An excerpt of New light

                                                                  Lans
 
      Lans was silent as he sat upon of the numerous iridium boulders that scattered the hills near Feodaal. He watched as night slowly fell, sending the plains into a dark abyss. There was a moment, as the sun fell behind the towering mountains that ringed everything he knew, where everything was pitch and his eyes failed him in that pure darkness. This left him with his other senses and without the distraction of physical sight he was able to see the darkened plains all the more clearly.
        He could feel the life that teamed in the dirt, the moss that clung in small patches to the boulder he sat upon, and the vast expanse of half dead grass that mourned the sun's fall. He could smell the bitter purity of ice in the air, and he could hear for miles. An animal, most likely a mole, dug noisily some hundred yards to the west, and another animal, hoofed and large, struck a stone with a metal shoe somewhere within the long corridor between Feodaal and Handelaar.
        Then, just as Lans thought he had been lost to darkness, a luminous shadow brightened the heavens. Looking up at the lunar cloud that reflected the sun and encircled the globe he could make out several of the larger gray orbs that were trapped in place by unseen forces. He knew them all by name, as he had always been fascinated by the seemingly endless cosmos.
        A cold wind blew at the fields of yellow grass, turning the vast expanse before him into a shimmering sea. He pulled his tattered red cloak tighter around himself and allowed the dark night to consume him as his mind wandered. He sighed as his thoughts led him back to a single mind: a woman.
        He reached out with his thoughts and found her just where he knew she would be, doing exactly what he knew she would be doing. He could see through her mind's eye that she was speaking with Meddeous as she stiched up one of the bandits Meddeous himself had wounded.
        Lans took his mind away from the scene. Soon Meddeous would tell her what he had done and his mind drifted back now, back to the fight that had cost him everything...
                                                                ***
        A wicked grin flashed across the Lans' face as his grip tightened on the silver staff in his hands. he could smell his opponents blood pulsing in his veins and the coppery odor and a silver down his spine.
        "you're nothing but a scared kid, do you think you can actually beat me?" Meddeous shouted from across the cavernous hall, keeping the blazing bonfire in the center of the den the between them.
        Lans could feel what Meddeous was thinking, he could hear echoes of thought and see flashes images. Meddeous' mind was racing; the images he projected into lans' mind where sporadic and unlinked. An image of Meddeous standing in a field, another a Meddeous hiding as a search party race past him and finally a distorted image of lans' himself with a pair of horns a forked tail and bloody sword protruding from his cest all appeared in the same instant in Meddeous' mind.
        Meddeous wanted to run... Lans could decipher that much from the hodgpodge of images forced into his thoughts, but they both knew that the crowd surrounding them would never allow that, and he knew that if Meddeous couldn't run he would cheat.
        Even with the ever intensifying roar made by the hoards of thieves and murders that filled the fire lit cavern Lans could hear the individual blade slide for its sheath behind him. In a sudden burst of movement a man behind Lans leapt from the crowd, his lawn curve blade poised to spill his blood. Lans glanced up, not even bothering to move out of the way, and in that moment every movement was a reflex. he could feel his muscles begin tightening and moving even before his mind sent the signals to deal with the would-be assassin.
        Lans hooked his staff just below the man's chin as a small blade formed at the tip of his weapon. The blade dug its way into the assassin's lower jaw locking it onto his weapon and, using the assassin's own momentum, Lans lifted him up and slammed him into the blazing bonfire.
        Lans smiled, ignoring the man's screams of horror and pain. He had thwarted Meddeous' plans, and had killed his assassin without spilling any blood.
        Well... only a drop.
        He glanced at the tip of his staff and as the small blade withdrew back into his weapon it left behind a small spot of blood. Lans stood there and watched as the drop began to fall from his weapon and he found that it was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. Lans could feel his more civilized part of hismind scream as he slowly brought the bright drop to his lips. He leaned heavily on his staff, now oblivious to the fight, and closed his eyes to better saver the taste as he drank away the crimson liquor. It was warm and refreshing, like water, but it was far too sweet to be water, and sour... just a hint of sour; just a bite... and it had an odd metallic quality, like copper.
        Meddeous was very close now. Even with half of Lans' mind completely fixated, as it often was, the other half was fully aware and not just of Meddeous but if every mind in the room. he could hear the reverberating thoughts screaming in revulsion at what he was, whatever he was, even Lans was disgusted by what he was doing... he just couldn't stop.
        He opened his eyes, just in time to see his own reflection in the brass knuckles wrapped around Meddeous' hand. Lans tilted his head and closed his eyes again and the slight movement was just enough that Meddeous' bronze hand only just missed his face. Lans turned slightly, and hooked one end of his staff between Meddeous' ankles, and brought up the other end up to meet the back of his head and the fluid movement tripped him and forced him to the ground.
