A H3R0 [english version] | Chapter 2: Igra, the Warrioress of the Salvynes - Part 1

in #dbooks6 years ago (edited)


A H3R0


Read the previous chapter on dbooks.org


"Tree," I type in the command prompt.
The pixelated green letters trickle down the screen.
Several students are gathering around me.
I enjoyed the attention.
"Mrs Bauer! Mrs Bauer," I hear a little boy shouting from behind.
"This girl is hacking! Isn't that illegal?".
A short time later I find myself in the principal's office.
They are all Noobs.

Svenja ~ Flashback. 2010.


Igra, the Warrioress of the Salvynes

Part 1

"The great tree loses its blossoms." Igra, warrioress of the Salvynes, streaked over the white, rough bark of the tree, standing on the glade and looked at it. A breeze blew through the forest and through the slightly glowing leaves. The branches swayed in the wind and shook off some blossoms. With a fixed gaze she followed one of the gliding blossoms and let it slide onto her hand.

Her eyes wandered slightly over the white, slightly gray, still a bit luminous, but almost faded flower and stroked tenderly with her hand over the stamens. The white pollen got caught on her blue fingers and she looked at the glittering powder that was now stuck to her hand. After a while her view drifted from her hand to the blossom yet again.

She slowly led them to her mouth and blew. The remaining Pollen detached from the stamens as if in slow motion and flew through the air, like a slow appearing wafts of mist. "The poison acends into the sky and reaches the lake," she said and now lets the completely extinct flower gently fall onto the soil. After a glance into the sky she saddled her horse and hung her bag to the space provided for it. The clouds shimmered violet-green. "Did you hear me, Varna?" She stroked his mane. "Hopefully this won't be over too soon..." She got on her horse, enjoyed a little cold breeze and took a deep breath of the silence they were surrounded by one.

Igra touched Varna briefly with her heels and let him gallop. The cool wind cuts across her face. It was like a ride through an invisible thorn bush. Her skin hurted a little bit from the cold and the little cuts of air. But she loved that pain. It was cold and refreshing. It wasn't a lot of pain, just little and invigorating cuts, that balanced the heat in her hands. Varna's black fur shone in the few rays of the sun which came through the violet-green clouds. His mane blew wildly in the wind and Igra held the reins firmly in her hand. The air hissed by. She led Varna with the slightest movement of her heels through the dark woods.

It was one of those moments when she felt this strong bond, that connected the two. It wasn't just a bond of trust, it was an dear bond of friendship. She had known Varna almost her whole life.

Varna's former owner, a horse dealer, considered him too weak. Varna just didn't want to grow fast enough. He was two feet tall when he was born. On average, Salphynic Horses were always three feet tall and nobody, really nobody wanted a horse under this size. It just wouldn't be a profitable business. In the end, the horse would die too soon or it would have to be cared for more than the others, which means more working hours for the same salary and food. That wouldn't be good for the business. But Igra knew Varna was strong. She saw it in his Eyes, in his gaze.

She wished she could buy Varna directly from the merchant when she first saw that stubborn, combative, yet faithful gaze that Varna gave her when she was in the market place of the capital of Garnodia and passed him. Connected to a wooden peg was the black foal lying there with that look. These black, deep and yet sad eyes. It was there every day. All the days she spent there to get fresh grain or to make deliveries. However, she could not buy it from the merchant, she owned nothing.

She wasn't a Salvyne warrior back then. In the 24 year long war over the Sea of Cliffs she became a slave at the age of 12 to Garnodia. Igra's skin was almost pure then. Only her family mark shone white on her blue skin. It was a bipedal dragon. Every Salvyne child gets this brand. Passed down from generation to generation at the age of ten, tatooed on one of their hands. The mark reminded her in these times that she was 'Igra of the house of Dragnar' and that gave her strength.

After her capture, Igra was lucky. The father of a wealthy Garnodian bakery family, bought her. Her task was to help them out at the bakery. Igra pretended, as time went by she would confide in the family and take care of their children. So after some time she was allowed to go alone to the market place even though she was greated by a glare filled with hatred by every Garnodian she met and most of the time it ended violently. But as a result, her chances of fleeing rised, she endured it.

Then, one night. It was already dark, and she was supposed to deliver a last supply of bread to a rich Garnodian General, she overheard the horse merchant selling a large white mould to a fat, full-bearded man. "What will happen to this Dung animal over there," asked the bearded one, while he was pointing at the foal crouching on the ground with the swollen finger of his. He scratched himself indifferently on his forehead with the Garnodian mark on it.

A square that was moved by a circle. Igra, knew that all the Garnodians were born with one of those. Only the circle in the the middle formed when a Garnodian had grown up. But this one of this Garnodian was so ugly, unformed and odd that Igra had the feeling that it would perfectly reflect the ugly personality of the Garnodian.

"Too small. Nobody wants him. I'll take him in the coach later tie it to a tree and leave it to the wolves. At least he won't waste the food for the other cattle." the trader boasted with a laugh and grinned with his wide unkempt mouth of his. The most devilish of a grin a Garnodian could ever do.

At that moment, Igra didn't care about anything anymore. All she wanted to do was to save that poor horse from it's death-sentence. Igra knew she couldn't take the foal to the baker family. She had to flee. Now. With this horse.

She hid behind a wagon, put the breadbasket on the muddy floor and waited until the trader left his shop. She watched him carefully as he put the foal on his cart. The animal fought back with all of it's might. It seems like it knows of it's own fate. It tugged hard on the rope, but the noose around his neck just keept narrowing down. After several kicks and punches the merchant had managed to get the horse on his coach, tied it up and took a seat in the front. The foal sank to the floor of the couch, in pain. It snorted.

When Igra was sure she wasn't being watched she got on the carriage, and untied the foal that had been beaten up, carried it on her back and ran. She ran as fast as she could to the next harbor to get Salphynea on a military ship which would be headed to Sylvanea. The time for the path that she used to walk every day in a few minutes, now seemed to be an eternity. Behind her she heard the Merchants swear and scream after her. She kept running. That was fifteen years ago now. And since then Varna has never left her side.

to be continued...


Thank you for reading this chapter <3

Translated by L. S.

I will update the map to an english version in a few weeks :D

I also want to do a new map for my german readers, so it takes a while :)








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