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Rekindle Ch. 01

By: DanteofSparda



This story is an old concept. Not that it is tried and true, but rather that Vincent is the raw material from which Mykris and Brandon were formed. This story will have far more sex (toned down from my drunk ramblings) and practice for writing violent scenes.

Also, what might be apparent by this piece, I need an editor/someone to talk about this story and my other works. I didn't realize how bad my writing had gotten until the latest chapter of Spritely fellow was rejected for SPELLING. So yeah, if you're interested tell me. It would speed up my writing at the least.

*****

There lies a small village in the pass between the valley. It was a small and simple place, so much so that it had not even been named. It had started long ago as an abbey for fisherman and merchants to worship at during their trip through the otherwise impassable mountains. The village had only grown out of the priests and monks need for housing. It was not meant to be a place of residence, there were towns of and cities within a day's travel in either direction each with more opportunity and amenities. However as time passed, another building of the same size as the abbey eventually came into being. An infamous blacksmith had settled down there, and built herself a sizable home with her furnace and crafting stations built in. With the smokestacks and second floor included, in rivaled the size of the main abbey building.

After the blacksmith settled in, a handful of other families decided to settle in as well. Each had their reasons for not going to the cities. A village so small had its advantages after all. The only government officials who came by were tax collectors for the kingdoms on other sides, or guards being posted to and from the shoreline towns stopping in for food. Others escaped family problems to hide in the mountains or were outcasts who made it this far. Even given the stock of the people, it was a good village. The people all worked to make sure the society survived. There was enough animals to corral or hunt, a series of streams and small lakes if one was willing to climb the mountains to the caves and terraces to retrieve it.

It was here that Vincent was born. No doubt dubious circumstance brought his mismatched parents there. He barely remembered their face, but he had heard from the others in town that his father was a guard and his mother was someone he was tasked to protect. The guard knew the blacksmith from a time when she tried to ply her craft in the major cities and she owed him a big favor. He asked her to be Vincent's guardian and keep him safe, try to give him a good life. After accepting she gave him a place to grow and food to eat, but had little time to look after him between her work and the men of the village she would invite to her bed.

Not to say she didn't care for him, she just wasn't the mothering type. It was a small village and everyone knew everyone, so he was never in any serious harm, but the other children would bully him because he had no parents, or his scrawny frame, or his shy nature. Sometimes they would gang up on him when none of the adults were watching. The boys would hit him and throw stones while the girls jeered and insulted him. His mind was like a rock to this abuse however. He truly loved three things that eased the pain then: The blacksmith for what love and support she spared, the small amount of people that treated him well in his world, and the statue he had found as he hid one day.

Any of the people in the village who cared enough to help him were like safe zones for him. He often hid with them and they would lie to the other children as to where he was hiding. They had learned long ago that Vincent never played hide and seek, so if he was hiding it was because someone bad was seeking. Still sometimes the village wasn't a viable option if he wanted to escape a beating so he would run into the surrounding hills. He had a special place there, near the base of the mountains. He had happened upon it one day as he fled the other children and went deeper than he had ever gone before. Carved at the base of a crag was a small shrine. It was in an alcove only a few feet tall and wide. It had what once might have been candle or incense holders, but those had long since faded with the rain.

The figure in the middle, oh that beautiful sight, remained almost entirely unscathed by the passage of time. A women covered in swirling cloth poured from a basket over her head, carved entirely out of stone. The swirling grey had subtle shifts in shades that gave the rock a sense of life. It was old, rudimentary and could have been much better if completed more recently as the cloth seemed like it was meant to be soft, but the technology that made it couldn't accomplish it. The face, however, managed to look immaculate beyond all reason. It's knowing smile and smooth supple features belied the work of a master craftsmen from any corner of the kingdom. Even in the overcast skies and surrounded by all this mud and rock, the face seemed to shine with sunlight.

The women was clearly meant to be of a more motherly age. Might have explained Vincent's obsession with the alter had this not been his one place of solace. Try as they might, the other children and dangers of world never seems to strike here, Every other crag had rocks resulting from tremors or sand built up over centuries, but this single clearing seemed unnaturally peaceful. The mountains seemed to have cleared way to give this place room. A small pool and a lone crag surrounded on all sides by mountains.

