An epic tale that spans over countless years as one boy meets his fate and faces his destiny, with the help of the wizened Orion; a sorceer of great power, and the guidence of his own heart. He wil...
Several hundred years ago, a great demon plagued the lands, havoc and mayhem following in its wake; it terrified villages and destroyed towns, crushing castles in the great demons thirst for strength. It was known across the land, told of only by a whisper between the villages, slowly becoming a legend; such great power deserving of its lore.
This demon was known to be hundreds of feet tall, with a great mane of shaggy black fur as shadowed as nightfall, claws that could rend the flesh off even the mightiest creatures, and felling them with only a mighty swoop of it's arms, crushing them under the massive paws. The demon would slaughter all those who came for it and would massacre any village it passed. It was said to be unstoppable.
But there was also a man, one so powerful, it is said he could catch the sun in the sky and capture it during the day, letting it go at night; changing it from a golden orb of fire into a silver sphere of luminescence that raced into the sky. He was a man many only told of by name, not appearance; they only knew that he wore a vast hood to conceal his grizzled appearance.
His name was Orion, the man of thunder.
Legends say that Orion lived for thousands of years, watching the passing millennia go by, helping passing heroes he thought worthy of his guidance, but when word of demon reached his ear - he could not resist.
He set about his search for a champion, one who was pure and noble, so to take on this dreaded demon. For years, Orion searched the lands, combing cities, castles and even the humble villages. To find one that impressed him. One that could learn from him, someone who was not tainted with parental bias; a worthy apprentice.
So, he searches to this day until he finds the one destined to kill the demon.
A man casually walked through the chamber, his soft footfalls almost going unnoticed; garnering stares from the denizens hidden behind the many pillars, looking to each other and sharing feelings of antipathy as he grew closer to approaching the zenith of the whole castle - the throne room. His concealed visage gave off an unassuming aura of ambiguity and, with the robes clinging to him like darkness, he waved his arm, and flicked his wrist as he curled it downwards, almost forcing it into his chest; then, coercing his head to dip downwards, he gave the only sign of respect he could to the man in front him. As the terse seconds passed with an agonising slowness, the man benevolently lifted his head; restoring its original and rightful position - only for him to set his shrouded gaze unto the imposing lord, rested upon the throne that borne his mighty presence, dominating the space and, sending powerful indications to all; that he was in charge.
The great lord, setting his gaze downward twisted his gnarled lips into a grim sneer, as his piercing azure eyes studied the portentous man, standing hauntingly in front of him; only for the lord to raise an eyebrow from his own musing as he carefully absorbed how the man was garbed. The lord's thoughts on this stranger's attire ran into his own memories as he sought to remember where this man, a person of such power, could he have seen before. However, the puzzled lord could not comprehend why this man had approached his throne, as the lord could see this man was no beggar. Yet he could tell the cloaked figure in front of him required something.
The lord raised a gnarled hand up to stroke his haggard beard, in thought once again, as his fingers intertwined with the slipshod strands of hair; the lustre it once had, faded as cruel time wore on; this only more becoming of how timeworn the lord is. Only for the lord to raise a crooked eyebrow in exasperation, the purpose of the cloaked man's visit had become transparently clear. The lord's gravelly voice slowly strained out the reason for this cloaked person's arrival, "I now understand. You are here to seek out that object..., Mage."
The cloaked man once again raised his head as he glowered at the ageless lord, the man's eyes shining with arcane power, as an almost palpable aura started to send chills down every witness' spine. "I find that term to be... respectful, in the least," the man's voice was like silk soaked in acid; soft but corrosive, as his deep, baritone voice knelled in the large atrium that was the throne room, "But the tone of voice, of which you used is... increasingly disrespectful.", the man continued with his calm tone. He punctuated his statement as his hands shot up, grabbing the bulk of his hood and pulling it down as he revealed himself.
His face was swathed with scars, which shone with an arcane glow, his features not marred, but enhanced by them; his ears softly piercing the top of his hair, their tips pointed - like an elves - showing the effects sorcery has on his body. His hair, like an ebony mane, framed his delicate features while accentuating his appearance of power, but running ragged at the ends, which were twisted and tangled from constantly traveling; his eyes, like hollow voids, glowed with distinguished power, though a soft black colour emanates from them, soothing those who were looking close enough. However, the most noticeable feature was his snarl, his lips twisting into an expression so feral and rough, that even the great lord was feeling the twitch of fear when seeing an expression like his.
"I do not seek such a... trivial object such as that, dear lord. No..." The cloaked man walked gracefully, almost floating, towards the lord; irrelevantly planting one foot in front of the other. However, when he reached the base of the lord's throne; the man eccentrically whirled around, his cloak desperately trying to follow him, as he stood with his back to the lord. "No. The object I require is not, not an object, yet it is, is an object, but to describe this item as an object or an item would be to be /mistaken/, my dear lord."
The man slowly turned himself around to face the great lord once again, a roguish grin spread across his face, as he shrewdly told the lord, "I am after, one called Fredrick. I believe he is in your care, /Dearest/lord."
The lord's eyebrows raised in suspicion, a queer look upon his face, as he contemplated why this, mage, is asking for his dearest ward. "Why, I ask you sir, do you wish for my ward Fredrick?"
The robed man let out chilling chuckle, as he himself mulled over the question, but answering powerfully with a simple word. "Fate,"/he said softly, the word like a whisper in the wind. "/Or destiny..." he paused, stopping for breath, his voice softened as he continued, "Both demand it."
"And who are you to attest what fate and destiny /demand/! I asked for areason, you pitiful conjurer. Who are you to command me? In my own castle! In my own land!" The lord rose from his throne in his fit of rage, his aged façade disappearing. He was shaking with rage as he stumbled down the steps of his throne; stopping on the middle step. The great lord raised his bedraggled arm up, level with stranger’s head. “Who are you?” he said venomously, pointing at the cloaked stranger, demanding an answer.
The cloaked man raised his head once more, his vagabond appearance disappearing, replaced by an entity of power. He shot both his arms out and called spectacularly “I AM ORION…” An enormous crack was heard, the air now tingling with power. A staff had materialised in the strange beings hand, crackling with energy, “THE MAN OF THUNDER” he bellowed. Lightening snapped behind him, thunder roared and rolled above him, the very ground he was on started to crack as his power became unmistakeable.
“That is who I am”.
The lord collapsed, dropping onto his knees as Orion’s power washed over him, his aged appearance coming back tenfold; realising what a mistake he had made. He had insulted the great Orion, a man of such great legend, and he himself had the gall to call him a cheap conjurer. The lord took in a wheezing breath, and said meekly, sorrowfully, “Why do you want my Fredrick, oh eminent Orion?”
Orion shed his robed form, as he stood tall, like a pillar of fortitude judging the lord; his opinion resting upon the lords actions, whether he will take Fredrick, or not. Setting his staff upon the marble floor with a mighty thud, he spoke with his veiled voice, “The boy’s fate was foretold to me in a dream, telling me what he could – and will – become. The dream gave me an image to find, of a castle; one in a village that had prospered through the demons rampages, that had defences as strong as iron; unbreakable.” He sighed as he looked up to the lord continuing, “That was when I began my journey. Searching for years – so many years – as I tried to find the boy told of, in my dream”.
The lord let shock run across his face, realising what Orion had told him, as he slowly hoisted his feeble frame up; walking back up the stairs though he wonders aloud, “Why do you think it is him, Great Orion. What made him worthy of such a destiny – this boy you speak of could be from any castle?” As the lord staggered back down into his throne, he asks an important question. “When have you seen Fredrick before?”