Categories > Original > Fantasy > Wrath of the Dragon King: The Twin Scrolls
A savage inhuman roar and the loud clash of swords echoed through the air. The world was pitch black save for a ring of blazing fire that surrounded, and trapped the two combatants. Their faces and other features were distorted by the raging fire, and the speed of their movements. The two circled around each other before clashing yet again with their swords. After another pass, the combatants jumped backwards, and stood facing each other at opposite ends with a mutual hate, and anger in their eyes.
On one side of the ring was a tall and brooding figure encompassed in black armor with a dark blue cape draped around its shoulders. Its features were covered by a long horned helmet, and a demon faced mask. In its hands was a long pale silver katana with dried blood staining what possibly once a beautiful blade.
On the other side stood a much shorter figure, whose features were left open. He had long black hair in a low ponytail, a red headband around his forehead, and no armor, only a simple green robe. In his hands was a similar katana as his foe, only the blade was black.
The two exchanged a series of words that seemed to frustrate and anger the bare warrior. He gritted his teeth and raised his sword signaling the start of another round.
The bare warrior crouched down, gathering power in his legs before springing towards his black clad foe with a loud and determined yell. An explosion of white erupted from their clash, and all was still.
“Hey!” an irritated voice sounded. “Wake up you lazy ass!” Kumello awoke with a start when a flood of cold water splashed all over his body. His eyes shot open, and glared daggers at his older brother, who had a wooden bucket in his hands.
“You couldn’t have waited a few more minutes Jelani?” Kumello grumbled.
“If I waited any longer, you would have slept the entire day away,” Jelani replied. “Did you forget you have to help Ellema with her cows and roofs today?”
“No but still….”
“And you have another job now,” Jelani threw the empty bucket into Kumello lap. “Refill the water bucket.”
“You were the one who used it to wake me up, you fill it,” Kumello pushed the bucket to his brother, who pushed it back to him.
“I wasted it on you, so you’re the one who has to refill it.” Kumello groaned, and threw off the covers of his bed to get up. He rubbed what sleep was left from his eyes and managed to get a full view of his room and his brother.
The room was a small square devoted to only sleep and to gather materials for field or house work. A shelf holding several farm tools stood on the far left corner. A small brown rug was placed in the center to provide a small amount of decoration. On the far right corner laid a long silver spear that gleamed in the morning light. The triangular blade reflected the orange-red rays into Kumello eyes blinding his freshly woken eyes. Beside his bed was a small oaken desk that held several parchment rolls, and four books that were scattered about the desk. Kumello looked up and saw small holes in their thatched roof that needed to be fixed before the next storm arrived. A small kick to his bare foot refocused Kumello’s eyes on his brother.
“That water bucket isn’t going to fill itself.” Jelani was a tall young man, taller than anyone else in the village. His chest and legs were rippled with fine-toned muscles from his years of manual labor. His dark-chocolate skin made him clash with the brightness of the morning. His brown eyes looked at Kumello with impatience and irritation as he drummed his fingers on the desk next to him. He wore a simple pair of white work pants, and had yet to put on a shirt.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Kumello grumbled standing up. His eyes fell on the spear in the corner. “Do I get the spear?”
“I guess,” Jelani shrugged. “But I need it tonight when I go hunting.”
“Fair enough.”
“Make sure you remember to fill it all the way,” Jelani said as he walked out of the room. The moment he heard his brother leave the house, Kumello collapsed back on his bed.
He had that dream again.
He had had that dream so many times before that it had become as much part of his nightly routine as washing his face and brushing his teeth. It wasn’t always the same though. Sometimes he would watch the two combatants as a spectator, other times he saw it from the viewpoint of the bare warrior. And sometimes he saw it from the viewpoint of the black armored fighter. There had been a time where he had obsessed over the meaning of the dream. He had asked the village shaman and witchdoctor, Abedi, for every script, and scroll he had on dreams, and tore through almost all of them within the course of two weeks with no answer. He had asked Abedi for a spiritual reading almost every day after that, but the answer was always the same:
“I cannot see your future young one, it is too clouded.”
