Alexander Khri'pher (3) All the tiger said after that was, “No, I’ll do it.” Kryn nodded, stood up and stepped back. Alexander leaned down, slid his arms under Dolmen’s lifeless body, picking his father up without any trouble. He started to walk forward, a single tear rolling down his muzzle, and the crowd around him parted, giving him a clear path. Everybody watched Alexander as he carried his father off the field and towards the village, even the bear that was still in pain from Alexander's retaliation. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The bottom of Alexander’s black and red, (the collors of the draconis village), ceremonial funeral robes floated in the knee deep water as he stood next to the raft that held his father. His sword was strapped behind his back except now it had ceremonial black and red ribbon wrapt around the sheath ad handle. Dolmen was dressed in full armor, as was his wish for his funeral. Twigs and oil surrounded his body, and a thin rope fastened his raft to the shore. All of the surviving knights, Trent, and the other squires were dressed as Alexander was and standing just behind the small raft, facing the ocean. Each of their weopons, no matter what they were, were wrapped in red and black ribbon. Alexander turned to face the small crowd of friends of family that had gathered on the shore for General Dolmen’s funeral and drew in a deep breath. “My father was a great man,” Alexander started, trying his best not to cry. “He taught me and many others everything he knew. He was the greatest knight I’ve ever laid eyes on. He sacrificed his life for the lives of every person in this village, for in his mind; his life was nothing but a protector for all of your lives. He was so kind to me. When my mother died, he didn’t give up on taking care of me. His one and only wish was that he was burned at sea, and we shall now grant that wish, in payment for everything he did for all of us.” Alexander walked back to the rope, reached up, and delicately drew his sword. He positioned it right over the rope. As he raised his sword he whispered, “Fare well, father.” In one stroke he snapped the rope in half and the raft began to float out to sea. Kryn stepped up to Alexander and handed him a long bow and a lit torch arrow. When Dolmen’s raft got about fifty yards out to sea, Alexander knocked the arrow, pulled it back and aimed. He flawlessly let the arrow loose and it hit its intended target perfectly. Dolmen’s raft flickered to life with fire. Alexander said one final silent prayer, handed the bow back to Kryn and walked up on to the shore. The small crowd parted to let him through as he stormed off the beach. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Back in the village, Alexander went back to his house and into his father’s old armory. Though it was a slightly small room, it held a lot of his father’s various weapons and what not. The walls were covered with an uncountable amount of types of weapons; swords, axes, hallabirds, everything. In the center of the room was a set of Dolmen’s armor, hanging on a post meant for displaying a knight’s out fit. Alexander roamed around the room for a moment before finally coming to the center peace. Without thinking he drew his dagger, dropped to his knees, and placed the knife at his chest. Just as he was about to fallow through with suicide, he herd a deep voice from somewhere in the room. “Son, don’t do that. Your time isn’t up yet.” Alexander jumped to his feet and spun around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the voice, but with no luck. There was nobody else in the room. His ears folded down onto his head and his tail lashed back and forth. “Who said that, come out!” he commanded with a deep growl, but no answer came. “Who said that?” he asked again, his dagger clutched tightly in his right paw. There was a short moment of silence before an answer finally came. “I’m your father,” said the strange voice slowly. Alexander was dumbfounded for a moment, his tail violently lashing back and forth and his eyes frantically searching the room. “You’re a horrible liar!” he yelled eventually. “My father’s dead! I just got back from his funeral! Try again!” “Fine,” the voice answered softly. “If you don’t believe that then you can think of me as your conscience.” As the voice spoke, Alexander noticed a definite similarity between it and his father’s voice. “Fine” he snapped. “I’ll buy that. It just feels a little weird talking to something, or someone, who doesn’t exist.” Alexander began to calm down and he lowered his dagger. His tail gradually slowed to a flick here and there. He did believe that everyone had a conscience but because it was his first time actually hearing his, he was quite taken a-back. “I can understand that,” the voice replied softly. “Nobody ever does, but I ask that you at least listen. I… your father wouldn’t have wanted you to die like this. Suicide is not the proper way for a knight to go, especially with my… your father’s un-avenged death.” Alexander thought for a moment, still a little confused about what was going on. