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Deicide	By : Need2ScreamNow Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Avenged Sevenfold Views: 1162 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't know, own, or have anything to do with A7x or their significant others. I'm not making any money off this and it's all fiction. Totally made up on a late Friday night.

Chapter List
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Rory Whitestone grew up at the foot of Kyne Mountain in a small town known simply as Kyne Town. It had a real name, but it had been forgotten generations ago by almost everyone; everyone but his father, Barik Whitestone. Barik told him the town was actually called Mozaik and the punishment was harsh if Rory ever called it anything but that. Barik wanted nothing to do with Kyne Mountain, the seat of the Gods. He hated them and the small plant growing under their humble home was a testament to that. His mother Kisha had died in labor with him but Barik told him it was her that had taken him to the end of the world to get the delicate flower.

Now Barik was aging, his strong hands were swollen and knotted with arthritis and he spent more and more time in the warm growing room under their small home and left Rory to tend to the field.

Rory took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and looked up at the hazy mountain, sometimes if he watched it long enough he thought he could see the flash of Zaksha’s wings. Today though clouds hung low over the mountain and he couldn’t see any farther than half way up. He picked the hoe up again and continued weeding the rows. The soil was dusty brown and hard and the weeds had long roots that didn’t pull easily. He knew their land hadn’t always been like this, he could remember from his child years the rich brown and black of the soil and the ease he had pulled weeds.

The farms around them didn’t seem to be afflicted by bad soil, quite the contrary, they seemed to be doing as well as ever. From the hilltop he could see the fat vines of their neighbor’s grapes and the rich green of their grain; their crops though, only half as grown as they should be and easily mistaken for weeds if he wasn’t careful, were a sick grey-green. He jammed his hoe into the ground angrily, his father had been telling him since he could remember about the unfairness of the gods. When he had been young he hadn’t believed such tales, the boys at school had dazzled him with tales of Zaksha’s presence or, even better, the fun tricks Jolin had helped them with. He thought his father simply bitter with the death of his mother and his wife before that. Now though he could see. He could see the unfairness of everything. What had the neighbors done that the gods found favorable? Why should their crops be fat and strong and theirs not? Why did their soil crumble into useless dust no matter how much he watered while the neighbors stayed thick and rich?

His arms ached from the work of hoeing out the weeds, he had been working since sun up and only six of their fifteen rows were done. He had to finish them all today or the weeds would over take their meager crops. Already he had found seven plants choked out by the long weeds. If they lost anymore Rory would have to swallow his pride and go begging to the neighbors for extra grain to get through the winter. The winters weren’t harsh, but they were cold enough that grains didn’t readily grow.

He paused in his work again and stretched his arms. Behind him he heard the soft flutter of wings. He whirled around ready to chase the plant killing scavenger away and pulled up short. Hovering just inches above the ground was Zaksha. Rory’s mind froze, he couldn’t believe the messenger was here and for what? He couldn’t begin to imagine. He wasn’t looking at Rory, his eyes, greener than a flawless emerald, were focused on the horizon. His hair looked like strands of night sky lying against his alabaster skin. Rory knew he should bow, say something, but he was stuck. He had never seen any of the gods so close before. Zaksha’s famous wings, poets had called them snow white or pearl white but they were neither. They were light itself, so bright they made Rory’s eyes sting as he looked at them. Colors shimmered through them as they slowly fluttered, keeping his delicate bare feet off the dusty ground.

Rory didn’t know how long he stood there staring at him, but as soon as Zaksha’s eyes refocused and landed on him he unthawed and dropped to his knees. The movement chaffed at him, he didn’t like bowing; something else his father had instilled in him. But Zaksha was still a god, not one so great as the warrior god Tama but great enough to reduce Rory to nothing on a whim.

“Oh no, please, get up. I didn’t realize you were out here.” His light tenor voice was unrivaled by the bards that sang him praises or even the sweet sound of the early morning birds. Rory hastily got his feet and boldly looked at the god again. His green eyes caught the light and highlights of gold appeared. Rory swallowed suddenly unsure of himself again, “Can…I help you?” that didn’t sound formal enough to address a god but if Zaksha was offended he showed no sign.

“No…I shall be on my way shortly.” His voice was soft, melancholy. Rory wrinkled his brow and took a chance of looking him over again when his eyes went to the horizon again. He didn’t see anything wrong with him but gods didn’t scar or bleed easily, if at all. Suddenly he wondered if Zaksha could sense the flower growing under their house. His mouth dried at that thought. If the gods knew about the Hypopsis they would level their farm, bury it, and curse the land. They would probably leave his and his father’s souls to roam.

