The Rise and Fall of an Evil Overlord

Alright, I said I'd post this here and I am. It's pretty boring so far because genius me was thinking about the plot down the road... not, uh, you know... the beginning. So, in great Nano tradition, I'm making shit up as I go along! Also, I cut out the prologue since it's mostly notes for me which I tried to put in a story form and failed horribly.

Regular Nano warnings apply: this is a first draft, no (or very little) editing. Just writing stuff to get words down on paper.

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Chapter One

Chay reined in his horse, glimpsing a light out of the corner of his eye. That he would see anything bright or interesting in this village was surprising enough, but the source of the light surprised him even more. The source was a young boy, no more than eight or nine, who was being chastised by his father. The boy's aura pulsated, thumping in time to the boy's heartbeat. He dismounted slowly, tugging his gloves off, watching the one sided argument.

The boy took the chastisement stubbornly, looking down at the ground. Neither of them noticed him, and he whispered an incantation under his breath to help focus his thoughts. He opened his Sight again, and there was no doubt about it: this grubbing mud farmer was a wizard, and he'd be a powerful one at that, or--at the very least--instrumental in some conflict to come. There was nothing to be done about it: he'd have to train him. Fate led a fickle dance, and woe to the partner who didn't come willingly.

He approached the two, striding forward with the air of nobility around him. It was simply confidence, when it came right down to it. Both heard the bootsteps, and the father straightened up only to bow. When his son didn't move fast enough, he jerked on the boy's shirt to get him to kneel. "My lord?" he asked cautiously.

"Stand, please," Chay replied. "I am no noble." The father and son straightened. The father looked at him with suspicion, and the boy with curiosity. Chay hesitated for a moment, getting his story straight. "May I ask what the problem is here?"

The man grunted and shook the boy's shoulder. "Nothin', nothin' at all," he said.

"I see..." Chay replied, frowning just a bit. He eyed the boy, "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but..." He raked a hand through his hair; deception wasn't his strong point, even though in a way it would be the truth. "This may sound odd, but I've been looking for an apprentice to my craft, and I can't seem to find any suitable candidates..." He let the words trail off.

The man showed interest immediately. With apprentices came apprentice fees, fees paid to the parents of children to compensate them for the loss of income or work to their household. Since Chat appeared rich--or at least well to do, considering his expensive looking clothing and clean appearance--this looked to be an opportunity for the farmer to make some money for what might be an otherwise 'worthless' child. "What sort of business?"

"Scribing," Chay said, the first thing that popped into his mind. "Can the boy read?"

The man shook his head. "No... but he's right smart enough," he replied in haste, lest Chay lose interest... as if that would happen in this case. "Picks up ev'rything first time I shows him."

"What were you scolding him for?"

The father hesitated for a moment before answering, "I sent 'im out ta catch and kill a chicken f'r dinner tonight, an' he wouldn't."

Chay nodded, trying to appear aloof as a professional scribe would. "He's clever then?"

The man's head nodded, "Yar." He squeezed the boy's shoulder, and muttered under his breath, "Sometimes too clever."

"And his hands?"

"Eh?"

Chay groaned slightly in impatience. "His hands--they're dextrous? Limber? No fingers have been broken or any other sort of... mistreatment?"

"Jes' a few beatings now and again, when he's misbehavin'," the famer assured him.

"Alright," he tapped his chin for a moment, wondering what to do next. "I need to test him. It will only take a moment. May I?" he reached a hand out, offering it to the boy. The father released him, and Chay took the boy's hand and led him aside, to his horse.

There, he took a moment to examine the boy more closely. He was tanned from being outdoors, and appeared healthy enough, if a bit thin. The dark hair was uncut, and the boy's eyes were hazel, rimmed with brown--all ordinary enough. Yet his aura blazed with potential power. Chay rummaged in the bags for a moment, before bringing out a quill, ink, and paper. The child watched him all the while, not fearful in the least. He looked to be curious.

In a low voice, Chay said, "I've come to apprentice you, all right, if you want to come. It has to be of your own free will." The boy frowned slightly, a crease appearing in his brow. "I can't make you come with me, but I can promise you that you will be well fed and taken care of, and learn your true craft. Do you wish to come, or to stay with your family?"

"Mum's dead," the boy finally said. "She died, o' a fe'er." His eyes looked impossibly deep as tears began to well. "Jes' a few weeks ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Chay replied. He unstoppered the ink absently, setting the other things down for the moment. "Do you want to stay with your family?"

He shook his head in response. "Da's gotten mean. Bin drinkin' th' spirits." He paused, sniffling, then wiped away his tears with grubby fingers. "He beats us."

"So you will come with me?" Chay was pleased at that, though not surprised. Burgeoning wizards often had some sort of tragedy in their past, to spur them onto greater things. His own family had been killed in a fire, which claimed their house and left him penniless. His own master had taken him in, in circumstances much like this.

"Can Lysie come ta?"

Chay winced without meaning to. "I'm sorry, lad. I can only take you."

He appeared to think this over for a moment, frowning again as if deep in thought. He nodded.
Chay nodded as well, feeling relieved. "Here," he said. "We're going to fool your father into thinking you'll be a scribe someday..." He handed the child the quill and bade him to dip it into the ink. "Draw something, anything, on the parchment."

The boy did so, the shape he drew looking like a long tower. He looked up at Chay and widened his eyes in silent question--was that alright? Chay smiled briefly and passed his hand over the parchment. The ink there wiggled and slid around, forming itself into shapes like letters, crude...but with potential. The boy's eyes opened wide, startled, but not scared. "Do you still wish to come with me?" The nod was vigorous now, enchanted by the simple spell. "Good. Let's finish this trick on your father, and we'll be on our way."

He stood up and bade the boy to remain where he was at. Chay showed the parchment to the man, "He's got a steady hand, and he's bright." He rolled up the parchment and presented it to the boy's father. "I am well pleased."

The man rubbed his hands together and grinned. "How much is th' 'prenticin' price for a scribe?"

"Five gold," Chay replied, picking a sum out of the air. He gave the money over without a quibble. "And thank you, good sir. I will take good care of him."

Having gotten his money, the man didn't seem to notice. He'd never seen even a gold piece before, much less five. It should be enough to buy his farm, almost, or at the least provide for his family for many years. "Yer welcome, yer welcome," he said, giving Chay a half bow, while pocketing the money.

