*M i d n a*
Æsir Scribe
First and foremost I dedicate this story to Hero of Time for being a good pal and hanging with me through some good and bad times. And as secondary dedicatory, I dedicate this tale to those whose characters appear in it, and anyone who might find the time to read it. :nod:
Rated PG-13 mostly for some gory parts. Expect to find adventure, action, romance, and gruesome battle scenes.
Updated Map:
Honored ZDers:
Opening
The Dragir lived only to kill. He had been doing it ever since he had lost what he had loved most in this miserable world: his sister.
For Radamanthys there was nothing in the world that could eradicate the profound pain he carried within. The only thing that mitigated it somewhat was the image of his beloved sister when he envisioned her being alive.
Five years ago, when his sister had died at the hands of monsters during a village raid, Radamanthys, who had arrived the village too late to save her and the others, had made a blood pact with Mother Earth. This deal would have him slaying monsters until he met death and returned to dust to the warm embrace of Mother Earth’s arms.
His thirst for vengeance had taken him to too many places, for in the world of Jindaha there were plenty of monsters to be found, and then some. The day that he had buried his sixteen year old sister, Radamanthys had also buried his heart and his feelings along with her. He had no mercy left within him, no love or care for life, not even his own. All there was for him was the thirst to kill, the urge to see blood splutter from the creatures that had taken his sister’s life. Monsters had committed the foul deed, and all monsters were one and the same to the Dragir; he blamed them all.
Often Radamanthys had rushed into frays sorely outnumbered, but he had somehow survived against those creatures, for he was not just some fool looking to placate the anger and sorrow within him. Before he had lost his sister, Radamanthys had already been an elite warrior come from the land of Dragiria. All he had wanted was for his sister to grow up in an ambient surrounded by peace, unlike their motherland, which had been experiencing war and blood and death were so common. The loss of his sister had only made him a greater warrior, stronger, and he continued to improve his skills the more monsters he felled.
His name was surely known all over Jindaha, what with such a furious reputation preceding him. Radamanthys: the Monster Slayer is what everyone who knew him called him, though no one knew why he killed monsters. Everywhere he went, people applauded him and even paid respect to him, but Radamanthys cared little for that.
The Dragir had slain many types of monsters, even some on his own that most of the time groups of warriors were afraid to face on their own, such as dragons, giants, and the feared Shadolir, which were shadow-like creatures that were extremely hard to kill due to how well they hid in the shadows afforded by the night.
The Dragir was too often hired to kill huge beasts and monsters, or to clean the surroundings of villages and towns from monster threats. At times he did not even charge a toll to his contractors, the Dragir had enough payment with watching the monsters he slayed die right before his eyes.
Unbeknownst to the Dragir, with his actions he had infuriated high powers. But even if Radamanthys had known that the gods had become angry at his actions, he wouldn't have given a damn, for he somewhat had blamed them too for the loss of his sister.
The day came in which the Dragir’s monster slaying skills would be put to the true test...
***
The day was pleasant. The sun was out, but its full warmth couldn't be felt thanks to the many grayish clouds that covered it as well as the sky that afternoon.
Just minutes ago, a rider had come to the place where the Dragir warrior Radamanthys resided, Sacred Heart. The Dragir, after hearing the hoofs beating the ground, had been fast to come out from the large two-story shrine. Upon seeing that it was only a young human warrior mounted on a dark horse, the Dragir had relaxed and had come out. He had come down some steps and had reclined his back against a supporting pillar that rose near the shrine's main entrance. Shrine, yes, the Dragir had already accumulated enough wealth to buy whatever he wanted. Radamanthys had chosen to build a great shrine over the place where his sister had tragically died five years ago, this as memory and tribute to her and the others that had died that tragic night. Close by to his shrine there was a beautiful-looking cemetery with lots of trees around it and some fountains and statues--all this surrounded by a five-foot wall of white stone. That was where his sister and other dead folks rested.
