//------------------------------// // The Bladed Fields // Story: Friendship Is Over // by MartiantheGray //------------------------------// An indeterminate amount of time had passed when he awoke. All he could remember was a green flash and the flushing of a toilet before he had opened his uncovered eye to find himself here. Wherever ‘here’ was. He sat up, rubbing at his head with a groan as he took off his beanie to shake off the sand that had gathered on it, looking around to find himself on a lonely beach. Tavish sat there for a moment, trying to adjust to what little light shone through the bleak greyness of the sky and the eyepatch that had covered his left eye before he grew annoyed and lifted the pesky covering so he wouldn’t feel so uncoordinated. When light somehow still did not make its way to the eye that rested underneath the upturned eyepatch, Tavish confusedly rubbed at his face, trying to shake any lingering drowsiness from his mind. He still found himself halfway blind, frantically scrambling to where the ebbing water met the shore when he had gathered his bearings to gaze at his reflection in the water. What he found he found staring back at him, though, left him speechless. Tavish blanched at the shocking revelation shown by the foamy seawater that gently licked at his pants, discovering that his eye was ...missing. Not only that, but as an afterthought, he noticed the subpar apparel that he had worn to the cosplay convention he had been fool enough to participate in - which consisted of red cargo pants, combat boots, a beanie and an eyepatch, and a vest with batteries in place of grenades - had been replaced with the actual get-up of TF2’s Demoman. His inexplicably authentic change of attire didn’t shock him nearly as much as the new cavity that had appeared in his head, however, and he couldn’t help but stare into the void that once housed his eye in horror. ‘I’m… missing my eye,” he thought to himself as his guts churned, a sickened feeling nearly overwhelming him. His sudden change in speech didn’t even click with him as his mind was focused entirely on the lost organ. “That was one of my two favourite eyes!” Tavish blinked as righteous anger built up within him. He would have otherwise been shocked and reduced to naught but a whimpering mess, but the fuzziness in his head, combined with the fact that he had found himself in the middle of nowhere only to find himself with only half of his sight, filled him not with horror, but fury. And so with that fury, he took a trembling hand, raised it, and brought it down with a hardy resolve into the soft sand on which he rested. “RrrAAAARGH! I! WANT! MY! PENSION!” With mighty bellows and mightier blows, a small section of the large shore was tossed fore and wayside in Tavish’s hissy-fit. As he cursed the heavens and demanded his recompense, the gods above were left speechless and awed, having never witnessed such a frenzied display of indignation and childish rebellion. Today was the day they had bestowed upon a mere mortal their true fear and respect. Or rather they would have if they were paying him any mind. Ten minutes had passed before enervation bore a heavy weight on the exasperated man’s shoulders, replacing his trauma-induced tetchiness with an overwhelming sense of weariness. With this weariness came an oppressive dose of reality. Tavish, already on his knees, fell forward, catching himself with his hands as he grasped the loose sand, allowing it to be sifted through his fingers before scattering back to again cover the shore. It was all real. “It can’t be… it can’t be real.” Said a defiant Demo.” Where am I? What’s happened to my eye?” Tavish paused for a moment, finding something else to be off. “And what the bloody hell happened to me voice!” Shaking the unimportant thought from his mind for the first two questions, Tavish crawled to the edge of the ocean’s ebbing waves to throw some of the cool water onto his face to calm himself down. Mind respectably more clear, Tavish looked around the beach, finding there to be a rocky expanse that elevated in some off direction. Choosing to approach out of both curiosity of what lay above - and in hopes of finding some sort of hospital - Tavish climbed up the small hill, having a fair amount of trouble grasping the rocks of the smoothed surface and gaining a proper footing before he finally made his way to the top. As he observed his surroundings, he saw that the shore seemed to stretch forever into the shrinking distance, and, as he turned to examine the lay of the land above, he noted, with no small amount of anxiety, that the same could be said of the lush green highlands that painted the broad panorama. “Holy mother of…” Tavish’s thoughts faded into the all-embracing vista. a gentle breeze disturbing the slumbering grass that folded under the pressure of his boots as he stepped forth, unsettling the untouched scenery. Finally remembering to pull his upturned eyepatch back over his useless socket, he gave another sweeping gaze over the landscape, attempting to find someplace remotely dissimilar to that of the rest of the oppressive green. This dissimilarity manifested itself in the form of one of the sun’s golden rays settling upon a spot of the earth well-hidden behind a slothful hill. As he continued, another, harsher wind brushed past his face, seemingly attempting to shoo him back to from whence he came. Despite this, he soldiered onward like a moth to a flame, not knowing where else to travel on his, thus far, directionless journey. “As if a wee bit o’ wind’s gunna keep me from my destination,” said Tavish with a grim resolve. It was true, however, that his course - now firmly planted within the pink tissue of his mind - could not by any regular means be upset, as he knew not where he was going. This embedded thought that rested its stout and cumbersome presence on his conscience, while filling him with a dread unlike any other for what he would find resting beyond the elevated earth, also gave him a gross stubbornness as he focused narrow-mindedly on finding a quick end to his journey. --- One step, two steps, three steps transformed to dozens, to hundreds. One hundred steps, two hundred steps, three hundred steps. Up and down the escalating and falling hills, with flat footfalls nigh nonexistent in between, Demo’s strength slowly but surely had begun to abandon him. And with the wicked whisks of the wind growing faster