long. When the orb hit the ground, it made a high pitched ringing. At the sound of the ringing, the symbols on his skin began to glow brighter and brighter until the seemed to be burning his skin. In his mind, the symbols were being translated. Slowly, but surely. There were thousands of symbols, but he already recognized a few of them.

By then, the burning of his skin had become too much. It felt as if he would burst into flames at any moment. Just as he was sure he was going to ignite, Dravik became aware that the hand around his throat had let go of him. He opened his eyes to see the attacker a few feet away and holding his hand as if it had been burnt.

Dravik felt the power coursing through his body. Not only did his body feel stronger, but so did his mind. Within three seconds, he had taken in his surroundings and memorized where everything was, calculated the distance between him and his enemy, recognized his stance as defensive, and thought up of at least ten different ways of ending his life.

Dravik decided to go for the more straight forward approach.

Moving in a blur, Dravik ran to his opponent, stopping in front of him and surprising him. The stranger swung again at Dravik’s head. Dravik easily caught his fist and twisted his arm, breaking it. He didn’t give the attacker time to scream out in pain. He quickly placed his right hand on the center of the other mans chest and lightly shoved him. The assailant flew backwards 30 feet, and would have kept going if it wasn’t for the stone wall that abruptly stopped him.

After the thief hit the ground, Dravik sped forward and stepped on both of his legs and broke them, one at a time. He then jumped on top of his chest, pinning his arms with his knees, and ripped off the mask of the would-be thief.

It was John, another pickpocket that was well-known in Bowerstone. He was also the closet thing Dravik had to a friend. He wasn’t much older than Dravik. He wasn’t exactly the best there was. That was the reason why he was so well-known: He was always getting caught by the guards. But how he always escaped, no one knew. How he was still conscious, Dravik didn’t know. But at the moment, he didn’t care.

As Dravik looked into Johns eyes, he saw anger and defiance. But as the two held each other’s gaze, John saw more than anger. He saw a monster. His face was no longer recognizable. It looked as if Dravik had aged 20 years. You wouldn’t see it from his face, but from the eyes. Dravik knew now that he had complete control over what happened to John. On whether he would be able to get up and walk away, or if his body would be found in the morning, being chewed on by the dogs.

John was about to speak, to plead for mercy, but Dravik didn’t give him a chance. The moment his mouth opened, Dravik threw a punch strong enough to knock out three of his teeth. He gave punch after punch after punch. All Dravik heard was the pounding of his own heart, the breathing of his lungs, the solid thud that his hands made when his fist connected with Johns face. He couldn’t hear John’s screaming for help, or the pitiful moan he made when he slipped into unconsciousness. He didn’t feel the pain as his hands were cut by the other boy’s remaining teeth, or the blood splattering against his face. He felt the joy of crushing this boy beneath him, letting him know who he was and the frenzy that drove him to continue.

He didn’t stop until he could barely lift his arms. He slowly raised his hands and looked at his knuckles, oblivious to the pain as his own blood dripped down his hands, to his sleeves, staining the light fabric a deep, dark red.

Dravik finally came to his senses and quickly stumbled to his feet, wondering what came over him. He had never felt such anger. Or strength. He looked down at Johns face and immediately doubled over and vomited. No one would recognize the body, that was for sure.

Leaning against the wall, he caught his breath. What would he do now? He had killed a man. No, not even a man, but a child! Someone his own age! He would surely go to prison for the rest of his days for this. The justice system in Bowerstone had long ago become corrupt, and took no pity on children. They had to set an example, didn’t they? Let no thief or murderer go unscathed, even if it was in self-defence. But Dravik wasn’t so sure that this was a case of self defence anymore.

Quickly, he washed his hands in the water and hid the body behind the barrels off to the side. It would take the workers a few hours to notice him. But once they moved the barrels onto the ships, he’d be blown.

But wait. How would they know it was him? He had been questioned many times by the guards about the robberies around town, and because of that, he had become an exceptional liar. Somehow though, Dravik felt this was different. Like, if he was caught, he felt that he would deserve his punishment. He knew he would deserve it, but he didn’t want it.

Now that he had calmed down a bit more, he realized that he would get caught anyway. The cuts and bruises on his hands would connect him to John’s savage beating. Not to mention the blood on his clothes. This was the only way. He had to leave Bowerstone. But to where, he didn’t know. The farthest he had gone was to the old ruins of the Heroes Guild. Beyond that, he didn’t know what awaited him.