Chay turned smartly around and went back to his horse, putting the ink and quill away once more. He lifted the child onto the saddle, then mounted behind him. "What 'bout my things?" the boy asked.

Clicking his tongue and flapping the reins, Chay replied absently. "You won't need them any longer. Your ties to your old life should be severed cleanly." He patted the boy on his head gently, "We'll get you some new clothes in the next city."

The boy considered that for a little while, looking around. He'd never been further than a league from his home--and that only once before--in his life, and was getting used to the swaying rhythm of the horse's walk. "Where we goin', milord?" he asked.

"Call me Chay," the man replied. "We're going to Ludenwic, far to the west."

"Ain't nivver been there." The boy stopped again, frowning. "Don'tcher want ta know me name?"

"No," Chay replied quickly. "It's, er, a little complicated, but we'll talk about that tonight."

He fell into silence again, and Chay let him. He'd have to buy a steed--either a horse or a pony if one was available--for the boy in the next town. Clothes, extra food, skins for water... he busied himself with making a mental checklist as they rode to the next town.

I like it. Love how you did the accents of the people and now I'm sort of ashamed of my own story.

This needs to be heavily edited. You romanticize each and every movement to the point where reading this is like wading through molasses. Prose is important, but yours is weighing down your story and making it repetitive and uninteresting. I also strongly recommend that you approach the boy's accent with more restraint. That's going to get old, and fast.

You also need to give more thought to your characterization, particularly in regards to the boy. He's just met Chey, who is a noble and probably very intimidating, and he's spilling his tragic life story to him? The boy's father describes him as clever, but he comes across as overeager and easily impressed. "Clever" children aren't usually so easy to win over and are often a great deal more suspicious of adults' motives than this boy seems to be. Particularly if they've been abused by adults in the past.

I think you're so eager to tell your story that you can't see the forest for the trees. Think about certain aspects of your story and the emotional impact you want them to have. Dumping all this information about abusive fathers, dead mothers, and fires that kill entire families does nothing but cheapen their importance and the impact they've had on your two main characters.

Don't underestimate your readers by spelling everything out for them. You don't need to outright tell us that the boy's father beats him. We are introduced to this character while his father is berating him, and the father even mentions that the boy is only beaten when he "misbehaves". Instead of having the boy blurt out that his father drunkenly beats him, what if you did something simpler and more subtle? Maybe he instinctively flinches when Chay reaches to him, or maybe he seems distant or fearful if he sees Chay order mead at an inn or indulge in a glass of wine. Perhaps he is initially wary of Chay and cautious around adult males, but becomes quickly attached to matronly women because he misses his mother. Those details of his life have much more impact when you lay the groundwork for them.

All in all, you have your work cut out for you. Good luck, and I look forward to seeing what you have come the end of November.

You may know this already, but I have found a good way to up word count just a hair without feeling like you are cheating too much.

When you have words with a hyphen between them, such as someone's age, writing them as five- year- old will get Word, at least, to count each one as a separate word. WriteOrDie also counts them singly without the space and separately with it. The same applies for dashes, and for... ellipses.

As to the story, I like it. I am curious, though, if the similarities between this scene and the Star Wars scene with Qui-Gon Jinn and Ben Kenobi recruiting Anakin Skywalker are on purpose, or if that is just me imagining things.

I don't think you're imagining things, Kel. This is an exceedingly generic fantasy scenario.

It doesn't help that it's also about the rise and fall of Darth Vader an evil overlord.

I know this is just your rough draft and that NaNo's more about simply writing stuff down than going through the process of editing and refining it, but this story will need a lot of work if you want to successfully follow through with the idea of taking generic fantasy tropes and twisting them on their head. The first chapter, and especially your first few sentences, are the parts that really need to hook a reader in and set the tone for the story, and I don't find myself caring whether the poor widdle abused farm boy grows up to become an "evil" overlord or a plucky young hero who kills said overlord because Generic Prophecy #41245 says so.

Oh, it's very generic. Mostly I do these to see if I can shake any interesting ideas loose. No input needed, but I do appreciate it!

EDIT: Also, hur hur hur. Have fun with the horribleness of the next segment. I'm behind on the word count, but I've been distracted by video games, damn them. I also hope that people will feel encouraged in posting their own nanos by reading this piece of boring gay pedo pron. (or at least it sounds that way to me so far ><)

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They stopped at the next town just after dark. They ate a quiet meal, then retired to a single room. (yeah, ok, author note: this is sounding like the intro to a bad gay porn) There, the man looked at Mort, who sat himself down on the bed, not knowing what else to do. Chay drew the chair up opposite him and sat down. He appeared lost in thought Mort. He fidgeted while the older man looked at him. What did he want?

"Your name, first..." Chay shook his head, and rubbed his chin. "We have to call you something, and true names have power." He paused for a moment, "All of us have several names. Mine is Chay, but it is not the name I was born with... and so you need a name like that. Something to call you, but one that won't give others power over you."

Mort looked around uneasily. This talk of power and names smacked of sorcery, which the church was against. The only entertainment, really, for the family was going to church every seventh day to listen to the priests talk about the One God, and denounce wicked beings.

"What about Damon?" Chay asked.

Mort shrugged. His father had basically sold him into service, so it was up to him to... well, do what he was supposed to do. He only had a vague idea of what an apprentice was, but he knew it was learning a craft, not that farmers took apprentices, of course, but his older brother Lark had apprenticed with a carpenter. Mort assumed it would be something like that.

"Then it's settled... Damon," the man, his master, said. He blew out his cheeks, "I will be quite honest with you... most apprentices train with their teachers starting at your age, or a little older. However, apprentices in our field... tend to start older, sometimes much older. It didn't used to be this way, of course. In days gone by, it was a craft like any other, but now the people called to learn the secret paths of knowledge are few and far between. They often aren't recognized until they are fully grown. Do you understand?"

That seemed simple enough and Mort nodded.

"Good," Chay said. "Of course, finding you now means things will be easier to teach you. Trying to teach a grown man to read..." He shook his head. "It's much harder for them to adapt to new things. Children are much more flexible." (author's note: yup, still sounds like gay pedo pron, god dammit)

"What'll I be doin'?" Mort asked, venturing a question. (REDUNDANT MUCH?!)