Zaksha’s eyes refocused again and Rory tried to keep a calm face in place. The god didn’t seem like he knew the plant was there but who could read them? They were rarely seen outside of the festival days and even then they were usually at a distance. Zaksha looked around the field and his wings froze, dropping him gracefully to the ground, “Oh.” The melancholy was gone, replaced by surprise. Rory felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment and indignation; he held his tongue though, waiting to see what snide remark the god had. To his surprise though Zaksha didn’t say anything but leaned down and touched his fingers to one of the struggling plants. His wings flared blindingly bright and the air around him hummed and crackled with energy. Rory stepped back fearful he had angered the god, but Zaksha wasn’t paying attention to him again. The energy popped and cracked around him and bright spots, like tiny stars, filled the air and dropped to the ground. The drooping grey plants straightened and their stalks and vines fattened and glowed healthy green. The dusty soil thickened and darkened and the tall weeds withered and browned right before his eyes. Rory couldn’t believe what he saw, it was a miracle, just like the ones the boys at school had talked about.

“When death takes something, he also gives life.” Zaksha said cryptically, melancholy again, and then his white light wings beat heavy twice and he was in the air and soon he was swallowed by the low hanging grey clouds. Rory watched him until he was gone and then watched a moment longer before dropping his hoe and running inside. He had no idea what he would tell his father, Barik didn’t like hearing about the things gods did but this was simply to amazing to keep to himself.

“Father!” he shut the door behind him and quickly pulled up the trap door in the back corner of the small house and slid down the ladder. As soon as he was at the bottom the heavy flower scent made him cough but he croaked out his father’s name again. Barik was asleep in his favorite chair. The chair was surrounded by the thorny delicate flower and Barik said he sat there because it was harder for the soft footed Rory to sneak up on him.

“Father, you have to come outside and see the fields.” Rory said breathlessly. He carefully pushed one of the low hanging vines aside trying not to catch his finger on the sharp curled thorns. Barik didn’t stir. Rory crouched in front of him and took his hand, despite the humidity under the house his skin was cool and dry. “Father? Barik?” Rory reached up and gently shook his shoulder with panic fluttering like a wounded bird in his heart. Barik slumped some when Rory shook him but still didn’t wake. Rory shot to his feet, heedless of the hanging vines that snagged his shirt, “This is your trade!” he shouted at the ceiling, “You’ll give me crops and take my father!” he cursed and raged until his voice was hoarse and his tears dry.

When he brought his father to the first floor of the house the sky was dark with night and rain fell lightly on the roof. The sound usually soothed him but now it seemed to be more of a mockery of his tears and pain and he cursed the sky again. He lay his father down by the fireplace and made a warm fire for him. He watched the flames dance up the sides of the fireplace until he saw nothing but the yellow and orange. “I promise you father, on my life and your soul, they will pay.” He whispered. “They will pay for every injustice heaped on this family.” Stiffly he got to his feet and descended again to the growing room.

He picked a start a few inches long and carefully put it in a small satchel of rich dark soil. He took a deep breath of the overpowering flowery fragrance and then went up the ladder again. He picked up another, larger, traveling satchel and filled it with bread and cheese. Once he had that he went over to the fireplace and pulled out a burning brand and tossed it into the rafters. Despite the light rain the thatched roof caught quickly and Rory walked out the door without looking back.

Rory snuck over to his neighbor’s farm, unlike Rory and Barik, they grew crops for sale instead of subsistence. With that extra money they had large stable with cows and mules and a few good horses. Rory had never really ridden a horse, if he had to go to town he walked or rode their mule, but he figured riding a horse couldn’t be much harder than riding a mule. He found the tack he needed and went into a stall. The horse eyed him warily while he put the saddle blanket and saddle on and it even nipped at him when he tried to put the bridle on. Just like he did when the mule acted up he smacked the horse squarely on the nose. Unlike the mule, the horse didn’t sink into submission but reared up in the small space and caught his shoulder with one of its sharp hooves snorting and whinnying loud enough to startle the other animals in the barn. Rory cursed and stumbled out of the stall and ran from the stable. Outside he could see lights flaring inside the neighbor’s home and then the door opened casting light into the night. Rory cursed again and ran into the darkness.

