~Henry "Dink" Winston Ball
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PROLOGUE
to
EMERALD DAWN
by: Henry "Dink" Winston Ball
“Tell me father,” the boy said, “Why are we at war with them?”
“Ah my son,” the father replied with remorse in his throat, “That is an easy question with a sad answer.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” the man replied, “We are at war because we Civil folk chose to be prideful.”
“Prideful?”
“Yes. We wanted to boast and be proud of our intelligence.”
“Should we not?”
“Our intelligence is a gift to be certain. Though it should not blind us to think that we are far superior.”
“But father,” the boy replies, “We can make fire, weapons, and music with our intelligence. Isn’t that something to about which to brag?”
“It can be, Tyren,” the man replied to his son, “But it should not make us forget that the animals of this world can sense the changes in nature, while we can not. They are much older and wiser than we ever will be.”
“So you don’t think the capital is right?”
“That we Civils have more of a right to this world? No, my dear son. We have the same right as every animal and plant. We share the same sky and waters. We see the same trees and mountains. This is our land. We are beings born of Hen and so are the animals. This world is to be shared between us, not for one kind to claim dominion over the other.”
Tyren, the twelve year old Viros-kin walked alongside his father on the trading route towards the northern villages of the Henosian Empire. They, like the other merchants where surrounded by The Guards, the mobile military service given to the craftsman of the empire in protection against the Wilds during this time of increasing conflict. Tyren could barely remember the time before the war between the Civil Chakras of Henoterra, when the wild animals, or “Wilds”, were not trying to kill each other. He and his father were some of the few Viros-kin that were in the bartering company, for it was a majority of saurian-like Zaurians and amphibian-like Grems in this kind of trade. The Guard though were a mix of the insect-like Altomin, Viros, and Zaurians who served as their commanders. Trading and crafts-work was becoming harder and harder to do since the natural resources to feed the towns were waning due to the animals’ raids on crops and that game that was once hunted by the Empire was now furiously fighting back.
“Oi! Viros!” a Zaurian guard yelled in the direction of Tyren and his father. Tyren watched as the Root chakra of the Henosian class system strolled over, barring many similarities to their more primal saurian cousins with its broad snout with gnarled teeth; where the white feathers and their bluish ends were not present on its body, emerald coloring with brown blotches could be seen on its leathery skin. The armor the Zaurain wore was black with emerald trimmings making the ordinarily more lanky-looking creature appear bulky. Its tail dragged behind in its approach, waving its lance to draw attention to others around it. Tyren knew this meant a “lesson” was coming for his father.
Again.
“Viros! How dare you speak against the High Court of Solicon!” the Zaurian guard hissed.
Tyren’s father gave a polite bow, “I would never speak of treason against the Court unless it were deemed true.”
The Zaurian’s bared his teeth and pointed one of its clawed fingers at Tyren’s father, “What is your name, Basic!”
“I am Albera Gale, a mere merchant of rare trinkets and fine cloth.”
“I am Albera Gale, a mere merchant of rare trinkets and fine cloth.”
“Albera Gale?” the Zaurian said, eyes going wide with surprise, “The Albera Gale?”
Tyren saw his father bare another mocking grin, “Oh no. Not him. I haved no relation to the Wild Slayer.”
The Zaurian’s brief expression of admiration went back to disgust, “Of course. No way such a poor specimen of a Basic like you could be the real Albera. The real Albera wouldn’t dare fiddle around with being a mere Basic merchant.” The Zaurian looked over Albera’s shoulder to see what exactly they were selling. There was nothing in the cart save some personal bags and Albera’s toys made from ruba trees. They were anifigures of knights bearing Henosian shields, but no swords. “And a poor one of at there. You aren’t much for a Basic toy tinkerer are you?”
“This is very true,” Albera said, gritting his teeth at the word “Basic” and mocking his passion, “Shall we continue the trek? I feel we are holding up the line.”
The Zaurian guard looked around and did notice that the caravan had stop moving, which was never a good idea to do; especially this close to the forests.