"Studying, mostly," his master replied. "But first...before you can run, you walk, and before that, you crawl." He examined the boy, "We'll start by teaching you the alphabet, and how to enunciate words correctly. Some invoc... well, some phrases may be quite dangerous if mispronounced."

Reading sounded interesting. Mort had thought he'd be a priest when he got older, even though he knew they had to take vows and never marry and the like. However, the exercises Chay set him to were quite dull. It was just looking at symbols and repeating the sounds Chay made. They did this for an hour, and then went to sleep; Chay to the bed, and Mort on the floor.

As he tried to doze, he wondered about what would come. He was excited--moreso now that the strangeness and newness was wearing off slightly--but he missed his sister. The only girl born to the family, she was the baby, and he'd often be responsible for looking after her. He wondered who would now that his mother was gone. His father certainly wouldn't, and she was only a toddler, no more than two.

He sighed, feeling homesickness for his sister well up within. Chay was snoring already, and Mort bet he could sneak out and... what? Go back home and get beaten by his father? He would too, and be marched back. His master seemed nice so far, and safe. He'd given him a good meal, and... he frowned at the ceiling. He couldn't go back. He was left with no other choice than forward. At least it wouldn't be horrible, and if it didn't work out, he'd know how to read already. Then maybe he could join the priesthood.

On that thought, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Two

Days passed for Mort--Damon now--as if in a dream. It was a good dream on the surface, but underneath it lurked a sadness that wouldn't let go of him. After the excitement of getting a horse (an old mare way past her prime, true, but it was his) wore off, he started to grow lethargic. He didn't want to get up in the mornings, and Chay had to toe him awake. At least his master didn't kick him, as his dad was likely to do if he didn't move fast enough for his liking. Riding at first seemed wonderful, but when his rear and legs grew tired and he got saddle sores, he looked at the mare with loathing.

It wasn't just the pain of a first-time rider, though. It seemed to be everything. The world was dark. Learning to read was both hard, irritating, and boring all at once. All Chay wanted him to do was make stupid sounds. He scribbled with the quill some too, but the straight lines were hard to make, and his hand was awkward. It didn't help matters than Chay insisted he use his right hand when he much preferred his left for everything else.
Contemplating running away (keeping well in mind that his father would just haul him back or resell him if he returned home), his horse came to a stop on its own. Actually, his master had stopped ahead of him, and since Damon still only had the basic idea of how to guide a horse with the reins (much less his knees as Chay often told him it was possible to do), his horse was being led. When Chay stopped, in other words, so did he.

"We're here," Chay announced, dismounting. Damon did as well, a sigh of relief escaping him. Chay took both horses by the reins and led them over to a small stable. Damon followed, wincing with every bowlegged step.

And the next part.

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'Here' turned out to be a small, unkempt house, with a stable with four stalls. A meadow was next to both, wild and overgrown. Chay led them to the stables, and both of them unsaddled and took care of the horses before anything else. Even though Chay seemed rich, he lectured Damon on taking care of his things (after he found Damon blowing his nose with the edge of his new tunic), and animals.

Now that they were actually here, Damon hoped something interesting would happen. Instead, Chay listed off the chores he'd be responsible for, and showed him around the meadow on a few well worn paths. Finally, after carrying the saddlebags around for forever, they entered the house, and Damon was presented with another list of chores. Among them were reading lessons. Again. They couldn't even be called 'reading lessons', but rather 'make stupid sounds' lessons.

The cabin only had three rooms. The main room served as the main meeting place, kitchen, and dining room. It was the center of the house with two rooms on either side. One was the master's bedroom and study, his private place. Damon wasn't allowed to go there. The other side was a recent addition, and looked to be hastily done. That was where Jarv rested and studied. Jarv turned out to be Chay's apprentice. He was a man fully grown, tall and lanky. When introduced by Chay, Jarv smiled. As soon as the master turned his back, however, Jarv's smile faded and a look of extreme annoyance crossed his features. He looked more like a gravedigger than a... whatever it was.


"No, no, NO," Jarv said for the fifteenth time, giving Damon a cuff on his shoulder. "Use your right hand."

"It feels better this way," Damon protested. Jarv rolled his eyes. It'd been weeks and he couldn't get the little bastard to even get through the alphabet without switching hands.

"The right is for projecting," he explained. "The left is receptive. You need to--"

"That don't make no sense!" the kid blurted out, the sullen look on his little weasley face. Jarv wanted to smack him every time he saw it, but Chay was kinder. The brat would just go whining to Chay anyway, and Jarv would get in trouble. 'He's been uprooted from his family, go easy on the lad,' Chay would say.

"That does not make any sense," Jarv corrected, trying to exercise his patience. It was hard going. He didn't like people much, and children less. "It's a basic lesson in wizardry, which you need to learn how to read and write at least passably before you can do anything."

The child flung the quill down and crossed his arms. Jarv ground his teeth. "Alright, since you're obviously done for the day, go clean out the stables." That was the only good thing about having Damon around--his own workload lessened.

Damon got up and left, feet dragging the whole time. Jarv shook his head. He wanted to be a magician to learn. He loved learning, and he thanked his lucky stars every day that Chay had crossed his path. As he shuffled the papers Damon had been writing on--a primer to help him learn the proper strokes of a pen--he frowned to himself. Damon should be better by now. It wasn't that difficult. The fact he kept trying to use the wrong hand was confounding. He was positive Chay could make him, with magic, but Jarv didn't want to approach his master with the idea. Changing anyone, even minutely, had consequences. Everything had consequences. There was no action without a reaction, no gift without a price. It was another lesson drilled into his head, and one of the most important. If it could be done mundanely, it was.

Still, this world that had opened up to him was fascinating. Learning how to step on the paths of knowledge, knowing what was going on in the world... finding new information and scribing it down... this was the life for him. He knew exactly what he was going to do as soon as Chay deemed him ready: he was going to find work in one of the libraries or scriptoriums--perhaps a royal one--and record the secrets of the universe, one at a time. He sighed wistfully. Someday.

However, with the brat gone, he thought it would be a good time to finish his own list of chores, then start dinner. Afterwards, he'd continue on his book about herbology. Jarv started to make a list in his head about what he needed yet for his collection. He was ready to ride out for a week to just search for the harder to find herbs which grew in the marshy lands nearby.