*~*~*

Ten Years Later

After years of wandering Rory was finally coming home. Behind him rode three dozen men ready to battle. They came around the small bend in the road and Mozaik opened up before them. It was unchanged from the last time Rory had been there, same small thatched roof houses, same town square busy with merchants and customers, and there, rising up above it all was the same cursed Kyne Mountain. A man with a face scarred from too many drunken brawls pulled his spirited stallion beside Rory’s docile gelding, “How we going to get up there?” he grunted tossing his head at the mountain. Rory scowled at the town and the mountain, “There’s a path that leads to the palace. The ‘faithful’,” he spat the word, “use it to see them every day.” He glared at the town one last time and turned to the scarred man, “Koil, get the men over to a field where the horses can roam. When that’s done we’ll circle around to the path.” He looked up at the mountain with something close to happiness warming his heart, “We’ll climb through the night and surprise them in the morning.”

The path was almost obscenely easy to find, not so easy to climb. Rory had spent years brawling and searching out the seediest parts of the world to find the thirty-five men behind him and still the climb had him winded. Koil, his second in command and Nik, the first man that had joined him on his journey, weren’t fairing any better. Rory began to rethink his plan half-way up the mountain. If they did reach the palace of the gods by morning they would be too tired to get past the gates. But if they stopped, then there was a very good chance that someone would come climbing up to see the gods and stumble across them. He growled and pulled himself over a boulder sitting in the middle of the path, they were gods, why couldn’t they move all the damn rocks off the trail?

Rory came to a stop just as day was breaking. Koil and Nik collapsed next to him panting. Just above them, another one hundred yards up the mountain were the gates to the temple. Rory pulled out the small mortar and pestle and the Hypopsis plant he had been taking careful care of for years. He held the small flower up into the light and smiled before setting it next to him and cutting it into sections small enough to fit in the tiny bowl. The thirty-five other men pulled out their own plants and did the same thing and as soon as the plant was pasty enough there were rasps of weapons being drawn.

Rory, Nik, and Koil went up first, cautiously peeking over the rocks. The bronze gates stood open, no guards. The temple seemed like it was growing out of the rocky face of the mountain. The edges were smoothed though and glittered with jewels and precious stones. Two massive statues of the fates, Vari and Chelle were also adorned with gold and jewels; their gemstone eyes staring eternally to the horizon.

Rory flicked his wrist and the rest of the men moved forward. They passed through the shining gates and into a rainbow of colorful flowers. The yard leading to the imposing bronze doors of the temple was full of flowers of all kinds; thorny roses lined the edge by the gate, hibiscus, hollyhocks, and flowers he had never seen before grew wildly in every color. Small, graceful trees grew up among the flowers and in their branches were a colorful collage of feathers. Birds filled the air with their song and fluttered above their heads snapping insects out of the air or rooting for worms in the flowers. The onslaught of colors nearly blinded him.

“I hope inside is tamer.” Nik muttered. Rory nodded and led the way to the hulking doors. The bronze was inlaid with silver and gold filigree and speckled with chips of diamonds. Etched into the metal were the sacred animals; Tama’s lion, Airn’s wolf, Jolin’s koi, Jolimi’s eagle, and Zaksha’s stag. Rory snorted at the display of wealth and pushed the doors open. Inside a great hallway stretched out before them. At the end of it was a circular room filled with doors. They stepped in cautiously, weapons at the ready. The milk white marble under their feet was padded with deep red carpets that muffled their heavy footsteps. High above candlelight flickered and reflected off diamond chandeliers. Along the hall massive picture windows let bright sunlight stream in and it reflected off the diamonds in an ever changing rainbow of colors. The last man in let the heavy door shut softly behind him. Adrenaline coursed through Rory, he had dreamed for years of this day and now he had nearly completed the vow he had made to his father.

Ahead of them laughter echoed off the walls, they froze and waited. The laughter came again from the circular room. Rory darted forward with Nik and Koil beside him. They reached the corner leading to the room and Rory had them pause. He peeked around the corner, a small man was giggling to himself while he smeared honey on the marble floor. He had his back to them and Rory slid back around the corner and held up one finger, “Jolin.” He mouthed, then he jerked his head forward. The circular room didn’t have any carpets to muffle their footsteps and as soon as they stepped in the man looked up in surprise and then confusion.

