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In the world of AnteDiluvian, science and magic coexisted, warriors bold and corrupt battled fierce monsters for gold or honor or perhaps a little of both, and life went on a step, a slither, or a wing beat at a time. Dragons and monsters were as numerous as the races themselves, and the lands of AnteDiluvian were governed by people who thought all should be free along side those who thought slaves were a necessity. In this world of spells and swords, a child was born under the brand of destiny and under dire circumstances. She grew to womanhood and ventured forth to discover what destiny had enslaved her to.
Shy swung Tear the Weeping Sword with all her might at the small dragon's head, and the air wailed with the steel blade's mournful fury. The gold-speckled green dragon escaped her attack by leaping back. Several torches lit the dark cave of its lair that was filled with the stench of brimstone and rotting corpses. The rank smell made Shy's hazel eyes water and her nose run. The dragon stood a head taller than she, and it beat its wings at her as it sized up the leather clad woman, donning a black cloak and white shirt. Shy wore armor of silver over her leather garments, consisting of a breastplate, shin guards, and arm guards, and they gleamed in the torchlight. She also had a small dagger tucked in her belt. Cornered by the huntress, the dragon known as the Man-slayer of Torlawn wanted to escape before her partner caught up with them and it had two foes to vanquish.
Bones of cattle, horses, and other animals littered the sandy floor they battled upon. She charged the dragon, screaming her war cry, then lunged as her sable hair flowed with her frenzied movements. Teeth gritted, Shy aimed for its heart to pierce the sword's tip through it, but the dragon's quick actions thwarted her attack. Sparks flew at her half-masked face as the dragon caught the blade in its left talon and then it grinned ominously at her as if it knew something that she did not. The dragon's confident mockery turned into a glare as it peered at her with its blood-red serpent eyes, and then it lifted its other talon to strike at the huntress. Her own eyes widened with fright as she saw its intent, but then she narrowed her gaze, determined not to fall, not by this wretched beast.
"Get back vile bastard of a slime toad!" Shy shouted, and her first attempt at cursing came out mild and was in desperate need of work.
The dragon nearly laughed at her, but she pulled her sword with all her might and freed the Tear from its clawed grip. The air wept from the friction of the cobalt-blue blade as Shy attacked and swiped the sword, aiming for the dragon's neck. The steel cut it, drawing its white blood, and the thin pearl liquid flowed down its arm as the dragon angrily screeched at her. In retaliation for the wound she caused, sharp claws slashed toward her face, so Shy turned her head, and the dragon struck her half-mask, sending the metal veil sailing from her face across the floor. The forceful blow catapulted her into the cave wall and knocked the wind from her. She gasped and stared at the sand, then she lifted herself to one knee, and leaned on her sword like a walking stick. The dragon stepped towards her to finish her off, but then it froze and this time, it was the dragon who widened its eyes, but its gaze oozed disgust.
Shy instinctively covered the left side of her face with her gloved hand as she realized how monstrous she was even to a dragon. She rose herself to both feet still weakened by the blow as the dragon flicked its blue forked tongue at her. Shy took a step toward it to take up their battle again, but it turned and fled deeper into its lair.
Her heart wrenched in agony over the reaction from the reptile beast, and she wondered if all would see her as the dragon or if they could look past her... Shy moved over to her metal veil and looked to the half-mask on the sandy floor as the silvery steel seemed to be set aglow by the torchlight. She didn't understand why she was born the way she was. Shy always wondered if it was a deformity or sorcery and if there was a way to make herself normal.
The sting of rejection even from a dragon wounded her deeply and with it came memories of her past. She closed her eyes and remembered the horrified face of a woman as the wretched butcher's wife screamed at her and would not shut her fat mouth. Shy heaved as the stigma still weighed on her, and a salty trickle streamed down her face and landed on the Tear. In the time before she met the wretched butcher's wife, Shy didn't even know she was hideous.
Words from the past flooded her mind and drowned out her goal to slay the dragon. All that existed in the moment and that besieged her mind was the large round woman from her past who ran about shrilling and shrieking at her. The pain of those words and the looks she received still blighted Shy with an incurable sickness of despair as the moment she gained the name Shunned repeated in her thoughts. The words were so powerful and baneful, Shy thought she heard them yell through the cave system like phantoms of spite and maliciousness.
"A monster! A wretched little troll! Call the Hunters. Slay the creature!"
Shy wiped her eye with the back of her glove and refused to cry. First she was a curse to her mother, killing her in childbirth, then she was a burden to the midwife Faith, who pitied her deformity, her curse... and raised her as her own. Faith kept her hidden in the mountains where they lived in her hut, and all was perfect in Shy's little world until she followed Faith, unknown to her, into the village and came across the townspeople. It was the moment Shy learned... Her face wrinkled in pain and sorrow as the memory came into clear view of her mind.
Shy whispered as the moment in time dominated her thoughts, "Curse those pompous nimrods! I learned I was..."
A long time ago...
"Hideous!" the butcher's wife screamed one last time as she stood outside her shop and then she fainted.
The townspeople rushed to the fallen woman's side, then they froze, horrified by what they beheld. By then, a frightened look covered Shy's seven-year-old face as she stood there, drowning in their hateful insults, too terrified to run, and then the town's people picked up rocks and continued to yell at the child. Faith heard the commotion and rushed out of the baker's shop and quickly lifted the child into her arms.
"You fat swines, shut your mouths," Faith yelled. "Can't you see, she's but a child. Pompous nimrods, what do you know about beauty?"
The townspeople refused to listen, and Faith fled the village as they threw rocks at them. Behind them, Shy heard their reticule.
"Hell spawn!" the village elder exclaimed.
"Marked one!" the butcher yelled, waving his knife.
"Devil child!" a woman screamed, shielding her daughter's eyes with her apron.
