Orphan of War (IC) Pan and Kittycat97

[Pandava]

Pandava slowly rose from her position within the woods, fingering the necklace which dangled around her throat - a small crescent - eyes peeled in the woods. Her long white hair blew in the strange smoldering breeze. "Svati," she murmured the name quietly. "Fly above, will you see what's creating such a stench?" The wyrm rose, wings churning the air around her. The breeze itself was coming from the east, and it was hot. Strange, for a breeze to be hot. She and Svati had only a day earlier arrived within these dead woods, surrounded by blackened trees and no sign of life whatsoever.

Nothing to be seen so far, except a small campfire recently stamped out. Svati sent the message as she flew overhead in the distance.

Pandava furrowed her brow. Who would possibly be within these woods beside herself? The white-haired elf frowned slightly before she returned to cooking the small game she'd hunted for herself earlier. She needed sustenance, having only eaten bread and cheese over the last week since she'd escaped the massacre of the refugee colony. Hunger made her stomach grumble loudly.

Svati rumbled within Pan's head, I heard that from up here.

"Don't be smart," Pandava retorted in elvish, knowing that when she spoke aloud, it was transferred as thought to Svati's mind. Despite not having visual connection with Svati at the moment, she raised an eyebrow in emphasis as she let the meat cook and began cleaning the fur in order to make leather. She knew it would come in handy at some point and was ever the efficient traveller.

A village. Svati announced after a moment of flight and turned wing back toward her elven companion's camp. There's a sizeable village which seems to have somehow remained untouched. It looks like there are merchants there as well as an inn. Perhaps you should venture there within the next day. I know you're out of supplies and could use some rest on comfortable bedding. The dragon landed with a hard thud on the ground, shaking even the highest branches of leaves as she settled and flicked her tail about in the air to keep herself balanced. A large golden pair of eyes turned down to Pandava.

Pandava glanced up, surprised by the news. "Truly? A village?" The idea was spectacular. She truly did need supplies and continued to clean the furs as she felt Svati settling into the small (by comparison to the large wyrm) glade in which they had been camping the past night. "Perhaps I'll make a stop there. I didn't realize there were villages outside the colonies..." Pandava mused and glanced at Svati. "Do you think they're common?"

Probably not. They might be just lucky. The Corrupted army has razed much of the elven lands - this you know.

"I hate those warlords," Pandava responded a bit grudgingly. "But at least we know there are civil settlements outside of these wastelands. An inn! The thought is almost too joyous to bear," for the first time in days, Pandava was glowing with a smile. "Perhaps we can reach the last standing capitol, do you think? Reach the King somehow. There has to be some sort of sanctuary within, where we can avoid fighting to survive, and well...fighting all-together." She knew so little about the world around her, so little about her own past, that she was very vulnerable to those Corrupted and Fiendish forces that were threatening the existence of her elven people.

Svati rumbled in agreement, There is still the question of who was at that campfire nearby. It's not but a few hundred yards from ours.

Pandava nodded in agreement. The thought was troubling. It could be someone aggressive or ..well, someone that Pandava ought not run into. "We'll clean up camp and move on soon. I just...really need to eat." The meat sizzled and Pandava gazed at the flames, mind on the joyous news of the village and on the troubling thought of who had camped so near to them last night.

[Diary-chan]

((Ah, so close to the village? Maybe we should delay them a little bit. Not too long, but the village so close sounds almost like we're trying to rush this.))

Al...most...got...it... The bowstring was pulled to the point of near-breaking, the strong rawhide it was made of holding under the intense pressure of well-toned muscles. Settled on the string, tensed to fly, was a homemade straight birch arrow with a used arrowhead that had obviously been recycled time and again. Gripping the strong, flexible wooden frame of the longbow was a tanned, although white-knuckled from the stress of squeezing the wood, hand with elegent, if heavily calloused fingers. Moving up the tanned arms, which were of course attached to the hands that gripped the bow, one saw dark blue swirls and different warrior tattoos. Tattoos, for the elven warriors, were like badges. The more and more varied, the better you were. In this case, most of the tattoos were dark blue or black, a few purple or red, and mostly in the shape of curls, swirls, and whorls, sometimes squiggles, but there sure were a lot of them. A highly decorated but specialized warrior, this was. To the strong, tattooed arms were attached a lean but flexible small-busted torso covered by a dark green tunic, which told of more tattoos down on the neck area and stomach. And of course, to the torso was attached a distinctly elven neck and head: thin neck, more tattoos, and an almost delicate-looking face, although this person was in no way delicate. The face itself was a thin heart-shape with high cheekbones and medium-sized pink lips a little on the thin side; a small nose and large, unelfish, almost catlike yellow-green eyes, pupils dilated almost into slits; framing the face were tendrils of unbelievably thick, blonde-highlighted red hair let loose about her shoulders and lower back because of its sheer volume preventing it from being pulled back. Under the hair were seated to tapering elfin ears.

The huntress was crouched down low within shrubbery and brush, bow poised at a long-tailed deer that grazed feet away from her over by a stream. The shrubs were so bare that the huntress wondered how the deer hadn't seen her. The grass was so spars that the huntress wondered why the deer bothered. It didn't matter, though, because this deer was dinner for the next few weeks.

Fwoosh!

The arrow flew and hit its mark. The large buck fell, dead from the proximity of the huntress as she fired the blow. The huntress herself stood up on long legs covered by hardy leather leggings and even tougher leather boots, forest-colored tunic tied at the waist with a peice of cord for a belt where two scabbards hung, one for a small dagger and one for a slim sword, as well as other pouches and gadgets for living in the wild. A strap crossed her chest diagonally for her quiver of recycled arrows. Damn this dead forest, the deer was the first game she had found in two weeks. Since then she had been living meagerly off of the few edible plants and stored meat she had here in the Deadlands, just a small portion of the huge area of once-fertile land destroyed by the war. A burning came to the tattooed huntress' eyes, but she shook off the trance and shook her head, sad at what the fiends and humans had done to the once-beautiful forest. She cried for it. She cried on the inside.

But warriors never cried.

Was Zell'arik Kamir'oto going soft?

No, Zel though. Warriors cry all the time. They cry on the inside.