Dravik jumped as he heard the voices and footsteps of the guards running his way. He hadn’t realized how much noise he was making.

“I got to get outta here, or soon I’ll be on trial for murder by sun up,” Dravik thought to himself. He was about to look back at John, but he stopped himself. “Never look back”, he thought. And he ran from shadow to shadow, never knowing that if he had looked back just once, he would have seen John standing and smiling at him, unhurt.

“Step one complete,” John said, and vanished into the darkness.

 

[queenofdisco]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Gamer Of Darkness, is that you? if so I is teh Hermit

Glad you came here, I missed you. Hope you continue that ^

Hermit

 

[Avatar of Evil]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Teh Hermit! Yes it's me. Gamer of Darkness wouldn't fit (sad day). Altair told me about this place so I migrated here.

 

[Avatar of Evil]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Chapter 2

Even though Dravik knew he had to leave the area as soon as possible, he was physically and emotionally exhausted. He needed to rest before he started on his long journey, even though he had no idea where he was going.

When not stealing in Northern Bowerstone, he spent his time in the old Heroes Guild ruins. The reason why Dravik stayed in Bowerstone that night was because the guards had closed the gate for the night, and he was not able to leave until the sun had risen and the gate opened.

For as long as he could remember, the Heroes Guild had been worn down and in pieces. Parts of the walls were strewn across the floor, and doors were hanging off their hinges. Many of the stair cases were completely destroyed, leaving it up to Dravik to find other ways to climb up to the second floor. But most of the time he was able to climb the wreckage.

Dravik lived in the ruins since he was 6 years old, and knew every secret about the ruins and its grounds. He had never felt more safe and secure anywhere else than while he was at the Guild. The feel of the rubble beneath his boots, the sound of the rustling pages of long forgotten books in the library, and the way the sun set just behind the many stained-glass windows in the Chamber of Fate (thanks to the gigantic holes in the wall and ceiling) made him feel like he alone knew how important this place still was. He once asked an elder in Bowerstone about the Heroes Guild and what happened to it.

“No one knows,” he answered. “The official record states that they were disbanded. After Jack was destroyed, everything seemed to calm down. The grounds were to be cleared out and have houses put in. They never even started. Something happened to the people who bought the land when they went walking around the grounds. Never found their bodies. Not a single soul has been there since that incident 250 years ago.” That would have remained true, if Dravik’s curiosity hadn’t been greatly aroused. The next day he stole a grappling hook and climbed over the stone wall. For the first few years it was his refuge. There he had taught himself to read. He had read all of the books in the ancient library. There he learned things about the Heroes that only the Heroes themselves had known: spells, stories, secret quest, assassinations, you name it. It was a place he could sleep without worry. That changed when a bandit had seen him climb over the wall. Ever since then, bandits had been trying to steal the secrets that the Guild Ruins held.

Many had tried to steal the suits of armor and weapons to sell or to melt down, but Dravik felt that if even the most useless artefact was taken, it would greatly disrespect the history of the Guild. So he fought off the thieves and bandits, often connecting strings to the armor and controlling it from the almost unreachable second floor in order to scare them off into thinking the armor was being controlled by the ghost of a long dead Hero. Or if the intruder was more his size, Dravik took a more direct approach.

As Dravik stumbled his way through the front doors, he quickly looked behind him to see if anyone was following him. After he shut the doors, he barred the entrance with a chain around the handles, and a couple of bookcases loaded with some of the heaviest stuff he could find, just for measure. You could never be too careful these days.

Dravik made his way to the tower located next to the courtyard of the grounds. At the top of the tower were his quarters. In those quarters were some of the most valuable things he had found in the Ruins, and didn’t want to risk them being taken. The stair case of the upper half of the tower had a complex security system: strung from wall to wall, ceiling to ceiling, were strings that couldn’t be seen unless the sunlight shined directly on them, reflecting the light. And luckily, there were no windows next to the stair case. Each string was connected to a bell, or a tin can, or something that made an extreme amount of noise. . Dravik was the only one that knew how to bypass the staircase without any trouble.