and more wild with each step he took, his breaths were growing shorter and his movements more taxing. He trekked forward regardless, some force born of either foolishness or determination - possibly a combination of both - pushing him onward. Soon, the rich and diverse array of colors forming a rainbow, however transparent, made themselves clear, stretching from the clouds down past the hill and meeting the sunlight behind the hill, showing him just how close he had gotten to his destination without realizing. Just beyond that very hill was his salvation, this he just knew! Three steps, two steps, one step. Eventually he was losing ground to the winds as they grew in intensity, howling in his ears to stop, to turn back. Raising an arm in front of his face, and squeezing shut his eye to keep the sharp cold that had begun to coat his immediate surroundings in a thin layer of frost from doing the same to his remaining organ, he by some miracle found his footing. He ignored the pleas and demands the gust carried with it, and again he pushed against the invisible forces that chilled his weary body to the bone. One step back was three forward as he climbed the frozen hillside, and after what had seemed to be an eternity, Tavish had finally conquered a mighty hill that stood an imposing seven feet in height as the howls of the wind became deafening shrieks. The screeches again fell to howls, and the howls simmered to a low, impatient whistle as Demo pulled himself to the top of the hill, overlooking the point where the rays of the heavens kissed the earth below. What he saw on the other side… Another sudden rush of wind knocked him off balance, shoving him down the ever so large hill. He ungracefully landed belly-first at the bottom, picking himself up to find his hands resting on a cold stone path that heavily contrasted the green of nature that was so prominent everywhere else on this seemingly untouched land. Lifting his head, he scanned the area around him, feeling slightly unsettled as he noticed dozens upon dozens of worn and battered swords planted into the ground, seemingly serving as makeshift tombstones for fallen warriors. The only question that racked Tavish’s overwhelmed mind was exactly who or what felled them. “What in the devil happened here?” he asked as the low whistle again picked up in intensity, gradually growing louder and louder. He then looked down the path to where the sun’s light and the end of the fading rainbow rested, focusing not on the sound, but on the object of interest waiting at the end for someone to claim it: A sword. It seemed quite novel in the fact that, unlike all the other weapons that seemed broken beyond repair or rusted to uselessness, this one - while still obviously used - was not only in what looked to be superb condition, but was also for some reason or other driven deep into a large boulder. However impossible it was for this to be done with any regular old sword crossed Tavish’s mind. Something about this sword seemed familiar to him, and he desperately wanted to hold its hilt in his hand and allow it to be a part of him once again. Stepping over ancient helmets and discarded shields, Tavish closed the distance betwixt him and the sword as the light shined brighter and the wind grew harsher. “Leave.” It pleaded. “Turn back.” But so focused on the mesmerizing allure of the sword was he that these demands once again were met with an unhearing ear. The wind brushed against his ear, much closer this time than ever before, revealing the owner to be female. “This warning will be thy last, He Who Seeks. Prithee, turn back, lest We cast Our judgement, swift and unyielding, upon thee.” At this, Tavish slowed, if but for a moment. “You have in your possession that which does not belong to you, spirit.” The words spilled from his mouth without him fully being in control of them. “I am here only to reclaim what is mine.” The wind grew louder still in response, the light of the sun retreating behind the dreary clouds above as ice once again formed atop everything, including Tavish himself. He continued shambling toward the sword, getting closer and closer as the wind picked up in intensity before he realized that it had grown deathly quiet. Frost blanketed the surroundings, making the graveyard of a thousand swords seem as though even time itself had frozen in place in anticipation for what would transpire next. Soon, the oppressive silence was shattered by a soft, lilting voice. “...Then thee, too, must fall.” And with this ominous statement came a rustling sound from the gelid grass, followed by what sounded like a brand being unsheathed. Tavish turned around to see the blades being sliced in half before they were reduced to mere atoms mid-air. As the path of destruction weaved between the swords of the fallen warriors, headed straight for Tavish, his pupil shrinked to a pinprick. He threw himself out of harm’s way as the line of assured annihilation left a fresh cleave in the stone path where he stood less than a second earlier. Clumsily rolling to his feet, the frigid man kept his knees bent and his legs distanced apart in order to be able to better dodge any further assault. Searching wildly for his attacker, he finally caught sight of her undulating form standing in front of the sword, keeping him from making a run for the weapon. She was an elegant being, seemingly composed entirely of a fast-moving breeze. The tiger-like entity had glowing blue symbols running down her head and back, and her claws, each easily the size of his head, glistened like daggers. She stood about a head or two over Tavish, and her fierce blue eyes never left his own as she adjusted the flamberge nestled between her dangerous teeth. Tavish tried to save face with a glare of his own in return despite not knowing how or why a tiger was made of air or wielding a deadly weapon, but his narrowed eye widened in surprise when he felt the warmth of his blood traveling down his cheek from a cut too deliberate to have been anything but a final warning on the tiger’s part. “Seeker, thee have Our wishes repeatedly chosen to ignore.” The creature thought to Tavish. “We are Sanzafihr, Guardian of the Isles, and for thy transgressions…” Sanzafihr crouched low to the ground, narrowing her eyes as a low rumbling growl emanated from her throat. “Thy life.” The moments following, abrupt as they were, grew to be some of Tavish's less favorable memories.