Rory’s original plan was to rush forward and stick his blade through the man’s chest but he faltered. Jolin, god of mischief, fire, and music, stared up at him with doe brown eyes. His face was young, boyish and with his dark chocolate brown hair just brushing the tops of his ears he could have been any mischievous boy in Mozaik. They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity until Jolin broke the contact and saw the sword in his hand. With a speed no human could match he rose to his feet and then fell to the ground again when an arrow lodged in his neck. His brown skin paled to ashy gray and he struggled to pull the arrow out. His doe eyes were shiny with fear and pain as he gasped and struggled to get up smearing dark red blood on the milky marble, and his lips stained ruby with watery gasps for air. It couldn’t have taken long for his erratic struggles to slow and stop but for Rory it felt like he had aged a lifetime.

He took a shaky breath and straightened his spine and looked around the men, most of them were still staring blankly at the young god’s body. He seemed to be the only one unthawed. He shoved Nik and Koil roughly getting them out of their trance. They glared at him for only a moment until someone in the back screamed shaking the rest of the men back to their senses. Rory whirled around and was momentarily blinded by the white light of Zaksha’s wings reflecting the golden candlelight. The high ceilings suddenly made sense as Zaksha flapped until he was flush against the ceiling. From there he shot down arrows and gracefully dodged their return fire.

Rory continued to glare up at him when the bow clattered to the floor distracting everyone else. With the soldiers distracted he dropped down. Rory slashed at him with his long sword and caught the arch of his wing sending him crashing to the floor with a pained scream that echoed around them. He staggered to his feet, against the white of his feathers his blood looked almost black. He scooped up Jolin’s lifeless body and with a growl that didn’t fit his angelic face he beat his wings heavily until he was off the floor again. His soldiers fired arrows again and more dark spots appeared in the white of his wings and tore through his loose tunic.

Rory’s attention was drawn away from Zaksha when one of the doors groaned open. Blood dropped down the side of his face as Zaksha skimmed low and fled through the open door above the two gods Rory was hoping they would catch off guard. Tama and Airn stood in the door in full armor, weapons at the ready.

Tama, god of war and earthquakes, his bronze armor glittered in the candlelight. A roaring lion head on his chest with ruby eyes glared death at Rory, a serpent wrapped around his war belt and gave him a red-eyed glare. Beside him, only a breath smaller, was Airn, the prophecy god and a warrior in his own right. His bronze armor was similar to Tama’s, although on his chest was a snarling wolf, sapphires and emeralds decorated his war belt. For all their glamour though, the two of them were fierce and with one god already dead and another wounded Rory and his men would not be given any mercy.

They stood in the doorway only a second before darting into the room, the floor rumbled dangerously as Tama unleashed his anger. A flash of bronze was the only warning he got before Airn knocked him off his feet. He had a moment of weightlessness before he crashed to the unyielding marble and slid into a wall. The impact against the floor winded him and when his head cracked against the wall his senses left him.

The loud crash and scrape of metal impacting metal echoed deafeningly around the room and mixed in with it were high screams of pain and low growls and grunts of anger and exertion. Rory pushed himself into a sitting position, his head swimming dizzily. He jammed his sword into the marble and used it to push himself up. Once his vision cleared he saw Tama besieged by at least ten men and he was keeping them mostly at bay. Recklessly, Rory ran forward and jumped on the god’s back. His plan was to slip his sword under his chin and slit his throat. Tama grabbed his sword though and kept it from the lifeblood pumping just under the skin, but left his abdomen unguarded. Koil appeared out of the mass and swung his axe and cut through the heavy bronze to the god’s vulnerable belly. Rory felt the strength leave him and he scrambled off his back so he wouldn’t fall on him. Bright blood stained the rough edge of the cut but the war god was not done. He swung his sword cutting down the two men that moved in too soon and staggered to his feet. Tama’s gold eyes glowed eerily in the low lighting, the lion head on his chest seemed fiercer not weakened. Rory thrust his sword at him, Tama knocked it aside with his own and made to return the thrust. At the last second he pivoted and kicked Rory square in the chest sending him flying again and attacked the crowd with his blade.

