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Fihr's Awakening

 
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Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet



Joined: 10 Mar 2004
Posts: 11

PostPosted: Fri Mar 26, 2004 8:56 pm    Post subject: Fihr's Awakening Reply with quote

Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet awakes with a startle; the desert sand still warm under his bed roll and a cool breeze carries with it the clean scent of the Irekei's homeland. In a few more hours, Trodralikar again will free KryKhalin, the Blessed Sun, from the Medling God's minions, and return her to her rightful place in the sky above the desert.

Fihr's muscles relax as his mind takes in his surroundings. The memories have haunted him for as long as he can remember. Each sleepless night doomed to relive the pain of his childhood. Kryquo’khalin, the Dragon, has a purpose for putting Fihr through these trials, and he will endure, but that knowledge does not negate the pain and anger in his heart.

The dreams always start the same. A young boy of four stands before his father; it is Fihr. His father is disappointed with him because, unlike other Irekei children of his age, Fihr does not play knives with his father. For the Irekei people, about whom it is said their children learn to fight with knives before they learn to speak, this is unnatural. For Fihr’s father, this is unacceptable. This is a lecture he has heard before, his father telling him of how the Irekei people have always endured the trials of the Vir, the desert; that when Kryquo’khalin awakes, it will only be the strongest and hardiest of followers that will be spared from the flames.

Fihr’s mind numbing to the well known words, his father’s low, rhythmic voice shatters as a piercing shrill rises up all around their tent. Fihr awakens to the present once again; the sounds of chaos swell and oppress the once peaceful silence of the desert landscape. Screams of rage and pain harmonize with the cadence of steel against steel in an arrangement of death and destruction. It is the Nhalet, the hated Elves. Hundreds of the invaders fall upon the small encampment of Irekei, but the Irekei do not waiver, they fight.

Time speeds and days pass as if they were minutes. The Nhalet come in swarms against his people. They desecrate the Vir with their very presence and attack the Irekei like ants. The difference in numbers is too great, and the Irekei know this. It is not hope that inspires their fight, but it their way, their life. In the end, the desert sands shine red, KryKhalin’s flames reflecting in the dark pools of blood from the fallen. The air holds a mixture of the pungent taste of blood and the harsh choking of smoke. The child Fihr wanders from his family tent. His family now lay among the Irekei bodies.

Although still young, Fihr is not too young to comprehend the atrocity before him. Stopping there, this atrocity would do no more than solidify in Fihr the hatred for the Nhalet that his people hold. But it would not stop there. With the adults and many of the children killed, the Nhalet search the encampment for survivors, for children. The children that lift blades against the invaders are granted death. Fihr does not lift a blade, and he is given enslavement.

Fihr’s childhood continues to play out before him. Sold to the fighting pits, a young Fihr fights for his life and the entertainment of the fir’khanim, the rain bleeders; those of non-Irekei descent so weak that they waste precious water through sweat. For his fights, Fihr is given no weapon. Slave or not, the Nhalet fear the sight of steel in the hands of an Irekei warrior. Fir’khanim after fir’khanim faces Fihr in the pit. Some get the better of him, and some he makes feel the pain. But regardless of who stands before him, he does not refuse to fight. Days become weeks. Weeks become months. Months become years. Fihr grows up in the pits, his only trade: fighting with his bare hands and raw rage.

With each new fight, his blood boils hotter. His detest for fir’khanim grows. His hatred of Nhalet consumes more of his khar’ika, his soul. Although his body is beaten, scars and injuries from his losses never to heal, his khar’ika burns brighter with each passing day. Fihr feeds his internal flame with a fury and wrath that border on mania. His victories in the pits offer a glimpse into this rage; his fight never ends until the dirt under his feet oozes red, a small homage to the night his family died.

Then all is dark. In his dream, he remembers that moment before he first opened his eyes. He remembers the only thought going through his mind; no dreams. How his senses alert him that his lack of dreams is not the only change that morning. The sounds, the smells, the air on his skin, they all are different. Fihr watches himself as he opens his eyes. The cold, marshy earth of the swamp only reminds him how far he is from his desert home. The sounds of nearby Blantris Village echo in the wind. He rises to his feet. The sound of the pits is gone. Fihr has his freedom, and with that freedom he makes a vow.

