Voorik
Legacy Name: Voorik

He sits on the throne he gained through deception, taking a sip of blood wine from a clear crystal goblet. It has been a terrible week for Voorik. The boy that haunts his dreams every night has evaded the executioner's blade, the one wielded by his hand. The son he wasted fifteen years training has vanished into the wilds. Men who once threw themselves at his feet shoot sideways glances at one another, whispering behind their upraised hands that the great tyrant's power is slipping...

The blue-eyed boy is nothing. Look at how easy his capture had been, how simple it was to sway the emotions of the crowd to call for his death. The girl was a factor he had not anticipated, that's all. When his men locate the pair, he will arrange it that she may watch her lover die first.

A terrible screech sends a bolt of pain through his temples. The clumsy servant who fumbled his mail shirt does not have time to stutter an apology as Voorik's hand whips out. He snaps his fingers at another servant, an order to retrieve his favored silver dagger from the chest of the dead man.

The messenger approaches with extreme caution, eyes fixed on the staff in Voorik's hand. It never ceases to amuse him, how peasants come to believe the legends that spring from the honeyed tongue of a bard. He cannot really shoot flames from his hands or eyes. His powers are limited to coating the staff's surface with a thin layer of flame but this beardless boy is wise to be cautious. Daggers are just as effective as fireballs for killing.

"Sire, a horse matching the description of the rogue lady's beast has been spotted in the foothills. They're making for the mountains."

Voorik is on his feet before the boy finishes the sentence, gesturing to the Guard Captain who comes to attention. "Assemble your men. We leave immediately."

He whips his mount mercilessly, paying little mind to the dozen seasoned soldiers struggling to match his pace. Voorik is determined to cut a full day's march in half. As evening deepens, he holds his staff above his head to create light. It is not until he pauses to survey the land that he realizes he is alone.

His horse falls at the marker to the mountain pass, refusing to rise no matter how he bullies. He shoulders his pack and starts down the trail on foot.

Small rodents are bountiful but he takes no time to hunt. He focuses his energy on finding signs of human passage, gnwing strips of dried meat and traveler's bread only when the need for food can no longer be ignored. There will be time for feasting when his foe is vanquished.

Sometimes he sees a mountain dweller in the distance, ashen skin streaked with silver paint. They think him a demon and wave their hands in gestures meant to ward off evil. He pays them no mind, disdainful of such superstitious nonsense.

The cave is nestled in a valley blanketed with wildflowers. Voorik observes Tauren entering with a fat pair of hares in hand. The girl meets her lover at the entry, kissing his cheek and leading him inside.

He will make his approach while they sleep and attack at dawn. He moves with the stealth of a tiger stalking a skittish deer, taking his time to reach the ledge above the entry. A hole in the stone releses the smoke from their small fire. It is a restless night for Voorik but he never makes a sound when shifting position. The gray light of dawn is a welcome sight.

Tauren's eyes widen as Voorik lands before him. The dreadful dagger that is a slayer of kings is painted with a bloody light as the sun breaks the rim of the horizon. Voorik is once again forced to stare into those too-blue eyes that are reflecting pools of innocence and life. He raises his dagger as the girl raises a cry from the rear.

Tauren looks at a point beyond Voorik, eyes widening in wonder. Voorik will not be fooled by such an obvious trick. He brings the dagger down with his full force-

-only to have it turn to water in his hand. It is impossible! He takes up the staff, calling flame to the edge with the power of his will.

"Please, have mercy."

Voorik cannot bring himself to turn his head as he raises the staff. "I cannot give what I do not possess, Boy."

A roar containing the power of an avalanche and the soft music of a summer rain causes the earth to tremble. Glowing claws sweep the descending staff from existence as Silver Lion steps forward to demand Voorik's attention. The mighty spirit of the mountain has the same deep blue eyes as Tauren.

No! This cannot be. You are a fallacy of the wind and a trick of the light. Spirits are not real!

She contradicts his statement with a very real killing blow.

For one brief moment, Tauren is allowed to meet the gaze of Pureflower. She bows her regal head before dissipating on the mists.

Credits:
Profile by Ziva
Story by Pureflower