"I realize how important the prize is."
Silence, heavy and thick, coated the speaker as a voice echoed within the vaults of the great mystery of the mind.
"Yes, yes, I also realize that She is after it as well." Impatient.
A bird cawed harshly as a shadow shifted its position on the hard tree, watching the leaves fall idly to the ground, listening.
"I'd hate to sound typically villainous, but I assure you, I will find the prize before Her." A smile that lit the darkness on a face. "Or Her sister."
The smile faded as the inner voice continued to speak.
"Everything is in place. I must simply take up my role and the play shall begin. Cast your fears aside. No one will be aware that you are involved in this."
A stern reply.
Leaning back against the trunk of the tree, a grin flashing, smiling eyes gazing up through the foliage to the clear, starry firmament above. Then, the confident words:
"She will never know what hit Her."
The sword whistled through the air, meeting flesh with a hard jarr, yet continuing its descent to neatly slice through the target with almost practiced ease.
The other goblins paled at the sight of their companion's blood splattering over the mossy path, each taking a single step back involuntarily, as if seeking refuge within the shadow of the tall trees that framed the road.
The swordsman straightened from his kill, the flickering light from the goblins' torches catching in a green eye, igniting them with an unearthly fire as he stared steadily at them.
A slow smirk crossed his hidden lips as he slowly extended his arm, gloved palm facing them.
The goblins growled, the ringleader shouting orders in the harsh, high-pitched language that the beasts called their own. Each monstrosity clutched their weapons tightly, half-hiding the fear that poured from them like sweat. A thunderous roar spewed forth from their mouths, as if to chase away the fear, and they rushed forward in a river of pale green and brown.
Right into the sudden ball of flame that surrounded them like an unpenetrable orange wall of death.
The crackle of the fireball and the sounds of the dying filled the air as the swordsman turned around with a derisive sniff, sheathing his sword with a steely rustle.
"Pathetic," he snorted, his breathy voice barely audible in the cacophony of the living barbecue behind him.
The guide from the village that hired him came running up, young, pockmarked face bright with excitement and undisguised adoration. "Wow, Sir Greywars!! You beat them good!!" Dryn accentuated his words with several punches in the air. "One-two, just like that!"
Zelgadis walked past the boy, not even looking back. "Don't call me 'Sir'," came the cold reply. "I'm not a knight."
Like most hero-worshippers, Dryn was not the least bit put off by Zelgadis's unfriendly attitude. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect. He trailed after the indigo and white clad figure, vividly recounting the entire fight, complete with exaggeration and sound effects.
It took all of Zel's willpower to not clout the boy over the head.
He was relieved when he spotted the glowing lights of the village ahead on the hill, raising his pace and nervously tugging on the cowl covering his head even lower to his conspicuous features.
Humans do not appreciate the strange.
Several of the villagers, including the Headmaster Saman, were at the gate to greet their warrior's return. Faces lit up when they spotted the mercenary, knowing that it meant he had defeated the troop of goblins.
Dryn's boisterous babbling as he ran up past Zelgadis confirmed their suspicions.
Zelgadis's arm twitched as he entertained a fantasy concerning his fist and Dryn's face. But, he kept his cool, just as he had been taught.
Saman gazed up at the quiet mercenary, stroking his long, white beard. "Your payment is in my hut, Master Greywars. Must you leave tonight? The goblins will most certainly return again."
Zelgadis paused. He had been here for three days and had already warded off eight hordes of goblins that threatened to sweep this tiny village away.
But the pay was poor and he had to continue his quest.
Zel shook his head. "My decision stands, Headmaster. Warui."
Saman sighed but did not argue. "Follow me then." He turned on his heel and stamped along wearily, each heavy step driving a nail into Zelgadis's conscience.
Scowling, Zel shoved down the guilt and followed the headmaster, falling into step beside the short one. Quietly, Dryn took up the rear, eyes fixed on his newfound idol while the idol tried his best to ignore his newfound worshipper.
"Perhaps if you knew why the goblins are bothering you more than usual the month, you'll find a way to prevent their coming," Zel suggested, more to be rid of his guilt than to be of any real help.
Saman glanced up at the mercenary, eyes thoughtful. "You're right! We are a poor village. They surely aren't raiding us for goods, what with so many other villages richer than we....." He fell silent, utterly lost in his contemplation.
"Perhaps they are after the mountain's treasure, ojiisan?" Dryn piped up suddenly, jarringly.
Saman jumped at the sound of Dryn's voice, clutching his chest and gasping, beard bristling at all ends like a cat's tail.
"Uh.... ojiisan?"
Saman whirled on the sheepish boy, shoving himself up on tiptoe so that he was nose to nose with Dryn.