“Nu parka ata Kryquo’khalin, nu uill vaka ata Vir aht nu uill jaltra Nhalet uith nugh khar’ika. Nu uill jaltra Nhalet until dekha kham ghokoq uht nu kham ghakaq! Nou nu kham kai’aq Fihr Jaltra’Nhalet!”
(I swear to the Dragon, I will come to the desert and I will lay siege to the Elves with my khar’ika. I will lay siege to the Elves until they are dead or I am killed! Now I am called Fihr Jaltra’Nhalet!)

This is how the dreams before this night end, but not tonight. Tonight, someone else invades Fihr’s dream. There before Fihr stands a figure silhouted before KryKhalin. Fihr feels his khar'ika stir. Is this another nhalet come to return him to the pits? He will not go. He will kill this fir'khanim or die in battle. His khar'ika growing within him, but something is different this time. He is not consumed with his rage. Instead the flame burns hot within him, and fills his being with strength and confidence. The unmoving dark form before him shifts slightly, as if it too senses the difference in Fihr this night.

"Nu kham Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet. Nu bho ghoko ata fir'khanim. Lak jovak lak aht lak kora lakogh ghoko. Nkoth!"
(I am Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet. I give death to fir'khanim. You reveal you and you find your death. It is the Dragon's will!)

Fihr feels his khar'ika fill his entire being. Clenching his fists, he prepares himself. Focusing his concentration, he does not notice the noise at first; a low, soft noise that is slowly growing. Laughter! This figure before him is laughing. How dare a fir'khanim even think of laughing at Irekei! Fihr lunges forward, swift and fluid as a desert wind. His mark is true, but the figure is quicker.

The taste of sand fills Fihr's mouth. His rage starting to consume him. His vision narrowing. But then, a voice. The same deep voice that owns the laughter. "Chikala!" This is not the voice of fir'khanim. Fihr picks himself up and turns to face the voice. He recognizes the Irekei that stands before him the way you recognize those in your dreams. Fihr has never met him before, but he knows his name and who he is. It is Khar'Ubar, the first Sun Dancer.

"Chikala hri'onkh."
(Stop young one.)

"Pash qhe khal khala aht qhe KryKhalin khala, pash qha nha. Qha chi kham ata ghoko."
(As the Flame burns and the Sun burns, so must we. To do less is to die.)

Khar'Ubar then turns from Fihr and fades from sight. It is these words that stir Fihr from his sleep. The words on their own are a well known Irekei proverb from ancient times. The meaning behind them, and the one who spoke them is what Fihr can not get out of his mind. His childhood spent in the pits, his youth focused on entertaining the fir'khanim with his fists. That trial endured, he has proven himself worthy in the eyes of Kryquo'khalin. He realizes the meaning of this last dream. His khar'ika still warms his soul, and consumes his being; Fihr rises to his feet and gives voice to his discovery.

"Nu kham Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet. Nu bhanaka Kryquo'khalin. Dek kham tikm iko nu ata nakukh nugh habat. Dek kham tikm iko nu ata nakukh nugh jhal. Dek kham tikm iko nu ata kham L'alar Khalinka!"
(I am Fihr Jaltra'Nhalet. I honor the Dragon. It is time for me to begin my life. It is time for me to begin my dance. It is time for me to be Sun Dancer!)

Fihr's voice carries his words across the sands. There is no unspeaking them. The trial of his dreams behind him, now the trials of his life lay before him.

Nkoth!

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Bloodblak



Joined: 27 Aug 2002
Posts: 2604
Character Skills: Fastest scout in the world

PostPosted: Sat Mar 27, 2004 3:01 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Excellent, story, absolutely excellent.

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Bloodblak Virtue Warboss
Grulk Mourning Grunt, Vindication Gruntee
Kiro Rhu'Khan Treachery Irikhan, Mourning Khal'usht, Vindication Irikhan
N'Grulk Catskills Blakblud Grunt, Thrak'Ghaash Grunt
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Ekor Nhuk



Joined: 29 Aug 2002
Posts: 5834
Character Skills: Bubhosh!

PostPosted: Sat Mar 27, 2004 9:20 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wooo I wanna meet Khar'Ubar too! Razz

Nice story.


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