[Flashback] In the Dead of Night [Solo]

[Rorugir]

Timestamp: 59th Summer 511 A.V. The man was furious. He stormed down the dimly-lit hall with the hard stride of his people, the weak light glinting off his massive, dark grey, arm. Clean-cut black hair, streaked with blue, fell down the man's thin, rugged face. The robe the man wore was a deep shade of grey, with a silver flame stitched into the heavy fabric.His fellow isur traversing the underground hallway noticed the symbol; they moved to the side, making room for him. But the man paid them no heed; his attention was focused only on his destination, and what awaited him there. The twisting corridors of the Pitrius citadel were not exactly friendly to tourists, but then, neither was Sultros itself. The man managed the tricky turns and twists with a ease that only comes with being born to such a thing. Within minutes, he reached a door, in which one simple word was inscribed, in the language of isur; Steelrune. The man barely paused to open the door, flinging the heavy aperture open with his ponderous left arm easily. He flowed into the main chamber of the Steelrune household like an angry storm, approaching land. A woman was sitting at the dining room table. The man's eyes flickered over her with barely a glance, obviously looking for something else. Without a word, he passed by the woman, striding into the rooms that lay behind; when he returned with a frustrated look on his face, it was clear his search had yielded no results. "Where is the boy?" he spat out, in the harsh language of the mountainfolk. The woman looked up. Steady black eyes looked out from a face of classic beauty, noble cheekbones thrust forward. Her head was framed by delicate strawberry-blond locks, cascading down to her shoulders. A gigantic right arm, as large and as dark as the man's left, marred her appearance somewhat, but she nonetheless maintained a fierce beauty about her figure. "Not here." she responded, in the same tongue. "Down in the practice room, I expect." The man snarled. Turning on his heel, he made to leave the room. A hoarse shout was torn from the woman's lips. "He's told me about his plans, Klaldir." she cried. "There's nothing you can do to stop him. He had your stubbornness." Klaldir Steelrune paused, one hand on the door. He looked back, and said, "I can do something, and I will, Elianel." "So you'll beat him into staying, is that it?" his wife replied bitterly. Klaldir's face was stony. "If a beating is what keep's that fool from leaving..." the man said, "...So be it." *** The Pitrius training grounds were not frequented much during the night. Not that telling night from day was particularly easy inside a mountain, but the mountainfolk's ways of timekeeping tended to distinguish between the two, even if the daytime and nighttime hours were skewed in terms of the rest of the world. In any case, the atrium was near-deserted at that hour. The practice dummies laid untouched, the targets were unmolested; no cry of joy as one landed their victorious blade split the air, nor did the sound of despair over having been beaten. However, one still prowled the large room, battleaxe in hand. He was young, or at least for an isur, probably being of fourty years of age, but having only matured half of them. The blue-black hair and dark eyes he possessed bespoke of his father, while the noble lines of his face bespoke of his mother. A battleaxe, painstakingly crafted from isurian steel, hung loosely in his right hand, head tilted to the side as he considered his targer; a straw practice dummy, clad in iron. Rorugir spent a moment examining his target, eyes looking for the weak spots in the armor. He had tried beforehand to pierce the armor, failing to do so not only once, but twice. His arm still hurt from the jolt of pain he'd felt on both occasions. Now, he examined his target with a healthy amount of wariness. A minute or so passed, and then, Rorugir struck. Like a wild cat, he leaped forward without a moment's notice, hand swinging to bring up the axe in a vicious arc. It collided with the dummy with a passion, hitting it with a loud clank that- "You petching idiot." The soft words, laced with poison as they were, made the young isur jump. He turned, instinctively bringing the axe to bear against this new foe. A grey hand, webbed with silver veins, intercepted the deadly weapon, one hand coming around the grasp the hilt (and crushing Rorugir's fingers) while a knee was brought up to hit Rorugir in his solar plexus. The young isur fell back, letting the weapon fall into the hands of his enemy. Klaldir grimaced. Eyebrows jutting, he approached his son, one hand gripping Ror's axe. "What do you think you're doing?" he spat.