        A roar went up in the crowd: boos and hisses. The overwhelming sense of hatred forced even those who had bet on Lans to jeer at him.
        He barely had time to turn before Meddeous was back on his feet.
        He's getting faster... lans mused he dodged three quick punches before he jab din his elbow into Meddeous' ribs. Lans was forced to suppress a smile as he felt the bones beneath his blow give way.
        Lans twisted away from Meddeous and now looked out at the crowd. He gripped his staff in two places and, pulling slightly, the weapon split into two sections, both of equal length and connected by a fine chain. He spun half of the weapon in the air making a show for the angry crowd.
        Lans hated these fights, he always had, ever since he had been forced to fight as a child. He couldn't stand what they made him do and hated that the fighting had awoken his dark hunger. But now no one could force him to fight, nobody. Not even the massive and powerful Boaz, who oversaw the fights, could force or frighten Lans into fighting. Now however he had his own reasons to join in this pathetic duals, because now he was fighting for his humanity. He needed the money to survive, to eat real food and drink real mead, like any human. Lans disregarded any thought that he could survive any other way. That... and he really detested Meddeous.
        The fool fought with him constantly, both with his fists and his mouth,  and at every opportunity he sought to humiliate and turn everyone against him. Meddeous sought to turn Lans into the monster everyone thought he was.
        Lans pummeled Meddeous' body with the free swinging half of his weapon before swinging upwards,  striking Meddeous across the jaw  and sending him sprawling at the edge of the crowd.
        Lans turned away from the battered and disheveled form of Meddeous and looked up at the head of the cavern. The room was filled with rough hewn steps carved into the stone floor and radiated away from the cavern' head. Each step was covered in a soiled and tattered red velvet carpet that spilled down from a ruined and massive granite throne. Sitting there like some ancient god of war and stone was Boaz Skullkeeper. Lans looked up at the man now, if he could be called such. Boaz was a creature who belonged to a rare race know only as Giants, and Boaz was twice the hight and breadth of an average man most thought the name was more the sufficient.
        "Boaz!" Lans called up to the towering figure seated on the throne, "Call this off, he's finished!" the mountainous man shifted in his seat in a wide and frightening smile spread across this scarred features.a raspy noise, something like the groan of shifting stone filled the room. The laughter echoed throughout the cave and silenced the noisy mob.
        "Look." Boaz said in a voice like footfall on loose gravel. Lans glanced down at Meddeous and saw that he held the blade his assassin had dropped. Without a moments hesitation he sunk the blade deep into the leg of a distraction bandit in the crowd... and twisted.
        The sickly musk hit lans like a physical blow, and his stomach churned in both hunger and revulsion. he began shaking violently, his vision blurred and his muscles seized in his attempt to remain motionless. Try as hard as he might though he could not resist his body's natural response to this sent off so much blood and his stomach emptied of the meal he had only just eaten hours before.
        Through watery eyes Lans could make out Meddeous pulling the knife out of the man's leg who was now on the ground holding on to his wounded limb. Lans watched in a detached horror as a soundless scream soundness the man's faces as a red pool formed beneath him.
        Lans lean heavily on his once again staff like weapon; trying not to breathe, not to inhale. He tried to remind himself that he was not a monster but it never been this hard before, what was different?
        And then he could hear them, what sounded like a dozen mind screaming in pain, apparently the first assassin hadn't been the only bandit that Meddeous had recruited to help him win.
        Lans staggered away from medius who was now moving slowly towards him with his blade drawn. He tried to find some clean air but the stagnant either had already been saturated with the sweet stench of blood
                                                                ***
        As Lans sat there on his boulder he knew that he had lost control, something that had only happened once before in his entire life. He had slaughtered a dozen men, wounding even more, before he'd been brought under control. Boaz had send him away, forbidding him from entering into the fights and banishing him from The Black Death.
        "Power," Boaz had rumbled, "is useless without control, and I have no use for monsters."
        Who does he think he is, calling ME a monster? But even in his own mind the words lacked any anger. He had lost all that he could, had no home, no family, no humanity, he thought bitterly. All that he had left had been the Black Death and now even that had been taken, stolen, from him.
        The Black Death had been everything to Lans. It was the closest thing to a family he had ever had, not that he was widly lovde in the group of bandits and murderers, but they had taken him in where no one else had.
        The organization, had gladly accepted him as it was made up of every criminal and the Bandit and hired muscle in the Crescent Valley and was bent on removing any and all funds reserves and taxes that belonged to The Light; the living God that took up residence within the holy city of Handelaar.
        And then suddenly, Lans had an idea, an image of himself burned into his thoughts. Boaz was a born leader but he had no gift for plots and plans, those where lans' gifts. It was already to the point where Boaz would consult with him before every job. Who really led the Black Death? Lans did in all but title and he could change that.