"DON'T YOU DARE SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!!!!!" came the roar so fiercely that even Zelgadis stepped away from the rampaging headmaster and wisely put his attention elsewhere, whistling silently.
Dryn cowered, falling backward from the force of the CAPS. "I-I-I'm sorry, ojiis-s-san!" he managed to stutter out before quivered in fear from the fires igniting in Saman's eyes.
Then: "Uh, ojiisan..... your eyebrows are on fire."
Zelgadis rolled his eyes as the chieftain jumped around, patting his face frantically in an effort to smite the blaze. The mercenary extended a hand down to Dryn. "What's this 'mountain's treasure'?"
"Well, supposedly, long ago, the Goddess sent a messenger to Ishima-san, there on the horizon, and sealed one of four great treasures within its depths," Dryn explained, hauling himself up with Zel's help and sweatdropping as Saman continued to howl about his eyebrows until a helpful villager whipped out a fire extinguisher and blasted him with it.
"....treasure?" Zelgadis pressed, ignoring the drama unfolding behind him.
An affirmative nod. "I don't know much other than that it's really powerful."
A powerful relic.... Zel mused, eyes seeking out the mountain of Ishima in the far west. So it is in Ishima-san! The glorious power that shall end my affliction is near.
On that thought, Zelgadis turned to Saman to demand his pay and abruptly stopped, sighing in irritation as the sight of the nearly frozen form of the chieftain greeted him. He would not be getting his payment anytime soon.
The village was poor anyway and the payment was little. He could do without.
Patting Dryn on the head, he brushed past the boy and out the village without another word. Behind, the loud chatter of the fold could be heard discussing potential ways of defrosting their unfortunate headmaster.
Revenge. That's all I live for now. Revenge against those that destroyed me,
--shattered bodies, lying in the cold snow, ribbons of crimson staining the pristine white--
destroyed my master. Every single one will pay. Everyone on this planet will pay. The gods themselves shall pay for dealing me
--loneliness, bitter aching, consuming like an unquenchable fire--
this hand in my living death. A relic of power. My freedom.
He shifted position in his makeshift shelter on the streets of Khemali, hugging his knees to his chest as he glared at the rain pounding hard into the cobblestones.
Others are after it now. Heh. No matter. Only I know how to use
--powerful, gleaming, created by the half-mad prophet of the Goddess, its blood contained the very essence of the gods--
it. And only I know that the Gooru Nova is need to harvest
--sacrifice--
it. Tomorrow I begin my
--final--
mission.
Water seeped through the cracks of the wood over his head, dripping onto him and down his face. He made no motion to wipe off the drops.
Forcing me to live in this miserable existence. Everyone shares the guilt. No person shall be above my anger. All are to blame.
Thunder crashed in the black night sky overhead, as if to accentuate his thoughts.
For tearing apart the Ryuu Senshi
--snow falling softly like a flurry of feathers, burying the corpses in makeshift cairns--
and taking my Garv-sama from me, everyone will suffer.
The ruffian continued to stare at the falling drops of water, fantasizing about the day when it will all be finished.
The young man lit the candle with a strike of the flint and steel, placing the candleholder upon the floor. Very carefully he lifted a long, wrapped bundle from a shelf and sat on the floor, undoing the bindings and gently pulling off the cloth.
It was his secret, to come to the cellar late at night and gaze upon the wondrous, almost magical beauty of the sword he now held in his hands. He had found it accidentally one day when searching for a jar of pickles and had ecstatically shown it to his father, who was shocked and upset. Gourry's father immediately ordered him to replace the sword back on the shelf in the cellar and to never touch it again until he was ready to accept the responsibility that came with it.
Gourry didn't like to disobey his father, but the calling of the blade was too much to resist.
Grasping the grey hilt, he drew the weapon from its sheath, watching the golden light of the candle play on the silver, double-edged blade.
Standing, he took a practiced swing with it, grinning as it sliced at some invisible enemy. No stranger to the dance of the blades, Gourry had been taught the ancient art form by his father, who some have rumored to have been a successful mercenary earlier in life.
Now, Gourry began to furiously fight with his unseen enemy, blue eyes glittering with a childish excitement.
Suddenly, his foot caught on the edge of a box and he went flying wildly, crashing into a stack of shelves filled with various foodstuffed jars, smashing them and tumbling to the floor with the splinters of wood and shards of glass with a loud crash.
Downstairs, the dogs barked at the sudden noise that shattered the silence of the night.
Sitting up in the pile of wood and glass, Gourry grinned sheepishly at the pitchfork pointed in his face and at the surprised look of his father at the other end.
"Whoops."
As dawn broke over the horizon, Zelgadis took a good look at his surroundings, noting how this part of the forest suddenly seemed very familiar.
It should, since he had been at this place an hour earlier, and before that, two hours.
".............."