Yes they did. Warriors cried when they lost a comrade; when they lost a battle; when they lost a--Zel gulped, feeling different grief rise and quickly quashing it--family. But not over a dead forest. So why was she grieving for this had-been forest?

The answer? Zel was going soft.

It upset the red-haired elf greatly, but did it really matter now that the elves were scattered and the king ordered not a warrior to their birthright, war itself?

No. No, it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

And yet Zel never became dispirited, not in the least; she managed to retain the stubborn, feisty demeanor that she had been born with.

She took the arrow out of the now-dead deer, putting it in a pouch with other used arrows, and hoisted the kill over her shoulder with a grunt. Zel began to find a new campsite. After all, the one she had been using had been the territory of a pair of wild boars and she didn't want to get caught in that. Hence the stamped out campfire. She quietly walked around, nearly silent, trying to find a suitable place to set up for the night, when she heard a voice. Just one; but it didn't seem to be talking to itself. Not only that, but she sensed a presence-- a sort of being that was like no other. What could that be?

"...really need to eat."

Fearless, Zel stealthily used one hand to push aside the meager brush and stepped, slightly hunched from the weight of the deer, into the clearing. Before she did anything else, before she even took stock of who occupied the clearing itself, she simply announced one thing, for every warrior, even one not on her own turf, was naturally territorial:

"I am Zell'arik Kamir'oto, Champion of the Barren Plains of the West. Who are you, and what is your business in these dead woods?"

[Pandava]

((Oh right, sorry. Didn't mean to rush it. We can just readjust that as if Svati merely saw the village far in the distance, not so near.))

Pandava startled immediately, the rough voice a surprise to her ears. The young elf quickly found refuge beside the giant, wedge-shaped head of her wyrm. Svati rumbled in disapproval at the other elf's rough manner. Unable to find words immediately, Pan stuttered a bit as she took in the very toned and tattooed, decorated warrior before her. Clearly this warrior had been a decorated fighter in the King's army. What was it doing so far away from the capitol?

Speak, Svati rumbled and nudged Pandava forward a bit.

Pandava swallowed and clutched her satchel to her chest, and before she could speak she pushed past the warrior, "My meat! It's burning!" She quickly removed the meat from the fire and scowled, cursing as a plume of dark smoke came from the fire. Recalling her very appropriate fear of this clearly territorial elf, she turned her gaze over her shoulder, still knelt on the ground tending to the burnt meat. "I'm Pandava. A surviving refugee from the colonies. That's all I can really tell you, I don't remember much else." She spoke softly, clearly a passive and non-confrontational type of elf. Her white hair hung low over her cloak hood as she stood. Pandava was forced to look upward at the elf before her. "We were just passing through, Svati and I. I'm a sort of.. a nomad." She stated nervously and flickered her bright gaze to Svati, who rumbled reassuringly, the wyrm's chest puffed out in a defensive stance. "We mean no intrusion, I mean I can..clear out and we can go..I just haven't eaten for nearly a week honestly and I only wanted some lunch." Pandava's words came out in a fast ramble. She motioned to the measly portion of meat, now burnt black from her disregard and surprise at the warrior's entrance. She swallowed and grabbed up the meat and shoved her supplies in a bag, nervous and intimidated by the warrior.

[Diary-chan]

Some part of Zel's mind was undoubtedly registering this elf's words. But the other being within the clearing was what was occupying her attention now. The buck dropped to the ground beside te seasoned but not-too-old warrior, hunch straightening until she stood with perfect posture. Such a wyrm as powerful as this, for Zel could sense the glory emanating from its body, traveling with such a stuttering, quiet elf like the one now who was complaining about her burnt meat? It baffled Zell'arik Kamir'oto but this was the very first time she had seen such a bond, such a creature up close, but from the tall tales told around the dying embers of a comradery around a fire, the warrior elf hadn't thought such a creature could be docile enough to be companion to this, this Pandava.

"Afraid? Fatal mistake, kid. To survive in the world these days, no elf can be afraid. This is not my territory. I don't own this land and don't command no right over you or your friend," Zel spoke, still standing but with the hint of a smile creeping over her face. She wanted to get closer to the wyrm; it was by far the most powerful creature she had seen but she was careful so as not to show too much interest in the being so as not to arouse suspicions. "Relax, girlie. You stay and rest; obviously you need it. If I can borrow your campfire, I'd be happy to share this whopper. I can't eat it all by myself," Venison supply for the next few weeks? Chopped in half. Zel sighed internally. She was so going soft. However, being a warrior with such a code of honor, she kept standing until invited and took this time to study the wyrm some more, eyebrows raised in subtle shock and amazement.

It was beautiful; powerful; glorious.

With this creature there could be no doubt of a change of advantages in the civil war. While the other side had fiends and humans, they were no match for an enormous, powerful dragon.

Now if only she could harness that power.

It looked like the mighty Zell'arik Kamir'oto was going to be sticking close to these nomads for a bit longer than first intended.

[Pandava]

Pandava glanced up at the decorated elf, eyes a bit wide with curiosity and lingering fear from being near such an intimidating elf. The white-haired elf stood slowly, letting her satchel rest at her feet. The meat the warrior was offering was definitely plentiful, and better than the burnt meat she had in her grasp. The elf took a breath and followed the other's gaze to her wyrm. There was a look of awe in her gaze, and Pandava searched her wyrm's golden eyes, "I don't think she's going to hurt us, Svati," she spoke in soft elven tongue and she flicked her gaze back to the warrior.

I suppose not, but I don't like the way she's looking at me. Svati rumbled disapprovingly and she sniffed the elven warrior, her head twice the size of the elf's body.

"She wants you to stop staring at her, it's not polite," Pandava stated to the warrior and she rested her hand on the wedge-shaped head. "What is your name? You haven't told me that yet," she knelt beside the fire and tended to it slightly, her pale eyes moved upward to the still incredulous warrior. "You'd truly share that venison with us?" Pandava questioned lastly as she inspected the warrior for a moment, trying to read her intention.

The truth was, she hadn't eaten hardly a thing for a week. And venison sounded so good right now. Even Svati rumbled in agreement; the dragon didn't eat a lot but a leg of venison sounded like a delicious snack. A billow of heat came from Svati's nostrils as she settled lower onto the ground and sniffed at the medium-sized stag.