The door thumped open and Jarv started. Chay walked through the door, a bag in his hand. He sat down at the table the three of them shared, shaking his head. "Where's Damon?"

"Out in the stables, sir," Jarv replied politely. He might hold most of humanity in contempt, but for Chay he had nothing but respect.
"Close the door; I've something to show you."

Frowning, Jarv did so, then took a seat at the table. He'd been twenty when Chay found him, and in eight years, they had an easy familiarity with each other, come from long hours studying and learning. "What is it?"
Chay put the bag on the table, and gestured for Jarv to open it. When he did, his frown grew deeper. Inside was a toad, mutilated. He drew out the animal, and examined it more closely. It wasn't the work of another animal--a tool had made those marks. "I don't understand." He shifted around in his seat uncomfortably.

"Damon did that," Chay said with a frown, meeting Jarv's gaze. "I'm not sure why, as the boy is nothing but timid around me."

"He's intimidated, sir, I told you that before. You took him from his home and brought him someplace strange... without daily beatings..." Jarv was of the opinion that children should have at least one slapping a day, to keep them in line. Otherwise, how would they respect you?

Chay shook his head. "Frustrated, I think, and unhappy. He misses his family, even as his father was...inclined to be less than generous. Auguries I've done indicate it was after the mother's passing his father turned mean."
"I...I'm not sure what to say." That seemed the safest.

The wizard gave Jarv an unreadable look. "I know you're not fond of him, but you need to be patient. He needs stability, and a regular routine... and to not feel as if he can't do anything right."

"He can't though," Jarv said, grimacing. "It's not just the left hand. His pronunciation is better, but he can't keep a thought in his head. He's distracted." The question begged to be asked, "Are you sure about him?"

"As sure as anything," Chay replied. "The auguries tell me he's destined for greatness."

"Certainly can't see it," Jarv muttered under his breath.

"It's unclear exactly how--either some great cataclysm to avoid, or a great evil to defeat I'm sure--but that young man will end up shaping the world."

"But are you sure it's supposed to be as a wizard?" he persisted. "He can't even muck out the stables properly."

"Jarv," Chay said, his tone firm and brooking no argument. "Why else would I have found him?"

Jarv frowned again, but bowed his head. It was Chay's business, and since he was still the student, he'd have to bow to his master's greater wisdom. It was hard not to say that to himself without sarcasm.

---

Damon kicked at the rock, and watched it bounce listlessly. He had some time to himself, in order to rest and relax, but he couldn't relax. Jarv was always watching him, with that same smirk everytime he messed up a word, or dropped a dish, or... or anything! Chay was even worse. At times, someone being kind and ... fake nice to him was worse than someone being outright mean. To top it all off, he was to learn sorcery, which was nothing but trafficking with evil beings!

Confusing feelings welled within him, but more and more all he felt was nothing. He couldn't even feel sad, really. It was hard to get up in the morning, and got harder and harder every day. When Jarv cuffed him on the head, he wanted to get angry, but rather, he just became resigned.
He sat down on the edge of the pond, picking up rocks and throwing them into the stagnant pool. The frogs and toads croaked their content with the evening, and bugs whirred about. A rabbit hopped in the field, poked its head up, then hopped off again. The twilight was serene. He wished he was. As unwilling to do anything, he still felt restless.

The pool rippled in front of him, and he frowned. There wasn't a wind, and he couldn't see anything in the mostly clear water that would be causing that. The ripples grew bigger, undulating against the edge of the pond. Damon thought he should stand up and get Chay, but he couldn't care enough to move.

As he watched, the ripples began to grow, though they never overstepped the bounds of the pool. A figure began to form in ripples, etched out in the silverish light of the moon. As the figure formed, the ripples receded until he could see a face quite clearly in the now still pool.

"Ah!" said the figure, the voice low and sibilant. "Who are you?"

"I'm M.. Damon," he said, still getting used to his new name. His response to his name was getting quicker and quicker thanks to Jarv's ear flickings when he didn't reply fast enough.

"Damon," the figure chuckled. "A good name."

"Is it?" he asked.

"It is," the silver figure affirmed. Damon leaned forward just a bit so he could get a better look. The head and shoulders of a man was etched in moonlight, smiling ever so slightly. He was regal, with fine features, and a sharp pointed nose. He looked like a prince would look, at least in Damon's eyes. His eyebrows cocked in an expression of sympathy, "You look said, friend Damon."

Damon shrugged in reply, his indifference stifling. "I guess."

The silver man cocked his head to the side, features arranged into sympathy. "What's the trouble?"

He chewed his lip in consideration for a moment. "I miss my sister, and I have to sleep on the floor... and they keep telling me how I'm sup'osed to be doin' stuff..." As he listed off his grievances, the figure kept nodding in sympathy. He finished up his list with, "...and Jarv smells funny."

The man chuckled, and Damon felt a smile tug when he did so. "Do you feel better?"

Damon nodded, "I do, thank ya, sir."

"I'm not a sir, I'm Lucky."

"Lucky?" He frowned. "That's not a name."

"Sure it is, and aren't you lucky you met me?"

"Where do ya live anyway?" Damon peered around as Lucky raised himself up, resting his elbows on the edge of the pond.

"Down below," he replied. "Underneath the water."

Damon's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Certainly," he said. "I'm a naiad--male one, very rare."

"What's that?"

"A nature spirit," Lucky said, waving a silvery arm. "Made of water. This is my home."

A shout from the house caused both to look up. "I should go. I think Chay's lookin' for me."

"Come back anytime," the naiad said, melting back into the water. "But come alone."

I do like how you've been putting Damon's feelings on here, it's all fun and games for a couple of days then everything sort of feels crappy.

I would like a bit more on Jarv when he first comes in. As it is I was confused as to why he was suddenly there and in charge of lessons.

Uuuuurgh. This is even more bad then the stupid "magic in a modern age" one I did for Nano. Well, maybe not. That one was ... eeesh. Anyway. This isn't all I have done. I'm rather embarassed at the part that comes after this, so I might actually rewrite some spots, as long as I don't cut too much and just keep adding. It IS nano after all.

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Chapter Three

Finally the day had come. Dread welled up within Damon. The reason? His lessons in sorcery were about to start. He was deadset against it, but what could he do? It'd been months and months learning how to read, add sums, and other basic necessities Chay had deemed appropriate. Winter had come and left. Now that it was spring again, Damon longed to be outside.

