Before the Voyage

In a faraway land,

Centuries ago,

There lived a young man,

Destined to become a hero.

He was strong and

Chiseled like the other men in his clan,

But destiny had big plans for this

One, insignificant man.

His name was Drako.

He was the son of the Chief.

When the enemies went whacko,

In he would leap

And one flash of his eyes made them shake like a leaf.

He understood power, leadership, and strength

For, that’s what people were taught in his village.

But the time came to cross over  the sea

And step foot on a new land

To which he’d never been.

Though they were leaving to help allies,

They’d cross through enemy land

Where they’d pillage,

Plunder, and fight

And Drako imagined the horrible sights 

And the noises,

Loud and crystal-clear,

That went along with them,

The screams and the cries.

And a look of fear dominated his eyes.

Though their enemies were fierce,

The abominations were fiercer,

Tigress and Huntrix, the two vicious cats,

With a ten-foot height and

And an excruciating bite.

Or, the flying serpents,

Helix and Tygron,

With their hypnotic eyes

And twenty-inch fangs.

Or last but not least, 

Were the servants of Cypress.

Her gigantic arachnids,

Scorpions and spiders,

That spit acid, breathe fire,

And eat mortals for feasts.

All of them unnatural, horrific, dangerous beasts.

These are what Drako feared.

Not the people, so much as their grotesque creations.

But his father, the chieftain,

Showed no signs of distress and

Instead, hunkered down for the night 

To get some much needed rest.

For, tomorrow at dawn, they’d be up and ready

To sail the sea on even the slightest of swells.

They were well stocked on weapons, and food would be rationed,

But, no one but Drako

Noted their utter deprivation

Of sorcery and magic.

Though all of them knew

What they would be fighting.

Not later, but soon.

The Voyage

The morning had come and gone

And the ships were afloat.

And young Drako’s escape plan

Lost every last hope.

He was now on his way to a land he knew not,

And he knew he’d fight battles

 Unlike any he’d fought.

Yes, he knew magic,

But he hadn’t yet honed it,

For he was still just a boy in his sights.

At just seventeen, he was a warrior and a prince,

But a master sorcerer he wasn’t, just yet.

He’d practiced a little and never to kill,

But he’d known someday he would

And now it was certain he will.

With only his mother to teach him 

All that she knew,

He’d grown quite amazing with his curious skill,

But she was at home,

Safe and sound on their shore.

And he was alone.

His kinsmen’s only sorcerer,

Their last resort,

Their last hope.

Every day he reflected, remembered, and practiced

And every day he grew stronger, prospered, and flourished.

When at last, they made it to land, he was powerful 

And he knew it.

Yet, he hoped they’d move swiftly and leave

Before he could blow it.

Through Enemy Territory

Day in and day out,

They trekked across valleys

And climbed hills on foot,

And by noon the next day,

They’d reached a village.

It belonged to their enemies

And after rifling houses

And kicking down doors,

What once was there,

Was now no more.

The bodies were left and useful items were claimed,

And the men slept in the beds of the enemies fallen.

For nearly a month,

This was their routine

And on the night when 

their last enemies were felled,

Drako turned eighteen.

There was no celebration.

No one felt up to it,

Though he was now the eldest of the boys,

Many more were gone,

Buried in mass graves

Near where they were slain.

(Unlike their enemies 

Whose bodies were burned

Along with the remains of the villages.)

It used to be,

While the men were all walking,

One or more of them

Were laughing or talking.

Now there was nary a spoken word among them,

And the days passed in silence

Save the footfalls of boots and 

The jingle-swish-jingle of chainmail.

On the seventh night

Of their second month’s journey,

Drako and his kinsmen reached 

The village of their allies.

They were much needed.

Though the men there were fighting

With everything they had,

They’d been at war for months,

And were immensely decreased in numbers and strength.

The cries of battle were loud in Drako’s ears,

The anguish carried in them,

Made his fury at their enemies 

Burn hotter than ever before.

The First Battle

Though his allies weren’t kin,

Drako knew some of them.

Many of these men had come to their aid

When they were under attack.

Now it was time

To pay them all back.

Drako had used a sword before,

But holding it was always a terrifying rush of power.

Dodging blows and fallen men,

He plunged into battle.

Swinging and slicing, 

Hitting and cutting,

He slew hordes of invading men.

Never once did he falter.

Until he saw her.

A maiden, his age,

Fighting amongst the men.

He could tell those around her disapproved.

Drako did, too.

He thought about the other women and children,

Scared but safe somewhere outside the village.