“They say you slay monsters for a living,” said the tall, black haired human warrior as he remained mounted on a black, armored horse. He had already seen the cemetery as he had been passing by toward the shrine and had agreed with himself that it was a beautiful sight. And not only that, but the entire forested area that surrounded the shrine.
“I don’t,” the Dragir replied in that cold, serious, broken Pancracian accent that he had become accustomed to using. “I slay them for pure pleasure.”
Once, Radamanthys’s tone had been nice, too kind in fact, but no longer. Now his voice at times made people shiver, for it indeed sounded rough. And then that emotionless, callous stare that usually accompanied it...
“Yes, I was told that, but I couldn’t believe it back then,” the warrior chuckled a bit. “I thought it was just rumors from the old folks, you know?”
Radamanthys just kept staring at the young warrior as he remained with his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his back reclined against the pillar. Radamanthys had dark brown hair with dyed snow colored bangs at the front and a rat-tail at the back. He had a pair of dark horns on his head and few scales adorned his body, mostly his forearms. He was dressed in an elegant black-colored sleeveless robe of sorts, but underneath he wore light-weight armor over a dark shirt, black pants, and dark boots. Several weapons hung at his hips, including a beautiful sword within a silvery scabbard, some daggers, satchels, and even a double-barreled pistol that had a diamond stone for a handle.
The warrior, whose name was Damera Tomahawk, stopped chuckling and cleared his throat before the bad stare that the horned being was giving him. He somehow became aware that this place was special to him, sacred even.
“They say you take any job offered to you,” Damera spoke again, this time in all seriousness. “Is that true, Dragir?”
Radamanthys just kept on staring. “And if that’s the case, Human? You got something good for me to kill? Because if you don’t, then you’d do well not to waste my time, fool.”
An unoffended Damera chose to dismount then. Leading his horse on, he walked closer to the Dragir, whom he had really wanted to meet ever since he had heard of his exploits three years ago. Just having laid eyes on him at a distance on his horse had given him the shivers, and now that he approached him, Damera found out that he barely could manage it. He saw right away after he got a good look at his rough semblance that death was written all over it: this Dragir knew nothing but death, as he’d been told by many of his friends before making the trip there.
Damera was a young lad at eighteen years of age. He had light skin, a handsome face with dark eyes that had so many times stolen sighs from the women, and a short crop of dark hair neatly combed. He wore regal, silver armor over a black, sleeveless shirt, black pants, and dark, leather boots that displayed some dust, perhaps after the long ride he’d had. At his back fell a red cape that was clipped to the front of his armor. He carried a green-hilted sword at his left side hip within a bronze scabbard and some daggers and a satchel on the right side hip. The sword had belonged to his now deceased father. The blade was one of two that he'd owned back then, but he had left one behind for him to use. Precisely because of his father it was that the young man was here now.
“My name is Damera Tomahawk,” he introduced himself, the lad offering a nice smile and wink. “I’ve come all the way from Vanezia in New Kembria.”
“I’m Rad—”
“Radamanthys, yes,” Damera interrupted him with a wide, jubilant smile. “Radamanthys, the Monster Slayer! Your name is spreading everywhere and fast becoming legend. The kids want to be like you. The adults, particularly the old folks, cherish you so much that they have even built small temples to venerate and pray for you. I heard so much about you...that is why I am here.”
The Dragir merely nodded at him once, and that’s all he would be getting from the Dragir, Damera knew.
“I think I have something that might interest you,” Damera said then, looking right into the Dragir’s dark eyes. Radamanthys’s stare went to the horse for a while, and then his orbs went back to the warrior.
“My ears are listening to you, Damera Tomahawk. This better be good.”
“Look, I don’t know where to begin, really,” Damera began, his voice a little tensed up still. “But just like you, I’ve killed my share of monsters in the past. I'm a monster slayer myself, see?”
The lad actually made sure that he was standing tall and proud before the Dragir, who said nothing at the proclamation.