“Alright,” the guard huffed, “But remember your place, Basic! One day soon, the Civil Chakras will take their rightful place over these lands and the Wilds will return the mindless beasts they are.”
“As you see say,” Albera replied.
“And one more thing, basic.”
“Yes?”
The Zaurian turned quickly, his thick tail smashing against Albera’s side, sending the Viros hard into the dirt road.
“Dad!” Tyren said, getting up from the cart and rushing to his father’s side.
“That will teach you! Do not forget your place in this world, Basic! You are nothing more than half Henosian! It is an honor and a privilege to be apart of the Henosian Empire! Not a right!”
Albera shakily pushed himself off the ground while the Zaurian laughed back into his post in the caravan. Tyren helped bring his father onto his feet, “Are you okay dad?”
“I’ll be fine,” Albera coughed, “Been hit with worse than a Zaurian’s tail.”
“Its not fair they can act like that. Hells, I can’t believe he would say such a thing!”
“Of course its not,” Albera said, dusting himself as he stood up, “But power corrupts. Its a shame though, I remember the times when the Zaurians were more the roots their chakra represents. Binding the other Chakras together; not tearing us all apart.”
Tyren noticed his father was now moving awkwardly and holding the side where the Zaurian hit him, “You sure you’re okay?”
Albera’s a grin grew behind his bearded face, “Don’t worry son. I’ll heal myself up when we make camp tonight.”
“Would you want me to pull the cart then so you can take a rest?”
“You know, if you are offering. Why not. You could do with some exercise.”
Tyren smiled at his father, “Alright dad. Just take care.”
“You are a good son.”
Hours passed and the sun soon settled behind the horizon, allowing for the Emerald Moon of Hen to watch overhead amongst the distant stars. The father and son had set up their camp in the failing light of day and were now settled in amongst the other craftsmen.. The fires were lit and the Guards had made their camps facing the dark forests that surrounded them, prepared for the off chance of a Wilds Night Raid. Tyren and his father stuck close to the center the caravan. They cooked their meager rations and offered the food to their neighbors in the traditional Henosian way. Even in times of war, most of the merchants would share their limited resources to have comfortable dining. Some say it was to remind themselves what they were fighting for.
Tyren was giving a glass of wine to a Grem toymaker when he noticed his father leave the group with a bowl of rice and a cup of mint tea. He watched his father to the guard closest their camping ground. Tyren clenched his teeth when he realized his father was offering their food and drink to the Guard that nearly broke his ribs. His blood boiled at the thought.
He and his father were part of the Henosian Empire, but since they were Viros-kin, they were always treated unfairly by the other races. While the other races were part of the Chakras of Hen, the belief that each Civil Race was a chakra to their great god Hen the Creator, the Viros kind oddly were not included. No one honestly knew from where his kind came or why they lived in Henoterra since there is no species on the Henoterrian continent they could have evolved from. One myth says that long ago, all Viros-Kin came from the sea and were adopted by the “Old Ones” of Henosian lore as adopted children of Hen. When the war broke out though, many Viros chose not to participate and were deemed “unworthy” of Hen by the Zaurians and the Aruda. Due to the Viros’ evolutionary “plainness” compared to the other Civil Chakras, the term “Basic” developed as a derogatory slang form them. What was worse, the abuse his father faced today was not unheard of, rather a common sight even. Especially by the Zaurians, who never were too fond of lifeforms of the mammalian lineages.