Chay seemed to take no notice of his lethargy. He was lecturing on the differences between types of magic, about how one was natural, and one was demonic... urgh. Damon sat the table, trying to listen. He wished he were outside, playing with Lucky. The spirit had promised to take him to visit his home under the water one day, but until then, it was always there whenever he wanted to talk. He should be outside right now. He could go swimming, or listen to the scary stories Lucky told, or...

Chay shook him awake. "You need to pay attention."

Damon rubbed his eyes, "I'm sorry, master. I was trying."

"I know you were," Chay replied gently, shaking his head. "But you need to try harder."

Damon exploded for no particular reason, or at least it seemed to him. "But WHY do I need to?" He shoved the priceless book away from him hard. It slid across the table and almost fell off, but Chay caught it.

"Calm down," Chay said, using his stern voice. He had two voices: kind, looking-down-on-you voice, and stern you-should-know-better voice. Both of them drove Damon nuts.

"But I don't WANT to do this!" he screamed, kicking his legs out and bucking a bit in his seat. He slammed his fists down on the table.

"Stop that this instant!" Chay exclaimed, standing up.

Damon continued. It felt absolutely great throwing a fit like this, wild and free. He continued to pound his fists on the table, kicking his feet and hitting the table leg.

"Stop it!" Chay cried, slamming his own hand on the table.

"I don't want to!" Damon shrieked. "And I don't want to do this! And I hate you!"

His master got red in the face, but whether with anger or shame it was impossible to say. "If you don't stop this instant, I will, will..." He stopped, searching for a threat. Chay wasn't one to threaten and hit children. He never had any of his own, and believed any sort of physical punishment was barbaric. He had, however, never been faced with this before.
Damon, in the meanwhile, had thrust himself out of the chair, kicking it angrily. He screamed at the top of his lungs, and went for the crockery. With a sweep of his arm, he smashed several plates to the ground. They gave a very satisfying crash, so he went for the cups on the higher shelf. As he rocked his arm back, Chay grabbed it, and shook him. "Stop this," he said, voice trembling with anger.

He spat in Chay's face. "I hate you! You're of the devil, and I hate you! Hate this! I don't want to be here!" He hitched in his breath, and screamed at the top of his lungs, "I WANT TO BE A PRIEST SO I CAN SEND ALL OF YOU TO HELL!"

That did it. The wizard had had enough. He made a gesture with his right hand, and murmured a few words, and the boy promptly fell asleep. He caught him, and took him to Jarv's room, where he laid him on the bed. After tucking the boy in, he swept up the broken dishes, and tidied the place, all the while trying to think of a solution that didn't involve some sort of mind control or tampering. He'd been nice to Damon, patient too. He'd treated him well, and this was the sort of repayment he got? It was galling, to say the least. He almost agreed with his other apprentice now. Except... that aura of power, of fate.

Chay sat down hard in a chair, holding his head in his hands. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Each throb sent a shiver of pain down his temples and into his ears. What was he going to do with him? There was no easy solution, but he had to be taught, god damn it. There was nothing else to do save for some minor... attitude adjustments. Chay hated doing this. He hated to have to do it, and maybe... it could only be temporary. Until he got more acclamated, or until he started learning something that would finally interest him. Or until he gew a little older and it could be explained to him rationally what needed to be done here.

Update time. I am about a third done with the total goal of 50,000 words, so that's not bad. This is going to be a long post though, and totally horrible. Make fun all you want! :D

------

Shaking his head, Chay sighed again. No, it was wrong. Terribly wrong to even think it. He would just have to find some way to get him to accept his fate and develop some discipline. Setting a regular routine, with rewards and punishments... well, there was no way around it. He'd have to help this child grow, although he shuddered at the thought of finding him when he was an adult, if the words Damon tossed about were any indication. Trying to teach a priest that the Arts were not evil? Impossible.

He rose and went to his own studies in silence for a few hours, while it was still quiet. When the enchantment was ready to wear off, he went to Jarv's room and sat upon the bed, waiting. In a few minutes time, the boy awoke, rubbing his eyes. He looked around slowly, not quite understanding how he got there. When he noticed Chay, his frown returned. "How'd I get 'ere?" When he was tired or distracted, his accent would come creeping back.

"I'm afraid to say I put you to sleep, so you could rest and I could think a little while." He paused, "How do you feel?"

Damon shrugged and picked at the coverlet. "Fine, I 'pose."

"You seem to put a lot of faith in the church, lad," Chay started, as gently as he could. When the boy nodded, he went on. "Perhaps if you're good, we could go to the services this week."

He was immediately rewarded with a suspicious look. "Ain't... aren't you evil?"

Chay shook his head, "Not at all. I"m just a man, like any other, Damon."

The boy snorted and turned away, lying down in a huff to face the wall. "It's wrong. All the priests say so."

"Why don't we both go to the services and you can see for yourself?" Chay suggested. "After all, if I am evil--if wizardry is evil--then we should burst into flames the moment we enter, correct?"

"...or somethin'," he muttered. He snuck a look at Chay, then back to the wall.

"But you went to church before, and you didn't, did you?"

"...no... I guess not," Damon replied slowly, thinking that through. He turned back to face his teacher.

"Would you like to go?" Receiving a nod, he went on, "Then we shall, and you'll see. You'll feel the better for it too."

Damon nodded slowly, and sat up, looking more... receptive to the idea. If he hadn't been so distracted with his own studies, he might have seen this problem and the solution to it earlier. However, no problem was too late to be fixed. The second part... well, he'd think of something to truly interest Damon in what it meant to be a wizard, to have power, and responsibilities.
---
This church was like no other he had ever seen. Of course, the "town" they lived closest to wasn't actually a town, but a real city. Damon had been there once before with Chay to buy shoes (he still didn't understand why he couldn't go barefoot--worms didn't get in his feet), and he was awed then as he was now. However, they hadn't been to the church. His old church had been a small wooden affair, barely big enough to fit the villagers inside. People were packed in there like sausages, and the heat had been nearly unbearable.

Not this one.

This church was a tall building, made out of stone, with a steeple that reached the heavens. Huge windows with colored glass seemed to pop out of the grey stone when the sunlight hit them. The roof was made of blood red tile, yet they seemed to shimmer in the sun as well, setting the place aglow. He looked at the monstrously huge steps in front of him which led to the open double doors.

