Private Tales Not So Different

[Ademar Acero]

The Spine
​

From the east he belonged, but his memories of those years were blurry and hard to reminisce. All he could remember were mountains beyond the eye could see; everlasting until one ventured west to the Allir Reach. Mountains and...warriors. That’s all he could remember from his memories, memories that belonged to him many years ago before he stepped foot in Falwood. Stepping foot into Falwood brought the worse to his life, but he accepted it and was fine with it.

Was he fine with it?

Since meeting Zana he saw there was more to life than what he knew which was very narrow and rigid. More than just killing, although he welcomed it as a familiar friend.

Many of his peers were born in Vel Anir or a city underneath its umbrella. His magic was one that interested the Proctors as they had never seen it before. They were also interested in Ademar as much as his magic, and they gave him special attention. Attention that brought great suffering as they exploited him, pushing him beyond his limits in order to shape a Dreadlord that could bring walls to their knees and crush battalions in a single stroke.

No Dreadlord, at least to his knowledge, had ever ventured east beyond Alliria, but he’d go beyond that. He was granted a leave to go do whatever he desired.

Home was what he desired, or at least what he thought it was.

“Figured it be fucking cold,” atop of a group of mountains with his horse. Only a blanket to give him warmth.

 

[Thren]

Thren leaned against one of the few trees hearty enough to survive the mountain climates, his head sunk back against the wood and his armor scattered in pieces just besides him.

Two knives of black steel were stabbed into the tree trunk above him, the blades resting in the wood as though they had been there for many years. At his feet lay a massive hound the size of a small horse, it's muzzle rested on his legs.

It had been a long time since he'd been home, longer since he'd been allowed a moment of rest.

The Siruk traveled among the mountains of the Spine like a river flowed. They never took one single home, never built a city or even a village. Theirs was a nomadic way of life, but Thren knew that in a few days time his people would arrive at this very clearing.

It was a popular spot, and one that they returned to once or twice every year in order to set up a small festival of sorts. At least that's what it would have been called in most civilized places. For the Siruk it was little more than a few days of celebration and a feast.

This would be the first he attended in a decade.

 

[Ademar Acero]

He didn’t really know exactly where he was going. No sense of direction, nothing in the slightest. All he was looking for was a sign; a symbol he can go off by. Something that could trigger his memories to show him the way.

Ademar was looking for someone or a group of people, that much knew. Where could they be? There was a lot of ground to cover especially when it was stubborn terrain as rocky hills and stony mountains.

There were barely any trees. How can a people live off with this kind of terrain and atmosphere? It was impossible. He was starting to get worried which evolved into frustration.

“Fuck’s sake, give me a sign or something.” Even strange cloud shapes would do the trick.

Then he saw a man with what appeared to be an animal companion, a dog of some sort. It’s been some time since he encountered a living sentient which brought some comfort to him. He was also alone and just happened to relax with his head and back against the tree.

“You. What exactly are you doing up here,” very classic of Ademar with his greetings. He cared less about pleasantries. Direct and straight to the point, no need to beat around the bush. A trait that pissed off many folks, probably would upset this man as well.

 

[Thren]

Thren was chewing on a piece of hard-tack, frowning slightly as the boy interrupted his peace and quiet with a rather rude question. "Waiting."

Larik, the hound, quietly poked his head up and looked over towards Ademar. A glance was spared for Thren, and when his master did not move Larik deigned to put his head back in it's more restful position. Thren reached down and patted his head.

He sighed and leaned back.

"What are you doing up here?" The Barbarian asked. "Searching for a smile?"

The boy could certainly use one.

 

[Ademar Acero]

Waiting for what? Waiting until he got the urge to get up and move around?

The man just seemed cryptic. One thing Ademar disliked were riddles and ominous things. It was so much easier to just understand things at its simplest form.

Searching a smile? What?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” he retorted with anger in his voice. The man seemed much older than him, he probably could take him down which his own arrogance made him believe.

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

Anymore comments like that would definitely urge him to fight. Was at the boiling point of it.

 

[Thren]

"It means you have a very grumpy disposition." The Barbarian informed the ragey young man, petting his dog on the head.

A yawn passed his lips.