“Orcs, Goblins, Lycans, Mandragoras, a few Vamps, and many others I’m not going to mention to you, have tasted the steel of my blade. I think it’s time for me to step it up a notch, though, and that’s why I am here.”
“You want to kill bigger monsters?” Radamanthys reasoned with a crooked smile, believing that Damera was here to try his luck against mightier foes than the ones he had mentioned. “I mostly hunt alone, kid, but I could take you to the central mountains so you can test yourself against mightier foes...”
“Naw, naw,” Damera rose his hand up. “That’s small business for me and my friends, man. I’m all done training.”
“Your friends?” Radamanthys did not know what the young warrior was about. “What friends?” He even looked about, wondering if they were out there.
“Relax,” Damera perceived his concern. “They are warriors like me who kill monsters for a living, but they are waiting for me back in my homeland. I came out here all alone.”
“I see,” Radamanthys said. “You were saying, then.”
“I was,” Damera nodded at him. He cleared his throat, put a serious face on, and hoped that the Dragir did not beat him to death then and there after what he was about to reveal.
“Well?” Radamanthys urged. The Dragir even raised his eyebrows a bit.
Damera spoke seriously and with a hint of anger and sorrow in his tone. “I want you to come with us so you can help us slay...Me-Medusa.”
Ah yes, every monster hunter’s dream: to slay Medusa. She was said to be the monster of monsters, the ultimate test for any brave warrior, and yet her existence was not even proven to be genuine yet. There were only myths and ancient stories about her all over Jindaha, and it was believed that all those warriors that had gone to The Bog in an attempt to find this monster and kill it had never returned or had been heard from again. Where all the rumors and stories about this monster had originated no one knew, but Dragiria, Radamanthys’s homeland, was the closest one to The Bog, the realm that supposedly belonged to this creature. Many tales about Medusa abounded there, and perhaps a lot of evidence that led many Dragir to believe that the monster existed, too. The Dragir who believed in those tales knew her as the Serpent Lady, but unlike the humans and other races that believed Medusa was a mere monster, the Dragir had her as a deity, a very powerful one.
Radamanthys’s expression had not changed a bit at Damera’s words, but he had perceived the human’s anger and a bit of sorrow when he had spoken them.
“Stop wasting my time with sh...stuff like this,” Radamanthys cried in a foul voice, his face hardening before the sad young man. He'd cussed him out, but the fact that this place was indeed sacred to him, he did not do it. “I ought to rip your damn arms off and beat your butt with them, boy. Go back to the crap-filled hole you call home. Medusa does not exist!”
“She’s real,” Damera shouted, so hurt. His face contorted in anger, his eyes watery, and he added, “She killed my father! And not just him, but several other of my relatives that went with him!”
“How do you know this?” Radamanthys shot, his tone irritated. “Were you there? Were you witness as to how the Serpent Lady flashed her eyes with her deadly power and turned your old man and your other relatives to stone?”
“Shut up, you!” Damera was really hurt, mostly because with the Dragir's words he envisioned his father and kin suffering that grim fate.
“Those are just tales, boy,” Radamanthys was pissed. “You’d do well to just forget about them before you are led to do something stupid...like your father.”
Damera licked his lips sourly at that and brought his hands up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He really wanted to rush the Dragir and beat him up, or at least attempt to do it in the name of his father's memory. But he did not do it because he knew he wouldn't even get the chance against someone as fearless as Radamanthys who had slain dragons and giants on his own, and probably the Dragir would even kill him for trying. The lad swallowed hard, but he calmed himself down.
“My father went there looking for her and never returned,” Damera went on, sadly now more than angry, his stare on the ground. “That is all I know and that is all the proof I will ever need. That f****** monster killed him and my kin, and I will avenge them all.”
“Your father and your other relatives were probably brave warriors by having ventured there,” Radamanthys speculated. “It takes guts and courage to do something like that, but like the many that have gone to that place in search of something that they know nothing about, they died to whatever resides in that place.”
