Son of the South

[MRPolo13]

"Get up!" the deep voice whipped through the dry winds.
A boy, no more than fifteen got to his feet again, despite the countless bruises and red face covered with sweat. He had light black hair and dark brown eyes of someone who had to age too quickly. Not like these eyes were uncommon in Altera...
"Run on!" his father shouted again. This man looked slightly different. His eyes were almost the same, though they looked centuries old. One would give him late forty, maybe early fifty. He was a giant of a man still, build gained from years of mining and later fighting. "Bloody useless! I should send you to the Nether already and save Altera from a worthless dog like yourself!"
The boy ran on, dodging obstacles. His father didn't really consider him useless, and the boy knew it very well, especially knowing that servants and squires similar age wouldn't even keep half of his pace.
Eventually he stopped as the sun fell, and went to his quarters where he had a bath and got dressed before going downstairs to the main hall for dinner. This time, however, except the usual "guests of the castle", as his father called it, there was another group of people.
These men were nothing like what the young boy ever saw before. They all had dark skin and beards, and all had long black hair they tied behind them. Well, that could have only been judged by one of the seven that were there, as others covered their faces in white cloth which also went around their pointy steel helmets. The one that didn't wear a white cloth had a red one tied around his helmet.
"Feed off my wealth, and drink my wine, messengers, as there was a long route behind you, and there still stands a long one ahead", said the little man's father according to the deep Eastern etiquette. The man without his mask stepped forward and bowed low in an interesting, and somewhat odd to the boy manner, before replying in a very hard accent, but clearly:
"We are honoured to be your guests, Ama'Jirred, and are more than happy of it, though our stay cannot be long, for we came here with a request of support."
The old lord inspected them, and chuckled, raising his cup, and taking a long drink.
"Tarid?" after the nod, he continued. "I knew your father. A good man. It is no secret this castle is the only fortress that truly cares about the Southern affairs, however I cannot join to aid you right now. The North is preparing for a war, and my face will be more than wanted there... I can, however, send a group of, say, six guards... and my son, he needs to learn."
Everyone looked at the dark haired boy as he was about to sit... The hall shook from the sudden discussion of shock that started, and the boy looked at the surprised faces, only partially confused...
The other part of him was already plotting.

The preparations took the rest of the night, and half of next day, before the Clan of Torul and the Mala ("outsiders") went away on the journey to the deserts of the South. The young boy quickly took control of his new six honour guards and put them in a formation around him. He was taught what there was to know about leadership and the art of war... Now it was his time to put that to practice.

 

[MRPolo13]

The moment when you see the Mala arrive used to be the most angering moment for me. Those cowards would come, trade and go, without offering a single drop of blood to honour us. That changed when the new Shara'Mala was appointed to aid in escorting. The giant man with brown hair came to be known as just Sharul after, for the first time in hundreds of years, he as a Mala took part in the Demin'Sharak. Though he wore a queer looking armour, that covered basically his entire body, and a helmet that only a true demon could see through, he stood bravely alongside of us and killed as many evil demons as any of us. He has also saved my life, and unlike other Mala he understood that a man should never see himself lose limbs and survive.
I once again fully expected to see the giant's smile to come over the sand dunes, so my surprise was even greater when I saw a young boy, less than sixteen, but with similar features of the giant, with a completely serious face and medium black hair. He wore light scale armour based off our own and had a "Falchion", which was a Northern sword based off our scimitars. He presented himself proudly, and his eyes were pugnacious and constantly judged all possibilities.
"Tarid Ama'Korim An'Torul?" after a nod, the boy continued in voice that just finished changing, and still went up in pitch slightly from time to time. "I am Albareth Ama'Polo An'Hawklight. I have been ordered to replace my father in the Holy War for a month, during which I shall learn your culture and your ways of fighting and tactics. It is my greatest honour to have the pleasure of meeting you, Shara'Sharul."
I was actually amazed by the boy's etiquette. Though Shara in the North rarely visited, he clearly mastered our language, and he soon obviously passed on the knowledge to his son, with whom I had the pleasure.

The training soon began for the boy. He had two weeks to master the tactics and the way of fighting, before he could stand amongst men in the Demin'Sharak, or the Holy War. He learnt quickly and could truly stand after those two weeks, giving orders as well as taking them, and being as swift as our warriors who were born to fight... Someday he'll grow to be a fearsome man, I thought to myself... I pray to Demi I will be his friend that day...

 

[Luckygirl34]

That's really good Polo! More!

 

[MRPolo13]

Working on it... Tomorrow xD

I'll get a dictionary thing in here too after

 

[Yoda]

Ooooh....

MOAR PLZ!

 

[MRPolo13]

"You're getting good, rat," shouted Jarin, before starting another series of strikes and blocks with Albareth. To an average bystander the series of about twenty different attacks and blocks would look like one, maybe two punches. But the Path taught that one should never look at the surface, but instead search deeper to find the Truth. Each of the hits used enough strength to kill, and was directed at the greatest weakspots of human body.
The boys jumped away from each other again, and they chuckled, before "the rat" replied:
"One day you may just about catch up then," another series, which ended just like the last one, and the boy continued. "Two years older, twice as slow and twice as stupid..."
Both of them burst out laughing. Over the past two weeks, Jarin Ama'Tarid An'Torul and young Albareth from the North became inseparable. They were training partners and Jarin's father, Tarid, had to admit that both influenced each other positively. Jarin was almost old enough to have his first wife, and Tarid suggested to Albareth's father that he too finds his first wife in the dunes of the desert. Obviously that was met with declining, but Tarid wasn't surprised, nor angry.
"Can you imagine? We'll have our first battle tonight. We'll stand amongst other men in the field of desert!" young Jarin got lost in dreams, and then continued. "I'll become the best warrior these lands have seen, just you watch!"
The other boy gave a chuckle, before replying:
"You mean, the second best after me?" he chuckled again, after receiving a gentle punch to the arm. "Oh relax, Jarin, I'll only best you for two weeks before I have to leave."