By the time Dravik had finished checking the strings for any sign of being disturbed, he was confident that no one had been there and that no one would be able to get in without his knowing. He walked over to his makeshift bed he made from the other bunks he had found, and dropped to the mattress. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

And for the first time in years, his dream was different.

 

[Avatar of Evil]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Chapter 3

Here he was again, at the ruins of a once great city. But there was something different. He noticed that right away. He was expecting the people he saw to keep walking, ignoring him completely. But not this time. The first family came from his left, walking directly towards him.

When they reached him, they simply stood there, looking into his eyes with love, trust, and admiration. They were well-dressed and looked as if life had given them trials, but they had overcome them and were rewarded with peace and prosperity.

Dravik’s attention was distracted as another family walked towards him from the right. Or was it another family? They looked like the same family as before, but the difference was so great that Dravik had to actually step closer to get a better look.

One of the words you could use to describe them was hopeless. They had circles around their eyes, and their walk was heavy. But that wasn’t what convinced him of their hopelessness. The very presence of this family cast a chill on his heart. Their clothes were rags, if even that. They looked unnaturally thin; you could easily count their ribs.

And as they walked toward him from opposite sides, he noticed the straight path that had always led him back to the ruins had split and become 2 different paths. The left path was made of cobblestone, well-looked after, and led off into a bright sky. the right path was dirt and had deep ruts in it, was almost covered by the vegetation, and ended into a darkness that even outer space paled in comparison.

And before he could react, Dravik was facing hundreds of thousands of people. All of them staring at him with the same intensity as the first two families. They were divided as the road. It was as if he was looking into a mirror, only to see the opposite in the reflection.

“So what are you going to do, Dravik?” Dravik swung around to face the voice that came from behind him. “You’re going to have to choose eventually.”

The voice belonged to a woman. She stood on the steeple of the ruins, and the sun was placed behind her, so Dravik could see only her outline. She seemed to float down with a small ripple in her hair and cloak, and started walking towards him. Then he saw her more clearly.

She was tall, slim, and to put it bluntly, beautiful. At least, her body was. Her face was covered by a hood. The cloak was grey, and seemed to flow smoother than water when she walked. Her steps made no noise as she walked across the cobblestone.

“What do you want to do?” she asked. Her voice sound like nothing he had ever heard. She sounded like she was everywhere at once, yet her mouth didn’t seem to move. As Dravik stared at her, his fear slowly died down, and felt like he knew her. He felt reassurance.

“Who are you? How do you know me?” was Dravik’s reply.

“I am Endris Elensar, Watcher of Dreams, and Master of Fate. And you, Dravik, are the last who will have the chance to choose. You touched the Orb. You are the Last of the Undecided.”

“The last of the what? How do you know about that orb? What can I choose?” he asked.

“That which is unable to be chosen. Your destiny, your fate,” she answered as she walked past him towards the others. “What are you-,” he started to ask, but was shocked to find her gone, and he was looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. The owner of those eyes was a girl his age, standing at the fork of the once-whole road. Her face had a look or such sorrow and beauty that he couldn’t look away. As he gazed, he beheld in her left eye visions of love, trial, and victory. In her right eye he saw anger, fear, and power. But in both, he noticed sadness. Even though she looked his age, she looked ancient in those all-knowing eyes.

“Choose your path, Dravik,” said the girl. “Left or right? Or ? Either one, you will have a life of pain and sorrow.” Dravik was silent for the longest time before he began to answer.

“I choose-“

 

[poopgod350]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

nice story you got there.l

 

[Avatar of Evil]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Chapter 4.


“-right! An’ you two lads go left! I don’ want any goods left behind. Paul, George, stick close to me. Stories about this place still give me the willies.”

Dravik woke immediately, but not entirely sure of where he was. He wondered for a moment if that other voice was in this dream or not. When he heard it again, he jumped out of bed, grabbed his makeshift rope he made out of sheets, tied it to the bed post and threw it out the window.

Before he started climbing, he grabbed one of the daggers stashed in the room, and with a piece of leather tied it around his waist. He had found the dagger on one of his many expeditions around the guild ruins. It was pure silver, and hadn’t rusted over in the 250 years it had been there.

