Fic - Heroes Are Born (Oneshot)
Monday, September 8th, 2014 06:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfowlgirl posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
mindcracklove(also, if there could possibly be a self-harm tag made? this fic contains it in one paragraph (nothing graphic), so trigger warning.)
have a fic.
The inscription was scrawled across the floor, remnants of the white chalk scattering in the night’s cool breeze. Rob did not get up from his seat on the floor to close the tower’s windows, instead using his one free hand to gather his cloak tighter around himself. The only light this far up was the glow of his candles - one at each corner of the insignia, wafting gently in the wind and casting a soft glow upon Rob’s face.
Content that the setup for the ritual matched exactly with his book, he placed it off to one side. Shifting the edge of his cloak out of his way, he then pulled back the sleeve of his right arm. With his left, he drew a sharpened iron sword. It was quick, but not painless; he grit his teeth as the warm blood began to flow. Two fingers at a time, he took the red liquid and traced the it carefully over the white chalk.
As he finished the last line, the pattern began to glow eerily. The lights of the candles burned slowly from their familiar orange to an ominous blue. The breeze stopped, suddenly, yet the tower grew cold.
Rob did as the book instructed, and said The Words.
“Od lif a voh dirna viv’re!”
The blue flames grew large and slowly blended together, a swirling mass of flame in the center of the room that lit the blood rune beneath it. The rune evaporated before the candles themselves went out, their flame taking a loose shape - a dragon? Rob wondered - and it, too, went up in a flash of light.
When Willakers could see again, a man stood - floated - before him, doubled over in laughter. “I can’t believe that caught on!” he snorted. “Calling yourself a big, fat baby in the Ancient Language isn’t a part of the ritual, but it’s always funny.”
For a supposedly immortal demigod of limitless (or near limitless) power, he wasn’t much to behold. Shaggy brown hair draped down just past his shoulders, hanging wild and yet impeccably well kept. The being’s clothing was simple and black, long sleeves and long pants made of a silk-like fabric. He had jewelry as well, a gold necklace and bracelets and belt and crown, all with matching rubies glittering in a dim light that seemed to emanate from the being himself.
Perhaps the oddest thing was the mask that covered his face. It was a pristine white, the color of marble, or quartz, yet was dulled and dinged slightly, creating the illusion of age. His eyes were black pits, only large dots the same color as the blood still dripping from Rob’s arm resembling anything like pupils. Rob could not read his expression beneath the mask, it just smiled blankly at him - and, somehow, the being beneath it did as well.
Rob stared at the being before him, clearly considerably…. less than he had been expecting. “You’re Zat’thumal?”
“I was,” the being considered. “In your tongue, though, I think you’d call me ‘Deadbones’. Nice to meet you...” He bowed, then checked a little black book that appeared suddenly in one hand. “Robert Bruce Willakers. Hm. Is it okay if I call you ‘Willy’, or does that remind you of your traumatic childhood?”
At Rob’s look, he rolled his dot-eyes, slamming the book shut before it disappeared. He waved his other arm, the gash on Rob’s arm vanishing as well. “Now,” he pulled up a chair, still hovering contentedly. “How can I help you today, ‘master’?”
Willakers was quiet for a moment, stuck somewhere between deep thought and disbelief. “You. You are the Dark Dragon of Death, Bringer of the Helltimes, Instigator of the Great Wars and Champion of That-Which-Lies-Beyond?”
“That I am.” The chair relaxed a bit, despite not looking much like a recliner. “I’ve been to many places, lived many lives. Been summoned hundreds of times over thousands of years to idiots who had no idea what they were doing and was blamed for all their faults… and then locked away, at the end of the day, as ‘instigator’.”
“‘Take everything he says with a grain of salt and a pinch of sugar’,” Rob murmured, thinking back to the book that rested in the corner.
“Consider who it’s written by,” Deadbones shrugged. “Though I could use those same words for you, considering your track record.”
His ‘master’ opened his mouth only to bite back a sharp retort, quickly remembering another passage from the beginning of the book.
Demigods are demons, and you should always be considerate with a demon.
“I require,” he began, choosing his next words carefully, “not money, or power. I have given my life to this keep, saved it countless times, done all my people could ask for…”
“Yet you want more.”
Rob nodded. “I wish to be a hero.”
“A hero! How noble. Surely you of all people realize that you’re already a hero in the eyes of your brothers and friends.”
“I -” he struggled for a minute, “I want to be the hero of songs! Known throughout the land, in tales passed down through the ages! I don’t want all I’ve done to be for nothing.”
“All for nothing,” the demigod tsked quietly. “I know the feeling. ...You’re sure this is what you want?”
“I’m sure.”
Deadbones nodded, making no other movement after save his eyes - they spiraled once through the colors of the rainbow, then settled back on red. “It’s done. I’ll come back tomorrow and check on things. Congratulations, Willakers, your life of a hero is about to begin.”
He flickered and vanished in a puff of dragon-shaped smoke.
---
Rob’s eyes flew open, his body drenched in a cold sweat. “Wh - are they - what - was it all a dream?” He sat up in bed, taking a moment for breath before continuing his train of thought. “There were… there were zombies, and skeletons, and creepers… the wall fell, the shrine fell…” I fell, he added silently.
“It wasn’t a dream!” chirped Deadbones, who was suddenly laying beside him in bed. “You wanted to be a hero, so now you’ll become one. Think of it, what better way to be a hero than the one who survived the Great Siege?”
“I survived?”
“Of course not,” his companion laughed. “Which is why you’ll do it again until you get it right.”
“I’ll do it… again.”
“Yep! I figured I’d make it easier on you, this time. Maybe it’ll go faster, too. I might pop in, it looked like fun. Here.” He reached beneath the bed, producing a glittering golden sword and a newly strung bow and setting them before Willakers.
Rob eyed him warily before picking up the weapons. Excaliju was the name inscribed on the sword’s side, some ancient word he didn’t understand, no doubt (likely some ancient insult). It weighed perfectly in his grip, the edge almost impossibly sharp, surprisingly strong for something crafted from gold. He placed it back down delicately before looking to the other. He knew what the bow’s name meant instantly. Virendra.
“It’ll give you less to worry about this time! Running down the hall, shouting her name. Eeech. Surprise everyone else didn’t go deaf.”
“You turned my wife into a bow?” He wanted to scream, but instead stared at it in his shocked silence.
“Guaranteed to last forever,” Deadbones promised. “Or beyond your lifetime, anyway. How many other people can say that about their wives?”
The question hung in the air for a moment.
“I don’t suppose,” Rob clenched one fist. “I can take this all back?”
He got no response save a quiet chuckle and a flash of light.
And now he just…
Just had to get it right.
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Date: Monday, September 8th, 2014 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, September 9th, 2014 12:29 am (UTC)This was fantastic! <3
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Date: Tuesday, September 9th, 2014 12:35 am (UTC)I could have sworn there was warning: mention of/ self harm tag, guess not though. :/
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Date: Tuesday, September 9th, 2014 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Tuesday, September 9th, 2014 09:29 pm (UTC)