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Alexander said quickly, his voice full of uncertainty. “Are you, my own conscience, telling me to not kill myself but instead, risk my life anyway and go out on a damned revenge tangent until I kill the ass who took my father from me? That doesn’t sound like the kind of responsible advice that one’s conscience is supposed to give them. Maybe the part about not killing myself does but not the part about killing others.” There was a small chuckle before the voice answered. “Well, I am a part of you, so technically, I should think like you. Does that sound reasonable enough?” Alexander laughed a little bit, finally getting used to the fact that he was actually talking to himself. “Yeah, I guess that’ll work. But how do you expect me go out, find, and then flawlessly kill Duthjack without dying in the process.” “Simple, Alex,” the voice replied quickly. “You do what I… what your father always taught you to do if you set what seems like an impossible goal; you practice and train until you reach your goal or at least the abbility to reach it.” Alexander thought to himself for a little while. 'This is fuckin weird, talking to something that doesn’t exist, but it does have a point'. He sighed slowly, still feeling a little uncomfortable. 'He does sound just like my father, could it actually be him?' “Deal,” he finally said, deciding to himself that this wasn’t so weird. “I’ll do it, but only for you, father.” There was a long moment of silence before Dolmen answered. “That’s just what I wanted here.” “Hear what; that I’ll avenge your death?” There was a small chuckle and Dolmen answered softly. “No, that you believe I’m your father. What changed your mind, son?” Alexander thought for a moment and finally ran across a proper answer. “The fact that even my conscience wouldn’t tell me to risk my life for revenge, yet my father would tell me to honor the code of the knight. Part of that code says to be sure that one doesn’t die in vain. You may have died in battle like any knight would have wanted to, but you also died by your own sword, and you always taught me that that was a disgrace to all knights. That is of course why your soul did not go to the other world like it should have, is it not?” “Yes son, that is the reason. And I won’t fully pass on until Duthjack has died by my sword, wheather it be by your paws or mine. But since it can't be mine, it must be yours” There was a sudden gust of wind and thick white smoke filled the entire room in an instant. The smoke was so thick that Alexander could not see a thing. He began to panic but then he heard a small whisper coming from what seemed like all around that said, “Alexander, calm down, it’s all right.” Though his heart was still pounding horrendously Alex calmed down and stood in place. The smoke began to spin around him, making it look like he was in the eye of a tornado. After a moment the smoke started to gather in around one spot, condencing slowly and finally taking the form Alexander's father. He stood tall and proud, though he was still made of smoke. With the slightest breeze the smoke seemed to twirl and spin, but it never deformed the image. Alexander stood in amazement as the ghost of his late father walked over to his armor podium, reached up, and drew the sword. He then walked back over to Alexander, placed the sword across his left arm and balenced it there with his right paw under the hilt. With the handle poiting Alexander, he made a slight bow and said, "Alexander Khri'pher, son of General Dolmen Khri'pher, I herebye intrust you with Soulroth, the sword which has protected this fammily for ten generations. Weild the sword and become a true knight once and for all." Alexander was too astounded to move, but he forced himself to reach forth and grasp the sword. In one swift motion, he pulled the sword from his ghost father's arms, spining around once and holding vertically in front of his face, having to grasp it with both paws to keep it steady. The sword was heavier then he would have geused, but not to teribly bad. He stared at his reflection on the sword, marviling at how it didn't even have one scratch on it. After getting used to it's weight, he removed one paw from the handle and rubbed it over the eleven names that were engraved on it. 'Wait a minute', he thought to himself. 'There was only ten names on hear earlier'. There was a new addition to list of names; his. It said "Alexander Christoph Khri'pher." He looked up to thank his father but he was no longer their. Once again, Alexander heard his father's voice, as if it was coming from all around him. "Soulroth is now yours son, weild it with honor. I wish you good luck in your expeditions, and remember, I will always be with you. Though what you may enctounter in the future is only the part of me that is still in your heart and truly me as I have shone you today, for I can no longer help you directly, but it will still be me. Fare well my son." "Father, wait!" Alexadner yelled emediatly. "Don't go father! I need your help, please!" "No son, you do not need my help. You will continue your training under Kryn as we had planned in the case of my death. I can not help you any farther then I already have." And with those words, everything whent silent. Alexander stood there in the silence, his father's sword still clutched at his side. A single tear streamed down his face as he whispered one last goodbye to his father. After gaining his composure again, he walked over to the armor podium and grabbed the sheath to his father's sword, then leaving the room, vowing never to enter it again untill the day he was ready to go on the quest to kill the fur that took his father from him. If one were to use a single word to describe who Alexander was for the nest six years, it would have to be tireless. Everything about him changed; his percanalety, his attitude, everything. The young Bengal tiger never stopped training. He did what his father had wanted him to do, lived and trained under Kryn Khan’tresh, but once Alexander had learned everything that the wolf had to teach him, he began teaching himself, sometimes spending days at a time trying to teach