As Dravik quickly climbed down the rope, he saw the torches of the men exiting what used to be the pub and entered the field. Time was getting short, so he judged the distance to the ground, guessing around 13 feet. Dravik let go, hit the ground and rolled to break his fall. He quietly ran from bush to bush, statue to statue. By the time he caught up to them, they were already inside the cave that the Demon Door had previously guarded. One thief stood outside to keep watch. Judging from the way he stood leaning against tree tossing stones in the surrounding water, and the fact that his sword wasn’t even drawn, it was obvious that he was the newest member of the group. After the bandit became bored with throwing rocks, he began to sharpen one of the small, lower branches on the tree with his knife. Dravik smiled to himself as he crept around the unsuspecting trespasser…
________________________

For Birk, this was the best raid in years. Not only was there a huge amount of loot, but with Mitch outside waiting, he planned to skim a little off the top of the loot for himself. He’d been in the group for quite awhile: why shouldn’t he give himself a raise?

Quickly, he shoved pieces of gold down his pants into the secret pocket he had sewn himself. He was a genius! He was sure no one would suspect him. Not even The Boss would realize it. He wasn’t exactly the brightest guy in the group. But then again, none of them were. They had been picked up outside of the pub, puking their guts out. They all refused to take the job until The Boss said the magic word: gold. That one word sobered them up in record time.

Birk was too distracted trying to make space in his pants to hear the commotion near the entrance of the cave. After he had filled his hidden pockets to their limit, he put everything else in the burlap sack he brought with him. He knew he would be back later. There was too much stuff to take at once. He even had to tie an extra rope around his waist to keep his pants up.

As soon as he finished filling the bag, he half carried, half dragged the bag to the mouth of the cave. Further up, he heard a loud thud. Something hitting a tree, from the sound of it. As he got closer, he saw Mitch near the entrance, slouched up against the tree with his head up against the trunk and his arms hanging down by his side. Dirk knew he must have been bored to death. Maybe next time he would let him in on his little secret. The kid was starting to grow on him.

“Hey! What was that noise, and why’d you put out your torch?” he asked Mitch. The man didn’t answer.

When Dirk put down his bag, he sat down on the ground next to Mitch and began searching in his other bag for his torch. He decided to talk to the youth while doing so.

“There wasn’t much in there. Just books and an already opened chest. I did find a few pieces worth keeping though. But there’s no point in going back in there. Absolutely nothing there. Not a single thing.”

He rambled on for a minute about how there was nothing else in the cave until he felt a few heavy drops of water hit his hand.

“Rain? But there wasn’t a cloud in the sky when we started. I guess I should light this torch right quick so we can get on out of here. Otherwise we’re gonna have to find our way out in the dark.”

Dirk found his gear and began to spark the torch to life. He gave a yell of success as it blazed to life.

“Hey Mitch, hold the light while I get up. My uh…back hurts a bit from carrying that bag and I don’t think I should get up to quickly… Mitch?”

He was unusually quiet. Mitch was usually the most talkative one in the group. Dirk raised the torch to look at Mitch’s face to see if he was all right. He saw the water that fell on his hand was a dark red. As he raised the torch he saw the same liquid steadily drip down off of Mitch’s fingers. The light finally illuminated his face, and he yelled out into the night, drawing the attention of the other bandits.

Mitch’s head had been impaled upon the branch he had been sharpening with his knife. Sticking out of his right eye socket was the branch, his eye stuck on the tip of the branch. In his other eye was a silver dagger. Blood flowed out of both holes and flowed down his face.

Dirk kept screaming until his voice felt like it was going to tear. He dropped the torch and let it roll across the ground until it hit the foot of a standing figure. Dirk screamed even louder.

Dirk stopped when he began to felt a warm liquid spreading in his lower regions.

“He must have done this!” thought Dirk. He grabbed the torch and started flailing it at the boy. He quickly stopped, seeing as it had no affect on him. He was just standing there, staring at the ground with his arms at his side. His eyes were hidden by his black hair. His hands were covered in blood that slowly dripped off his fingers.

The boy moaned and slowly grabbed his head, scaring Dirk once more and caused him to scream and drop the torch again.

“Who are you? Why did you kill him?” demanded, sounding braver than he felt.

“I am Dravik. Who killed who? What are you talking about? What happened?” Dravik asked, his voice growing in panic with each question. He noticed the blood on his hands and stared at them for a few seconds. He suddenly grabbed his head with both hands, as if it were about to split open, and screamed a monstrous scream, rippling the water and shaking the earth. Dirk covered his ears and silently prayed to the gods he had never believed in until now. He prayed that they would deliver him out of safety, as well as the gold he had acquired.