People strolled by, seeming at ease. They chatted with each other without a care in the world. Damon envied them. He felt distinctly unwelcome at the church. He balked at climbing the stairs when Chay started up them.
His master looked back. "What is it?"

Gulping, he replied in a tiny voice, "I'm scared."

The man gave a quiet chuckle, "Nothing will happen, Damon. It's quite alright." He offered his hand out. "Here, take my hand and walk with me."

Not really wanting to take the offered hand but having no choice, Damon slipped his hand into Chay's and allowed himself to be led up. He stopped again when the time came to cross the threshold. Those ebony doors were very big, and carved with all sorts of warnings and nasty pictures of devils being skinned alive. Not a comforting thought, to say the least.

This time, Chay knew what the problem was, and let go of his hand. He walked to the doorway and stood on the threshold. "See?" He cocked a brow at his apprentice and waited. Patience, he told himself. Be patient.
Damon edged forward until his toes were crossing the doorway. Nothing happened. Breathing a sigh of relief, he went further in. Still nothing happened. Maybe Chay was right. He looked back and shrugged a little sheepishly. Further in yet and he was still safe. No fire, no brimstone, nothing threatened to smite him.

The inside of the church was wide and vast. There were lines of pews for people to sit up. It was completely opposite of his old church. Damon wandered for a few moments, looking at the colored crystal windows for a bit, then chose a seat somewhere in the middle. Chay followed him patiently, and sat down next to him when he was settled. "What do you think?"

"I like it," Damon said, quite honestly and eagerly.

A hush began to settle over the crowd as a gong rang out. After a moment, a priest entered from a side passage towards the back of the church, and climbed the stairs to the altar. Damon watched eagerly as he gave blessings for the day, then turned to the crowd.

However, he was sorely disappointed with the sermon. It was not about hellfire and devils, but rather about the importance of charity and treating one's fellow man good. No good stories about the archduke Vesuvius smiting devils, or about people being taken up to reside with the One God for living good lives, filled with hard work and devotion to God. He paid sharp attention though, since it was important. As he listened, he flipped through the prayer book. These they didn't have at his church since no one could read. The books themselves were very small, only twelve pages--six pieces of paper folded over--pasted to a wooden cover. The script was small, but readable. He enjoyed reading the prayers contained therein, and the hymns. When it came time to sing, he could sing along.

Everything was different... perhaps a bit more boring, but overall, he enjoyed the place. It was light and airy, comfortable to be in. The priest had a loud booming voice so he had no problem hearing things, and the book... Damon ran his hand along the prayerbook. It was good to be able to read them himself, even if he had to sound the words out slowly. He chewed his lip thinking about it until the sermon broke up, and people began shuffling out, chatting quietly amongst themselves.

Chay touched his shoulder. "I have someone I would like you to meet, Damon, if you are up for it?" The unasked question was 'are you going to behave?' When he nodded, Chay stood up. "This way, then."

He followed his master towards the back of the church, where the priest had come out. With authority, he entered the passageways behind the altar. Damon hesitated, then caught up. "You shouldn't come here. It's forbidden."

His master smiled a little. "I've known the church here a long time, Damon."

"But you don't go to church." He was pretty certain of that.

"I don't worship here, no, but one does not have to go to a church to be spiritual, or close to your One God."

Damon chewed that over, following behind. It was bigger than he thought it would be, and eventually ended in a courtyard surrounded by high walls. Inside was a beautiful garden, peaceful and serene, where men and women of the cloth walked, hands folded together before them in silent supplication. Chay stopped and looked around, then veered them off to a corner where a young woman was gardening.

"Tari," Chay said, and she looked up, smiling.

"Ah, there you are! Services over already?" She beamed at both of them, and DAmon felt himself shuffling behind Chay just a bit, suddenly shy and very conscious of dirt on his hands. He should have washed up better before they left.

She was dressed in a white dress, long and modest, though very dirty from her time spent in the garden. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and the tail swung golden in the sunlight. Her skin was burned from the long hours in the sun, yet her gardening hat lay nearby, unused. "You must be Damon," she said. "Master Chay's told me a lot about you."

"'Master'?" Damon repeated. "You're, uh, you're..."

"Me? A wizard?" Tari laughed, "No, no. Not at all. But he works pretty closely with the bishop, so we know him well and honor him."

"Oh," Damon replied. He scooted a little closer. She smiled again at him. "What do you do?"

"Oh, this and that," she said brightly. "I fix what needs fixing, clean what needs cleaning, that sort of thing. What do you do?"

"I don't know." He paused. "Yet. But I want to be a priest."

Tari glanced at Chay, and some signal went inbetween them. Damon saw that, but didn't understand it. "Would you let us alone for a little while, Master Chay? I do believe the bishop wants to talk to you anyway, since you're here."

"Very well," Chay replied, bowing. "I'll be back shortly, Damon. Treat Tari with respect."

Damon nodded and turned his full attention to Tari. She handed him a pair of gloves, "If you're here, you might as well work with me. We're pulling weeds...those ones over there, with the yellow blooms."

He regarded the gloves with disdain. "But I don't want to pull weeds. I want to be a priest."

"What do you think being that is?" she asked, uprooting the disharmonius plants with a sharp jerk and putting them in a pile.

"Well, you get up and talk to people," he started, watching her. "And you tell them stories about how devils are bad, and everyone pays attention to you..." He trailed off, frowning.

"Go on, I'm listening," she said absently.

"You get to wear nice clothes and eat a lot," he added.

"And?"

He scratched his head, "Uhm... and live in a warm house and have people give you money."

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. "You want to live in a nice warm house, have lots to eat, have people give you money, and pay you attention?" Damon nodded. "And all for telling them stories?" Once again, he nodded. She smiled and shook her head, "The church is about serving people, Damon. I'm not sure where you're from, but the clergy don't get paid. The money people give them is donations for the church... to repair the roof, or buy food, and so on."

"Oh," he replied, disappointed.

"It's a worthy ambition, to be sure, but it's not what you think it is. Priest often give up having families or being comfortable to follow the One God's word. They live a life of servitude."

"Well, this church is really nice..."

She nodded in agreement, "It is, but that is because people are generous in their donations here. The city's wealth is shared. They do this so that priests can concentrate on saving people's souls and giving them moral guidance." She paused, "Do you know what that is?"