The boy’s bitter dislike of the Zaurians was interrupted by the familiar laugh of his father and, oddly enough, the Zaurian Guard. Tyren watched his father’s kindness in bringing the guard food and drink seemed to melt the race divide and once again they were Henosian Kin. Tyren couldn’t remember much of the so called “Golden Age” before the war, but his father always talked about the things that were once common in Henosian life. Granted, Tyren did remember that his father was a very different man back then. He wasn’t a merchant nor was he always so kind. When Tyren’s mother died during the first Wild Raids of their now destroyed village in the South, his father became monstrous and was one of the first Viros-kin to draw swords for the Empire. One day, his father came back and abandoned the battlefront to become a merchant and their relationship bettered. It was like something had changed in his father and Tyren was always curious about the sudden change. His father told him not to worry about it, even though Tyren could sense there was something guilty in his eyes about it. All the nostalgic talk his Father had for the days long ago were mostly on things that he never did then. What ever happened in those early days of the War seemed to have left a scar on his old man. Albera the Wild Slayer wasn’t a Viros of war anymore, but a Henosian for peace by the name of Albera Gale the Toy Tinkerer.
But it was hard to be at peace when going out of the villages and cities meant constant threat of a Wild raid. His father came back to the tent and smiled at Tyren before conversing with the other merchants. Tyren smiled back, waved goodnight to his father and his fellow merchants and went into his tent. Lying on his blanket, Tyren took a deep breath and started to close his eyes. He felt as if he should pray to Hen, but why? Henoterra was ravaged by war and their “God” seemed to turn a blind eye to his creations. His breath slowed and sleep soon embraced the young Viros.
Tyren heard the screaming and roars before being slammed back into the reality of the world from dreams. Outside his tent, lights glowed red, horrific shadows dancing across his tent’s fabric, and his father was no where to be seen. Tyren scrambled of the tent and into a night of horror. Packs of Speeder Snygoros raced through the camp, toppling any Civils in their way. Tyren could see the dashing creatures were only up to his hip in height, but he had heard of these predators while on the road. They originated from the vast golden savannahs to the south, but due to the war, these yellow and black spotted saurian-like canines rallied to the Wild caused and used for quick hit and runs on the caravans travelling from the south. The Zaurian Guards were doing their best to defend with their spears while some of the merchants fought back with their own weapons such as small blades and staffs. A flash of green light erupted behind him and the savage howls of the Snygoros could be heard. Tyren could see his father casting Sky Ima at the creatures. Lighting shot out of his hands and blasted any Syngoro that came close.
It was sheer chaos.
“Dad!” Tyren yelled.
Albera turned and spotted his son, “Get back in the tent!”
“I want to help!”
“Go back into the tent son!” Albera repeated, blasting more Syngoros, unaware of the danger drawing closer to him.
But Tyren could see. He wanted to yell, but couldn’t. He had only heard stories about them but never had he seen one in the flesh. It was too late for Albera himself to spotthe creature that, despite its size, managed to sneak up on him.
He wanted to shout some kind of warning but he couldn’t. He was racked with sheer terror from just the mere presence of it. Even though it wasn’t as big as he imagined, but it was still a large animal. Its emerald scales shonein the light of the fires, and brown and black feathers did a good job of hiding its gigantic mass in the fire’s shadows. The the large crest usually known for the Greater Tyrannex was still growing in and despite its tiny arms which were no longer than his own, this animal’s gigantic maw full of teeth showed what it was. It was a hunter.
A killer of civils.
Tyren watched as the creature roared its presence at his father and before Albera could do anything, Tyren witnessed monstrous jaws, filled with dagger-sized teeth, clamp down on his father. Tyren’s screams finally found voice, causing the creature to looked up, reveling his father’s body still twitching in its jaws. The image of Albera’s upper half now hidden in blood and tooth seared itself into Tyren. Amongst the pain and chaos around, man and beast oddly made eye contact. Even from the distance, as the battle between civil folk and wild creatures roared and screamed around them, Tyren could sense something unknown in the creature’s gaze.
A sudden flash of a wooden face with one green eye flashed before Tyren. Then he simply passed out.
“Viros!” A raspy voice spoke in the darkness, “Viros! Are you dead? Or you still breathing?”
Life entered Tyren again and he simply screamed back into the waking world. It was the Zaurian guard who woke him. His armor was broken and covered in blood. The Zaurian had lost his helmet; revealing the white and blue feathered crest the males bore.