"Also.." Pandava began thoughtfully as she stood and gently rubbed Svati's eye-ridge, the dragon's golden eye fluttering shut.

Ask her what a warrior is doing so far out in the dead woods, Svati rumbled and opened her eyes, scrutinizing the aggressive warrior.

"Svati is curious...what is it a decorated warrior is doing so far away from the capitol?"

[Diary-chan]

"Oh. Sorry for staring, it's just not every day you find a wyrm and a refugee elf sitting in the middle of a petrified forest," Zel commented, not in the least bit deterred or humbled. She was a warrior and a true warrior's pride was second only to her duty. Or at least, that was what Zel reconciled her awfully large ego with. "And like I just said, this thing is too big for one elf, and to find a friend around here is not something you do every day." Zell'arik dragged the deer over to the happily bouncing red ad orange flames, sitting down and taking the dagger at her side out of its sheath and began skinning the buck with the skill of one who has done so regularly. As she worked, revealing the muscle and tendons of the creature on her lap she spoke some more.

"My name, as I might've forgot to give, is Zell'arik Kamir'oto, Champion of the Barren Plains of the West. As for what I'm doing here, I could just about ask you the same thing, now couldn't I? Nomad or not, this isn't a fruitful plain as I've noticed most nomads would've chosen over this dump."

"The story's long and pitiful, but since this animal is big and it might take a while to ready, I suppose we have time..." Zel didn't really want to tell about her life, but somehow she felt like it might be good to get the story off her chest. Besides, if she had even a faint hope of getting closer to the pair, this was a good place to start. After all, the secrets her story would reveal were only personal and therefore irrelevant. Rule number two: personal interests are last among a warrior's issues.

Although, as it seemed her life was becoming less and less guided by the ancient, sacred code of the elfen warrior. What did it really matter, anyway? The code no longer applied for so long as the warriors of the elves remained shattered and broken.

Sometimes nothing seemed like it should matter anymore.

Zel kept skinning the deer as she spoke again. This time, though, her voice was quiet, almost humble as her gaze was glued to the activity her hands were occupied with, even maybe a hint of sadness in the voice of the auburn-headed elf.

"Do you wanna hear it?"

[Pandava]

I'd be pleased to hear her story, Svati rumbled next to Pandava, and the white-haired elf nodded in agreement.

"We would like to hear your story," Pandava informed the elf as she watched her skilled hands skin the deer before them. There was a haunting way in which the elf carried herself. Zel. In which Zel carried herself. Pandava stoked the flame slightly as she glanced up at the warrior. She merely ran her eyes over the several decorated tattoos on Zel's arm. Surely this one was worthy of the title she held, yet as Pandava watched her she thought perhaps the elf was holding onto a creed that no longer applied in this war-torn, barren land. "In return I'll share with you mine, about why I'm here as well."

It was sad, truly, that the world had become so difficult a place to live in. Not only citizens were left without homes, without people, but warriors were left wondering what they had stood for, wondering what they had left to fight for. And the King. He was powerless to fight this war anymore. The ranks of warriors had fallen to very solitary numbers, and very few citizens could wield a weapon. Pandava settled against Svati's large, wedge-shaped head, and the dragon's tail wrapped protectively around its elven companion as they awaited Zel's story and watched her prepare the venison.

[Diary-chan]

((Alright, I'm gonna do this flashback-style.))

Zel cringed and smiled at the same time, coming out as a bit of a grimace. That she had come to this... it was at least depressing.

"Alright. Well... it all started..."

.:Flashback: Zel's Name:.

There was a small elfen child, no older than the human age of five or six, even then thick with red hair, big yellow-green eyes even larger for the particular occasion. She was clinging to the pant leg of Accharon Kamir'oto, an adult elf male, who was dressed in tough leathers and was busy polishing his sword for the last time. He had tattoos up his arms, but not more than normal to give any indication that he was something s[ecial; just another ex-warrior once again recruited into the ranks. The large elf, her father, delayed as long as he could with his youngest daughter clinging to his leg, but then stood up and gently peeled Zelli off his leather pants and held her close. The little girl began to cry.

Finally, the man put her down and hugged her four older siblings, for each of which the goodbye was not as sentimental or hard for him as the one with his youngest. He kissed his wife for what may have been the last time, then pressed a kiss down on the head of his little girl again and dropped something into her hands.

"I love you, Zelli, never forget that," he said.

And then little Zelli's daddy walked away with the congregation of other drafted ex-warriors.

He never came back.

And Zelli refused to be called by that name anymore. 'Zelli' became the name only Achharon Kamir'oto was allowed to call her by.

From then on, it was just Zel.

.:Flashback: Zel's Choice:.

"You cheated!"
"No, you're just slow! Slowpoke, slowpoke!"
"C'mon, guys, let me have a turn!"
"Shut up, Fez, we only have two swords and you'll get your turn as soon as we're finished with our duel."
"But Toli, you guys are never finished with your duel!"
"Too bad! Now get up, Beau, I wanna finish this time."

Three dirty elfen boys dueled-- or, two of them dueled, at least, while the other complained and watched by-- with wooden swords not ten yards from where Zel, now appearance age nine or ten, was washing clothes in the back yard, doing chores for her mum. Zel could see the boys' mother doing the washing in another corner of their yard. The boys were much older than her, but they were really starting to annoy Zel with all their bickering. For a minute she went back to scraping cloth along primitive washing boards.

"C'mon, Beau, you're no better than the girl in the next yard!"

That was it.

Zel left the washing, dropping it in the sudsy wooden bucket and stalking over to the three boys that played in the adjoining yard.

"'Ey... you need something, girlie?" One boy asked, scratching his head with the tip of the sword.

Zel reached up, snatched the wooden object from the speaking boy's grasp, and then whacked the previous owner where the sun don't shine with a strike quicker than a cobra, his brother with a light but deadly chop to the head, and the youngest one with an aggressive slash to the belly. The three of them moaned and cried on the lawn, clutching their injured areas before her and the nine-year-old elfen child took the other wooden sword, too. Then, she smacked both play weapons against a nearby tree so hard they splintered in half.