The disfigured child never returned to the village, at least not without her metal veil.
The present...
Shy knelt, picked up the piece of metal, and lifted the half-mask that hid the left side of her face. Sand fell from the shiny steel, revealing her reflection, and she stared at her face, wondering if it was so grotesque. The huntress heard someone rush across the sand from a connecting passage and quickly put the metal veil back on.
"Shy!" Vapkin yelled as he sped into the cave, holding two short swords and looking around for the dragon. "Where's the man-slayer?"
The tall thin man wore a blue cape and a broad brimmed leather hat with a phoenix feather tucked in it, and he had wavy shoulder length red hair and a pointed goatee. His pant leg dragged a cut Thorn Vine that had ensnared him at the lair's entrance, and not until he hacked himself free from the creeping weed, was he able to join his partner in the hunt.
She glanced at the hunter, wondering what he would do if he ever saw her hidden half, then she pointed, and informed him, "The dragon fled deeper into its lair. Come, there is no escape for the filthy beast."
"I'm with ya," Vapkin told her as he followed the huntress.
He stayed close behind her as they headed further into the belly of the dragon's lair. Vapkin had hired himself to many a group of hunters, but never had he partnered with such a mysterious huntress before. His curiosity made him hunger to discover what was beneath her half-mask. His ravenous appetite to unveil h
er secret struck him the moment they met at the village tavern, and he had been itching to rip off the half-mask and see just what it hid. He had controlled himself thus far. Vapkin licked his dry lips greedily as he considered if she was a beauty beyond words that once seen, turned the beholder mad. He had heard of such bewitched faces and thought it may be worth the look since he was already a little mad. Vapkin shook his head, trying to refocus. He could worry about a peek later. Vapkin couldn't let the lady distract him or the dragon's stomach would be the only thing he'd be peeking at.
Shy and Vapkin hurried along as the brass torches lining the wall became more spaced and made the passage darker. The dragon had made its lair in an abandoned dwarf mine and the enchanted torches burned on, the only reminder they had ever been there. The Man-slayer of Torlawn's growls and snarls echoed around them until the two entered the last cave, and there the dragon waited for them. It fell silent, staring at the hunters with its glowing serpent eyes. The cave was hot, unlike the cool passages they traveled, and the only way out was past them. Vapkin sheathed his swords, removed his bow, and knocked a steel pointed arrow. The dragon looked at the man with the broad brimmed hat then to the woman.
"Why do you hunt with one such as she?" the dragon questioned as the words slithered from its lips.
"It talks," Vapkin uttered. "Didn't know yer kind could."
"Why do you hunt with one so deformed?" the dragon asked again.
"Look who's talking," Vapkin replied with a chuckle.
Shy moved opposite of Vapkin and closer to the dragon.
"She is unnatural and bewitched," the dragon declared and then it flicked its forked tongue in and out of its scaled snout. "She should have been fed to one such as myself not reared. Nothing so deformed should have been allowed to live."
Shy gripped the Tear's hilt as her face tightened with rage as she muttered under her breath, "Even a vile monster's words wound me."
She decided she couldn't let the filthy beast hurt her, so Shy raised her sword, rushed the dragon, and shouted, "Now Vapkin!"
The hunter released his arrow, and it sped for the dragon's neck. The dragon snarled, caught the arrow with its talon, then evaded Shy's attack, and thrust the steel pointed shaft toward her chest. The dragon's attack was fast, but not forceful enough. The arrow hit the huntress' breastplate and slid across the armor, grinding metal against metal till it hit her left shoulder. Shy cried out, grabbed the shaft, and then fell to her knees. Vapkin dropped his bow, unsheathed his swords, and rushed to her aid. The dragon flapped his gold-speckled green wings, creating a torrent of wind as he rose in the air. Vapkin shielded his eyes as sand kicked up. Though her shoulder throbbed with pain, Shy removed her belt dagger, threw it at the dragon, and hit it in the wing. The dragon screamed angrily as the blade tore the membrane, the thin flesh flapped down from the wing bone, and the dragon lost lift and control. The wounded man-slayer fell to the ground, then scurried up the passage, and escaped the hunters.
"Curse it!" Vapkin yelled as he slammed his hilt on the cave wall. "There goes our bounty."
He stuck the blades of his weapons into the ground, then grabbed the huntress, and leaned her against a rock.
"Did the man-slayer flee?" Shy questioned as blood soaked her white shirt around her shoulder.
"Yeah," Vapkin replied as he leaned her forward, seeing the arrow's head had gone clean through. He grabbed hold of the steel point as he warned her, "This is gonna hurt."
He broke the head off and then removed the shaft as she grunted in pain. Vapkin removed a small knife from his belt and cut her shirt around the wound.
"Need to cauterize it. Bite down on this," Vapkin ordered her as he placed the broken shaft in her mouth.
She bit down on it as he held out the knife, laid his right hand over it, and then focused his magical energy on the small blade. Heat came off his palm, and the knife glowed red. He braced her against the wall, then branded the blade on the wound, and flesh seared as the burnt smell filled the area. Shy winced, gritting her teeth on the shaft. He leaned her forward and cauterized the other side with the same result.
"Now..." Vapkin began as he stood. "Let me grab your weapon for you."
He looked around the cave, spotted the Tear, and then he took hold of its hilt.
"Wait!" Shy warned.
The blade wailed as Vapkin took hold of it, and the cobalt-blue sword quivered, crying all the louder.
Vapkin dropped the Tear and stepped back mystified by its magic as he yelled, "Troll dung!" He turned to her as he exclaimed, "The blade's bewitched. You should..."
"You do not understand," Shy interrupted him. "Bewitched... Enchanted... Perhaps, but the sword is more to me than a weapon. I shall never have it leave my side."