“Thank Hen,” the Guard muttered, “last thing we need is another Basic dying.”
Tyren looked at the guard with a frown, “Where is my father?”
“Gone.”
That word brought back the vivid nightmare of what will forever be the last memory of his father. A ragdoll being crushed in the savage jaws of the Wild’s “royal” linage. He knew he was going to regret his next words due to the answer they would bring.
“Is there any left of him?” Tyren asked quitely.
“None we can find. Most likely he In the belly of that beast.”
The Guard pointed out a large mound of black and brown feathers that were tied down in a clearing near the camp.“Your father’s death was our victory. We think his final testament was that he used enough ima to stun the beast into submission before dying. The Syngoros left in a panic when that thing went down.”
“Why don’t you kill it,” Tyren bitterly whispered.
“Kill an offspring of a Tyrannex? Its tempting, but this could help lure other Tyrannex into the opening.”
“A prisoner of war?”
“Yes,” the Zaurian smiled, “Imagine! We could even attempt to lure the King of Beasts out into the open! Finally an end to the war if we can chop of the head of the one that started all this bloodshed! Once he and his bloodline are extinct, then the other beasts will go back to being the dumb animals they were before.”
Tyren continued to sit on the ground, his arms wrapped around his legs. The earth smelled of drying blood and burnt grass. Tyren’s clothes were covered in dirt and dew and his bare feet covered in mud. The Guard’s toothy smile began to fade and his eyes darted around in guilt.
“Your father,” the Zaurian muttered, his head low and his feathered crest flattened,” was a good Bas--, I mean, Viros. He served this Empire well. His sacrifice may help bring an end to this damned war.”
A tear dropped from Tyren’s face and the Zaurian patted the young Viros’ shoulder with his clawed hand, “I have to check on the wounded or dead. I’m sorry. Seek peace.”
The Zaurian left and Tyren looked at the downed Tyrannex youth in the clearing. There weren’t many Guards around, they were clearing the dead. Since it was morning, everyone knew the predators of the Wild prefered to raid at night then in the day; which is why the security around the fallen Tyrannex adolescent was momentarily absent. They way the Tyrannex was tied down made it difficult for it to attempt escape since it was on its side. The small arms and strong legs were now made useless. The most powerful Henosian predator was now in a state it probably never was in before.
It was vulnerable.
Tyren went back into his tent and quickly came back out, holding something close to his body. He moved without thinking towards the subdued Tyrannex. The creature was large, but Tyren knew what he had to do. He would follow the Zuarian’s advice and seek peace.
To seek such a peace, Tyren had to kill that beast.
He soon found himself standing next to it. Even though it was a young creature, it still towered next to Tyren. Tyren drew his hidden dagger towards the creature’s head. He knew if he stabbed it in the back of the head, he could cripple it forever. He knew enough about the anatomy of these animals from his father’s books. A good enough slice will cut the spinal cords and leave the animal paralyzed from head down. A useless Tyrannex would become a dead Tyrannex. Rage though was clouded in his head. He felt like he probably wouldn’t be surgical enough to deliver the job. He just knew he wanted to hurt it. Hurt it bad. Hurt it for taking the only family he had left in this world. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to his father. It was all wrong. Tyren faced his father’s killer and the creature seemed oblivious to him. He climbed onto its neck and looked at its head. Even though it still wasn’t fully grown, its skull was still almost half of Tyren’s own size. Knife raised Tyren looked down at the fell beast. He let out a small gasp and halted his blade.
It was watching him. A groan quietly escaped out of its toothed maw as Tyren looked into the creatures brown eyes. A silent eternity seemed to pass as the two sides looked at each other.
What was Tyren seeing in its eyes? Fear? Sorrow?
Regret?
A new urge came over Tyren, and he acted on it, bringing the knife down.
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Bro Wars and all related materials are (c) copyrighted by Henry "Dink" Winston Ball
H Universe Project: 001
Special Editing Credits go to Kaitlin Pelech
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