"I hope you're done arguing; especially because now that you can't duel, there's nothing to argue over. Because when you idiots argue, you're really annoying, so would you please shut up?"

And then Zel went back to the washing like nothing had happened.
And she thought:

I'm going to enlist in the army just like Daddy, she thought, just to get rid of dipheads like them. It's idiots like them who'll get us all killed one day 'cuz their pride is so busy proving their stupidity that they don't have the time to learn anything. Men.

.:End of Flashbacks (Temporarily):.

"That was the beginning," Zel said.

((I'm going with two flashbacks or so per post, otherwise it's just going to be tedious to read, and also I want Pandava and Svati to be able to give their input.))

[Pandava]

To have lived through a loss so young, Pan felt sympathy for Zel. Yet at the same time she envied her a little. Pandava herself could not remember her own childhood until after she came to the refugee colony. She idly fingered her necklace; it was her only real connection to her past and yet she knew nothing about what it was, what it meant, or who had given it to her. To know about your past, where you came from...it seemed a luxury that Pandava was not allowed. She had a sort of amnesia the more she'd tried to recall things about her past. By all the elven arcane knowledge in the world, she seemed not able to remember the slightest detail. Pandava had just...appeared one day, in the colonies. As far as anyone at the colony could tell her, anyway. She'd been no more than the human age of thirteen when she arrived, confused and underfed.

Svati could undoubtedly hear the train of thought in Pan's mind and with unerring kindness, rested her head closer to Pan and gave her a gentle look from one of those brilliant golden eyes. Pan smiled gently at Svati in gratuity; she knew that the magnificent wyrm was always going to be by her side, and she supposed that bond alone made up for the lack of knowing anything about her own past. A light breeze blew through the glade, leaves rustling softly in the midday sunlight. Pandava put a hand on the ridge just above Svati's left eye and idly scratched it for her.

Pandava glanced upward and her eyes trained curiously on the warrior as she spoke. Behind her, the shoulder of Svati's she'd been leaning on shifted a little. Svati was getting comfortable, after all it wasn't often they were treated to such interesting tales or such interesting company. Pan idly nodded in agreement with Svati's line of thought. She raised one booted heel so it rested upon the other; the venison was nearly fully skinned and yet to be gutted. She found Zel's story amusing in the beginning, however sad it was going to get. "Even as a child you were quite stern," Pan mused almost fondly. She didn't want to say she was sorry for Zel's loss...it just seemed too typical of a response and not sincere. It would probably not do anything for Zel in the first place. It had been when the elf was young and though the wound was probably still there, it wouldn't make a difference if Pan offered words of comfort. "What then?" She questioned, her tone soft. "Or I guess...what age did you first pick up a real sword?"

[Diary-chan]

((Whew! It's finally done!!))

"Stern as a child? Well... only after Achharon died." That was how Zel now referred to her father. 'Daddy' was not a suitable warrior term for anyone.

Pandava was correct in her speculations that an empty apology from a stranger concerning something that had happened years ago and been determined by a greater power would not do anything to improve Zel's mood, demeanor, nothing-- in fact, there was a more likely chance that it would drain further any respect for Pandava she still possessed. What was more, the elfen woman was already disgruntled that she could so freely share her painful past with these strangers. Had she not come by the objective to get close to these two, she would not have in the first place. But since that obviously was the goal, why did she release more than the minimum? The objective did not include getting attached to these strangers due to the fact that they knew her story and could perhaps find a common occurence. Which could lead to a bond. Friendship. Attachment.

Attachment was very, very bad for a warrior.

But there was a reason behind Zel's revealing more than necessary. It was out of a subconscious desire for attachment, companionship, friendship, she knew. But that would by all means indicate loneliness. And warriors were never lonely.

Which meant she indeed was going soft.

Which also meant that Zel was dwelling too much on this weakness thing.

It was hard to live by an honor code obselete to the world.

"Let's see, the first time I actually picked up a sword? Well, it didn't happen and probably never would've if this hadn't happened..."

.:Flashback: Zel's vow of vengeance:.

The scene was a lower-district market square full of not-so-trustworthy dealers of not-so-delicious delicacies, and cheap-looking materialed clothing among other fake prizes. The subject was a female elf of the human appearance age of thirteen or fourteen. She stood at 5'5", and not yet done growing, and was skinny, slightly malnourished, and redheaded. Yellow-green feral eyes studied a bruised apple in front of a fruit stand run by an old lady with many missing teeth. On Zel's arm was a basket full of other hard-won bargained-for fruit.

"'Ow much ya chargin', geezer?"
"Twooh sivvuh fo' duh appuhs, tee fo' duh uddah fwoot." (Remember that this woman was missing a lot of teeth.)
"WHAT?! That's a ripoff bigger 'n--"

That was all Zel got to say before she was knocked over by a smack with something hard and flat to the back, fruit basket emptied of its contents on the cobblestone streets. She looked up at her attacker, fully ready to tackle whoever it was. Her mouth opened to yell--

--and stayed open as she beheld what was before her. A huge, smelly, dirty, burnt-looking, savage, drooling, wild-eyed, strong, powerful, evil, dsigusting, flaky-skinned, muscular, yellow- and missing-toothed fiend standing over her... with a sword as big as her raised... and said sword swing down, down down...

... Until it was blocked by another long, glimmering, eloquently designed sword with perfect balance. The blades locked with a spark-throwing clang as Zel beheld the beginning of the battle. The combatant battling the fiend that had attempted her death was a handsome, muscular, short-haired, bleach-blond, gold-eyed warrior elf with tanned skin. He was trained and he was winning, his armor glimmering like his sword in the sunlight.

In a manner of glimmering cuts, slashes, and nicks, soon the fiend was bloody and in no time at all it fell to the ground, dead. Zel's savior helped her up, while she in herself looked up with eyes wide in amazement. Now she saw other warriors finishing off other fiends. Her savior had had friends.

"How... you just... it went... and then... and... dead... Wha?"
The warrior laughed a bit and answered: "The fiends launched an attack on the city."
"No," Zel shook her head, "The sword. How did you do that with the sword?"
The puzzled warrior began: "Oh, it's just a little secret of the trade--"

That was as far as he got before his head was sliced from his shoulders with a terrified Zel looking on. She had been too paralyzed with fear to warn the warrior of the second wave of stealthier and obviously better-trained fiends that had attacked the square and remaining warriors. Or of the fiend that had just snuck up behind him and lopped off his head.

