Wow, thank you! This chapter was fun to type, too. And you can tell, because there’s a bajillion typos haha. I found a bunch just reading back over it to match your comments to the different parts. I need to go over this chapter more than any of the others for spelling. I got too caught up with writing.
Sci Fi & Fantasy / Chapter 4 - Raven Rising
Several weeks had passed since Saavriin's first encounter with the Ravens. he had taken to using his new name almost exclusively and the one time Aden had slipped and called him by his old moniker, he had almost not answered. Funny, he thought, how quickly old lives are dropped and forgotten about. It made him wonder how important it had been to him in the first place or how far away he had actually gotten from being the Zhevir Delyl of centuries passed. The name had changed, but the habits remained the same.
He had also discovered some interesting properties of the necklace his sister had given him. Zauaere had spoken to him, seemingly out of the air, one day. After a while, Saavriin realized that her voice was only in his head and that a simple thought directed back at her served as a reply. With this new means of communication presented to him, he jumped on the opportunity to further his new career. Explaining the situation and convincing Zauaere to do what he needed was another matter altogether.
“You can't come back here,” she had said.
“Why not?”
“It's dangerous.”
“It's dangerous here, too.”
“It's more dangerous here.”
“I just want my armor.”
“What makes you think I still have it?”
“I know you still have it.”
A moment of silence.
“What if I have it sent?”
“Because mail delivers so well between the Underbelly and Tellhemport.”
Another moment of silence.
“Find an abandoned building somewhere. I'll have a court mage send it sky-side.”
He did as he was told and soon, after a brief near mishap with the designated portal devouring a rat, Saavriin was standing before a crate that contained the requested armor, plus his cherished weapons. Pulling them out, he admired the craftsmanship of it all, of a set of arms crafted almost a thousand years ago. The chain mail suit, crafted specially for his body, was made of links so small and fine that it felt more like a silken cloth than metal. The metal itself was an ore found only in the heart of the world and crafted by smiths well versed in magic. The smithies of the S'hedmethil were some of the wealthiest people in the city and their wares rivaled those of the dwarfs. The chain was adorned with filigrees reminiscent of designs found on the surface. Swirling and intertwining shapes danced around the collar and the sleeves, but in place of vines and flowers, these were the serpents and skulls of House Delyl. The entirety of the suit was covered in a light blue-black lacquer intended to keep reflection to a minimum, for any point of light in the Underbelly drew beasts like moths to a flame.
The blades, Saavriin was pleased to find Zauaere had kept them razor sharp even after all this time, were gorgeous. Single-edged, they were almost two feet in length from pommel to point. The metal had a shimmering blue quality to it, comparable to the shine of the ocean, but only when caught in direct light. The dull side of the blade was capped in more metal filigree, meant to support the blade. These were designed to look like waves pulling past the prow of a ship. The designer of the blades hadn't understood Saavriin's love of a body of water he had never seen.
Since the building was empty and out of the way, Saavriin stripped down and changed into the armor. It hugged him like a second skin and his blades were a comfortable, familiar weight in his hands. He lightly stepped through a few practice sequences, whispering across the dust-covered floor, and the movements came back to him as if he had never stopped fighting. Evidently his body remembered his old self as well as his brain did.
Going back to the crate, he peered into it one last time, spotting a black cloth bundle and a note written in his sister's hand. The bundle was a warm winter cloak usually worn by soldiers. It was definitely of human make, but the clasps that held it to his shoulders were his sister's. Saavriin recognized the twin scythe-and-fire emblems of the necromantic order of the city. How fitting.
There was fresh writing crammed in atop the body of the original letter.
'Brother, I've been meaning to give this to you for years. Centuries. I hope you understand.
'I've been selfish. I brought you back to life for my own reasons and for no benefit to yourself. I know I am your older sister, your eldest sibling in fact, but I am not as strong as you think I am. First, perhaps, I should explain to you why you died. I am sure you don't remember.'
Saavriin stopped and closed his eyes. He could feel a memory struggling for freedom in the back of his mind, but to no avail. Opening his eyes, he continued reading.
'Your eyes. It was because of your eyes. When you were born, I remember, you had such strange eyes for a dark elf. Green. So very green. Father used to joke that we could see you in the dark, simply because of your eyes. Then something happened and you seemed to fall ill for a time. You were distant and listless, seeming to simply stop for hours at a time after you returned from the Academy. We were all worried that you had been taken by a sort of dementia, that the Academy had irreversibly damaged you as it does so many of its ill-fated students. Yet, you recovered, for a time anyway.'
'Then, one morning, you went to Mother for something, I remember not what, only that she screamed. Your eyes had changed. That amazing, gemstone green was gone, replaced by the ice and clouds you are familiar with today. Mother spiraled into a depression, then, believing her most prized son to be cursed, and along with it her beloved House.'