"Telling them what to do?"

Tari made a so-so gesture, "In a way. It's helping people live a life closer to God, shunning evil and wickedness. I think it's lovely you want to be a priest, but I think you want to for the wrong reasons. Tell me what's wrong with where you are living now."

Damon blinked. "Uhm..."

"Chay does the same thing we do, just in a different way," Tari went on.

"He does?"

She nodded briskly, "He does. He's worked very hard to be what he is today, just the same as me."

"But you're just a gardener," Damon replied.

"Is my job any less important? People need to eat, after all."

"No...I guess not," he said. "But I don't want to be a ... sorcerer, and work dark magic."

Tari hushed him with a gesture, "It's not. It's a tool, like a knife." She pauses, folding her hands in her lap. "You can use a knife to help you, such as cutting your meat. Or you can use it to commit evil, like hurting someone. It's all in how you look at it."

He picked at the gloves, looking down into his lap. "Can't I do both?"

She laughed a little, "I don't see why not, personally. But..." she sighed a bit, "our city is more tolerant of Chay and his workings than other places. Maybe you could come every week and see if this is the life for you. If you like."

Damon nodded. "Please." He chewed his lip, "I just... my old priest said it was the devil's work, and that people who dealt with devils should be stoned."

"That's... a different story," Tari sighed. "And if you're going to help, you'd best put those gloves on."

"Do I have to?" he whined, looking at the gardens. He'd much rather just sit and talk in the pleasant sunshine.

She nodded, "Yes... but we can talk while we work."

Damon slipped on the gloves and leaned up a little, to watch her as she went back to working. It didn't seem hard, but he just didn't want to do it. "I don't like writing," he said after a moment, while hunting around for those yellow blossoms.

"Why not?"

"Master Chay wants me to write with the wrong hand," he said, pulling up on one of the flowers and putting it in her pile. It wasn't that hard, he supposed.

"Perhaps it's for a reason," she replied.

"I guess so," Damon said. "I didn't want to learn how to read either, and they made me say all these funny sounds to, uhm, change how I talk."

"I think you talk very nicely," Tari said. "Oh, grab that one over there."

He reached for it, and yanked. "Thanks," he said. "It's still hard. Uhm, reading and stuff."

"Good work," she said. "What about other things? What do you do for fun?"
He shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "I don't know."

She glanced at him, "Don't you do anything for fun?"

DAmon thought for a moment, "No... just chores and the lessons." He didn't want to say anything about Lucky and their games. That was private.

Tari stopped immediately. "What do you like to do?" She frowned and started pulling off her gloves.

He shrugged. "Nothing. I guess."

Tari dusted herself off and stood up, "Terribly sad...we're changing that right now." She offered out a hand to him. Damon got up slowly, and pulled off the gloves. He hated this. It was just like any other adult. Something was missing or wrong, and they just had to fix it. He took her hand though, because it was expected. She took him out of the courtyard and up some stairs. They climbed for what seemed forever, until sunlight broke across his face again.

The belfrey was tall, the tallest part of this already huge building. There was a huge bell above them, the thick rope hanging down and wrapped around a wooden knob. When Damon looked out the windows, he could see the whole city... no, the whole countryside. Tari turned to him and picked him up, sitting him on the windowsill, so he could get a better look. He wasn't afraid; she was holding onto him tightly. "This is my favorite place to come," she said, her voice hushed. "When I was a girl, my parents promised me to the priesthood. They were poor, it was the only way they could tithe... and they knew I'd be well cared for."

Damon's eyes were filled with the horizon. What else was out there? He'd never dreamed he'd come this far, and now that he could see it, see how far he had come, he wanted to know what else there was. He only barely heard her words, but it was a familiar story. It might as well have been his story. "I hated it here," she said. "The whole time I missed my sisters and brothers, and I wondered why I was picked out. I was sad all the time. No... more than that. I felt empty."

At that, he glanced at her, but she was staring out at the horizon herself, lost in her own story. "I came up here one night, determined to throw myself off the roof. 'Then,' I thought, 'then they'll be sorry they took me away.'"

Damon's eyes widened. He'd thought about something similar, but instead it was drowning in the pond instead of flinging himself off a high building. "What happened?" he whispered.

"I climbed up on this very windowsill, and I looked down," she said. "And I saw the whole world. It was nighttime, so I saw the stars and the moon, and all the lights in the city. It was beautiful." She sighed, "And then I climbed down and never thought about it again, even when I was sad."

"Why?" he asked, mesmerized.

"Because the only one I would be hurting was myself," Tari replied, taking a seat on the sill next to him. "And my family. They loved me. I knew they did. Times were hard, though, but they did what they could for me."

"My dad didn't," Damon said, voice harsh with bitterness. "He just sold me, like a sack of grain."

"But I'm sure someone else would care if you'd go?"

"Lysie, my sister," he replied. "But I don't think I'll ever get to see her again."

"I'm sure you will, when you're ready to return," Tari replied. "But you've got to get there first. Which means finishing your apprenticeship." She paused, "You do the best with what you have, Damon."

He sighed. "I have to, don't I?"

She nodded, "But I'll help all I can, and when you come to visit, we'll do something fun. Maybe we can write your sister a letter?"

"Really?" He blinked, "She can't read."

"No... but your parish priest can, and I"m sure he'd be happy to read it to her."

He'd never thought of that before. The thought of being able to contact her lifted a weight from his heart. He flung his arms around Tari, "Thank you!"

She smoothed his hair in a gesture of affection, "You're quite welcome."
He peeled back to look at her, "But this isn't fun."

Tari blinked, "Oh! I'd forgotten!" She stood up and unwound the rope which rang the bell. "Come down here..." He hopped down and approached. She handed him the rope, "Here... I used to do this when I was a child, like you. It drove the bishops crazy."

Damon grabbed it, and Tari pulled the rope down a bit, so it went slack. When she let go, the rope pulled on him a bit, and the bell above them began to move. He pulled down as hard as he could, then let go again. This time, the bell pulled with more force, until he was standing on his tip toes. When it came down again, he pulled... and let go and was lifted. Tari watched him closely as he kept doing that, going a bit higher each time until he was a full foot off the floor at the bell's sweep. He laughed--this was fun. Loud, but fun.