Zel sensibly bolted, scolding herself severely for cowardice all the way.

She ran, ran, ran through back streets, ran towards the exit of the city before she even had a thought about her family. And when she did remember, Zel ran, ran, ran towards her neighborhood and her street and then stood still. Deathly still, with the color draining from her face.

Zel knew every person on her street, from the boys she had injured years before to the old lady at the very end.

Exactly half of her neighbors were dead, lying out on the streets and missing their heads.

Terrified, Zel sprinted down the streets to her house, in search of her family and hoping desperately that her family was not among the dead.

She stopped at her house and fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. One sister and one brother were dead, headless, but Zel could see by their clothing. And so was Zel's mother... She cried even harder.

But the twins were gone.
The fraternal twins, one a boy, one a girl, were the second-youngest in the family-- Zel herself was the youngest. The twins, clever, resourceful, and glued together at the hip, had gotten away. It made her feel a little better, relieved a bit, maybe, but her mother and two out of four siblings were dead, missing their heads.

And then Zel saw the end of a large, straight line of people in chains on the adjacent street.

Slaves, Zel thought. Taraneen and Dukolinc had been, indeed, taken as slaves. She was too tired to chase after the line to see if her siblings were there. Instead, exhausted but furious and terrified and despaired all at once, she made a promise.

"I... will... have revenge..." Her family's missing faces played through her mind. Her mother. Her brother and sister. Her father. And the warrior who had lost his life in saving hers. "I will avenge you all..."

And then she had passed out in the middle of the gorefest that used to be her home.

.:Flashback: Zel's enlistment:.
A year after the event that had changed her whole life, the elfen female now stood among ranks of older, taller, bigger, stronger elves, male and female, who were new recruits in the militia of the capital city. Sure, Zel was at least three years younger and thirty pounds lighter than any given elf in the ranks. She had gotten in young; she was fifteen when the youngest anyone could join was eighteen. (Disregarding drafting, of course.)

What had happened was that as soon as Zel had woken up, she had stumbled out of her small town that she called 'city', but not before gathering her few bloodied belongings and stealing any supplies left in the ransacked village. Then she left, wandering almost aimlessly in her quest to find a recruitment office for the elfen army. Soon she had come upon a small city and they had pointed her in the direction of the faraway capital. And there she went.

Of course she had been immediately refused in her quest to become a warrior; that had not been a deterrence. In fact, it had made Zel all that more determined. For a whole year she stuck around the capital and badgered the officers, caused trouble for the troops (although they could never trace it to her; a slum prankster was an invisible prankster) and was really an overall annoyance until finally last week the general had given an OK to her recruitment, tired of her antics.

So here Zel stood, the proudest moment of her life.

Then she was led off with the other recruits to be trained.

"And that was it. Not exactly the first time I held a sword, but, you get the point-- taught in the army," Zel said. The venison was done and she cut out the choice tenderloins and set them gently over the fire.

[Pandava]

Pandava remained silent for a moment or two after Zel had completed what seemed to be a large chunk of her life's story. The elf could smell the venison begin to cook and chortled a little when Svati sniffed the air eagerly. (You can probably have a leg, Svati, but it would take two or three full stags to fill you up. Pandava glanced back at her dragon, the thought communicated between them.) She took a breath and tied her long, white hair behind her head, still yet unsure of what to say as she looked at Zel.

The warrior truly had been through much within her lifetime. She seemed so guarded, still, as she sat before them cooking the meat. Of course, what did she expect a warrior to be? She'd never seen a bouncy, happy warrior. Mostly because they had to witness death on a constant basis, and lived in a world where they had to fight to survive. Though Pandava was reminded as the last musing passed, that everyone these days, at least the elven "everyone," they all had to fight to survive. It didn't matter if an elf was a warrior or not. It was a matter of survival even trying to move across the lands. That's why she was grateful for Svati. Her large dragon (as the humans called them) was a great protection to her. Humans hadn't learned the care it took to befriend the noble race of wyrms that existed outside their lands. They lacked the necessary arcane talents, and lacked several other things that differentiated the elves from them. The truth of the matter was, humans were too easily corrupted.

She lost herself in her thoughts for a moment, but was brought back to it when she looked up at Zel. "You must know I can not reciprocate any stories to you," Pandava informed Zel as she glanced up. "This is mostly because not only was my life in the colonies not interesting, but I also am not able to recall my past."

The elf chewed on her lip thoughtfully, wondering how to explain it. "You see, I arrived in the colonies, or so they told me, from another place. Alone, apparently," story-telling was not her strong suit but she attempted it the best she could, watching the sturdy warrior as she cooked their food. "I was very young, something like thirteen summers old in human measurement. Dirty, and underfed, as well. They didn't know where I had come from, or...well...who I even was. All I could tell them was my name, and from what they told me, when they tried to bathe me I refused to remove this," she lifted the crescent-shaped pendant which was bound around her neck by a leather strip.

Pandava shrugged her shoulders a little. "Svati's better at telling stories than I am. She has quite a good sense of humor. It's actually a shame that you can't hear her." The elf watched the meat before them and loved the smell it created. She closed her eyes briefly, taking in the hunger-inducing smell.

I still don't trust her that much. I believe she has motives, dear one, Svati communicated her feelings very clearly as she conversed with Pandava. Besides, if there was anyone else in my head I'd be rather annoyed. Good thing I can only imprint once. The wyrm nudged Pandava fondly, receiving a tender scratch in her favorite spot as Pandava glanced back at her.

Pandava wondered why it was Svati was picking up ulterior motives. At least for now she had elven company. She'd worry about the rest later.

[Diary-chan]

Zel nodded.

In a way, she felt sorry for the elf sitting beside her. If the warrior had had to choose between her own lot in life and that of the one beside her... she would choose her own. Death? Death, even of family and friends, was to be treasured-- for even one's death was a memory. Memories were the most precious treasure of all. Memories reminded one of their past and what had made themself the way they were. Memories were character. Memories were identities. Memories were everything.