himself how to survive in the wild. At first Kryn worried about him when he would stay out for days at a time, but quickly learned that he always came back without even a scratch on him. In the six years that had passed, he had turned himself into a fighting and surviving machine. He quickly exceeded his father’s size and strength and didn’t stop there. At age 21, he was absolutely huge; 6’ 11”, 250 pounds (all muscle), and could easily lift over 300 pounds without much trouble at all. He even whent as far as to seek help from passing sorcerers to learn simple magic, then moving on to the more powerful and dangerous sorcerery. He also trained himself mentally, almost erasing all forms of emotion as to make sure that nothing got in his way of obtaining his goal, (the assassination of Veren Duthjack). He never got outraged, he never got happy, he even stopped himself from falling in love (which was the hardest task of all, as it’s extremely hard to live a life without someone to share one’s heart with). Trent tried his best to keep up with the progression of Alexander but found it to be a most trying task. Alexander even changed the way he treated Trent. The two rarely ever talked anymore except for the occasional “Hello,” and “Goodbye.” They went from being the best friends in the world, even taking the blood-brother oath as children, straight to simple acquaintances. Finally, six years after his father’s death, Alexander thought it the proper time to leave. His training was complete and is it was finally time to bring Duthjack to his proper place in history; six feet under. As he was in his room preparing to leave, Trent walked in, a pack slung across his back and his hallabird held at his side. Alexander turned around as he picked up his sword of fhis bed and glared at the intruding wolf. “Where do you think your going Trent?” he snapped. “Where do you think I’m going Alex,” Trent answered Alexander’s question quickly with one of his own, twirling his hallibird in his paw. “I’m not letting you do this on your own, besides, why should I let you take all the glory?” “No Trent, this is something I have to do alone.” Alexander pushed his way past Trent and headed for his old home. As he noticed Trent was following him he continued to talk. “It was my father that died,” he said irately, trying to hold back a tear from the memories of his father. “And it will be me and only me to bring his murderer to justice.” He walked up to his father’s artillery building and laid his pack down at the door. Slowly, he drew in a deep breath and entered the building that he had vowed never to go into untill the day he was ready to embark on his quest that he had trained so hard and tirelessly for. As anyone could have expected, Trent followed Alexander, still trying to nock some sense into his friend but found himself speechless. His jaw dropped as he entered the dusty room, where weopons from all over the world covered every free inch of wall space, and then there a few racks of weopons scattered around the room. Not even Trent's father had collected as many artifacts of the deadly arts that Alexander had simply inharited from his father. The one thing that really caught his eye was the center peice of the room, a wooden stand that General Dolmen Khri'pher's armor, which was absolutely beautiful. The weird part was that the valiant armor didn't even have a speck of dust on it yet it hadn't been touched or disturbed for many years. When Trent finally brought himself back to his senses he noticed that Alexander was slowly wondering around the room, running his paw over weopons and choosing a few here and there to take with him. When Alexander was content with his choices, he tried to leave but Trent moved himself in front of the door. "Trent," Alexander said calmly, staring directly at the wolf. "Get the hell out of my way." "Not untill you listen to me, Alex." Trent responded quickly, squaring off his stance as he new Alexander would have no trouble getting past him. "You're being cocky and you're gonna get in way to deep." Alexander closed his eyes and shook his head. He didn't have time for this and he wasn't gonna let Trent stand in his way of acheiving what he had promised his father. He put one huge paw Trent's chest and walked forward, pushing Trent back without any trouble at all. He shut the door behind him, picked up his bag and headed for the horse he had tied up at beside his house. When he got there he got to strapping his chosen weopons to the hind quarters of the hoarse. As he then reached for his pack Trent grabbed his wrist, turning his palm up and puting his own next to it, as if comparing them. On both of their paws there was a long scar, the remains of the day they took the sacred blood-brother oath. "Alex, doesn't this mean anything to you?" he asked in a woried tone of voice, his eyes as wide and pathetic as they could get. Alexander looked at their paws for a moment, reminissing in the memories of his past childhood. But that was exactly what thought of it, his past. He snapped his paw away from Trent and grabbed his pack, slinging it over the hoarse. "We were kids Trent," he finally replied, trying not to look at his old friend. "It was a childish thing to do, taking a stupid oath just to remain friends for ever." "But Alex," Trent snapped irately. "It wasn't an oath to just remain friends forever. It was to remain brothers forever. And even if it was a stupid childish oath, if there's one thing you should know it's that a knight never breaks any oath of any kind." As Alexander whent to get on the hoarse, Trent grabbed his wrist again.
Copyright © 2004 Draco Streaver |