Why wasn’t she with them?

But for all his anger at her,

He couldn’t shake the awe he felt

As he watched her slay man after man,

Beast after beast,

With an air of elegant ruthlessness.

Her long, champagne locks

Flowed as she moved

Into charge after charge with her sword.

Hopelessly Screwed

He’d gotten distracted,

He faltered,

And the lunge he’d started,

Ended in a stumble. 

He’d almost missed his mark 

Because of her.

The maiden warrior 

Who shouldn’t be a warrior. 

(In his opinion.)

It wasn’t that she wasn’t good,

She was amazing,

But he felt an urge to protect her.

No doubt the other men did as well.

He also felt upstaged.

With a surprising agility,

He was suddenly beside her,

Lunging and stabbing

The enemies on her weak side.

She did the same for him.

Though they’d only just met,

Already they worked as a team.

Days and nights passed,

The war raged on. 

Drako and the maiden warrior

Took rest when they could.

And after a week,

The enemy men were all dead.

The people rejoiced,

Thinking the war was now over,

But it wasn’t so.

Along the horizon,

The beasts,

The abominations,

Queen Cypress, her servants,

And the other immortals moved in.

The other sorcerers 

Had brought their creatures as well.

The sorceress, Perephasia

With her cats Tigress and Huntrix,

The sorcerer Muzuzu,

With the serpents Helix and Tygron, 

And sorcerer king Balorasag with his creation,

The Cu Sith of Scotland.

All were present for one purpose,

To make the mortals’ lives unbearable,

And ultimately, to make 

the surface-world

Hell.

The Final Battle

Everything moved fast.

Too fast.

Nobody saw it coming.

The maiden warrior

Was there one moment and gone the next,

Snatched up by Tygron

And flown toward enemy lines.

In no time at all,

The battlefield was aflame.

Drako and his kinsmen

Were outnumbered.

Even with their allies,

They could see they were doomed.

So they thought.

Drako, frenzied with fury and a sense

Of impending doom,

Released his power.

It radiated from him with

A magnitude not even he knew.

Out it reached,

Over and over 

And over enemy lines.

Striking down demon and beast

In one fell swoop.

Down came the mighty Tygron, 

Helix and Tigress soon followed.

Down went Huntrix and

The Cu Sith departed homeward,

Not wishing to be slain.

Down went Muzuzu and Perephasia.

Down went king Balorasag.

All that was left was queen Cypress and 

Her arachnid abominations.

The power never faltered.

Drako, backed by kinsmen and allies alike,

Sliced through the air in a vast arc

Bringing down hundreds of the beasts at a time.

For hours they fought.

The men sliced and stabbed,

Lunged and ducked.

Drako sent his power soaring across the boundaries.

He was almost there.

Queen Cypress was doomed.

Drako thought he could see her moment of realization.

Then her creatures struck out with

An act of retaliation.

Cypress dragged out the bound maiden,

A warrior no more,

And summoned a spider. 

In an instant,

Before Drako could kill it,

It spat acid and

The maiden was dead.

 Melted.

A steaming puddle on the ground.

Wrath fueled Drako’s next arc,

Which then felled the spider, 

The last of the arachnids.

Then he spliced through Cypress

With a grim satisfaction.

The immortals had met their better.

His magic had made them mortal,

And he’d killed them.

The village was safe.

This time for real.

The danger was gone,

But so was the maiden.

While the men rejoiced or cried bitter tears

For fallen friends,

Drako made his escape and faced his fears.

Up he walked,

To the puddle of flesh.

The champagne locks were gone.

The fair skin turned to mush.

And he felt the guilt slam him hard in his gut.

Home at Last

After that fateful battle,

Drako’s men returned home.

Met with embraces and questions,

Resentment, and fear.

The men had all changed.

The boys were now hardened.

But Drako was broken.

Off he went,

By himself,

In the fullness of night.

Where he went no one is certain,

But he went as far inland as he possibly could,

Where, he built a small house,

In an isolated wood

And he lived out his days

In lonely solitude.

Devoured by grief 

Over the course of decades,

He finally died.

A lonely old hermit,

Alone in his bed,

Nobody to mourn him

Now that he was finally dead.

So his house just sat there

With no one to care for it,

And slowly, but surely,

Man and house both decayed.

But down in the village,

For many generations,

A story was told

Of a hero.

A tragic tale of a young sorcerer boy

Who’d saved a whole village,

But came home destroyed.

And if you hadn’t

Already guessed,

That boy’s name

Was Drako.