Without memories, one had nothing.

And so, to be robbed of one's identity, one's past, one's character, one's everything, Zel theorized, was a fate worse than death.

Pity. Pity for this Pandava.

Damnit! Warriors were merciless. Warriors had no pity.
She didn't even have to think the words 'going soft.'

Going soft, going soft, going soft. It seemed she was getting squishier by the minute. It was because of the contact with this other elf, she knew... she hadn't had contact with other life in a while and so to be suddenly trying to maneuver through a political situation of sorts brought out emotions and sides of her that Zel had not seen in an equally long time. Because of the sudden interaction, she was being continually caught off guard by almost unfamiliar emotions that years ago she would have been easily able to block and filter. Her own explanation was not good enough, however. A warrior's skills are always sharp. Her emotions are carefully locked away. Her sword is always gleaming. Her aim is always perfect. Her heart is always closed.

She was becoming weak and it was because of this Pandava. Instantaneously, she was filled with resentment. This was an emotion she was familiar with. But under it was also reason.

Zel knew that it was no fault of her unlikely companion's that she was developing weaknesses.
It was a fault of her own for overestimating herself and her emotional filtering abilities.

Weak, weak, weak, weak...

Warrior or not, had anyone been listening on Zel's thoughts, it would be obvious that she faced many and large self-esteem issues, whether or not she chose to see this.

Hey. No one was perfect.

In any case, Zel spoke: "Oh... lost past. You've been through a lot yourself, then. It takes a lot to create amnesia... and a heck of a lot of motive to create it on purpose."

She fell silent and her eyes moved to the cooking meat. It was almost done. Zel, for lack of plates or anything to use as such, put out the fire underneath the meal to use the cooking utensil itself as a plate. As soon as the fire was out, she unflinchingly picked up a strip of the scalding venison and ripped off a well-cooked peice with her teeth. Done chewing one bite, she told her companions:

"We can put the fire back on as soon as we're done eating, unless you have some bowls or plates. Svati is welcome to have some if she wishes." Zel spoke of the wyrm almost reverently, and then almost barbarically tore off another bite of the still-hot venison in her hand, legs crossed.

[Pandava]

Zel's inner conflict did not go unnoticed by Pandava. She decided, though, for lack of any other choice, to leave the subject alone. If the warrior was conflicted, it was a personal issue and nothing she should inquire about. After all, they'd just only met one another.

Food. Pandava was glad for the meat before them, glad for food in general. Fresh food. The elf leaned forward, taking a sizable portion with a slight hiss as the meat stung her fingers with the heat. She merely brushed off the pain though, and firstly gave the portion to Svati. Sorry there's not more, Pandava communicated apologetically to the large wyrm behind her.

Clamping her large jaw shut on the portion of meat, Svati rumbled, It's quite alright. It's enough for now. I can attempt to fly over some land later and get a stag for myself. It's better raw anyway, I don't know why you elves like it cooked.

Pandava chuckled, adoringly rolling her eyes at Svati as she leaned forward, snatching a small portion of meat for herself. Hunger was a beast, and it sounded as if it was devouring her stomach right now. The relief of having something in her stomach was amazing. She settled pleasurably back against Svati's large shoulder, eating the meat slowly as to savor it.

Though, with an eyebrow quirked, she found it amusing, the barbaric way in which Zel ate. Here she sat, eating daintily and savoring every bite, and across her the warrior was tearing meat off the bone like an animal. Truly, Zel and Pandava were very different kinds of elves.

Although it had gone quiet, the lack of conversation didn't leave Pandava lonely. She finally had a reason to speak aloud, and for that she was grateful. It had been a quiet journey. With Svati she never needed to speak aloud, or direct a specific thought. She was just always in Svati's head, and the wyrm always in hers.

Makes for difficulty sleeping, Svati sent, mid-chew, jaw opening and closing a bit loudly, heat radiating from her nostrils as she ate.

Pandava grinned secretly in agreement. It did make for hard sleeping if the wyrm behind her couldn't rest, or vice-versa.

The sun beat down on them nicely, and Pandava finished her dainty portion. "That was lovely," she murmured happily as she stood, setting the bone beside the fire and she made her way back to her comfortable seat against Svati. "Thank you for sharing that with us," she commented gratefully.

You know she looks at me strange. And the tone she uses when my name comes from her lips, it's far from ordinary. Svati acknowledged after she had finished, one large claw wrapping around the bone leftover from her meat. Her claws shut around the bone as she took it out of her mouth and a large claw nudged it to lay beside Pandava's.

Well, not many people have seen a wyrm your size before. I think it's normal. Pandava responded in kind, taking a moment to look at her wyrm and closest companion.

Svati let her golden eyes linger on Pandava and moved over to Zel. She should know, I only take orders from you.

You take orders? Pandava responded amusedly and comforted Svati. I shall keep you safe, good friend.

[Diary-chan]

"S'no problem," The warrior elf told her companions in a spare moment between barbaric bites. Actually, feeding the dragon was a problem, seeing as it exhausted any food supply uncomfortably quickly, but that was another condition she was going to have to put up with.

Zel began to wonder if the wyrm's power was worth all the trouble.

The private conversation going on between the two was not unnoticed by Zel. It bothered her, of course, that she didn't know what they were saying. It bothered her that the two could be so close, even though they were of entirely different races. Mostly, though, she was bothered by silence and perhaps by the assumption that Svati and Pandava were excluding her-- which was entirely untrue, because Svati couldn't talk, and as Zel was making no effort to have an open conversation with the elf near her, there would naturally be an exclusion since the wyrm and elf were so close, and, of course, inside one another's heads.

Therefore, she had no reason to be upset.

But it still bothered Zel.

And why did she let herself be disturbed by such things?

Weak, weak, weak.

As it was, Svati's almost-glare at herself did not escape the warrior's notice. And the wyrm thinks I stare at her. Really, you'd think I was some kind of... barbaric savage. Or some evil, wheedling, two-faced spy.

Or a manipulative schemer looking to take advantage of and use the wyrm and her companion.

Dammnit.

Weren't criminals supposed to look at their deeds in a better light than that?
Maybe not.
But Zel hadn't considered herself a criminal before, because, she wasn't a criminal.
She was a warrior.
A weak, no-good, softening daughter-of-a-bread-loaf warrior.