Rory lurched to his feet again and stumbled back into the fray. Tama was weakening, his breathing came heavy and disjointed and he was retreating more into defense instead of attacking. The marble floor was slick with blood and Rory ducked low and shoved his sword through Tama’s knee and jerked back sending the god crashing to his back again. He kicked out without hitting anyone, the floor trembled and the chandeliers above swung dangerously. The men kept their distance waiting for the wily god to gain his feet again. Rory could see the glow fading from his eyes though, Tama was dying but the rage still glittered there in his golden eyes and the lion’s rubies. Rory stood over him waiting for him to try to move, his sword lifted and then clattered to the floor. His eyes faded to hazel, the glow disappeared completely, but still, the rage remained. A chill went through Rory as he stared at him. The god of war glowered back, no fear of death or of pain, only fiery, unabated fury. The lion gaped at him, the rubies glowing with their own fire in the swaying candlelight from above. Rory drove his sword through his chest, right between the lion’s glittering ruby eyes. Tama jerked once, his sword rising again and then the light in his eyes was gone and the sword fell again. The lion’s furious eyes continued to look fiercely out at him, the rubies still glittering.

Rory shook himself and looked around the chamber; their numbers had been cut from thirty-five to six. He shuddered as he looked around, only two of them and they had killed so many. “Where’s Airn?” He asked roughly. The Koil and Nik pointed to the door the gods had appeared in, “Ran away when he saw we would win.” Nik panted with a smile. Rory didn’t share his smile, “He’s the god of foresight and prophecy.” He snapped, “He knew what would happen and now he’s probably up to something.” He didn’t know how the god read the future but he felt it safer to assume he had a plan to kill the rest of them. Nik’s smile disappeared and a troubled look wrinkled his brow. Rory held his sword at the ready and followed the bloody footprints down the quiet hallway.

Instead of a trap they found Airn lying next to Zaksha’s limp body in a small room. His helmet was off to the side and his long black hair fell across his pale face. Zaksha’s wings were no longer white light, but the normal snowy white that the poets sang of. The wing Rory had hit was fanned out uselessly on the floor behind him, the other was heavy with bloody feathers. Rory stood in the doorway for a second and cautiously made his way in. It seemed odd that they would just give up, although, as far as he knew they had never been wounded so severely. Disgust made his eye twitch; they would give up after a little pain. Pain suffered by mortals every day.

A screech had him with his sword up and searching for whatever was coming at him, Nik knocked him aside as one of the men swung his axe cutting down another. He screamed wordlessly again and attacked the man on his other side.

“What are you doing?” Rory roared. The man swung to the sound, his eyes were wide and glazed, his words came out in jumbled gibberish. He raised his axe again and Nik stuck his sword through his neck, “Madness.” He hissed. “Jolimi’s underhanded tricks.” He said louder looking around the room. Rory got to his feet again and looked around the room. Zaksha and Airn hadn’t moved but now there was another god in the room. Jolimi’s ocean blue eyes glowed unnaturally in the dim light as he looked them over, the god of merriment and the vine was also the god of madness. He was perched on a plush bed next to Jolin’s body, he looked away from them and ran his fingers down the side of his face. “No, my little trickster is dead.” He said softly. He looked back at them, his honey brown hair fell softly against his forehead and the side of his face. Rory focused on a spot over his shoulder when he felt the edge of madness touch his mind.

“I didn’t think I would ever lose him.” He said still in the same soft voice. Rory’s fury returned, “Now you know what it is to be mortal.” He snarled. Jolimi cocked his head to the side, “No.” he said simply, “No, mortals…they fear death all their lives. I don’t fear death,” he ran his fingers over Jolin’s face again, “now I truly will get to spend eternity with him.”

“You won’t fight back?” Rory couldn’t believe what he heard. These gods, these gods people worshipped and devoted their lives to, would simply roll over and die. Jolimi’s laughter held a cruel edge and he shook his head, “There’s no reason to.” He laughed again catching Rory’s eye for a second, “You’ve killed Zaksha and Tama, the balance is gone. You thought you suffered before; now you will know true pain.” His gemstone eyes flared brightly to match his cold smile. Rory took Nik’s bow from his limp hand and notched an arrow, “As will you.” With a soft ‘thwang’ the arrow streaked across the room and hit the god in the chest. Jolimi stumbled back a step and then sank to the floor.

Before Jolimi took his last breath Koil cried out and fell to the floor holding his side, “Airn.” He gasped. Rory whirled around and found the prophecy god kneeling next to Zaksha. His long dark hair was plastered against the side of his face with dark blood. The snarling wolf on his chest glared at the group, its fierceness only amplified by the axe slice running down the right side of it. He unsheathed another knife but didn’t rise from his kneel. His walnut brown eyes darkened and expanded until none of the whites showed the air crackled with power, “I will kill you.” He said clearly. Rory snorted, “You can’t stand.” He said mockingly. Airn didn’t seem to hear, “He will be by my side again.” Blood ran out of the axe wound in his chest but his voice didn’t weaken.

