THE PATH OF KANE
HIGH TOWN
In the dark of night, where clouds hide clear of the stars and yet the stars let their absence known. Freya laughs with rejoice of victory and reward.
In her hand floats a diamond shaped crystal. It floats with smaller shards around it, shining clearly like a mirror.
A chill wind, heaven-kissed, whips through her hair. Hightown's elevated perch, a crown upon the land, grants it this airy proximity.
The city, a sprawling presence, dominates the very hill that shoulders half the nation.
Unfortunately, the other half sinks lower than it should, sliding downwards so those at the top half and their neighbouring nation may look down at them.
Freya breathes in its welcoming air, letting it go deep into her lungs before exhaling with calm. The sunrise appears behind her, set on its daily journey towards Volantis, in the west.
She maintains a measured flight, gliding above a patchwork of architectural styles.
Her gaze, deliberately averted from Halfdan the lower parts of High Town, sweeps across the humbler dwellings of High Town's tower tiers.
She journeys to a realm of spring, needle-spired architecture, where a frigid, magical aura permeates the air.
The spectacle elevates this land, rendering all other nations in Ignis pale in comparison.
She can see the stream that flows from Heavenstone, the parts sitting geographically on high altitudes, to Halfdan and through into Rolandia.
She flies forward into the largest citadel in Heavenstone, the capital and throne-sit for all of High Town, Eastmarch.
She flies over the walls as she is used to.
Waving at the first watch as they protect the gates.
She flies, diving directly towards the ends of the capital until she reaches a castle made with articulate brilliance. A mile different from the other beauty buildings that surround Heavenstone.
She alights on the courtyard balcony. Below, a young man tends a vibrant lawn, his movements a gentle rhythm among graceful flowers.
An elven looking man, bare chested, a length of white silk draped low about his waist.
A gold earring glitter on one ear as he turns to offer a smile at Freya, "Hey baby", he says, "My love. I have brought something for you. I think with this the king will allow us to get married", Freya says with joy written on her features.
Trying her best not to jump hard so she doesn't let the floating shards of crystal fall out of her invincible grip.
"Freya, what is this?", the man asks.
Freya runs to hug him, taking a whiff of his scent while she clings to his fair body.
"Don't you see what this is Alaric? This is our ticket to being together forever. No longer hiding", she stands on her toes as she looks into the brown eyes of the taller of the two.
Before Alaric can spew words another falls louder in their ears, "Get away from the prince. Seize her", a man screams and gives order to guards who storm out from their positions and approach Freya.
"My king", she bows her head, "What is going on father?", Alaric questions his father. Tall, chin covered in brown and grey beards, he frowns.
"Are you going to turn on us too, Freya? You are under arrest for staging an attack on Rolandia without a royal order. Confiscate that thing", he snarls.
Alaric stand between the guards and Freya, "As your prince I order you to stand down", he says, causing a pause in their movements, "Step aside Alaric!", his father stamps his feet on the ground.
"She can cause a war between nations", he says.
Alaric turns and looks into Freya's eyes, "Tell me my love, is it true? Did you attack Rolandia?".
"I..I…I _ I did it for us", she says and he gasps. Turning his eyes away from her, while her features crumble into sadness.
"Seize her and that relic", the king orders and Alaric stands aside for them to take Freya away.
The guards surround her, she wants to fight them for she can but the look in Alaric's eyes welcomes weakness into her joints.
She lets them take her away, separating her from her hard fought prize.
The King collects the relic from the guards and disappears into his chambers.
Warriors, masters of steel and spell, stand guard at his chamber. The massive, obsidian doors close soundlessly behind him, sealing him within.
Eyes fall heavy upon a sickly figure who lies on the royal bed. Sweat dripping down the figure's face while green veins appear on her pale skin.
"My love", the King calls onto his sickly wife.
"You have it", another says, creeping from the shadows behind the thin curtains around the bed.
Her body is covered in a dark cloak, "Yes, I have the relic. Can this save her?", "Yes my King. I will begin the ritual immediately".
ROLANDIA
Chest heaves up and down as body tolerates swift movements from left to right, forward and backward, sword dashing in and out with each swing, at attempt to fetch blood from his opponent's flesh.
Breeze caresses his silver hair as he slithers through each attack from his opponent's weapon.
Weariness calls to him but not out of weak flesh but rather a drowsy mind.
Kane feels sapped, he does this to survive but his mind is far from present events.
His opponent, a creature with much resemblance to his size.
Pink of skin with scars to prove his worth as a gladiator. Fast-footed he moves like a hare, jumping and moving from side to side.
A strategy similar and yet different to Kane's.
The gladiator holds double pick axes as his weapons, using them to dent Kane's shield with every attack.
Kane finds himself in a pickle, for a while he has been used to being an underdog, fighting opponents much larger than himself but this gladiator is much like him, standing at 5'6 feet with hooves for feet.
Little cheers echo like a the sounds of a fallen pin in an almost empty arena.
The winds are kind but the crowd is not as they scream for blood to cure their boredom.
Just as Kane lunges an attack a banana peel comes off from the audience and lands just beneath his feet, causing a fall that will almost cause him his life.
The pink skin swings down with a heavy blow, aiming for his head, a beautiful and ending hole he would love to create but Kane's shield comes across his face.
Preventing a swift end.
"Come on, let go of the shield. Be an honourable gladiator, let us give the people blood", his opponent snarls with an eerie smile.
"Yeah, fuck you", Kane tries to push back but his back on the floor puts him at a disadvantage.
The pickaxe breaks through the shield and its pointy edge lands beside his face, Kane grits his teeth, but unfortunately the next pain he feels breaks the anger building in him.
He screams as he feels another pointy edge enter his thigh, "That is it, scream for me. You must think this is an exhibition match, we are gladiators.
We fight to the death", the pink skin pulls out his weapon from the shield and swings downward to land a blow that would end him forever.
A fate that will not be granted.
In his pain, he vanishes into thin air as the pink skin's axe lands into the ground, "What the fuck?", his brow-less eyes rise up in confusion only to have his head relieved from his shoulders as Kane swings from behind.
A pink ball of irritation rolls down to the floor, blood trickling from the end of its neck as tongue dangles like a wounded snake.
"Fuck, that is disgusting", Kane mutters and walks out of the arena, paying no attention to the crowd as they shout in awe.
Not a glorious sight, yet one that would still bring warmth to the hearts of most gladiators but not him.
All he feels is an emptiness yet unspoken.
Kane walks with head low as he goes under the colosseum, through the gates connected to the arena, mind shackled by problems unknown.
His memory of his old world absent and yet a longing for it remains stuck in his mind like a nail hard hit into a wood.
A shadow comes over him as he sits on the ground with eyes to the ground.
He lifts his chin, meeting Braga's scorn with a steady look, "You are a warrior. Shame has no place in the arena nor on any field of battle.
Carry it and one day you will lose your life. our leg should be enough lesson" he says and strides away into the arena, a figure of purpose against the shifting sands, ready for his own fight.
Kane looks down at his bleeding leg. What will be his fate with such a scattered mind? He must face his struggles lest he loses himself to a world of insanity.
This is the path of Kane, this is his fate.