What did it take to motivate one's self into becoming better?

Beating herself up wasn't cutting it.
But it had always worked before.

Zel was tired of beating herself up and tired of dealing with her self-esteem problems. Tired of thinking altogether.
And what did one do when they were tired?
Sleep.

Zel reached back for the area in between her tunic and her quiver of arrows-- tucked into the space was neatly-folded burlap blanket. In no way was it luxurious, but it kept her butt from freezing off and made the ground less hard. The warrior elf pulled this out almost magically, the object exploding out of its folding as she gave it the jerk. This done, she walked about ten feet away and found a clear spot, where she spread out the material-- it was a square whose length and width was about equal to that of Zel's height.

"I'm going to sleep," was her only goodnight to the two across the clearing.

Then Zel lay down along the edge of one of the burlap's sides and put down her weapons and pouch belt until all she wore was the tunic and leggings. Then she grabbed the edge of the fabric and rolled the opposite direction, snugging herself up in a kind of elf taco, for lack of a better term (even the author laughs at the words "elf taco.") In this way she stayed warm. With that, she inched downward into the roll until her head was enveloped inside the burlap.

She was too tired to scold herself for not setting up a bed in the proper fashion to be able to be up and fighting in a second.

There was nothing to fight, Zel reasoned. The warrior code was long obselete...

[Pandava]

The night passed peacefully, with both Pandava and Svati slightly confused as to the warrior's suddenly very gruff, angry disposition before she'd bedded. Pandava had slept well, curled on her own bedroll - as usual, nestled comfortably against Svati's side, the wyrm's tail snaked around her form protectively.

By the time dawn rose, with her fingers of warmth passing upward from the horizon, Pandava was already awake. She knelt beside the warm coals of the fire, coaxing them back to life. The warrior was still asleep, far from the fire, wrapped comfortably (apparently) in her own bedroll. Zel was odd indeed. She was so cranky, so quick to anger.

Oh dear one, Svati purred the words gently in Pandava's mind as the dragon stretched, jaw trembling a little as she yawned widely. She's a warrior, what do you expect of her?

Pandava turned her bright gaze to Svati, and heaved a sigh from her chest before she packed up a few necessary items and secured the riding harness on Svati's long, slender neck. The elf climbed deftly onto the riding harness, throwing her satchel over her shoulder as she did so.

The ground rumbled as Svati stretched. Her claws bore into the ground, leaving deep trenches once her claws retracted. The wyrm flexed her wings. Once, twice. The air churned each time her wings flexed; in a moment, the trees were swaying and Svati took flight, leaving the camp behind for their morning hunt. The wyrm needed to eat more than what she'd been given the night before, and a morning hunt was fun for both Pandava and Svati.

"I guess I just expected a little kindness, at least," Pandava spoke aloud once they were far from camp, distant from even the ground itself. Her feminine fingers gripped the harness as Svati's wings beat rhythmically, soaring slowly through the air. "She just got so cranky, so fast," Pandava stated after a moment and frowned.

Not everyone is lacking in temper like you, Svati chortled in Pandava's head, and caused the elf astride her neck to chuckle in response.

Below, the barren Wastelands lay open and ripe for hunting; that is, if there was any sign of life below. It was largely desert, cracks and crevices lining the entirety of the Wastelands. The wyrm was scanning the ground for some kind of large game, enough to fill her stomach. Svati only needed to fill her hunger once a week. Even that was a difficult accomplishment though, with the wiping out of life everywhere.

"Do you think we'll find more elves, more villages on the way to the capitol?" Pandava questioned as she looked down at the brown-scaled dragon beneath her, still perched safely upon the wyrm's neck.

I believe so, Svati's response was short and sweet; she'd spotted game and began a nosedive to the ground.

Air rushed past Pandava, her heart racing, pounding heavily against her ribcage just as it did every time Svati dove like this. It was both exhilarating and frightening. Though she knew she was secure upon Svati's neck, hands holding firmly to the harness, there was still always the sight of the ground rushing faster and faster, closer and closer.

Svati straightened her dive immediately as she came close enough to the ground, soaring just above it. The large bull-like creature was a straggler. A large, formidable meal if there ever was one. The wyrm's jaws opened, a tremendous roar trembling the land and the animal falling heavily and clumsily to its side. As it struggled to get up, too large and unstable to merely stand up, Svati's mouth erupted in flame and immediately the creature disappeared into her massive jaws, fur burnt to a crisp.

Svati chortled in pleasure as the meal passed to her stomach, full for another week. Now that's a real roasted meal.

"That was a terrible joke, Svati, even for you."

[Diary-chan]

((OMG!! I am so sorry I've been neglecting you!!!
Also, about the beginning of this post... I wasn't exactly sure how to make it long enough to fit my own personal standards, so I'm including a narrative view of a dream she's recently been having a lot. It's also a bit of a continuation of the flashback sequence. Sorry it's so long...))

.:Zel's Dream: The Recurring Memory:.

Zell'arik Kamir'oto filed through the doors to the barracks that would be her home for the next three years, and, glowing with pride and a foot shorter than the shortest of other recruits, stood out. Shoulders back, chest puffed, and chin tucked in, she held the painful pose that every flashy general wished their soldiers could retain. Later she would learn that this was as unnecessary as it was stupid.

Stepping through the doors, she was given a number to remember: 263. It was the number of the bunk she would be sleeping in for her training in the capitol.

Zel walked through the rows, too absorbed in finding her apparently nonexistent bunk to retain the obnoxious pride-fueled pose she had previously occupied. Her thick red hair fell in her face, thin, sharp pupils against yellow-green eyes scanning the hundreds of beds that existed within the barracks.

Fifteen minutes later she was about to give up; there appeared to be no order to the bunks and their numbers and that it was a wild goose chase.

A few lucky young elves had already found their place; sheer fortune alone seemed to be the main factor in this. Some of them were calling out numbers of the bunks below or above them to help who would be their fellow bunkmates. Zel noticed a tall, lanky, pale boy who looked about eighteen by human standards sitting upright on his top bunk scanning the sea of milling newbies around, shouting, like many around him, numbers of nearby bunkbeds. He had dark hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, silky and soft-looking; his face was, like the rest of him, long and thin; his teeth were pearly white in contrast to Zel's own yellowing ones; and his eyes were a pretty light brown that reminded her of those of the elf that had saved her life a year ago.