“He’s in a trance.” Nik said nervously, “He may try to curse us.” He stepped forward raising his sword but Rory laid a hand on his arm, “We’ll know if he tries a curse.” His curiosity was piqued and he wanted to know what the dying god had to tell him.

“Fate cannot be changed. When chaos finds the light the balance will return.” a line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and suddenly his breath seized and his eyes returned to normal. The knife slipped from his fingers and landed quietly in the plush carpet and he fell to his side.

Cautiously Rory walked over to the fallen god but Airn’s eyes were already glazing over. He cut his throat anyway, just to be safe, and picked up the knife from the carpet. The handle was inlaid with sapphires and diamonds, the blade glimmered in the low light and he stuck in a spare place in his armor. “Let’s get go, take what you want. It’s time for the people to get off their knees and see how useless their gods are.” He looked over the carnage of the room and turned on his heel.

By the time they finished exploring and helping themselves to the wealth of the gods the sun was low in the sky, Rory muttered curses at Nik and Koil for taking so long. It was going to be full night before they got down the mountain and he was eager to tell the people of Mozaik about the fate of their gods. Outside the field was quiet as birds bedded down for the night and the relaxing silence was broken only by Nik and Koil complaining as they dragged their sacks of gold and gems down the stairs, he considered hiding somewhere in the chaotic colors until they were a ways down the mountain so he wouldn’t have to listen to them.

The journey down the mountain wasn’t as long or tiring as it had been that morning, Rory attributed his light steps to finally avenging his father and when the sun rose he would reveal to the world how mistaken they were to put their lives into the hands of such weak immortals. In the moon’s light ahead of him a pale shadow flitted across the path. He froze and pulled his sword, “Come out!” he ordered. His voice silenced the small sounds of the night but nothing emerged from the grasses and rocky debris hemming the trail. Nik and Koil came up behind him panting questions but he waved them off and took quick, silent steps to where he had seen the shadow disappear. “Come out now or I’ll skewer you.” He growled. There was a small sound and then part of a shadow detached from the grass and a ghost looked up at him. He stepped back surprised by the dark mop of hair and pale face. Wide scared eyes locked onto his and quickly filled with tears. Rory sheathed his sword and carefully crouched down, “Now, now. Don’t cry, I din’t know you were a little one.” He said softly. The tears didn’t stop and watery green eyes shifted from his face to his sheathed sword and back again. Rory didn’t want to take the sword off but the child was frightened and his threat of impalement was still fresh in the air. Slowly, so the boy could see what he was doing, Rory unclasped the sword belt and carefully set it to the side, “See now. No one here’s going to harm ye’.” Nik and Koil moved a few steps closer but the boy ducked back into the shadows as they approached. Rory glared at them over his shoulder and they retreated again. He softened his features and addressed the child again, “What’re you doing on the road alone so late?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice soft but a decade of working with the meanest sons of bitches he could find made it hard. The boy crept out of the darkness and shivered and shook his head. His tunic was clean, a size too big, but it didn’t look like he had been on the road long. Rory’s knees were cramping and he slowly stood to stretch them, the boy stared up at him fearfully and backed up a step. “Where are your parents?” he asked still trying to calm the boy but it was even harder now that he towered a good three feet over him. The boy shook his head and started to cry again. Rory returned to his crouch despite his knees’ protest, “You don’t know where your parents are? Were you attacked by brigands?”

“I don’t ‘member.” The boy sniffled. Rory frowned and looked the boy over again with more care. He didn’t look wounded, no blood spots on his white tunic, no dirt or grass stains. His fair skin didn’t look bruised, but the shadow of his hair might have obscured a darker bruise. “Well, how about you come with me and we’ll get you something to eat and see if we can find your parents in the morn.” Rory decided. There were immediate squawks of protest from Koil and Nik but another glare put them into a sullen silence. The boy looked from them to Rory with watery eyes and hesitantly nodded.

xXx

A/n: WTF is going on you ask?
I have no idea. Haha! Thank you for reading and reviewing =D

M. Shadows: You have an obsession with death.
ZFOMG: Keep talking pretty boy, I’ve got *plenty* of time to kill you again.
Vengeance: God dammit. Every damn storyline I’m either killed or mauled.
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Deicide