[Rorugir]

The shame and humilation, moreso than anything else, was what made Rorugir stand back to his father, both literally and figuratively. "I'm just sparring." he said rebelliously. The older isur's lip curled. Without a single glance, he tossed the battleaxe behind him. "I didn't mean that, though it is a fool that turns his' father's blade against him. I meant this foolish decision to leave Sultros, so said." Rorugir jutted out his chin. "What's this so said part? I am leaving Sultros, I freely admit it. And nothing can stop me." His father laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "You are a fool, then! What do you plan to do? Make off into the woods, heading in a random direction?" The man bared his teeth in a gruesome smile. "Trust me, boy, you have no idea what your talking about. And, more than your apparent wish to kill yourself, you'll soil the family name! Give up this idiotic dream, Rorugir, before you condemn all of us to oblivion!" "No." That simple word, softly spoken, roused the man into a fury unlike anything seen before. He turned on the boy, a howl escaping his dark lips. One hand rose. Rorugir stood still, awaiting the blow. "Stop it!" The shrill, womanly, scream halted Klaldir in his tracks. His hand froze, the shout died down. "Stop it." Elianel repeated, quickly gaining ground on Klaldir and ripping him around to face her. "Don't you -dare- think about touching my son."

[Rorugir]

"Mother..." Rorugir murmured, but a quick glance silenced him. "What do you think you are doing, Elianel?!" Klaldir hissed. "I'm trying to do what's best for our family! I'm trying to stop him from leaving!" "Not that way, you won't." She shot back. "Hitting him will just make him want to leave more!" "At least I'm doing something about this. You seem content to let him leave and soil the Steelrune name!" "Stop, you two." Rorugir's voice, laced with steel, made his parents heads turn around. "I'm leaving, and that is final. Nothing you can say can stop me." Silence descended on the trio. Klaldir's eyes tightened into slits, his mouth drawn. "It seems reason will not work with you, you stupid, petching child." He said, each word echoing like a blow across the training grounds. "So be it. If you leave Sultros, you will be disowned from this family. We will not accept you back!" Klaldir left forthwith, leaving this ominous speech ringing and a malevolent glare in his place. Elianel glanced at her son. "My son..." The female isur spoke quietly, but the soft disappointment in her voice hurt Rorugir more than all of his father's threatening words. "...This is your choice to make, and yours alone. But, for my sake and yours, can't you decide to...stay?" Indecision rippled across the contours of Rorugir's face, and he turned away. "...No." Rorugir finally spoke, his voice sounding distant. "I cannot stay. I have been here for fourty years, mother. I need to get out! Out of Sultros, and to see what this world has to offer." Rorugir turned back, his eyes pleading. "Can't you see this?" "Yes." Elianel murmured. "But I fear what it will do to you, my child. It would be safer for you to remain here, with our family." "Safer...but worse for me." Elianel looked up at him. Silvery tears dotted the edges of her fierce eyes. "Reflect on what I have said, dear Rorugir. Decide what is best for our family." And then she too left, trailing after her husband. And then, Rorugir was alone, in the stark emptiness of the atrium, left to consult his fate by himself.

[Rorugir]

