Medieval and Medieval fantasy

"Dragonblood" story (Technically Damijan [V.1])
Ast'arothe, a land with many regions and divided provinces ruled by seven men appointed to be lord of the region, all of whom have sworn allegiance to the King. One of these provinces, Frostfall, a snowy domain known for its skill at breaking the will of others and making them slaves to supply to other provinces and the prisons that hold the most dangerous of criminals. Etienne

Damijan (V.2)
Gods of War Names
 * Google: Names of gods

"Kill one, you're a murderer. Kill a hundred, you're a warrior. Kill a thousand, you're a King. Kill them all, a God."

- Belloc

Bathed in the soft glow of the sun at dawn on the pasture, a twelve-year-old boy Arkanian boy filled the mangers and troughs in front of his family's hostel; he also hammered down the stakes on the hitching post so they wouldn't come loose in case a horse ran into or pulled at it again. He did this most mornings since he was able at the ripe age of nine because so many visitors owned horses, and shortly after he has wanted to leave his home and family to venture out on his own, something he often dreamt of doing. HIis mother, Augustine said the boy's father was the same way, though he never met him she said he was very much like him.

If it wasn't for his sister he would have disappeared a year ago, but she learned of his plans and wanted to go with him, knowing of the dangers for children their age he was forced to stay, in order to protect her. A small part of him hated her for that, but he couldn't really place any blame, his mother ran the hostel most times although they did spend evenings together as a family when it was possible, but he was all she had. He couldn't put her in harm's way.

Ah, Kaliyah. He mused at the thought of his sister, but immediately put away the tools in his satchel when he heard her call him. "Étienne, breakfast!"

As he turned to head in he heard the sound of clomping by a horse. Multiple horses, in fact. He ran inside to let his mother know, dropped off his tools, washed his hands, and quickly ran back, hoping the riders were one of two types; soldiers for the High King or merchants. Either way he was confident to learn something knew today. They were always willing to share something.

They neared, Étienne could tell they were soldiers, but not the kind he thought, these clad men and women -- five men and two women to be exact -- wore steel armor with a crimson cross on their chests, pauldrons, as well on their horses. He was curious, but put it aside and welcomed them with a warm smile as they approached. Their leader was an Arkanian himself, of distinguished looks; dark brown hair and beard, he wore the armor well and had the look of a experienced warrior whose seen more than his fair share of combat. The man looked at Étienne, the corner of his mouth curling into a slight smile.

He quickly looked away and bowed slightly, showing the proper respect to his elders, "Welcome to the Hearthfire Inn."

The leader said nothing while dismounting his horse and led him to the hitching post by his bridle leash, and just left him there and went inside. He was soon followed by two others, but when they came back out after several minutes they seemed disappointed.

"Are you looking for something, or someone?" He asked, as the leader grabbed the horse's leash.

"A man by the name of Batono, he was spotted coming this way by our scouts. Have you seen him?"

Batono. He thought. That was the name of the drifter that he found sleepng in the chicken coop; he'd brought the man food and told him to stay put, he seemed nice, but there was something off about him. "What did he do?"

"Murdered an entire family in Marrakesh, to appease the Daiya Ashur, the Lord of Manipulation and many other foolish things." The leader explained, the disgust was obvious. "They had two little girls and a son."

The thought of seeing his own family dead before him by that man's, or anyone's hand almost made him want to vomit. It was sickening and it would be his fault. He had to do something. "He's in the chicken coop. I thought he was just a drifter."

"It's okay, karii." He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, "We'll handle this, go inside."

With a nod he did as he was told, closing and locking the doors behind him, he told his they had to stay inside. A few moments passed and he heard a woman scream, then the clanging of sword and grunting of soldiers ensued. It wasn't long before it was over and he opened the door to check on them, Kaliyah joined him.

"The bastard bit me!" One of the men exclaimed, holding the wound on his neck.

There was blood in and all around the coop, Batono had been eating the chickens and even managed to kill one of the female soldiers before finally dying himself, a blood-saturated with bits of flesh and a disconcerting smile plastered on his face, frozen, but all the more frightening. "What happens now?" He asked, looking away from the bodies.