What did that mean anyway? Did it mean something was going happen? Was his future so incredible that it was hard for even an experienced shaman like Abedi to see? Was his the dream a glimpse into his future? He had heard stories about great heroes and prophets who learned of their density through dreams. But the dream always varied in viewpoint. Did that mean something as well? Kumello let out a loud groan and ran his hand through his short but thick black hair. What did it matter anyway? Here he was obsessing over something as superficial as a dream. He was sure people had reoccurring dreams all the time, and it didn’t mean anything important. He had asked Jelani about it when Abedi couldn’t give him a good enough answer and he said:
“Those dreams of yours aren’t going to fill your stomach.”
Kumello shrugged and mentally closed the matter. Whatever it meant it certainly wouldn’t help him refill the buckets or get his other chores done. He pushed himself up from his bed and put on his yellow work shirt that was beneath his bed. He took his slingshot and a bag of small pebbles from his desk at attached them to his belt. He grabbed the bucket, and the spear before heading out the door.
His feet slapped against the brown floorboards that made up the long hallway that lead to the common area of the house. The common area was a large square with an open fire pit in the center. Straw mats were placed around the fire for comfort when sitting. Steam whistled out of a teapot that had been placed earlier on the fire. Kumello took the tea from the fire, and grabbed a cup from the small table that was on the far side of the common room. An array of cooking materials, farm tools, and hunting weapons were displayed on the wall above the table. Other than a few chairs, and a shelf that held several works, the room was bare.
Jelani had said before that he was looking for more furniture to make the house look less barren, but Kumello really didn’t mind. No one else lived in the house besides the two of them anyway. He had no idea what the story with his parents was. He even wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Whatever their reasons, his parents left their two boys in the hands of perfect strangers and ran off to face whatever troubles had drove them from their original home. Jelani didn’t seem to care either. He was more concerned with getting food on the table than learn of their origins. The only object they had of their parents was their father’s spear, and even that told them very little.
His growling stomach snapped Kumello from his thoughts. He made a quick note to get breakfast when he came back before he started with his chores. Not bothering to take his shoes Kumello headed out into the fleshly woken world.
On one side of the ring was a tall and brooding figure encompassed in black armor with a dark blue cape draped around its shoulders. Its features were covered by a long horned helmet, and a demon faced mask. In its hands was a long pale silver katana with dried blood staining what possibly once a beautiful blade.
On the other side stood a much shorter figure, whose features were left open. He had long black hair in a low ponytail, a red headband around his forehead, and no armor, only a simple green robe. In his hands was a similar katana as his foe, only the blade was black.
The two exchanged a series of words that seemed to frustrate and anger the bare warrior. He gritted his teeth and raised his sword signaling the start of another round.
The bare warrior crouched down, gathering power in his legs before springing towards his black clad foe with a loud and determined yell. An explosion of white erupted from their clash, and all was still.
“Hey!” an irritated voice sounded. “Wake up you lazy ass!” Kumello awoke with a start when a flood of cold water splashed all over his body. His eyes shot open, and glared daggers at his older brother, who had a wooden bucket in his hands.
“You couldn’t have waited a few more minutes Jelani?” Kumello grumbled.
“If I waited any longer, you would have slept the entire day away,” Jelani replied. “Did you forget you have to help Ellema with her cows and roofs today?”
“No but still….”
“And you have another job now,” Jelani threw the empty bucket into Kumello lap. “Refill the water bucket.”
“You were the one who used it to wake me up, you fill it,” Kumello pushed the bucket to his brother, who pushed it back to him.
“I wasted it on you, so you’re the one who has to refill it.” Kumello groaned, and threw off the covers of his bed to get up. He rubbed what sleep was left from his eyes and managed to get a full view of his room and his brother.