He wondered briefly what had gotten the boy so upset, but he knew that most young men were filled with about as much piss and vinegar as they could handle. His head lolled to the side for a few moments, and he wondered if he should even bother answering.

"I'm waiting for my people." He told the lad. "They'll be here today, or tomorrow."

Thren glanced at the sun. "We've never been all that punctual."

 

[Ademar Acero]

"It seems like your people lack discipline," the lad retorted back at the man, trying to get at his nerves by insulting the man's heritage. That got people riled up, right? Unknowingly, Ademar was criticizing and insulting his own people. Part of him remembered that his roots belonged to a people of great warriors, and a great warrior was disciplined and never tardy; or at least that is what he was taught.

"It would seem that your people are sloths and freeloaders like you," he boldly said to the man, making a gesture towards Thren with his own hands at the calm and tranquil barbarian.

"Why meet here in these mountains? Why not a city or a village?" It was archaic for groups of people to not settle down when bound by an idea or a culture. Every known culture to the world had at least some sort of establishment. Didn't have to be a grand kingdom, but something people could call home.

 

[Thren]

Thren shrugged. "An apt description of I've ever heard one."

The Siruk weren't really lazy, they just liked doing things their own way. That meant people around other people was, for the most part, not really within their wheelhouse. Sure they could stand it, but why bother when every idiot fuck acted like the man in front of him.

"But." He said as he closed his eyes. "I don't remember asking for your opinion so why don't you fuck off to whatever city you came from."

Thren wasnt sitting here to give a history lesson to some punk kid, and he most certainly wasn't going to take being insulted.

 

[Ademar Acero]

That was the last straw.

“I’ve had enough of your words,” he said harshly and violently, his hands went to a pouch of his belt to grab a simple small block of iron. It was useless in its current state, but to him it held great value. Ademar began to absorb it, feeling it strengthening his muscles specifically in his arms.

The Dreadlord marched to Thren with intent of attacking him. It shouldn’t take a long time for him to handle this man. He seemed like an ordinary barbarian. What was Thren compared to Ademar? For Ademar nothing, but little did he know that this man shared something in common to him.

“Let’s see if your words have any weight now!”

 

[Thren]

Thren spotted the magic.

It was hard to miss your in talent when someone displayed it, especially when they did it like an amateur. The change should have been faster, smoother. It was almost like the boy hadn't actually been taught what to do.

A frown pulled across Thren's lips, and his hand scrunched in the grass. There was a sudden shift, and his entire body lightened in an instant, the blades of grass around him falling to the earth as they took on the weight of a man.

In an instant Thren was standing, moving with no weight to himself at all and stepping to the charging Ademar's side. "Neat trick, kid."

The Barbarian said with a smirk.

 

[Ademar Acero]

The charge came with a punch, a punch that the barbarian swiftly evaded with grace as he stepped to the side. Ademar’s first made contact with the tree, shaking it and making a dent into its hide. The barbarian seemed agile and quick for his build, impressive if it was all natural.

He was confused by his words. Trick? What trick? Unless he meant...

No time to ponder on those words. Ademar already committed to the attack and he’d finish the job.

“Shut up,” he said with frustration as he dug his hands into the damaged bark of the tree before ripping out a chunk and throwing it at Thren.

How’s that for a trick?

 

[Thren]

Thren reached up and snapped the chunk of wood as in an instant his boot planted on a boulder stuck within the ground.

Weight returned to him in an instant, and there was a loud crash as the shattering of splinters washed over the Barbarians armor. Shoulders rolled in a shrug of his shoulders, and he let out a yawn as he moved with more weight. "Come on."

He told the lad.

"Where are you from, boy?" Thren prompted. "The westlands?"

The magic was there, he'd seen it.

 

[Ademar Acero]

The Barbarian was toying with him. Testing him and not making this a big deal, treating Ademar like a pushover. It was obvious the man had magic in him, but what kind? Even beings with magic he could conquer, but none had been like this.

He made no answer to his question, only glaring at him with intent to be victorious.

His hands made contact with the earth, absorbing it for the intent of bending it to his will. The earth would rumble underneath their feet as Ademar commanded it to entrap Thren’s feet to remove his mobility and make him a punching bag.

“Fucking die!” Frustration and anger was in his voice, emotions that were clouding his thoughts and tactics.