“You said you’d take any job,” Damera accused, more tears falling anew. “You’re just a damned liar and phony.”
Stung at that remark, Radamanthys left his position and came walking menacingly towards him—fast. Damera retreated a few steps, but the Dragir only kept going, and Damera stopped when he bumped against the rump of his own horse. Too scared had he become that he never thought about going for his sword to put up a defense should he be attacked.
The New Kembrian warrior stood six feet tall, two inches taller than the Dragir’s height. But as Radamanthys stood face to face with him, it appeared that he was the taller of the two, especially with those horns of his. The Dragir reached with his right hand and grabbed him by the exposed collar of his shirt and pinned him hard against the horse. Damera grunted but did nothing else, except stare at the Dragir pleadingly, for he thought he was going to kill him.
“Yes, any job with real monsters to be slain,” the Dragir reminded him with his tough voice. “Medusa’s a waste of my time, always has been.”
Damera could not say a word, and he swallowed hard, what with the tough-looking Dragir right in front of him. The Dragir let go of him, figuring he wouldn't kill this lad merely for claiming false statements about him. What did he know about what he did and why he did it? No one did, except for him and Mother Earth.
“What?” Radamanthys continued under the accusing glare that the young man was giving him. “Don't look at me like that, fool. You think that throughout my monster slaying frenzy I haven’t considered Medusa? I have, and you don’t know how juicy the offers I’ve gotten—and discarded—have been. But I am smart enough to believe that she does not exist, and yet going to that place where she supposedly resides means sure death. I don’t consider myself special enough to be spared that grim fate that so many others have run. Armies have gone there in the past, boy, sent by Kings and Queens merely to have in their hands the head of that monster and claim that it was their realm that brought a legend down. Well equipped warriors, all dead or disappeared with no one left alive to tell what really happened. And back here there are only families mourning the loss of their loved ones. You are no exception.”
Perhaps it had been a mistake coming here, Damera thought. He watched as the Dragir walked back toward his spot, surely riled up.
“Go back home and forget about avenging your father,” Radamanthys began, though he suddenly felt as if he had slapped himself in the face. The Dragir bit his lower lip and lowered his gaze to the ground when he suddenly realized that Damera was only after vengeance, just as he’d been these past five years with his hollowed vengeance that would never be fulfilled.
Hurt at the reminder of his little sister’s death, Radamanthys brought a hand up to touch the bridge of his nose. “Leave me alone now,” he urged with a serious voice. “Go! I don’t care where, but just leave this place.”
Damera hesitated for a few seconds, but then he mounted his horse, surely stunned at the sudden change of attitude from the Dragir. It appeared that he had suddenly gone from being angry to being sad, and now he needed to be alone.
"Why do you kill monsters?" Damera spoke from atop his mount. "How did you become so efficient at it? And why do you live here so close to a cemetery? Have you lost a loved one as well and that's why you do it?"
"Leave!" Radamanthys shouted without looking at him. "You know nothing of me."
The young warrior said not another word, but he turned his horse around and decided that it would be best if he went back to his homeland. Before setting out on the trip to the Dragir's shrine, he'd had great hopes within that Radamanthys would be taking his offer. He had been rejected, turned down. The trip had been for nothing.
"Some monster slayer you are," he breathed lowly, but loud enough for the Dragir to hear. "You became an idol to me three years ago. I wanted to become like you, and I sort of did, but now I know that I was wrong to believe in you, to set my faith in you."
Damera then galloped away on his horse, but after having traveled just some twenty yards, a shout came from behind, which forced Damera to stop and turn around.
“Wait!” the shout from the Dragir came again. “Come back here, Human. I'm not done talking to you yet...”
On top of his horse, Damera raised his eyebrows surely in surprise at the sudden turn of events. He nodded slightly and then spurred the horse onward, unafraid, the lad wanting to find out what the Dragir warrior wanted with him.
*End of Opening*
Rated PG-13 mostly for some gory parts. Expect to find adventure, action, romance, and gruesome battle scenes.