The boy was at peace there. All the beatings and disgrace he suffered meant nothing in the face of that smile, that face. Even the blacksmith noticed the boy's demeanor changed for the better after discovering it, although he never told her what "it" could be. She was aware that she wasn't helping the boy grow up, but everyone has baggage and hers didn't leave her available in such a way. Still she was human and felt a sense of gratitude to whatever brought the boy happiness. This continued for almost a year. Vincent would come home covered in bumps and bruises, but with a content smile on his face. That stone altar made everything alright after a long day. He could hardly remember crawling back through the numerous joined mountain bases to get back to the village most days. This continued for about a year, until Vincent was just turning nine.

The day was like any other. He endured the stones thrown at him and stood tall. At least he did, until a sharper rock knocked the side of his head. His vision split as dots danced around his view. One little redheaded girl, unimaginatively named Scarlett, broke from her silent acceptance to rush to his side. She was new in town. Her parents were from a tribe to the far north, the ones that wore the skirts and painted their faces. Apparently, no one told her about the food chain in the village. She was tending to the blood seeping out of his forehead. It matted the boys wild hair to his face as his eyes searched for what was truly up and down.

"Goin' to far fer a game...", Scarlett whispered as she desperately wiped away blood with her clothes only to see more take its place. Her dress hem started to stain red as Vincent's got his bearings. He looked up and saw someone sitting next to him and rolled into a crouch away from her. His glare sent a shiver down her spine with the things kept inside it. When he noticed the blood on her dress, Vincent ran his hand across the wound on his forehead.

"The rock and blood. My blood on you, why?" He sputtered out. His head was still spinning slightly from the potential concussion, so no coherent sentences flowed out. He looked at the other children. They still stood about 5 meters away and were busy laughing at him getting knocked over to notice anything.

"Yer bleeding. You need to get to a doctor 'fore you get an infection." Scarlett said in a mock motherly tone. Her dress had collected mud from her crouching next to him. She looked down to try to get the clumps caught in between threads and upon looking back, Vincent had already begun to walk towards the village gate. She ran up to him and although Scarlett hadn't noticed, Vincent could hear the other children beginning to mutter their suspicion about the new kid. He spun on his heel an looked her dead in her eyes. Green.

"Don't help me. It's not good for you. Stay with them." Good advice was the only gratitude he could offer before he turned and ran towards his sanctuary. A confused expression came across Scarlett's face as the other children caught up with her and sent chasing jeers after the fleeing boy. Vincent ran down the winding road to make sure he wasn't followed and in doing so turned a corner too hard and ran straight into a horse, landing hard on his rear.

"Ah! Blasted little runt!" Heavy metal boots slammed hard as they came down from the horse. Clinking steel walked up to Vincent, who was desperate to get the his fleeting vision back. His head hurt and he wanted to vomit, probably not a good sign. Rough leather in the shape of a hand grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up. "Oi! Watch where you're walking, brat!"

Vincent might have gotten off with just that had his vision decided to stay gone. Instead it focused on the small tusks and dark green complexion of the man holding him. Scars covered his face and armor giving him a terrifying visage. This coupled with Vincent's likely concussion meant his nausea would not be denied and he emptied his stomach on the expensive looking armor.

"AHH! You LITTLE SHIT!" The orc brigand threw Vincent off the road into the muddy hillside. The orc tried in vain to wipe the vomit away from his armor as his travelling companions buckled over with laughter at his plight. Rage filled the warrior as he charged the child, but Vincent knew these hills better than them and was fast enough to take advantage of that . He scrambled up to the crevice between the first two mountains. The heavy footsteps of the orc grew silent as Vincent pulled past the second crevice.

Valley after valley, mountain after mountain, Vincent was practically flying between the mountain ranges. His legs burned and the need to double over was rising, but he would not allow it until he was safe. Fear of an unholy beating pushed him faster than he had ever gone and in record time the altar came into sight.

The running and the bleeding caught up to him as he collapsed at the altar. Relaxation and pain both came as the familiar air soothed away the possibility of danger. Heaving and coughing, Vincent sat beneath the alcove. After a few minutes, he finally looked up at the familiar stone gaze looking down on him. A smile snuck onto his face as he layed down again to relax. He started to nod off when the awkward angle his neck was in made him roll on his side. That small action probably saved his life as the hardened steel boot swung hard into his side.