When she finally stopped him, both of them took turns shouting at each other to see if they could hear yet and giggling. (author's note: yea, deafness is hysterical. >< CAn you tell I don't have kids?)

Chapter Four

Another one, this time a cat. Jarv was getting fed up with finding these poor butchered animals. He had no particular sympathy for them, but the way they were cut up... so meticulous, so methodical, it bothered him. He insisted Damon was the one doing it, but Chay said no. All the auguries said the boy wasn't the cause, the wizard insisted. Jarv's own few forays into finding the culprit all said Damon was the reason why. However, since he was the student and not the master, his opinion was, well, ignored.
Now that the boy was learning wizardry with Chay, Jarv was left to himself to complete his studies. He wouldn't have it any other way. Solitary expeditions into the marshy lands nearby to find new plantlife were like a dream come true, a slightly wet dream, but a dream nevertheless. He couldn't wait until he was on his own.

Jarv sighed. He couldn't let the cat just sit here, head in one place and body in another, entrails spread inbetween. He went into the stables and fetched a sack. Cleaning up the mess, he grimaced in disgust. Whoever was doing this was sick. First toads and frogs, then birds, and now cats. Were they working up the food chain? Dogs would be next then, and then livestock... the rest didn't bear thinking. Jarv might hate people, but he wouldn't hurt them. It was wrong. Chay would have to listen this time. He headed to the house and opened the door. Chay was sitting at the table. He looked up and gestured for Jarv to have a seat. He did so, brow furrowing. "Where's Damon?" I don't want to see that little bastard around here. The sack he was holding felt almost hot in his hands, and he set it down, wincing only slightly at the squishy sound.

"Sleeping," Chay replied. "I have been doing some thinking, and... he needs more of my attention."

"You'll be taking over the writing lessons then, sir?" He still couldn't get some things right, and couldn't draw worth a damn. That was the only time Jarv had contact with the demon child. He avoided him at all other times, if at all possible.

He shook his head, "No... I was thinking that it has been nine years, and you're nearly at the end of your apprenticeship anyway. Perhaps it's time for us to part ways."

Both of Jarv's eyebrows shot up. "I don't feel ready," he protested, but weakly. He'd been chomping at the bit ever since Damon's arrival.

With a smile, Chay shrugged, "You're a grown man, and it's time for you to be out on your own, to find your own destiny." With a smile, he added, "Perhaps in time your own apprentice."

A fleeting look should have told Chay all he needed to know about Jarv's idea on that, and he tried to school his features to neutrality. "Thank you for the honor, sir, and the compliment," he said. "I'll just pack my things."
"What was that you had there?" Chay asked.

Jarv picked up the sack, and smeared the small bloodstain with his foot so that it was unrecognizeable. "Nothing, sir," he said, thinking Chay might change his mind if Jarv threw yet another accusation at the other apprentice. He didn't want to take any chances, at least. "Just some turnips."

"Ah, well, when you're ready, I'll see you off. I've a gift for you..."

Jarv bowed and hurried to his room. He tossed the sack out the small window, and packed the rest of his things. He was going to get out while the getting was good. A library was calling his name somewhere.

---

"And then last week, she took me out to see a real play, a real live play," Damon said, practically vibrating with excitement. Lucky splashed idly about, stopping to lean for a bit on the edge of the pond, then looking away, down into the depths.

"You must really like her," the creature commented.

"She's so pretty, and I don't mind doin' work 'n stuff when she's around, because she talks to me, and explains why we're doing what we're doing, and she said I might even be a priest anyway, but I don't know if I want to do that anymore since Chay is showing me all sorts of neat stuff, like lighting things on fire and--"

The boy's voice droned on and on, with Lucky nodding in the right parts. He was bored silly. Of all the assignments he could have gotten, he got stuck with a brat. What about tempting vrigins into sex? Leaders into slaughter? Or even farmers into green by mixing sawdust with flour? Anything else but this prattling kid. He checked a sigh--not that he really expelled breath in this form--and smiled grandly at Damon's wild gestures. At least the kid was finally learning sorcery, so maybe this would go somewhere after all. As it was, Lucky thought the higher ups should just let this kid go. He didn't want to do anything. That was the problem.

Other people wanted stuff when you tempted them. They had drive, ambition, even if it was only to screw their neighbor's wives. This kid would be perfectly happy--well, not happy since he never was... except for now--doing absolutely nothing. He'd be better suited as a rock than a sentient being. The priest angle, while at first horrific to the minor demon, sounded like it had the potential for (lulz) great fun. Fun by its standards, anyway. However, this woman sounded like she was going to be a problem. Kid was at an age where they started thinking of sex anyway. That might be an angle to use....

Lucky was started out of its thoughts by Damon asking, "Well, what do you think?"

"What do YOU think?" he asked in response, splashing a bit of water at the child playfully.

"I'm happy Jarv is leaving," Damon said without hesitation. "He was mean and always frowned at me. And he used to pinch my ears." He showed his rather large ears to Lucky, who nodded sympathetically, all the while screaming inside to itself. There were so many more things it could be doing that would be, well, fun, instead of this.

"Then I am too," the creature said aloud. "When are you going to see Tari again?"

"After church in a few days," Damon said.

"And you really like her?"

The child nodded a big affirmative.

"Then, I have a gift for you to give her... to thank you for treating you so kindly." Damon smiled, and reached his hand out. "I'll be right back with it." With that, it dove back into the water, and shifted planes, heaving a sigh of relief. It savored a few moments of peace, before conjuring a ribbon--the sort of thing any child might find or buy--and returned to the surface where the kid was waiting. It handed it to him, "Here... you said she was blonde, right? This might look pretty in her hair."

Damon took the blue ribbon, practically squeeing in happiness. "Thank you, Lucky!"

The demon waved it off, "Just remember that for when I ask a favor." It put on a smile, thinking to itself that little favors would add up to a lot eventually, and with a physical tie to this woman, it could drop in for itself and see what sort of woman this Tari was. Right now, anything that gave this kid a kick in the ass to get moving was aces in his book, especially since the kid was prone to depression and self-serving, well, whininess. Conjoling him into a good mood was harder and harder, much less encouraging him to study the so-called "black arts". "Now, we've a couple hours left before your master will call for you--what game did you want to play?"

-----

*smacks head against desk* This story is so bad. ><