The drowning that burned

by **Eodan** Mon Sep 10, 2012 12:12 pm

"I know, just keep the bush over your face, Hyanadil. I have to go hunting alone tonight.". The words of a smiling man, Arathorian, he was adorned by a hand-crafted leather attire. His long coat overlapping his thighs, strapped tightly around his chest which held a round, rangers badge. That is what he was, a master archer of Stromgarde and a hunter only few could better in his day. Strung over his back would be a longbrow, it's string tight and masterfully tied, the grip engraved with small, curled drawings, the marks of his family. Every time the bow passed from father to son, the father would add to the carving, so the son could learn from all of them with the simple release of an arrow.
"But pa.. I'm almost eighteen! I can do this." the young boy protested, his big brown eyes frowning as he'd try to bat the bush aside, only to have his father pull it back up. His long brown hair hanging over his shoulder, he had the same stature as his dad. A straight but humbled shoulderbuild, slender by the waist with big hands, yet thin fingers, a marksman's trait. "Not this time.." would have been his fathers words before dissapearing deeper into the darkness of the night. They were in the Wetlands, a vast marshland to the south of Arathi, bordering the Dwarven lands. Originating from the marshes, they often met the Dwarves and other travelers along the road so the terrain was not unfamiliar, the buzzing of bugs and faint lights dancing around, hypnotizing for those who do not know them were quite normal for the young sixteen year-old. That night, Hyanadil was buzzing with energy, only wanting to follow his father, prove that he too can be a hunter worthy of the family's name and yet out of respect and love, he remained obediently hidden by the bush and the mud his father had covered him with. Just as his eyes got accustomed by the darkness, his nose ignoring the thick stench of soaked mud, exhaustion and boredom would let the boy drift off, eyes slowly falling shut.

It seemed to have been mere seconds before a loud buzzing would wake the child up and yet early morning lighty crawled over the hills in the distance. His hand idly wafting at wasps happily zooming around the boy. He would push himself up, the bush falling off him, the dried mud cracking and itching at his skin as he'd claw it off. "Good morning, son." would be the first words he heard. Lifting his head, as his large brown eyes would meet his fathers warm smile, he'd recognize the large satchel over his shoulder. Probably filled with meat, herbs and rations to last their village through the winter. Beaming a wide grin, the young boy would jump up. "Can we say I caught one? Just one? Please?" he'd beg. It was often so that Hyanadil would be overshadowed by his father. While still young, he craved for the same attention, he craved to be the cause of those smiles often granted to the hunters returning with their boon. The man in his middle ages would chuckle, shaking his head as he'd reach out to ruffle his the hopeful boys hair, yet not giving an answer. The beaming smile of his child always warmed his heart. The hunt was hard, and full of dangers, he knew well how eager his boy was to learn, but he also knew the child was too eager, overly brave and more often than not naive. "Next time, I'll let you shoot." he spoke after moments, his bounty spread over large animal skins to cover them from the muddied ground.
With a loud gasp, Hyanadil's face lit up, beaming a grin stretching from ear to ear. "Really?!" he'd exclaim in utter excitement, only to be met by a nod of his old man.
It was when the young man exclaimed his joy in a vocal outburst that the skies thundered. The cloudless skies shining a bright sun, yet the clear sounds of thunder was rolling over the marshes, the puddles of water rippling before the solid trembling would be felt building through their feet, up their bodies. "By the ancestors..." would be Hyanadil's fathers words as he stared off in the distance. A distinct black spot, almost like a bird could be seen coming closer, growing rapidly, to become more and more clear with every passing second it remained over the dam. The roaring thunder becoming deafening as father and son beheld The Destroyer himself. With wide eyes, Hyanadil found himself frozen in fear, all his previous joy drained as the masive dragons roar was heard over the distance. Watching the giant wings clap, the metalic jaws reflecting the sunlight as the skies darkened to a sickly burning orange. He felt his entire body scream out to run and yet he could not. What seemed like an eternity was but a second as his father gripped the boon, slinging the badly tied bag over his back before gripping his son by the arm. "RUN! And don't look back, Hyanadil! RUN!!". His words echoed through the boy's ears before he began running, closely followed by his father. He would do just what he was told. Run. As fast as his young legs could carry him, swiftly over mud and swamp alike he skillfully skipped his way through. "Go! Go!! Faster!" were the encouraging words of his father before an thunderous drumming was heard. Tackled by his own father, Hyanadil fell flat, feeling an inhumane scorching heat pass them, his face pushing down in the cool, moist ground, eyes squinting in terror. It is when his eyes opened that he saw the Deathwing fly further on, towards the harbour town of Menethil. His fathers eyes joined onto the monstrosity. The experienced hunter knowing would not be lulled by safety, raising himself and his son up rapidly, he would find his fears quickly come true. Dropping the family's bow and the boon of the hunt, he gripped his child with strong hands, Hyanadil yelping, confused and terrified, he could not make out what went on untill he found himself staring at a thick branch, pulling himself up as his father taught him before when in dangerous predator's terains. His ears buzzing to loud to hear the imminent danger, he gazed down at his father, eyes wide, filled with tears and terror. "Don't let go!!" would be the last words he'd hear before a crashing flood brutally took his father from his sight. Hyanadil's eyes widened wanting to scream, he was only found holding for dear life to the tree, swaying from the strong current, large rocks and chunks of stone kept smacking against the strong tree, only to be washed away by the thick brown flood.
What seemed like hours were but a few minutes, the water ebbing off to the sea, the tree in which the terrified young boy was gripping onto bent, the roots partially torn out of the ground, even the tree being unable withstand the horrifying destruction which just occured.
What the boy witnessed then was something he would never forget. The once natural, lush and buzzing marshes were dead, cold. Animals of all kinds torn, drowned or burried in the mud. His young frail shape trembling as he looked around, panic gripping him more and more the longer it took him to find his father. His tired, trembling legs giving in under him after stumbling after the stream which robbed that warm presence from him. He would frown faintly before his eyes spotted something in the distance. With every ounce of strenght, he forced himself closer, only to find the engraved grip of a bow, their family's bow. Broken and snapped, the curve and string gone.
Large brown eyes gazed down at the broken heirloom before his heart was felt shrinking, his stomach turning, head spinning. With shocking shoulders, the scream of a torn heart roared after The Destroyer. Even for the naive young child, he knew that the promised 'next time' was stolen from him. Never again to feel the soothing hands. Never again to see his smile. Stolen for no reason. Lost in a burning sorrow, the boy remained hunched over the broken grip, cursing the water that took his father with wailing cries.