The memory wriggled free and slammed to the forefront of Saavriin's awareness with startling clarity. He remembered! He remembered his mother, an older woman, but no less powerful than any matron of a clan, standing before him, weeping hysterically.
“You've betrayed us!”
“How? How, Mother?”
“Struck blind!”
“I can see!”
“Lies!”
He remembered reaching easily for a small statue sitting on a nearby table. He didn't grope for it, he didn't fumble, he simply picked it up.
“How can this be a lie?”
“The cursed can only see their own ends!”
He looked down to the statue in his hand. A statue of their patron deity, a male dark elf with the long, slender hands of a woman and his legs exchanged for the armored coils of an Underbelly crag serpent. It was said that the God bestowed upon his tools of destruction the brief gift of clairvoyance, the ability to see into the future. These Harbingers of the End were robbed of their most prized attribute and given a vision in exchange. There was nothing the Harbinger could do to thwart the events in the vision. However, Saavriin had not been robbed of his sight and had not been granted any vision. The gorgeous color of his eyes had simply seemed to seep away in his sleep.
“I have been robbed of nothing!” Saavriin protested, throwing the statue to his mother's feet.
“We must preserve the House! We must stop the vision!”
She commanded the guards then to detain her son. The sudden and suspicious deaths of offspring in S'hedmethite Houses was not unheard of, not even particularly rare. The guards acted without hesitation. Trying to convince his mother that he was not heralding the end of her family, Saavriin did not struggle.
He was dragged away to a chamber deep within the heart of the family complex, where a large stone pillar held up the dome of the house.
“Tie him! He must burn!”
His mother had lost her mind.
“No! Mother! I beg of you! I am not a threat!” Unarmed he only killed two of the guards before he was beaten senseless and bound as commanded.
“I will cleanse your taint from this proud and noble House.”
Saavriin remembered his sister coming to his defense, brandishing both words and magic to try and save him, but Mother, ever the superior necromancer, had her quickly under control and out of the picture. Saavriin's two younger brothers, both eager for his position as favored and next in line as head of the House, made no attempts at all. There he was bound, and there he was burned. Murdered by his own mother in the most secret recesses of his own home. He could still hear Zauaere screaming his name.
Trying to steady himself, for his hands shook so badly Saavriin could hardly read the rest of the letter, he sank to his knees.
'I tried to save you and, and I thought I still could. Zhevir, you are my beloved brother, more so than anyone else in our family. I couldn't stand to lose you. As soon as Mother departed I took your ruined body to my ritual room and worked every spell I knew how. I even found others and siphoned their energy, anything to restore your life to you. When your body was whole again you awoke, lost and confused and more scared than I had ever seen you. You remembered me, but only vaguely, and as soon as I gave you opportunity, you fled.
'Your leaving hurt, brother, but I knew, once it was safe, you would come back. I avenged you, my dearest, loveliest brother, and restored the House to its rightful state. One where you could forever be the favored within its walls.'
Another message was scrawled at the bottom.
'Stay with the phylactery until I tell you it is safe to come home. I am shoring up my defenses as you read this. Soon, it will be safest at home, rather than wandering the world. Same for you.'
Saavriin read one line over and over again. I avenged you, my dearest, loveliest brother... Somehow, he understood the travesty of love that had occurred here. Maybe he really had been the Harbinger, for with his death ended the Delyl line. Zauaere, in her pain and suffering, had done to the remainder of her family what their mother had threatened to do to him.
They had been cleansed.
Murdered! Saavriin stalked out into the light of a dying day. Even though the earth fought hard to give birth to Spring, there was conflict. The ground, still frozen and cold as the grave, unforgivable, crushed those sprouts foolish enough to try and push forth so early. The sun pushed aside the clouds, but in it's fading power, only tore a wound in the gray that covered the city, bleeding a passionate red that could blind those daring to look.
It was into this strange twilight of frozen fire that Saavriin walked. He was not subtle, shoving aside those that got in his way. Now armed and with his dark hood pulled over his face, hiding his features, most only spared him a second glance before moving on. None wanted to learn what this stranger's business was.
Once he arrived at the Ravens' hideout, he pushed his way inside, knocking aside the door guard and flying down the steps. He stormed to Yulan's quarters and without knocking. Luckily she was dressed or else he probably would have had a fight on his hands. As it was, the redhead simply looked up from her ledger, a startled look on her face. The expression quickly melted into one of confusion.
“You are?”
Saavriin looked up and the light of the lanterns caught his eyes. From the depths of the shadows of his hood, the glinted like fresh silver coins..
“That job,” he snapped.
