The war ended in fire, and blood. Both rained down for an hour as the armies scattered ruined. The commanders, both Wizards, as beyond men as men are beyond ants lay dead. Spells flung by will, words of arcane meaning, and gestures that carried eldritch weight. Ancient spirits were invoked and annihilated, as the Wizard's shed their blood, and souls for ideals and ego.
The reason's for the war are lost in legend and myth. They however are remembered: Elder Fhiult his hair white with age, his eyes of fire, led the armies of Ghyr Morent from plains to mountains and from shore to shore. The other Beautiful Syluna whose soft tender skin bards still esteem led the armies of the Forgotten Isles, from cape and inlet to ford and forest--she whose eyes were ice and snow.
Their armies stalemated unmoving, a single city contested, so they clashed high above, lifted by the wind, they called down thunder from the heavens, they pulled fire from the Hells below, and as they warred the rocks wept, streams screamed, till at last they struck with well wrought magics, as they struck seemingly in unison each died, and rained blood and sorcery on the city below, it was then that the shining walls of Cyr Astrieul the City of Silver were blasted black, it was then that the spirit of man held aloft so high, was bleached to the bone. Leaving only the bleak grey stain marked upon mans hearts. The brave fled, the cowards remained, and the city wounded festered for a languid year. . Cyr Astriel was no more but Cyr Dhamoshi, the City of the Shadow was born, and in the darkness of this year nine long months from the Wars end came the children seven born, each marked with a blood red mark upon their flesh, a omen of the Evil to come.
Hawke hated the city, its bleak black walls, like embers burned too long looked like the soot of a dead fire, he felt smothered by it, choked by its tyranny upon his soul.
He had been born here some years past, this lean hungry eyed young man. His clothes were well worn, brown leather scarred by thorn and bramble, branch and sharp edged leaf.
Hawke hated the city, with a fervant desire to see it wiped clean from the coast it clung too like a barnacle on the hull of a ship which sailed from her docks. Even the warm summer breeze couldn't lift his hopes. Ahead of him stood a band of thugs which often waited in the alleyways for those whose purses were too heavy and feet unsteady. The alpha of the pack looked up the leader weighed him and matched his quick sureying gaze, the looked away. Hawke's slight grin and keen eyes warned him, said silentely "I am not prey, I am a predator"
The alpha was cowed, the others nervous at their leader caution sensing weakness and wanting to challenge his role, till they too turned and looked into Hawke's eyes saw his steady walk, and froze in place watching. One of them dimmer than the rest, less apt in instinct turned and drew steel, barking words of threat and venom, it was then that that Hawke moved his hand from beneath his cloak, and wrapped it about his own sword. This time the man before him blade drawn turned and fled, his blade falling from his grasp as stark terror assailed him. He had seen Hawke left hand, his sword hand, a large crimson stain liked a heraldic bird of prey, stained his hand. What had given him his name. What had perhaps given him his talents. But what had definetly branded him as one of the Seven. Yes Hawk Hated the city. For the wolves of the forests he lived with for long lean years never preyed on their own kind unlike the human wolves of this damned place. He had heard the call, and came though he liked it not.... He made his way along the streets, till at last he came to the Inn of the Crying Stone.
Tear danced to the music of the bard, her body swaying to the sound of his lute slowly, they watched her they always watched her, she enjoyed the attention far less the simple movement of her body. The bards song moved her, her feet paced it a rhythm padded on the wooden floor. One of them touched her, his hand moved across her body quickly it distracted her rhythm, it ruined the flood of joy wihtin her, her eyes blazed and she froze, and stared into the man's eyes, it was then that he saw the single crimson tear which marked her face, she watched with joy as the dread filled him, he pushed himself of way. too late far too late she spun past him her hands and feet quick, like lightning, like thunder. She struck causing him to go reeling back, another blow, and another. The bards music had silenced and he wrapped is arms about her and she struggled still, her rage, firing along her limbs, her eyes blazing with the pure joy of the new rhythm. She calmed in his warmth at his gentle touch, his voice calm and even, the guards had entered by this time, they saw the destruction the slight form had wrought upon the man. The captain moved to arrest the her, but the Bard turned, his own eyes white,vacant, his lids seared with a crimson band like a blindfold across his face. The captain shook his head and left the guards gathering up the fallen beaten man's form. The captain moved to speak to the bard, Seer merely nodded.
He paced across the room, his masters gaze calm and collected, but his impatience stretched a taught veil across the room. You are not ready he said imperiously.
It matters not, I must go the call has come and I must answer. So you say, but what is this call, explain it, teach this old man as I have taught you.
I can't I know not what this call is only that I must heed it I must go. I cannot allow it then. I will not be thwarted I must go.
How do you prepose to leave if I disallow it... the man growled out a word, and a sizzling bolt of emerald flame lanced from his hand to his master.
Another word and the energy parted around the older man. The flame ended abruptly, and the younger man flung out his arm and lighning pure and unadultered flashed from his body, the older mans shield shattered like glass. and he fell awry pain slamming him into blackness...
He awoke later and walked slowly towards the council chambers. The others awaited him.