Updated Map:
Honored ZDers:
Hero of Time, Gobli
Opening
The Dragir lived only to kill. He had been doing it ever since he had lost what he had loved most in this miserable world: his sister.
For Radamanthys there was nothing in the world that could eradicate the profound pain he carried within. The only thing that mitigated it somewhat was the image of his beloved sister when he envisioned her being alive.
Five years ago, when his sister had died at the hands of monsters during a village raid, Radamanthys, who had arrived the village too late to save her and the others, had made a blood pact with Mother Earth. This deal would have him slaying monsters until he met death and returned to dust to the warm embrace of Mother Earth’s arms.
His thirst for vengeance had taken him to too many places, for in the world of Jindaha there were plenty of monsters to be found, and then some. The day that he had buried his sixteen year old sister, Radamanthys had also buried his heart and his feelings along with her. He had no mercy left within him, no love or care for life, not even his own. All there was for him was the thirst to kill, the urge to see blood splutter from the creatures that had taken his sister’s life. Monsters had committed the foul deed, and all monsters were one and the same to the Dragir; he blamed them all.
Often Radamanthys had rushed into frays sorely outnumbered, but he had somehow survived against those creatures, for he was not just some fool looking to placate the anger and sorrow within him. Before he had lost his sister, Radamanthys had already been an elite warrior come from the land of Dragiria. All he had wanted was for his sister to grow up in an ambient surrounded by peace, unlike their motherland, which had been experiencing war and blood and death were so common. The loss of his sister had only made him a greater warrior, stronger, and he continued to improve his skills the more monsters he felled.
His name was surely known all over Jindaha, what with such a furious reputation preceding him. Radamanthys: the Monster Slayer is what everyone who knew him called him, though no one knew why he killed monsters. Everywhere he went, people applauded him and even paid respect to him, but Radamanthys cared little for that.
The Dragir had slain many types of monsters, even some on his own that most of the time groups of warriors were afraid to face on their own, such as dragons, giants, and the feared Shadolir, which were shadow-like creatures that were extremely hard to kill due to how well they hid in the shadows afforded by the night.
The Dragir was too often hired to kill huge beasts and monsters, or to clean the surroundings of villages and towns from monster threats. At times he did not even charge a toll to his contractors, the Dragir had enough payment with watching the monsters he slayed die right before his eyes.
Unbeknownst to the Dragir, with his actions he had infuriated high powers. But even if Radamanthys had known that the gods had become angry at his actions, he wouldn't have given a damn, for he somewhat had blamed them too for the loss of his sister.
The day came in which the Dragir’s monster slaying skills would be put to the true test...
***
Sacred Heart, Pancracia, 12th of August, Running Year 1557
The day was pleasant. The sun was out, but its full warmth couldn't be felt thanks to the many grayish clouds that covered it as well as the sky that afternoon.
Just minutes ago, a rider had come to the place where the Dragir warrior Radamanthys resided, Sacred Heart. The Dragir, after hearing the hoofs beating the ground, had been fast to come out from the large two-story shrine. Upon seeing that it was only a young human warrior mounted on a dark horse, the Dragir had relaxed and had come out. He had come down some steps and had reclined his back against a supporting pillar that rose near the shrine's main entrance. Shrine, yes, the Dragir had already accumulated enough wealth to buy whatever he wanted. Radamanthys had chosen to build a great shrine over the place where his sister had tragically died five years ago, this as memory and tribute to her and the others that had died that tragic night. Close by to his shrine there was a beautiful-looking cemetery with lots of trees around it and some fountains and statues--all this surrounded by a five-foot wall of white stone. That was where his sister and other dead folks rested.
“They say you slay monsters for a living,” said the tall, black haired human warrior as he remained mounted on a black, armored horse. He had already seen the cemetery as he had been passing by toward the shrine and had agreed with himself that it was a beautiful sight. And not only that, but the entire forested area that surrounded the shrine.