"Well thanks to you, little one, the people of Abysus can sleep a little easier tonight." He grinned and bent down to one knee, "But on a different matter, may I ask you a question?"

He nodded, "Of course, sir."

"What," he leaned in and his voice became so low Kaliyah could barely hear, "do you know of the Templars?"

"Very little, sir. My apologies."

The man chuckled lightly, "No need, most folk know very little because we work outside of the High King's authority."

"So, you're not soldiers?" Kaliyah asked.

"Yes and no." he answered, "We are the Knights Templar, an order of individuals loyal to the cause of eradicating the scourge of the land. We are servants of the Divine Agasaya, Goddess of Righteous Might and Merciful Forbearance."

Étienne nudged his sister, "They're a militant order of priests, like the Vigilants of Erzu from Kamal."

Kaliyah raised a questioning brow. "How do you know that?"

"A really old book."

The Templar nodded assuringly and there was a look in his eye, an inquisitive glint as if he wanted to ask something, and then he did. "How would you two like to join the order?"

Étienne already knew his decision and this was a chance at something, a way to get away from that damnable hostel, a decent future, anything would be better than how his young life was currently. Before he could give his answer he heard Jeth's voice behind him. The dark-haired man towered over the children and eyed the Templar, studying him as if he were preparing for something.

"Hello, Jethro," The Templar greeted the man who stood three inches taller than himself, "it's been a long time."

"Not long enough, Gérard." His voice was full of resent and animosity. Étienne couldn't help but wonder how they knew each and what happened between them. He didn't get his answer as Jeth ushered them away from Templar back into the inn. "Come along, children."

Étienne looked back in pity, not for the Templar, but for himself, he was whisked away before he could give him an answer. Once inside the young Arkanian huddled by the fireplace, he didn't even hear the Templars come in until Gérard asked for rooms for a night.

"Get out--" That was all Jeth could say before Augustine, Étienne's mother, interjected.

"Don't listen to him," she said, "go and take a seat, someone will be right with you." She beckoned to him and he happily obliged, Étienne's eyes wandered to the other Templars coming in as they sat down at the counter, ordering drinks.

"Would you like anything to drink, sir?" He asked politely, using the respectable tone he'd been taught since he could talk, to impress the upper class guess that had stayed there previously. He hated using it, it was less of something he wanted but more of something that was forced on him.

"A mug of your finest ale."

Étienne scurried away and came back with a mug of Forté Merde, a very strong ale capable of inebriating someone within a few sips.

Chapter II
Étienne stopped to rest beside a riverbed after trekking far under the blazing sun trying to get to Korda, thirst was getting to him. Without hesitation he removed his armor chassis and bent down drink from the river

Later
Étienne stood on the precipice of battle, the blood in his veins was boiling, sweat seams slid down the nape of his neck as he held back his urge to delve into conflict, but after one of the drone grinned at him, a nasty conniving one baring all his decayed teeth, he could not hold himself any longer. Neglecting his orders, he banged his shield with the sword in hand, "Come on!" He shouted with robust, before charging ahead into battle. The brotherhood soldiers that backed him soon followed.

Damijan (v.3) (Started:3/22/15)
Bathed in the soft glow of the sun at dawn on the pasture, a seventeen-year-old boy Arkanian slave boy filled the mangers and troughs in front of his master's estate; he also hammered down the stakes on the hitching post so they wouldn't come loose in case a horse ran into or pulled at it again. He did exasperating chores like this most mornings since he was able at the ripe age of seven, and shortly after he has wanted to leave his servitude, something he often dreamt of doing; the only thing that had stopped him was his twin sister Kaliyah.

If it wasn't for her he would have disappeared a year ago, but she learned of his plans and wanted to go with him, knowing of the dangers for people with very little knowledge of the outside world and no martial skills he was forced to stay, in order to protect her. A small part of him hated her because of that but he couldn't really place any blame. If he had died out there, alone, it wouldn't have mattered to anyone, but he didn't want Kaliyah's death to be on him. He couldn't put her in harm's way.