She was so absorbed in this male elf who had mysteriously caught her attention that she almost didn't notice the words his silky voice sent out over the crowd:

"Two sixty-three, right under me! Two sixty-three! Two hundred sixty-three!"

Zel blinked and made her way over to the bunk and the boy above it. As she approached, his liquid light brown, amber-y eyes moved to her, and his fine eyebrows raised on his high forehead.

"Two sixty-three?" he asked, almost hopefully.

Zel nodded.

For a second the light in his eyes dimmed, as if in disappointment, which made her automatically defensive and a bit judgmental as well as resenting, eyebrows sinking. But then his face lit up again and he broke into a pearly-white grin, which served only to confuse her. Zell'arik Kamir'oto trusted her first intuitions and her judgement and a first impression stuck with her. His sudden change in attitudes was confusing because this was a behavior she did not practice. Because of her confusion, part of the first impression was wiped away and this boy almost had a clean slate-- a bit of resentment still remained.

That tiny bit of resentment was permanent, and it would later be her own curse.

But she didn't know that yet.

Zel looked down at her own small bunk, clean but worn, thin, and undoubtedly uncomfortable. She mechanically dumped her stuff-- a medium-sized rucksac and a small pouch-- onto the structure and sat down, thinking that it felt a lot like the bed she had shared with the twins, but that brought bad memories and she pushed them away.

Her face shot upward as something caught her eye.

Here was the face of the boy on the top bunk... except upside-down, since he was leaning over the edge to look at her.

"May I help you?" Zel asked somewhat coldly, playing up the resentment she had gotten as a first impression from this elf.

It didn't deter him.

"Yeah," he replied with a grin. "Could I ask a question or two?"

Apparently he took Zel's silence as a yes.

"Why aren't you as... tall..." He was attempting to be tactful and failing in his curiosity, "... as anyone else here?"

Zell'arik had been fully planning to not answer whatever question was thrown at her, but in her defense of her large pride she was forced to answer, with a bit of smugness:

"I'm not as old, of course."

"How did you get into the army at under eighteen? Why would you [i]want to?"

Zel was surprised; if this boy didn't want to be in the army, why was he?

"I pestered the officers and undermined training sessions until they let me. And, unlike you, apparently, I want to be here because--" [/i]...Because I'm going to get revenge, Zel thought, but she knew better than to tell it to this boy whose name she didn't even know. "I'm here for... personal stuff." Zel turned around, then turned back, planning to even the score.

"Who are you, even? And why are you here if you don't want to be?"

The boy looked at her strangely, then hopped down from the top bunk and bowed.

"Let me introduce myself. I am Okin'aro Dori'mangen, eldest son of Lady Arina'maleya Yoli'gothiarn and Lord Tithan'aeus Dori'mangen, heir to the Dori'mangen mining fortune." Zel goggled at the long names and excessive titles, thinking that this guy had to be a big snob. "You can call me Oko, though-- I don't like the titles. Had to memorize them as a toddler," he shuddered. "As eldest, I'm supposed to win my family honor and become a high-ranking warrior and blahbity blah blah. So yeah, the folks dumped me here and now I'll probably get KIA'ed."

Wasn't that foreshadowing for ya.

Zel introduced herself.

"My name is Zell'arik Kamir'oto, youngest daughter of the disappeared footsoldier Achharon Kamir'oto and his late wife, Cherin'ama... Una'wran, that's it, but oldest known living descendant." Zel looked at his face to gauge his reaction. His eyebrows were raised but he said nothing. She could think about her family now, a year after the loss, where she had had time to think about it at night and she had cried a lot. She was done with crying now. "Heir to nothing but an old tiny bloodied lot in the city of Gornia. You can call me Zel. And I guess aside from my personal means, since I'm the only known Kamir'oto left and free, I'm bound, like you, to earn honor for my family."

Apparently Oko had figured out that the more information he gave Zel, the more she would give back.

"I'm actually only the eldest living child. My big sister died at birth. My three siblings are two girls and a boy, named Karin'ani, Daric'olo, and Fara'nika. They are currently too young to have occupations but they're all alive and living on the Dori'mangen estate."

"My four older siblings are named, in order from youngest to oldest, Taraneen, Dukolinc, Ari'nama, and Garten'io. Girl, boy, girl, boy. As you know, it's a custom not to break the names of twins, therefore Dukolinc and Taraneen's names are left unbroken. Ari'nama and Garten'io are dead. The twins were, last time I saw them, or, more accurately, didn't see them, being taken into slavery and I've no idea where they are now. Presumably dead." Zel didn't like giving out all this information, but at the same time it felt good. Besides, she was bound by honor to return his information. Or so she thought.

Oko was left with no more interesting information to exchange. He obviously was itching to hear more of this young one's story, but he had nothing left to barter and therefore wasn't going to find out anytime soon. Still, he had to ask...

"How did they die?"

"That's classified." Short and sweet, that was Zel.

((OOC: Ending it at a part of the dream so I'm not making it a novel.))

IC:
Zel's eyelids fluttered open to be greeted only by darkness. She panicked for a moment but then realized: she was still encased in her makeshift elf taco (LOL!) and the burlap was blocking her vision. She was now awake enough to begin berating herself for not setting up camp in the proper position. The elf had apparently regained enough energy to continue the insane process of beating herself up over and over again and expecting a different result than the failure she felt.

When she unrolled from her burlap, she was greeted only by the harsh forms of the decaying, petrified trees, which seemed even more misshapen in the morning light. The darkness had almost hid their ugliness. Few birds chirped in the already-risen sun. Zel cursed again under her breath. The sun had risen and she hadn't been rising with it.

The next thing she noticed with silent alarm was that Pandava, as the nomad's name was, and the wyrm, Svati-- even her mind spoke it with reverence-- were gone. But then her still-keen senses noticed that not all of their things were gone; their absence was temporary.

Sighing in relief and scolding herself for it, Zel set about making breakfast from the leftovers of last night's supper.