The room was a small square devoted to only sleep and to gather materials for field or house work. A shelf holding several farm tools stood on the far left corner. A small brown rug was placed in the center to provide a small amount of decoration. On the far right corner laid a long silver spear that gleamed in the morning light. The triangular blade reflected the orange-red rays into Kumello eyes blinding his freshly woken eyes. Beside his bed was a small oaken desk that held several parchment rolls, and four books that were scattered about the desk. Kumello looked up and saw small holes in their thatched roof that needed to be fixed before the next storm arrived. A small kick to his bare foot refocused Kumello’s eyes on his brother.
“That water bucket isn’t going to fill itself.” Jelani was a tall young man, taller than anyone else in the village. His chest and legs were rippled with fine-toned muscles from his years of manual labor. His dark-chocolate skin made him clash with the brightness of the morning. His brown eyes looked at Kumello with impatience and irritation as he drummed his fingers on the desk next to him. He wore a simple pair of white work pants, and had yet to put on a shirt.
“I’m going, I’m going,” Kumello grumbled standing up. His eyes fell on the spear in the corner. “Do I get the spear?”
“I guess,” Jelani shrugged. “But I need it tonight when I go hunting.”
“Fair enough.”
“Make sure you remember to fill it all the way,” Jelani said as he walked out of the room. The moment he heard his brother leave the house, Kumello collapsed back on his bed.
He had that dream again.
He had had that dream so many times before that it had become as much part of his nightly routine as washing his face and brushing his teeth. It wasn’t always the same though. Sometimes he would watch the two combatants as a spectator, other times he saw it from the viewpoint of the bare warrior. And sometimes he saw it from the viewpoint of the black armored fighter. There had been a time where he had obsessed over the meaning of the dream. He had asked the village shaman and witchdoctor, Abedi, for every script, and scroll he had on dreams, and tore through almost all of them within the course of two weeks with no answer. He had asked Abedi for a spiritual reading almost every day after that, but the answer was always the same:
“I cannot see your future young one, it is too clouded.”
What did that mean anyway? Did it mean something was going happen? Was his future so incredible that it was hard for even an experienced shaman like Abedi to see? Was his the dream a glimpse into his future? He had heard stories about great heroes and prophets who learned of their density through dreams. But the dream always varied in viewpoint. Did that mean something as well? Kumello let out a loud groan and ran his hand through his short but thick black hair. What did it matter anyway? Here he was obsessing over something as superficial as a dream. He was sure people had reoccurring dreams all the time, and it didn’t mean anything important. He had asked Jelani about it when Abedi couldn’t give him a good enough answer and he said:
“Those dreams of yours aren’t going to fill your stomach.”
Kumello shrugged and mentally closed the matter. Whatever it meant it certainly wouldn’t help him refill the buckets or get his other chores done. He pushed himself up from his bed and put on his yellow work shirt that was beneath his bed. He took his slingshot and a bag of small pebbles from his desk at attached them to his belt. He grabbed the bucket, and the spear before heading out the door.
His feet slapped against the brown floorboards that made up the long hallway that lead to the common area of the house. The common area was a large square with an open fire pit in the center. Straw mats were placed around the fire for comfort when sitting. Steam whistled out of a teapot that had been placed earlier on the fire. Kumello took the tea from the fire, and grabbed a cup from the small table that was on the far side of the common room. An array of cooking materials, farm tools, and hunting weapons were displayed on the wall above the table. Other than a few chairs, and a shelf that held several works, the room was bare.
Jelani had said before that he was looking for more furniture to make the house look less barren, but Kumello really didn’t mind. No one else lived in the house besides the two of them anyway. He had no idea what the story with his parents was. He even wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. Whatever their reasons, his parents left their two boys in the hands of perfect strangers and ran off to face whatever troubles had drove them from their original home. Jelani didn’t seem to care either. He was more concerned with getting food on the table than learn of their origins. The only object they had of their parents was their father’s spear, and even that told them very little.
His growling stomach snapped Kumello from his thoughts. He made a quick note to get breakfast when he came back before he started with his chores. Not bothering to take his shoes Kumello headed out into the fleshly woken world.
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