“I don’t,” the Dragir replied in that cold, serious, broken Pancracian accent that he had become accustomed to using. “I slay them for pure pleasure.”
Once, Radamanthys’s tone had been nice, too kind in fact, but no longer. Now his voice at times made people shiver, for it indeed sounded rough. And then that emotionless, callous stare that usually accompanied it...
“Yes, I was told that, but I couldn’t believe it back then,” the warrior chuckled a bit. “I thought it was just rumors from the old folks, you know?”
Radamanthys just kept staring at the young warrior as he remained with his muscular arms crossed over his chest and his back reclined against the pillar. Radamanthys had dark brown hair with dyed snow colored bangs at the front and a rat-tail at the back. He had a pair of dark horns on his head and few scales adorned his body, mostly his forearms. He was dressed in an elegant black-colored sleeveless robe of sorts, but underneath he wore light-weight armor over a dark shirt, black pants, and dark boots. Several weapons hung at his hips, including a beautiful sword within a silvery scabbard, some daggers, satchels, and even a double-barreled pistol that had a diamond stone for a handle.
The warrior, whose name was Damera Tomahawk, stopped chuckling and cleared his throat before the bad stare that the horned being was giving him. He somehow became aware that this place was special to him, sacred even.
“They say you take any job offered to you,” Damera spoke again, this time in all seriousness. “Is that true, Dragir?”
Radamanthys just kept on staring. “And if that’s the case, Human? You got something good for me to kill? Because if you don’t, then you’d do well not to waste my time, fool.”
An unoffended Damera chose to dismount then. Leading his horse on, he walked closer to the Dragir, whom he had really wanted to meet ever since he had heard of his exploits three years ago. Just having laid eyes on him at a distance on his horse had given him the shivers, and now that he approached him, Damera found out that he barely could manage it. He saw right away after he got a good look at his rough semblance that death was written all over it: this Dragir knew nothing but death, as he’d been told by many of his friends before making the trip there.
Damera was a young lad at eighteen years of age. He had light skin, a handsome face with dark eyes that had so many times stolen sighs from the women, and a short crop of dark hair neatly combed. He wore regal, silver armor over a black, sleeveless shirt, black pants, and dark, leather boots that displayed some dust, perhaps after the long ride he’d had. At his back fell a red cape that was clipped to the front of his armor. He carried a green-hilted sword at his left side hip within a bronze scabbard and some daggers and a satchel on the right side hip. The sword had belonged to his now deceased father. The blade was one of two that he'd owned back then, but he had left one behind for him to use. Precisely because of his father it was that the young man was here now.
“My name is Damera Tomahawk,” he introduced himself, the lad offering a nice smile and wink. “I’ve come all the way from Vanezia in New Kembria.”
“I’m Rad—”
“Radamanthys, yes,” Damera interrupted him with a wide, jubilant smile. “Radamanthys, the Monster Slayer! Your name is spreading everywhere and fast becoming legend. The kids want to be like you. The adults, particularly the old folks, cherish you so much that they have even built small temples to venerate and pray for you. I heard so much about you...that is why I am here.”
The Dragir merely nodded at him once, and that’s all he would be getting from the Dragir, Damera knew.
“I think I have something that might interest you,” Damera said then, looking right into the Dragir’s dark eyes. Radamanthys’s stare went to the horse for a while, and then his orbs went back to the warrior.
“My ears are listening to you, Damera Tomahawk. This better be good.”
“Look, I don’t know where to begin, really,” Damera began, his voice a little tensed up still. “But just like you, I’ve killed my share of monsters in the past. I'm a monster slayer myself, see?”
The lad actually made sure that he was standing tall and proud before the Dragir, who said nothing at the proclamation.
“Orcs, Goblins, Lycans, Mandragoras, a few Vamps, and many others I’m not going to mention to you, have tasted the steel of my blade. I think it’s time for me to step it up a notch, though, and that’s why I am here.”