Dravik was forced to forget about the bandit, and had to focus on what was happening to him. The beast inside wanted out. But if he did, he felt he would lose himself again, just like he had with the other bandit.

It came back in a flash. He had knocked out the previous bandit with ease. But as he stared at the blood and the unconscious thief, the monster came so quickly that he didn’t have time to fight it. It had complete control. He could only watch from the back of his mind as he saw his own hands pick up the bandit by his face and throw him up against the tree, the branch piercing the back of his skull and protruding from his eye socket. He could only watch as he saw his hand draw his dagger and throw it, puncturing the other eye, efficiently nailing the body to the tree. And then he blacked out, hearing a dark voice laugh in the distance.

He could hear the splashing as the other bandits finally reached their comrade. They stopped and stared at the body hanging off the tree, shook their heads, and continued on to Dirk and helped him up.

“Demon! Freak! Monster!” They yelled at him, and silenced themselves when he let lose another ear-shattering roar. Instead of insults, they joined in with Dirk and muttered prayers to Avo, and pulled out medallions to ward off Dravik, not that they did any good.

“You should never have come here,” whispered Dravik. “Run, I can’t hold it for long”. The bandits were confused, and looked at each other.

The moron of the group took half a step forward while the rest started to run, and asked, “Wait a second. What do you mea-“

“RUN!” yelled Dravik in a horrible voice. If he could only hold it in for a second longer, they might escape…but he couldn’t.

The monster had escaped once more.

Dravik grabbed the witless bandit in front of him by the neck and threw him head first into the stone wall next to him, shattering the rock and ending his life. The others crossed the water and ran back to the entrance. One bandit tripped. Dravik jumped into the trees and moved from branch to branch until he was directly above him. He then dropped next to him and punched him in the back, his fingers penetrating the skin and bone and grabbing the man’s heart and making it erupt in flames with a quiet word. The man gave a wordless scream, convulsed, and then died.

The last two bandits ran without glancing back, knowing that they would suffer the same fate if they did. They ran towards the massive tower and up the stairs. The thieves might have lived a few minutes longer if it wasn’t for Dravik’s security measures. They immediately regretted entering the tower when they hit the strings. Bells started ringing, tin cans began rattling, glass jars were breaking. They kept running up the stairs, hoping that he didn’t hear the commotion. When they had almost reached the top, they were horrified to find Dravik already there. Giving a scream, they pushed each other down the stairs trying to escape before the other. They ended up tripping over each other and tumbling head over heels all the way down to the bottom. They scrambled up and ran into the massive forest that had once been the Guild Woods. They ran halfway across a large pool of water, and then slowed to catch their breath, not noticing the water ripple past them.

“What is he?” asked one.

“How the hell would I know?” replied the leader of the group, still walking. “But we should be safe here. We’re almost to the other side. There’s no way he…could…”

Dravik was standing and waiting at the water’s edge with a small smile on his face. His eyes were darker than obsidian and shined in the night. The bandits were too afraid to move, too afraid to breath.

“Please, let us go!” begged the bandit in charge. “We left the loot there, and we won’t ever come back. Just don’t kill us! Please!”

“If you wanted to live, you shouldn’t have come here and made him angry,” growled Dravik. No, not Dravik. The Demon inside him. His smile widened as electricity ran down his right arm, lingering at his hand and jumping between his fingers until it died.

“Run for it! He’s a Will user!” They started running back the way they came. The Demon stepped up to the water, the lightning’s power growing into a ball within his palm.

“Run all you want. It ends here,” thought the Demon. Deep in the back of his mind he heard a small voice yelling at him not to do it.

The power in his hand had reached its limit. If he waited any longer, it would have exploded in his hand, ending his life. He released the lightning into the lake with another inhuman yell, and watched the electricity race across the surface of the water towards the bandits.

 

[Dark Drakan]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Really good work so far on this and i like the dedication you are putting into it. +rep

 

[Skorm's Boss]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

wonderful, more plz!
+rep

 

[queenofdisco]

Re: Dravik Taservor: A Tragic Tale of Good and Evil

Indeed execellent I demand more!!!