The Steelrune household had finally quieted down. Klaldir had filled the air with frostiness since his return, and tension crackled in the air. Elianel, shortly arriving afterwards, had taken a diffident seat, off to the side. And then they waited. When Rorugir showed back up at the set of rooms near the height of sleeping hours, there had been an awkward moment as Rorugir stared at his parents, and they had stared back. And then, Elianel, sobbing, had rushed forward and embraced him, and the tension had been broken. And now, both of Rorugir's parents were asleep, having collapsed into bed a little while after the Steelrune unit had been reunited. Klaldir had not spoken to him since the fight in the training room, but his icy exterior had seemed to cracked somewhat. The path of trust, which Rorugir had been thrust off so violently before, was starting to be tread once more. It was this that made Rorugir's next actions all the harder for him. The isur crept out of his room on silent feet, a canvas bag on his back. A letter, crumpled by his clenched fingers, lay in the palm of one hand, the other handling the axe he had been practicing with before. He peered anxiously across the darkened common room before moving in the direction of his parent's bedroom. Creak...the hinges squeaked quietly as Ror entered. The bedroom of his parents was much grander than Rorugir's own, as befitting their position. The bed opposite the door was large and elaborate, a four-poster berth with antique cloths. Elianel and Klaldir, occupying opposite sides of the bed, slept fitfully on them. The young isur crept forward. He drew close to his parents on Elianel's side of the bedstead. Quietly settling alongside her sleeping form, he began fumbling with the letter, meaning to put it on the bedside table. His mother's breathing stopped suddenly. Ror froze. The next couple of seconds seemed to last lifetimes. And then, slowly, forcefully, Elianel's slow breathing began once more. She was still asleep. Rorugir forced himself to keep the relieved breath inside his mouth. Instead, he continued with his task. Setting the sheaf of paper of down, he carefully positioned the letter on the table. Finally, task completed, Rorugir retreated from the room, scurrying away into the darkness. When Elianel woke up the next morning, the letter would be the first thing she saw. It would be torn open with trembling hands, and inside it read- Dear Mother, I'm sorry, but I must pursue my own path. Thank you, for everything. - Rorugir And then the tears would flow.

[Rorugir]

Later... Timestamp: 62nd Summer 511 A.V. "You want me to do what?" The merchant looked skeptically at Rorugir, one hand playing with the hem of his jacket. Was this some sort of joke? The human's eyes narrowed - this didn't look like one of the other isur he had seen around Sultros in any of his past experiences. He'd passed through the Stalwart Highway on several different occasions, the copper medallion emblazoned with the symbol of a cart attesting to that fact; and he had yet to encounter a isur with a black arm. And one seeming damned tired at that. Rorugir shifted from one foot to the other, breathing heavily. It had been three days since his departure from the Pitrius citadel, it having taken him that amount of time to reach the Sultros citadel and come here. Money had shifted hands in order for him to reach here, and while he was loath to spare any more of the money he had taken with him when he left, he knew he would have to cough up a couple more to convince the merchant to do what he wanted. "Listen, I just want to travel with your caravans for a bit. I won't even be with you for very long." Just enough to get away from here. The man was still looking at him suspiciously. Rorugir sighed and reached into his pocket. "Look, there'll be some good money for you. Just simply provide a bed and whatever else you give your laborers, and I'll reward you greatly." The offer was backed up by the cool metal Rorugir retrieved from his pocket to show the man. At the sight and sound of such riches, the man's attitude changed completely. "Oh, in that case, I'm sure we can work something out! You'll just need to...you know...pay up front." "What?!" The man made a face of sympathy that made it look like there was nothing he could do about the situation. It was a face he was quite good at. "I'm sorry, but I do that with all my deals." That was utter bullshit, and Rorugir knew it. However, there was nothing he could really do about it. Rorugir separated a good number of coin and handed it into the hands of the merchant. Damn. That would only leave him with barely enough to sustain himself. The man spent a couple of minutes fiddling with the coins, then tucked them into a copious pocket. "That'll do nicely." He said, satisfied. "I'm sure we have we'll have a bunk open...for about a quarter of a season." The man spared Ror a smug look. "You're just in time. The caravans are going to leave, and soon. With or without you." Without providing further details, the man left, walking down the citadel corridor with a strut. He passed through a door leading to the mountains, bright light shining in the dimly-lit corridor; and then the door closed once more. Ror looked after him helplessly. He couldn't help but think there was something he could have done so he wasn't in such a bad way. So much money, for only a quarter of a season of travel! This was hardly what he had pictured...but, no. Rorugir pinched his lips together. There was nothing he could do now. He would just have to make do. He made to follow the man, all the way up to the door. And then, his hand paused on the handle, and Rorugir looked back. The path he was on now led out of this door and out of Sultros for back. The way back, though... His hand resting on the handle trembled, and Rorugir looked away. No. It was time for him to go. Time for him to find his own destiny. His own fame. Rorugir opened the door, and walked away into the open sunlight. FIN