Airborne, his vision left him and the concussion finally took him under. He was not conscious to hear the sound of steel on flesh and bone as the orc's rage was sated. Another figure leaned onto the altar, flinching at the especially nasty blows. When the blows stopped sounding with cracks and took a more organic squish, the elf finally walked up to the brigand.

"Enough. Is the murder of a child so enthralling that you would cost us the daylight? We are expected in Westfury by nightfall." The voice was disinterest in this scene that had played out before with every sort of actor. The orc slowed as his eyes focused again and he turned around. "Oh you're done. Mariella? The rod is spoiled, so could you spare the child?"

As the orc picked bone and flesh from the plates in his gauntlet, a cloaked woman entered the clearing. She slid as carefully as possible in the last vain attempt to keep her clothes clean. The cloth robes underneath clearly showed the failings in that regard. With a huff, she reached the ground and tried to dust off what she could. Her hood hid most of her face, but her mouth and brown hair were visible in the tranquil light. She walked up and shoved the orc.

"By Mera, what are you doing! You said you were going to chastise the child and yet here lies the great and fearsome brigand picking a boy's flesh from his armor. You have killed the boy and you sit here like it is NOTHING! And you, Lorkan, you stood here while he beat the child? This is the THIRD time I am saving you from the noose, orc." She spat out the last word as she rushed to the child's side. "First the poor homeless man, then the whore YOU refused to pay, and now a child who you ran over and...Mera save him."

She finally looked down at Vincent's head, which only liberally fit that description. The jaw was broken, one eyelid was torn away and the eye loose, and almost every tooth was gone. His little body, already riddled in scars, was so mangled that even a well versed healer would have called him dead. While the limbs, no matter how gnarled, could be mended, the extensive internal bleeding and punctured lungs coupled with the bleeding brain would be beyond the average mage's capability. The woman took out a small metal rod and various powders. Each glowed with varied intensity as she chanted in a hurried blur of words.

"My god, you poor creature. His heart refuses to stop even after this and his soul remains strong, but the body can only take so much punishment. It will take time to heal him." Mariella spoke softly, as if the noise was enough to push him over the edge. The elf sighed and started climbing out of the valley back to the main road.

"If you can't save him then let's go. Even a valkyrie couldn't find him here. No One will know of his death, even I almost couldn't track him this far into the Teeth." He stopped a moment before sliding back down and walking up to the altar. "Strange that the child would come here, or even know of this place. Seems like one of the Forgotten's altars.'

A snort came from behind as the orc pushed the elf aside. He fished in his pouch for a small ruby, which he held up to the altar. A slow glow began to build as it reacted to the energy of the stones. A rumbling laugh rose from the brigands throat as he put away the crystal. 

"The elf is right! Oh leave the child Mariella, they will overlook it if we destroy this. The child probably worshiped the hag, so more the reason to leave him." The orc unhooked his hammer and swung hard on the stone. The hammer shook in his hand as a shimmer appeared around the altar. "Stubborn bitch. Never know when they are beat, those Forgotten."

After a few blows, the force defending the statue finally fell and the stone followed suit. As the stone fell, the very air seemed to drain of life. A pallor fell upon it that took the lushness out of the green. The elf was already climbing out of the clearing while the orc snorted at the change in scenery.

"Mariella, we are leaving." The mage did not move from where she sat over the child. A glow was coming from his flesh as bone shards were pulled carefully back into place.

"I will be with you shortly, orc." His nostrils flared at the tone she used.

"We are LEAVING, with or without you."

"The child WILL die if I leave him now. You wasted plenty of time chasing him down and now I need that same time to fix this." The mage said in a calm, level voice. A bead of sweat dripped from her chin as she continued to sculpt his body into something alive.

"You have half of an hour and then we are leaving. The life of a some peasant heretic does not concern us."

"Oh, It seemed to have concerned you enough to chase him through the mountains, but now that we have to HELP him," The light wavered as her emotions took over. Mariella tensed up as she focused her attention back to the task at hand. She spoke again, with a more restrained tone. "Half an hour would hardly be enough to keep him alive. I need more to set the bones and mend the muscles you broke."

"You have half an hour. Whether he survives or not after that, our gods have given their verdict." He turned and started the trek back, his deadline lingering in the air.