Yulan had offered him a job two days prior to his contact with his sister. He had turned it down then, as it had been a minor assassination attempt.
“Finally up to killing someone?”
He stared at her.
“Alright, alright. Where'd the fancy armor come from?” She could have sworn she heard him growl. “Sorry! Gods almighty. Here.”
Saavriin snatched the sheet of paper out of her hands and looked it over. Easy enough. A minor merchant that owed them a lot of money in protection fees. He knew this tactic of extortion. The Ravens were really protecting this man from the Ravens. An easy way to make money. He didn't care who it was. The recollection of painful memories had lit a fire in him, a flame old and familiar, what had made him excel in the Academy. It was hate.
“It will be done.” He folded the paper and tucked it away with Zauaere's letter.
Night had settled and it was cold once more. Cold enough that it kept people from wandering leisurely around the streets which worked in Saavriin's favor. Having changed into thick gloves and soft leather boots that had been wrapped in the cloak, moving in the darkness was simple. Second nature.
Once he arrived in the neighborhood the merchant lived in, Saavriin took to the rooftops. Taking a flying leap he scaled the wall that separated the houses' quaint gardens from the common road and from there a bit of muscle had him up high, overlooking his new hunting grounds. He stepped quietly, careful to not make enough noise to wake anyone that might be sleeping below. As he passed between the buildings, he stopped at the edge of each, gazing down into the windows below. If anyone were still awake at this hour, he didn't want to be seen by them.
The moon, peering hesitantly through the same gap the sun had rent in the clouds, shone off the frost rimed tiles that made up the roofs in this part of the city. To Saavriin's eyes, those of a creature born and bred in darkness, it was as if the lonely, silvery sister of the sun had come to join him. At one point he stopped and turned his face to it. She shone there, in the sky, turning his eyes in to flat reflections of herself, but like the lone man she watched over, she gave no warmth. If Saavriin didn't need to worry about freezing into a statue if he didn't hurry, he would have waited and admired he celestial cohort. As it was, he lifted a hand to her instead.
“Blessed be, lady moon,” he whispered into the shadows before bounding across another gap.
Reaching the merchant's house was easy. He prowled the edge of the roof, surveying the land he needed to drop into. There was one dog, asleep, on the west side of the building and on a chain. His only worry was not to wake it then. Even if he did he could flee and it couldn't chase. He would be long gone by the time anyone let it loose. The building was two stories and made of stone and wood. An easy climb, but there was only one viable window. One, though he could see the merchant and his wife sleeping in their bed through it, was too small for him to fit through. The other was right above the dog.
“Choices choices,” he murmured, creeping back to the western side of the building.
Crouched there on the edge of the roof, Saavriin fancied he fit his new name. With his black cloak pulled tight around his body to ward off the cold and keep hidden and his hood pulled far over his face, he could only imagine what kind of figure he cut.
“Your very own raven, lady moon.”
Once he was sure the dog wasn't going to abruptly awake, he gripped the edge of the roof and swung down, bracing his feet against the wall to the right of the window. As he had suspected, the window was barred from the inside, but only by a latch. While he could break the window, he would rather not risk the noise. Instead, he produced a long, thing file from his boot, kindly provided by Yulan.
“Tools of the trade,” she had said whimsically before leaving him alone with it.
He was glad he had it now. Slipping it between the two panes, he gently lifted the lock with one hand and pushed it open with his left foot. Glancing once more down at the dog, he slipped inside.
Cold air would wake a sleeping man faster than anything, so as a precaution, Saavriin shut the window, but didn't return the latch. If he needed to leave in a hurry, the window would be his only exit. Surveying the room was easy enough. There were only two doors. One to his right, which he assumed simply led to another room or to the stairs, and one directly before him, which had no option but to lead to the bedroom. It really was a faux mansion. While the outside looked impressive enough, it was well worn on the inside, with simple, inexpensive furniture and little to no frivolous decoration. Best of all, on both of Saavriin's peeks through windows, there had been no posted guards.
Gently he made his way across the room. If there were any guards, there was a good chance they would be downstairs, warming themselves by the fire or eating a very early breakfast. As such, he couldn't afford a creaking floorboard or a heavy step. Once at the door, he gently turned the knob. Locked. He cursed softly. Lock picking had never been a skill he had needed to pick up and Yulan and a few of the other rogues had only given him crash course lessons in the art. Luckily, unlike his comrades, he didn't need to do it in the dark.
Retrieving his set of lock picks from his other boot, Saavriin set to work. He was careful not to make any scratching or clacking noises, anything that, if incessant enough, would drill through the veil of sleep and wake someone up. He praised the lady moon one more time, for the lock was a simple pin-and-tumbler routine and not something more complex. He managed to clumsily trial-and-error his way through the lock without too much fuss, though by the time he had finished his toes were starting to ache with cold. He needed to be faster.