        These sudden thoughts startled Lans as they came from the cold and callous part of himself. It was the part of his subconscious that allowed him to throw that man into the fire, that allowed him to kill without feeling and the words radiated with hate. What was even more shocking was that ALL of Lans agreed with the voice.
        Lans had always been at odds with his two voices, his dark cold loathing and his human rage, that were always clashing in his mind; making him feel like the child of oil and water. Never before was he has certain as he was now. He was angry, furious, at Boaz.
        The abrupt spark of realization caused a Wildfire of hate in his mind. He had every right to be angry, it was because of Boaz that he was so alone, that his father has been sent to the fabled City of Fools. The repressed memory stung him as it flooded his thoughts momentarily quenching his blazing anger. Lans glanced towards Jacob's pass, the only gap in the impassible Adam peaks that surrounded and created the Crescent Valley. For an instant he allowed himself to hope, hope that the city was not just a fairy tale told to the children of the Lost.
        how old was I? He couldn't remember, he had nothing to even base a guess off of, because he had no idea how old he was. he had nearly no memories before his father has been taken from him. He did know that it had been 10 years since the Raids and that his father had been part of some organization, some anti-Light group. Lance could remember that Boaz and his father had been good friends and by then Lans had been regularly following his father, in secret, to his meetings. He could remember but he been caught once...
        His mind drifted in the deluge of forgotten memories, his father had been Irate, and he had shouted at Lans in a language he couldn't possibly understand but instinctively knew: "Worthless son of a Xerua leave at once!"
        At the time it was literally impossible not to listen to the enraged words, but, before Lans was able to flee far, his uncle, Sid had stopped him just at the entrance of the hidden compound that lay beneath the cobble streets Handelaar.
        "there is no need to leave." He had said simply, but there was an odd authority to his words, strong enough to annul is father's command. He had taken Lans back to his father and had convinced them both that Lans had a right to be there.
        Lans struggles to remember more unwilling to lose the few memories he had to time, and he could vaguely remember the day his life came to an end. Lans nearly smiled, despite the pain and loss that consume the memory, that had been the day is father had given him his staff. It was the only thing left he had to remember him by.
        his hand drifted to his belt, where the inexplicable weapon hung. When it rested on his belt like this it was only a few in length, but at its greatest length it could easily match his nearly seven foot frame.
        Lans leapt from his perch, landing needlessly, and he made his way towards The Wall; a structure made of giant columns of redwood that barricaded and totally surrounded his home city of Feodaal.
        It was then, that same day that his father had discovered him... it was also vague. Lans' thoughts seemed to distort around the image of his uncle's smiling face.
        Waves of soldiers had some pouring into the hideout, but not just ordinary soldiers these were members of the Light's Holy Guard, and they killed most of the members of the resistance before anyone new what was going on. His father had to shouted something to Boaz, and he had grabbed Lans with one massive hand before barreling through the a countless number of silver clad knights.
        The following days were confusing and painful for Lans. Rumor spread quickly that entire communities were being systematically slaughtered, that they are being executed; charged with heresy. Fear spread and throughout both cities and waves of people fled in a desperate attempt to escape damnation for having the wrong neighbor.
        The Light made no attempt to stop or hunt down the cowardly masses and there was no need. few, if any, made it to the small settlements that lay under the shadow of Adam peaks. A few weeks after the groups had fled the wind shifted bringing with it the smell of death and decay and, to many, proof of the Light's Holy Wrath.
        And his father... Lans begin to shake, the anger building again. Lans was told that his father was being sent to a camp outside of Adam's Peaks a camp where the accused would live the rest of their lives in shame.
        it was all a lie, Lans thought as the cold winds stung his eyes. There is no camp, no shamed civilization, they are all dead. Even if they hadn't been run through the heart by a soldier just outside The Wall, even if there really was some kind of camp set up the Unspeakables should have found them by now. He didn't have to die. Lans' thoughts were filled with bitter rage, Boaz could have stayed: stayed and fought. He could have done something!! Lans let his tears flow freely but still cursed himself for being weak.
        Lance stood silently in front of the wooden barrier for a long time before he glanced up at the massive Wall at the towered above him. The Wall ran nearly twenty feet tall with two sets of metal points running long its crest. In between the two rows appointed steel lay a narrow path, mainly used by the Knights of the Order of the Light. However, on more than one occasion Lans had made use of extensive corridor. Sometimes when it would get too cold he would even use one of the many vacant Guard stations placed along The Wall as a makeshift penthouse. Lans always preferred to sleep under the luminous cloud and watch the shooting stars fall; though always a good ways above the ground. He may have never seen one of the so called Unspeakables that were so often whispered about in dark corners of unsavory inns but he wasn't so foolish to ignore the stories completely...