Ah, Kaliyah. He mused at the thought of his sister, but immediately put away the tools in his satchel when he heard someone call him. "Étienne!" The voice came from above, on the tower. It was Veezara, a green-scaled Moloch slave, he had been there longer than Étienne by seven years and helped the boy and his sister settle when they first arrived.

As he turned to head in he heard the sound of clomping by a horse. Multiple horses, in fact. He ran inside to let his mother know, dropped off his tools, washed his hands, and quickly ran back, hoping the riders were one of two types; soldiers for the King or merchants. Either way he was confident to learn something knew today. They were always willing to share something.

They neared

Damijan (V.4) (4/2/15)
(Started: April 2, 2015 | {Modified/Continued: April 4, 2015 - April 5, 2015 - April 11, 2015 - April 12, 2015 - June 6, 2015})

Bathed in the soft glow of the moon, sixteen-year-old Étienne performed the last of his chores around his family's hostel on the Arkanian countryside of Abysus. The young man refilled the mangers and troughs in the animal pens, he also hammered down the stakes on the hitching post so they wouldn't come loose in case a carriage or horse ran into, or pulled it out again. Étienne stopped to rest and wiped sweat away in disgust. Gods! He hated this, he hated this mediocre life of his, working for that imbecilic drunk of a stepfather and his mother. He wanted excitement, to do something aside cleaning up the waste of these damned animals or fixing something that broke. He wanted a life, one he chose, but alas he could do no such thing for as long as he had his sister to look after.

Ah, Kaliyah. He mused at the thought of her, but immediately put away the tools in his satchel when he saw torches across the plains. After a moment he peered closer and noticed it wasn't torches but spells being cast by mages. Étienne began to panic because they were heading toward the hostel's crops, fresh fruits and vegetables were about to be burned by the two, months of hard gone, and he would have to replace it all himself.

Without thinking he grabbed his hammer and scurried to the crop, taking quick steps through the vegetation he hoped get behind one of the mages to end the conflict. He hid among his hard work awaiting opportunity, while doing so he overheard them talking and the clashing and clanging of swords. They were battlemages, not simple spellcasters.

". . . Templars are the menace that plagues this world, not my masters. They were here first, Jorgen." The mage in the dark robes said while kicking the other away after they had locked swords.

The other mage was winded and what seemed to be blood was soaking his robes beneath his arm. "You worship monstrosities that have killed thousands, if not millions throughout the millennia they have plagued our lands. If you assist them," he picked himself up and pointed his sword, "then I have no choice, but to put you down, Nikola."

Jorgen charged and they drew closer to the crops and Étienne watched with intrigue mixed with fear. His grip faltered due to a sweaty hand, he grimaced knowing, he quickly wiped his hand as the one called Nikola approached back stepping toward the awaiting Arkanian. Immediately he gripped the hammer again and without questioning himself he lashed out and struck the mage in the head, knocking him down in a heap, the hammer lodged in his cranium.

Jorgen's expression was a mixture surprise and confusion, but soon his eyes started to flutter and his gaze wavered before he fell to the ground, presumably unconscious. Étienne rushed to the man's side, placing an ear on his chest he heard a faint heartbeat; the boy thought quickly and ran back to the hostel. He made his way upstairs and woke his mother, she was chirurgeon. She was dazed when she awoke.

"What is it, Étienne?" She asked, removing the covers, "What's happened?"

He struggled to speak while out of breath. "Two . . . killed one . . . other hurt bad . . . need medical&mdash;"

She hushed him with a single to his lips, "Quiet yourself and speak plainly, Étienne."

He inhaled. "Mages were fighting and so I killed one before they burned our crops, and the other is hurt badly. He needs help, mother or he'll die."

She got out of bed and Étienne led her down the stairs and outside to where the man lay. Still unconscious, the mage did not stir when they picked him up and brought him back to the hostel and laid him on an inclined chair. "Grab my kit." She ordered, before ripping his tunic and tossing the bloodied piece away.