Carefully, though quickly, because of his prior test he knew the doorknob didn't squeak, he turned the knob and gently edged the door open. It made one noise and Saavriin froze, though nothing else in the house moved. Satisfied that he hadn't disturbed anyone, he opened the door enough to be able to slip through.
Watching the two sleep, Saavriin inwardly cringed and he felt some of his anger melt away. Either he was going to have to kill the both of them, or find a way to detain the wife long enough to murder her husband and not have her remember who he was. Either way, she was going to be short something valuable come dawn. He'd come here to kill one man, not some innocent bystander.
But was she? Surely she would know about the finances of the house, of the fact that a great deal of her household wealth was going to fending off people just like the man who stood, shadow-dark, in her room right now? Perhaps he was giving her too much credit. Only a few moments passed, but in that time Saavriin found an internal way to justify her murder. She was a potential witness.
He felt cold inside, colder than usual, but it was a familiar cold. It was an acquired chill, one he had nurtured carefully in his youth, and it came bounding back to him like a long-lost pet. It settled over him, killing any ache in his heart and inflicting lethal damage to any doubts he may have had. Moving to the end of the bed, Saavriin unsheathed his blades and crouched. One great leap had him on the bed, standing with one foot placed solidly on either victim. He used their moment of stunned shock to his advantage and one, two, the blades found their marks and the light of two lives winked out.
Drawing back his knives, he studied them for a moment, looking at the blood that clung to the edges and dripped to the bed sheets. In death, the night was never quieter.
“I'm back, Mother.”
Saavriin stepped off the bed and strode back to the window where he climbed back to the roof. The moon had been covered by the clouds, laying a black death shroud over the city. Saavriin Bleakraven could only smile.
He felt at home in his own skin again.
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Weaver reviewed Version 1 -
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FrakKevin reviewed Version 1 -
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THis is my first time reading this. This is definantley one you have to read from chapter 1. I was able to pick up on the plot a little and thought the flash back with him and his mother was good. There is a lot of detail, especially when describing his new armor, but in away it added to the story. There wasnt much dialog so you kind of needed the detail and thick narration to bring the reader in. I could picture every scene as I read along.
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Rhonda9080 reviewed Version 1 -
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Hey Megan—ready to see through new eyes…
Good opening, as usual. I would he’d instead of he had, but its minutia really… style…
Ok--there’s sis. I was worried and wondering. Its all good, first page opening. Dialogue moves, and does the job--furthers story along, while giving good glimpses of character, setting, danger, etc.
Weapons descriptions, well-written, with authority and once more do heavy lifting by also getting us deep into Saavriin’s character. He is a warrior. A manly guy/elf who appreciates well-crafted weaponry.
I also have this one: moths to a flame… A beloved cliche. I’m still waiting on something better to pop into my head. But its better than something strained, florid attempt to avoid cliche. Just my opinion :)
Your knowledge of weaponry sings here. But it’s not preachy or the writer being an attention whore. Very good job—flows with scene and adds flavor.
Whoa, powerful stuff about the eyes, mother, etc.
Oh poor Saavriin, this is so horrifying! Well-written. I’m feeling this and really upset for the poor little guy. Well done Megan!
Murdered by his own mother! Oh, this is moving back story! Not florid at all by the way.
Well-placed and constructed: Murdered! Saavriin stalked out into the light of a dying day. Description that follows, birth, Spring, fighting to give life, etc. Awesome imagery that evokes. So we see the frozen landscape, we sense his inner struggle, we feel his pain.
I’m feeling all of this. This is power-writing!
Ok now back to the Raven compound. Transition done smoothly, not awkward…
I like the tension I sense between redhead and Saavriin. Makes me wonder if something will be up there soon.
Again, magnificent imagery: lonely, silvery sister of the sun – the whole paragraph is stunningly beautiful.
Wonderful: Saavriin fancied he fit his new name. Action, moving over rooftops, etc., so well done!
The whole assasin sequence, from Saavriin’s emotional point of view, is right on baby. The coldness. The imagery, very powerful stuff.
Whoa again! I’m back mother!!! Oh hell, good stuff… My poor dear Saavriin, what’s happening to you? Over two chapters, he has transformed before our very eyes. My heart is breaking, but I am captivated. Must read more!
The ending is completely ominous and wonderful! This is absolutely one of the very best pieces I’ve read on Urbis.
Megan—get to that daily writing routine. This book must be written. This is a compelling tale that must be told. And we must know what happens to Saavriin.
I would have to quote whole paragraphs if you ask what rocks about this piece.
I can’t rave enough, and I am giving my first all “10s”
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