Mariella set to work, cutting corners where she never had before, in a desperate attempt to save this child. The orc may be a reckless, homicidal maniac that used brute force to get his position, but he was no liar. He would leave without her. And without the group, her own position would be in peril when she arrived late to the city. Vincent's body slowly began to resemble a human, but the magic ceased before the regeneration was complete. The mage checked the sky and noted the position of the sun. She would have to leave now to make it back to the group.

"I am sorry child, but you may now live." She pulled some food from her pack and placed it in front of his mangled hand. All the important bones were fixed, but his joints and extremities were only healed enough to allow proper blood flow. His jaw was off angle and his teeth had only partially grown back. His breathing was labored and his pain would never leave him, but he was still alive. She worried that he might curse her for this one day. That hate might fester in him for continuing his life this way. A wretched existence awaited when he awoke. She was out of time for that sort of thought. There was much ground between her and the convoy.

Several hours past as Vincent's body slowly came to terms with how his constrained lungs worked. He was thrust back into consciousness and immediately wished to go back. Pain . Every movement brought a fresh reminder of what happened while he was unconscious. His lungs felt like someone wrapped them in thorns everytime he tried to take a full breath. When he clenched his jaw to keep from screaming, its mangled state made itself known.

Vincent lay there in constant reflexive pain as he jerked to and fro. It wasn't until almost an hour had passed that he finally tried to stand. 'Tried' being the operative word. His leg muscles were completely torn from where the femur had been broken before and , although the bones were in near perfect condition, the muscles were unable to support even half his weight. The pain assailed him once again as he crumpled onto the ground.

It was then that Vincent noticed the small pack on the ground next to him. Curiosity and hunger fought its way through the thick brush of pain to reach for the pack. He caught sight of his fingers for the first time. His thumb was bent almost fully backwards and his other fingers weren't much better. Each segment of his fingers was bent at a different angle, leading to a very uncomfortable cracking noise as he curled them. His thumb wasn't so easily straightened, its joints gnarled and bent. He managed to finger the cloth a bit and saw the bread and fruit beneath. It was too large to grab with just his fingers and his attempts only added dirt to his lunch.

A few more tries had the mountains echoing with his frustrated cries and hacking coughs. He leaned his back against the incline. His breath hurt as much when it came in as when it went out. Vincent looked down at the food, his stomach begging for some miracle to occur. His left hand was worse off than his right and his right wasn't functioning properly. There was one way, a way no other child would have considered. The way he saw it, he needed food and he wouldn't make it out of the mountains without it. The way was tiring for healthy legs, and that didn't describe his current limbs.

He put the top part of his right thumb in the tangled mess of his left hand. He set his jaw as best he could and gritted what teeth were left. A quick crack and the pain shot up his arm. "GRAAAAGH FUCK!" A single outburst and he bit his tongue to stifle the rest. The only sound for a few minutes was sharp breaths and muffled groans. As the pain mellowed out he dared to test his finger. The pain made him wince, but the thumb was operational. His jaw remained set, as every motion brought pain, as he reached for the bag of food and enjoyed his hard earned stale bread and dry fruit.


Rekindle Ch. 01



It wasn't until he finished the food that he surveyed the shrine. He had been so absorbed with the food that he hadn't yet seen it. It hadn't occurred to him that they would do something so... monstrous. He tried to run to the altar, but his legs wouldn't listen. The pain was secondary now; he needed to check the altar. His right leg was the problem. His bottom portion was at an odd angle. The answer was in his head and, with one more look at the altar, he dug his foot into the dirt and twisted the leg back into place. He buried his mouth into the dirt as he screamed from the agony. This pain was nothing like the finger as it resounded through his entire body.

He swallowed as much of the pain as he could bear and struggled to his feet. He still had a heavy limp, but he could walk now. He rushed to the altar and finally saw it from the front. The strength drained from his legs, breath escaped in a pained gasp as he witnessed the destruction. If the altar had been saved, any amount of pain was worth the trouble. The throbbing in his leg seemed to double when his mental pillar finally crumbled. Tears flowed freely as he wept without control. His wails continued far into the evening until he could no longer muster the strength to cry. He had been sifting through the crumbled front of the rock that housed the small alcove to find something he could salvage, something to fix this.