They turned and looked at his scorched form as he entered.
Rhyal, the aides rushed hims are you well can you.. He cut them off with a gesutre, the other Masters waited his voice till the Eldest of them spoke," Rhyal is he ready?" spoke the Archmagus Rhyal nodded weakly "I fear his ability, I fear his skill, and his strength" the Archmagus laughs "Good then, if you feart him, then so shall others" Rhyals face was aghast."Aye fear him, better they fear him than not, for his power is deadly and dangerous, and better he spread fear of that power than spread the power itself"
Rhyal nodded the wisdom of the Archmagus he understoond. the methods he did not, but he could no longer instruct, he was no longer the master. Tempest was gone.
Tempest bathed in a cool stream the water cleaning aay the days grime and grit, he had walked long and far and was weary but his anger had driven his feet far from the Towers of those arrogent men they called the Sorcerers of the West., he would show them, he washed himself uncaring seemingly oblivious to the onee who watched him, from the shore, he turned and looked dead at the man as the approached his clothing. The theif looked at him, a dagger holding it in front of him as a threat and a ward,Tempest's anger abated as his contempt grew, he walked forward with an arrogant unyielding tread. "I jes want your coine, thats all Ill leave ye be, just let me have it." I have no coin, tempest spoke, "the mand looked down hto gaze at the rich clothes below, that was his mistake, Tempest gestured casually, the appproached gathering his robing himself he walked away from the smuldering remains fo the theif, who looked not at the mans from and did not see the blood red jagged mark which like a bolt of lightning traced down Tempests shoulder from blade to navel, like a man split by a bolt of lightning.
The four heeded the call arriving one by one at the cities center they stood amongs ancient ruins each surveying the others around them, Hawke stood bold assured as did Tempest, who walked with an swagger that spoke a man self assured, perhaps too self assured. The dancer Tear stood quietly Seer back a few paces behind her.Tempest walked forward his eyes locked with Tear's for a second and a grin spread across his face a hunger danced in his eyes, Hawk too felt it as he glanced at the slight and beautiful form a stirring withing him of desire he had long neglected. The bard stepped forward and and wraped his amrs and cloaks completely about her leaving only her head uncovered, he cradled her gently hiding her body from their sight Hawke shook away the thoughts in his head and Tempest frowned at the bard until the bards white empty eyes turned to him and his head tilted, the Mage backed away the bards uncanniness struck him like a physical blow. The others had not heard the call or not heeded if they had heard as the four stood in silence a voice echoed from about them
"Blood calls to bloos, spirit to spirit, and voice heeded is path chosen," an old man stepped from the shadows, his outline ill wavering, spectral he stood before them.
"I have called to thee those born of my blood spilled so long ago, shed in foolishness, for vain and fading glory" the blood in you is the blood of heroes old, you are the last of those born to the Ancient lines, born to serve Ancient ideals" I though I was to be the last, and that iw wold end with me, but you were born as I died, blood of my blood, children of my failing heart, my fading soul."
Tempest's voice piped in "I am the child of poor pious parents, they spoke nothing of you or your war"
"All those with children marked by out blood were silent-for fear, the fear that your marks would be dire omens, and you would be murdered rather than those survivors risk another tragedy."
Seer looked up at the spectre his voice soft, gentle, but chillingly cold "Darkness comes to the land, evil will open t's waiting hand and claim three-- Starborn, War-blade, and Shadowheart, Four begat of blood akin shallgather and thwart the triad's plans, but war like no other shall spread-and in the end two of seven will be dead."
"Two of seven eh?" Tempest's spoke."those are good odds."
"Only if the two are of the other three" Hawke stated simply "I know of Shadowheart-his name is Karindol, but he is called Shadowheart because there is a heart shaped birthmark over his chest-a mark like our own-he is an assassin for hire, and I've heard there is no one more skilled, nor cold-hearted."
"Do you know of the other two?" Tear spoke lilting a smile playing across her face. "I don't intend to be one of the two who dies."
"Wait, your acting as if this apparition and your boyfrien..
Tear interrupted Tempest before he could finish "Brother, Seer is my brother."
Seer merely nodded as Tear looked up at the tall young man, he remained silent.
"And seer is gifted-he can see, what we cannot."
Tempest growled to himself "What can he see that's so important?"
"the future." Both Hawke and Tear replied in unison.
Tempest snorted "There is NO one future"
Seer nodded.
Tempest scowled at him already angry enough to let loose a bolt, how dare he smugly sit there, how dare he hide that beautiful form of his sister in his cloak. Tempest growled to himself again when Hawkes hand slid to his blade.
"It seems we are to be allies not enemies. I am Hawke."
Tear smiled "I am Tear and this is my brother Seer."
Hawke sensed the hesitation in her voice at the word "brother" as if it were new, something she was hiding but he remained silent merely nodding.
"My name is Tempest, Tempest's Bolt actually, peerless wizard."
Tear rased an eyebrow at that since she had known enough magicmakers to know that he lacked the sigil all Magus were awarded, Seer whispered to her and she smiled back at Tempest and Hawke.
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