Étienne went behind the check-in counter and brought back a satchel. Handing it to her, he stood by watching his mother perform; she cleaned the wound with a wet rag, wiping the dirt and blood from it and then began sewing him up. An hour passed and she seemed satisfied with her work, "Nothing more to do, but let him rest. Come, we should to."

"I'll linger a bit longer if you don't mind."

Damijan (V.5) (V.I - Short Story) (Thought up: 6/5/15)
(Started: June 6, 2015 | {Modified/Continued: })

The Akali River flowed undisturbed through the valley that harbored the thriving town of Concord Dawn, the location where ten thousand warriors from the southern continent of Taral made a pact with those from the north to end twenty years of conflict. Then, the town was erected and named Concord Dawn in remembrance of the dawn of peace, only for the next two hundred years however.

When the dragons returned to the realm and threatened enslavement or extinction of all who defied them, a splinter group of knights separated from King Tenebrae's army and became the Order of the Templars, dedicating themselves to defending the realm and its people from any who dared threaten.

Étienne stood on the precipice of battle, the blood in his veins was boiling, sweat seams slid down the nape of his neck as he held back his urge to delve into conflict, but after one of the drone grinned at him, a nasty conniving one baring all his decayed teeth, he could not hold himself any longer. Neglecting his orders, he banged his shield with the sword in hand, "Come on!" He shouted with robust, before charging ahead into battle. The brotherhood soldiers that backed him soon followed.

Damijan (V.6) (V.II - Short Story)
(Started: June 24, 2015 | {Modified/Continued: })

DAMIJAN

Prologue

I

Bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, work was being attended at the Blackbriar Inn; there was always work that needed to be done on the patch of land the Damijan family owned, providing fresh milk and meat from the bovine sinrak delivered from the lands west of the Rhyne. It was up to Etienne Damijan, the heir to the Inn to keep a constant flow of milk and meat

Damijan Related (V.I - Short Story)
(Started: July 30, 2015 | {Modified/Continued: August 4, 2015})

Idk

Prologue

Jaime Schaal sat a dingy table in the back of his friend Arno Jerard's cantina he affectionately called Gaider's Den.

Damijan II (v.I)
Daiman and Alfera ran around the

Lewd (14 years later)
The town was practically vacant, no one was on the street, the only activity came from a couple of horses tied to posts, eating from troughs and racket coming from the tavern.

"Age"

 * Google: Medieval fantasy knight
 * it has fairies.

Jordan

Note
It's going to similar to Kagome's situation in Inyuasha.

Characters

 * Joseph Jericho Morgan
 * Mallory Morgan
 * Kai

Dafuq Jus Happened (v.I)
The front door slammed, the bang reverberated throughout the house and Joseph Junior knew what it meant: Father was home and he was mad. Most father's drank, smoked, went for a drive or simply watched TV, but Joseph Senior seemed to have the tendency to instead beat the women of the household to relieve himself. He generally left Joseph alone in those times, and mother was not home from work yet, so that left one other person to face his wrath: his young sister of sixteen years, Mallory. She was the very next room and it sometimes bothered him that she would get beaten, but out of old habit that his father set him in when he was about six, he would tell him to play loud music while he struck his mother.

Nah...
The clock turned eleven o'clock, it was quitting time for Joseph at work, he packed up and left. The last bus that would take him home was about to be there in five minutes but he didn't care he was just dump by his girlfriend of two years. He put in his earphones as he walked and played his favorite playlist.

Me Likey
''Snap. Snap. "Paré''?" He heard snapping fingers, then a voice he didn't recognize, female but foreign, speaking some language he did not understand. When he opened his eyes, he saw golden irises staring back at him from beneath a brown hood, before he could bring himself to get up he felt something cold and sharp at his throat. A dagger. "Ah, ah, ah... coin purse first." He froze in place, throat stiffened. "Too scared to hand it over? Fine." The female kept the blade at his throat with one hand while patting him down with the other,