“You want to kill bigger monsters?” Radamanthys reasoned with a crooked smile, believing that Damera was here to try his luck against mightier foes than the ones he had mentioned. “I mostly hunt alone, kid, but I could take you to the central mountains so you can test yourself against mightier foes...”
“Naw, naw,” Damera rose his hand up. “That’s small business for me and my friends, man. I’m all done training.”
“Your friends?” Radamanthys did not know what the young warrior was about. “What friends?” He even looked about, wondering if they were out there.
“Relax,” Damera perceived his concern. “They are warriors like me who kill monsters for a living, but they are waiting for me back in my homeland. I came out here all alone.”
“I see,” Radamanthys said. “You were saying, then.”
“I was,” Damera nodded at him. He cleared his throat, put a serious face on, and hoped that the Dragir did not beat him to death then and there after what he was about to reveal.
“Well?” Radamanthys urged. The Dragir even raised his eyebrows a bit.
Damera spoke seriously and with a hint of anger and sorrow in his tone. “I want you to come with us so you can help us slay...Me-Medusa.”
Ah yes, every monster hunter’s dream: to slay Medusa. She was said to be the monster of monsters, the ultimate test for any brave warrior, and yet her existence was not even proven to be genuine yet. There were only myths and ancient stories about her all over Jindaha, and it was believed that all those warriors that had gone to The Bog in an attempt to find this monster and kill it had never returned or had been heard from again. Where all the rumors and stories about this monster had originated no one knew, but Dragiria, Radamanthys’s homeland, was the closest one to The Bog, the realm that supposedly belonged to this creature. Many tales about Medusa abounded there, and perhaps a lot of evidence that led many Dragir to believe that the monster existed, too. The Dragir who believed in those tales knew her as the Serpent Lady, but unlike the humans and other races that believed Medusa was a mere monster, the Dragir had her as a deity, a very powerful one.
Radamanthys’s expression had not changed a bit at Damera’s words, but he had perceived the human’s anger and a bit of sorrow when he had spoken them.
“Stop wasting my time with sh...stuff like this,” Radamanthys cried in a foul voice, his face hardening before the sad young man. He'd cussed him out, but the fact that this place was indeed sacred to him, he did not do it. “I ought to rip your damn arms off and beat your butt with them, boy. Go back to the crap-filled hole you call home. Medusa does not exist!”
“She’s real,” Damera shouted, so hurt. His face contorted in anger, his eyes watery, and he added, “She killed my father! And not just him, but several other of my relatives that went with him!”
“How do you know this?” Radamanthys shot, his tone irritated. “Were you there? Were you witness as to how the Serpent Lady flashed her eyes with her deadly power and turned your old man and your other relatives to stone?”
“Shut up, you!” Damera was really hurt, mostly because with the Dragir's words he envisioned his father and kin suffering that grim fate.
“Those are just tales, boy,” Radamanthys was pissed. “You’d do well to just forget about them before you are led to do something stupid...like your father.”
Damera licked his lips sourly at that and brought his hands up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He really wanted to rush the Dragir and beat him up, or at least attempt to do it in the name of his father's memory. But he did not do it because he knew he wouldn't even get the chance against someone as fearless as Radamanthys who had slain dragons and giants on his own, and probably the Dragir would even kill him for trying. The lad swallowed hard, but he calmed himself down.
“My father went there looking for her and never returned,” Damera went on, sadly now more than angry, his stare on the ground. “That is all I know and that is all the proof I will ever need. That f****** monster killed him and my kin, and I will avenge them all.”
“Your father and your other relatives were probably brave warriors by having ventured there,” Radamanthys speculated. “It takes guts and courage to do something like that, but like the many that have gone to that place in search of something that they know nothing about, they died to whatever resides in that place.”
“You said you’d take any job,” Damera accused, more tears falling anew. “You’re just a damned liar and phony.”
Stung at that remark, Radamanthys left his position and came walking menacingly towards him—fast. Damera retreated a few steps, but the Dragir only kept going, and Damera stopped when he bumped against the rump of his own horse. Too scared had he become that he never thought about going for his sword to put up a defense should he be attacked.