Just before he gave up, JUST before his hope and will were completely washed away, he found it. The altar had crumbled, shattered to dust without mercy, but there was one thing that had weathered time and nature for countless decades. It would not fall to such wanton destruction. A face, perfectly preserved, survived on a piece of stone. Something had survived! Light finally shone in that bleak day, his body filled with energy as he tucked the stone into his shirt. The pain was more bearable when Vincent began to crawl out of the clearing. His legs were still far too painful to move, but they could now push him along the ground a little faster.

The boys eyes were cold and determined. A fire had been set in his mind what they did to him and the one thing that helped him, was not as important a this. He would learn to fight against this pain and broken body to rebuild this shrine. And not the tattered remains that lie in ruins behind him. He would create a true shrine to her. Whoever she was, she had helped him live until now. She had given him the strength to deal with such adversity in his life and he led to her destruction. He owed her that.

He had never been very religious, still wasn't in the traditional sense. He knew there were gods to worship in the world, but they had never done anything for him. He knew the woman was probably some god from an older, forgotten pantheon. She might have been evil or a threat, could have even been someone responsible for his miserable existence, but she had done Vincent a kindness. Yes, he truly owed her for the small peace she had offered him through those years. So he would learn. To build and craft. To mold raw materials into refined works of metal and stone. First things first, however, leaving that place. Vincent's jaw set as if to hold his tongue still by force, giving off only a stifled groan as he planted a mangled foot and hauled himself up the dirt..

The sky was light in the sky when he saw the town. He limped painfully, his body tired and weak, through the gate and morning fog. His fatigue was a potent drug to numb his pain allowing his legs to stand. The forge door groaned in protest as it allowed the deformed form into collapse next to the embers for warmth. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep full of nightmares and brigands.

The following day passed without Vincent notice. While his will to survive and avenge may have returned him to safety, the mind and body needed to recuperate eventually. The blacksmith screamed, a terrible sound, upon seeing the child that morning and she rushed him to the abbey. The priest there had once been a doctor, but even his god could do little for the Vincent.

"The bones have already been set my child. There is magic in these scars, but it was rushed...incomplete. You would need Imperial Royal mages to mend his body. I am sorry." His elderly hand swept the black cloth of the holy man to one side so he could sit heavily. "The wounds must have been fatal and the healing has both saved him and obscured what did this. It was no beast to be sure, and no amatuer that attempted to undo this. The mage was impatient, however."

The blacksmith rested her elbows by the head of the bed Vincent lay on. His jagged jawline was propped open to allow ragged breathing in his sleep. His neck was at a sickly angle sideways and the left side of his forehead looked caved in. The rest of his body was like shattered glass fused within a flesh container.

"How will he live beyond this? His legs hardly look fit for walking and...gods, can you hear that wheezing?" The ragged breath caught on the bed before breaking through whatever obstruction formed in his throat. The blacksmith face was empty of emotion, dried tears telling of her day of worry. Her mind was as tired as the body from trying to find any good in this situation. If not for the abnormal breathes and tremors throughout his body, she would have thought Vincent dead. A sigh took the last of the emotion from her voice. "What do I do now for the child?"

The priest looked over the boy once more, sadness in his eyes, before looking away and shaking his head slowly. "What you can." 

Vincent awoke the next day and with him woke the pain. He lie there for several minutes as the multitude of problems in his body signalled their existence. Muscles taut and waiting for at least the sharp pains to pass, the truth dawned on him: This was his new reality. A particularly sharp pain in his mouth distracted him. With some difficulty, he reached up and pulled the piece of metal loose. A rod only a few inches in length used to prop his mouth open. A hot tear of anguish rolled down his face. The agonizing pain was nothing before the helplessness he felt, unable to even sleep without aid. 

This was no nightmare from which to be awoken. The heat of his weakness was cooled by the cold determination that it created. He locked his jaw and got his leg over the edge of the bed. Testing his knees, he found the bone had finished setting and facilitated a limping walk across the room. After a few more minutes of practice, the stars and blackness stopped encroaching on his mind every time his weak leg carried his weight. No more cries for help, no more sounds of pain. With that silent declaration, Vincent head to the forge. 

