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The gritty realisation of the closeness of death suddenly overshadowed Young Dargorn's mind. Desperatly reaching for the weapon that he could never find he felt the icy grip on his ankle which unfortuantly was all too familiar by now. With a final gasp he made one final incredible effort to overwhelm the grappleing claw but to no avail. He was dragged down into the depths of endless nothingness for all eternity.

The howl which let out from Dargorn's lungs once he woke up shook the the giant bells on the acadamy's tallest tower and woke the entire neighbourhood for the fifth time that week. Yet again he realised it was just a terrible nightmare and had woken to the rather uncomfortable thought of putting up with the complaints of the whole of Malisport.
His father stormed in very soon after.
"By the 18 hells of Zalounce this is the fourth time this week!"
"Fifth father, and i am truley sorry but it cannot be helped"
Old Darlis' face softened in the best way it could, his face had become permently hardened by a lifetime of metal work.
"Son we must go and see the high councillor to get this problem resolved, he told us if these nightmares occured we must consult him."
"I know father but do i really have to see himthis time, wouldn't one of the normal doctors do? He only goes on about how it is all part of the cycle for a child of the Hilt"
Observing the pained angish in his son's eyes, Darlis let it go for the moment until he was fully recovered from his fresh ordeal.
"Alright go and get washed, it is almost six, you have weapon training at seven."

Dargorn was rather keen to learn the combatic arts, the ability of fighting was in his blood and he always longed to have a sword in his hand. He had been reset up a couple of years in his sword fighting, his ability was outstanding and he picked up the moves quicker than most experienced teachers could remember. Some said he was a reincarnate of a great warrior, but this was frowned upon as all forms of magical talk was abandoned after the great war made Malisport one of the isolated few.
None could have guessed he was really a child of the Hilt, as this was almost never even referred to in any conext.

So it was to be yet another lesson of sword training with Dargorn's favourite teacher, Silmire. Once a great preacher of militirism, this almost ancient warrior had become famous throughout the Gorse lands. His exploits of slayng demons and dragons in his quest for personal glory and eventually godlike staus were marked as symbols of great triumphs in the history of the Human struggle to survive.
But most notifiable of all was his leadership at the battle of the fallen, where he lead a worn and tattered Human army against the hoards of Kiltraan, one of the five greater gods of Damnation.
He hed out for many hours until the reinforcement Elven army arrived, his army was desolated and it is said that only he and his steed surivived, yet the standoff held back the forces long enough to save the entire southern empire.
He wanted no gold and no prize, silmire only desired peace and the freedom to teach, and that is what he did.
Many of the students did not appreciate his sheer greatness apart from Dargorn, he had spent many hours at the great hall library stdying the wars and learning of the great deeds of Silmire. So fortunate and honoured he felt to be taught by such a man.
Silmire in return admired good strength courage and skill, Dargorn had all three and due to this they bonded incredibley.

It was on this particualr day however that something out of the ordinary happened, Dargorn ad been sparring with Silmire as he did to warm up his now rippling muscles when suddenly with no warning at all Dargorn grabbed the hilt of the Katana with both hands and began to swing manically with such grace but yet such immense power it began to frighten even Silmire himself.
What seemed like a surge of energy turned into a berserker rage as Dargorn slashed at the tutor's blade until it shattered into a thousand shards. The impact had been so immense that Silmires wrist had dislocated and he writhed in agony as he stared amazed as Dargorn kept on slashing at thin air, his eyes grew red and he moved faster yet with even more grace. He eventually struck the wall and kept on striking until his blade was deeply rooted into the stonework. He stopped, shook violently and collapsed.

Waking once more from what seemed yet another nightmare, Young Dargorn found himself watching an alien ceiling. Still confused and dazed he turned his head to see four gentlemen towering above him. One was his father, who he had never seen so anxious, the next was his dear tutor who stood looking just as pained but hold his wrist in a sling, next to him stood the High councillor whose robe smelt of old moth balls and dusty tomes.
But standing beside all of them was a strange figure, he was not only a tranger but seemed to have totally disturbing air about him which made Dargorn shudder. However at the same time he felt that he *knew* the strange man in some way. He wore just a long brown cloak which covered up all but the tip of his nose in shadowed darkness and mystery.

The councillor's mouth oened slowly, dargorns head spun and he found it hard to make out the words.
"The Child awakes".

 

It's a good story! Have you written more? Please post it, when the answer is yes.

 

oh no! i just tried to copy my writing to a doc and i cut it by mistake. i will write t agin tommorrow i will edit when it is done!