The New Kembrian warrior stood six feet tall, two inches taller than the Dragir’s height. But as Radamanthys stood face to face with him, it appeared that he was the taller of the two, especially with those horns of his. The Dragir reached with his right hand and grabbed him by the exposed collar of his shirt and pinned him hard against the horse. Damera grunted but did nothing else, except stare at the Dragir pleadingly, for he thought he was going to kill him.
“Yes, any job with real monsters to be slain,” the Dragir reminded him with his tough voice. “Medusa’s a waste of my time, always has been.”
Damera could not say a word, and he swallowed hard, what with the tough-looking Dragir right in front of him. The Dragir let go of him, figuring he wouldn't kill this lad merely for claiming false statements about him. What did he know about what he did and why he did it? No one did, except for him and Mother Earth.
“What?” Radamanthys continued under the accusing glare that the young man was giving him. “Don't look at me like that, fool. You think that throughout my monster slaying frenzy I haven’t considered Medusa? I have, and you don’t know how juicy the offers I’ve gotten—and discarded—have been. But I am smart enough to believe that she does not exist, and yet going to that place where she supposedly resides means sure death. I don’t consider myself special enough to be spared that grim fate that so many others have run. Armies have gone there in the past, boy, sent by Kings and Queens merely to have in their hands the head of that monster and claim that it was their realm that brought a legend down. Well equipped warriors, all dead or disappeared with no one left alive to tell what really happened. And back here there are only families mourning the loss of their loved ones. You are no exception.”
Perhaps it had been a mistake coming here, Damera thought. He watched as the Dragir walked back toward his spot, surely riled up.
“Go back home and forget about avenging your father,” Radamanthys began, though he suddenly felt as if he had slapped himself in the face. The Dragir bit his lower lip and lowered his gaze to the ground when he suddenly realized that Damera was only after vengeance, just as he’d been these past five years with his hollowed vengeance that would never be fulfilled.
Hurt at the reminder of his little sister’s death, Radamanthys brought a hand up to touch the bridge of his nose. “Leave me alone now,” he urged with a serious voice. “Go! I don’t care where, but just leave this place.”
Damera hesitated for a few seconds, but then he mounted his horse, surely stunned at the sudden change of attitude from the Dragir. It appeared that he had suddenly gone from being angry to being sad, and now he needed to be alone.
"Why do you kill monsters?" Damera spoke from atop his mount. "How did you become so efficient at it? And why do you live here so close to a cemetery? Have you lost a loved one as well and that's why you do it?"
"Leave!" Radamanthys shouted without looking at him. "You know nothing of me."
The young warrior said not another word, but he turned his horse around and decided that it would be best if he went back to his homeland. Before setting out on the trip to the Dragir's shrine, he'd had great hopes within that Radamanthys would be taking his offer. He had been rejected, turned down. The trip had been for nothing.
"Some monster slayer you are," he breathed lowly, but loud enough for the Dragir to hear. "You became an idol to me three years ago. I wanted to become like you, and I sort of did, but now I know that I was wrong to believe in you, to set my faith in you."
Damera then galloped away on his horse, but after having traveled just some twenty yards, a shout came from behind, which forced Damera to stop and turn around.
“Wait!” the shout from the Dragir came again. “Come back here, Human. I'm not done talking to you yet...”
On top of his horse, Damera raised his eyebrows surely in surprise at the sudden turn of events. He nodded slightly and then spurred the horse onward, unafraid, the lad wanting to find out what the Dragir warrior wanted with him.
*End of Opening*
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Haha I just forgot to include the: *End of Opening* But I edited that. The next update will surely be chapter one even though it will still feature those two characters. If I have time today (got an interview at 11:00 AM) I will probably work on the next update. 
Mandragoras are demons, yes, and here they are also known as Flower Demons. I'd explain more, but you will read about them in the story. ^^
<3