Every evening before the battle began, the women prepared meals to the men about to spill blood on the sacred grounds. Tarid's wives and daughters moved around quickly and placed spicy or sweet meals on the low tables.
"So, what will you do when you at last become an adult?" asked Jarin. After a brief moment, he realised he couldn't just finish the question like that, and so continued, "I mean, if you ever become one, crybaby."
"My father wants me to become the king in the North.. King is sort of like a Pacha, but with more power see?" after a grin, he continued. "But I don't want to be the king... I'd rather do something more honourable than backstabbing everything that moves. I could become a priest... Like a priest of, let's say, Korigon."
"And sit on your bum all day watching it grow, and continuing to pray?" everyone chuckled.
"I could become a fighting priest, killing those that oppose me..."
After a brief chuckle, Tarid took his Book of Truth and his scimitar, and holding the book in his left and the sword in his right, he stretched his arms out and stood, saying:
"These are the words of Demi I shall teach you. This is the sword I will teach you with."
There was another round of laughter, but Albareth seemed unnerved. I'll show them yet, he thought to himself.

 

[MRPolo13]

What are the first feelings you get when stepping on to the grounds of the Sacred City of the Southerners? I've had many. I was worried about my life ending too soon, I was worried about my friend getting killed in the first battle, showing he wasn't worthy, I was worried about some stray creeper that would come up and wipe out the entire squad, I was worried about my six honour guards who were now in rank in front of me... Fear was a large one, but not the largest.
Awe was my strongest feeling. Seven hundred men, all wearing the same scale or mail armour, on small horses and with heavy scimitars or short bows attached to their sides and heavy spears in their hands. Me and my men dressed in similar manner to them, using a little mix of their and our tradition. We stood out slightly, but we never worried about that. The sun was finally setting. Jarin stood next to my squad, in his father's strike team.
We watched as the first of the undead started bursting out of the sands, and as creepers seemed to bulge and grow out of nearby shrubs. First round of arrows went flying, and each of the commanders gave orders. I turned to my men and grinned.
"We're the only Northerners to dine on the Undead today," I stated, and they nodded, waiting at attention. "Let's not show the South that we're any worse, shall we? Because today we show the Grief what we're really made of! For the Divines, and Altera!"
There was a cheer from my six soldiers, and we turned, spears at the ready. The battle commenced.
We were in the centre ranks. First ranks had pikes with moon-shaped tips, to hook at the undead necks if possible. These ranks quickly withdrawn at skeletal arrows and sent in the second ranks, which were us.
I charged straight in, my soldiers following me. I stabbed through creeper's eye with my spear and spun around on the horse to bash a skeleton with my shield, its head flying off. My horse quickly died from three arrows stuck in its head, but I managed to jump off with ease, continuing to stab with the spear and block the oncoming strikes with the small wooden round shield.
My spear finally gave away on an armoured undead and snapped, so I drew the heavy falchion and continued to attack and defend at once. I noticed Jarin fall and I cut through to help him. I got him on to his feet and grinned.
"Fighting or resting?" I asked. He replied with a grumble, but smiled and we fought back to back against the oncoming enemy.
We saved each others' lives countless of times before the dawn, and as the sun rose we, along with all the other soldiers, watched the undead run or burn.

One person died from my squad. He received an arrow to the eye, his helmet not managing to stop it before it went to the start of the fletching. No chance of survival. Another twenty or so soldiers died from all around the battle, but the enemy's forces were far greater. I have received a great honour to be able to serve under the Torul clan banner. Jarin came up to me and embraced me strongly with a laugh, and we started arguing jokingly who managed to kill more foes and save the other more times.

Albareth fought on every day for the entire two weeks, managing to get his armour completely wrecked, but learning more about the art of war than ever before. It was then his time to finally leave the scorching deserts, with three of the six honour guards that originally came with him, and twenty additional ones to show respect the people of the South gave him. He moved on happily, with a proud smirk.
He was the first person in two hundred and fifty years to receive an honourary title of Ama'Sedi, Son of the South, the title that applied to those from the North that deserved honour and a place amongst the Demi.




Yes, I have made up the language from scratch basing myself off... Not entirely sure what. The story is about what happened between Jarin and Albareth. Jarin is my alt's character now, so...
Throughout the story there were a couple of words that are far from English, so here is their translation:

Albareth Ama'Polo An'Hawklight- Means Albareth, Son of Polo, of the clan of Hawklight. (The South has clans, not houses, and the class of the person is set in front of the name.)
Demin'Sharak- Holy War- War against the forces of the corruption the South has been fighting every night for hundreds of years.
Ou- Peasant (Honourless)
Sharul- Warrior
Shara- Lord
Hara- Lady
Mala- Ouutsider
Pacha- King -----The South is strictly class based. "Outsider" is a person that is not of their blood and is usually considered a complete coward. It is also used as an offensive term against someone else.
Ou'Mala- Peasant from the Outside. They call that any Outsider in their presence unless they grow to like them.
Sharul'Mala- Warrior from Outside. These are people that lead the trade escorts to the South, and since Polo often take part in the Demin'Sharak.