Luckily for him, no one saw his first attempt at walking on mud that left his clothes dirty. His cool facade was lost in the mud as frustration rushed to takes its place. Something that had once been so basic now left him writhing in the dirt from the painful fall. It was not three meters to the forge and he had already failed once. A pain stabbed at his torso, a pain not from within his body. He rolled over and pulled the rock from his tunic with a clean hand. One look at the face gave clarity to the situation. He had what time was left in life to finish what he was about to start. This emotion only pushes his goal further away. Pulling back the numbness he had obtained from years of isolation and bullying, the frustration cooled into determination.

Vincent tried to rise in one go. A futile task. The pain from each failed attempt caused each of his muscles to falter. The comparison came to him then, for the first time. IT was like a beast, stubborn and unwilling. A horse afraid of spurs, a mule fearful of the whip, failing at its task for fear of pain. His body was no longer his own. It's agony was a mental assault that only reminded him of his poor ownership. Mental and useless. He had no need for a Beast unwilling to yield to it's master. He was in command and his body was to listen. It's endless reports of pain and suffering would see no pity from Vincent. Ignoring the Beast got Vincent on his feet on his next try. Each step after that was accompanied by soreness as the Beast's way of vengeance. The boy would have none of that.

Ignoring his appearance, Vincent pried open the door against the will of the heat inside. His uneven steps were unheard by the smith who seeked to drown herself in the embers and steel of her trade. There was no light save from the beast of heat and creation from which the smith pulled her trade. The slack tub still held the dying orange glow in the shapes of farm equipment and blades. The heavy apron and massive padded leather gloves held tongs and hammer in powerful arms as she beat the desired shape out of unkempt ore. He was in awe as he witnessed a smith without distraction, without equal in his eyes. Vincent waited for the hiss of the water before making his presence known and attempting to speak. By the time a word was uttered, the heat had already drawn sweat from his brow and dried the once cool mud.

"I wish-," His first words were cut off as he heard the rasping croak that was his voice. A well of that fiery emotion began to flare only to be forcefully choked out of existence once again. Setting his jaw properly, Vincent spoke again in a damaged, but steady voice. "I wish to learn your craft."

The hammer stopped and the words sank into the silence that followed. Removing the cloth that covered her face and transforming once more into the woman he recognized, she turned to look him in his eyes. They were the only undamaged part left on him after his ordeal. If she were to judge off them alone, he would seem thrice his age. Where there should have been a child wracked with pain was instead the focused mind of someone who had matured by necessity. She knew not why he wished it, but she understood that he had something to help him carry on with his life. Looking straight into those near black eyes and finding no wavering or shallow intent, The blacksmith nodded.

"I do not teach in half measure. You will not stop until I say you have mastered my craft or i say you are inept, Vincent. If I see no future for you as a smith, I will never teach you again." The blacksmith let the words sink in for a moment. The boy's eyes did not lose focus and his will was unchanged. "Do you still choose to learn now? So soon after your... incident?"

The boy's response was immediate. He walked over to the anvil and felt the heat that remained. There was only one thing he needed to test to know his answer. The hammer felt warm from the blacksmith's touch as he raised it over his head. The bones creaked in defiance and muscles strained to their limit as the hammer rose. With resolute force, Vincent struck the metal with all his might. Pain flew up his arm, reaching crescendo in every joint as his muscles screamed at him to stop, to fall to his knees and clutch the offended arm. Yet the hammer did not fall. He only grimaced and forced the pain back under his will. He stared at his arm with disdain, waiting for the broken parts to understand that he would do as he pleased. 

He turned slowly to the blacksmith, careful to not betray the pain. "If that was a solid swing then I am ready." The blacksmith saw the truth despite his stone face. His arm had a shake to it and his lips turned white as they tightened. He was still a child, after all. Still, she felt the need to do something for this child and his determination gave her a clear option. 

"Then we shall begin now. The coastal farms have let their tools rust and need a full compliment by next week. With an apprentice, we will finish this in half the time." The heavy apron and gloves creased as she shifted in her seat. "I hope you did not expect much free time from now on."

He walked to her side to await her direction."I think I can sacrifice that much."

The slack tub was full and Vincent covered in charcoal and soot before the night was done and he wearily lowered himself into bed. The Beast wanted to restlessly turn about in his sleep and wait for the pain to stop. Vincent would have none of it on this night or the many that followed.