The Champion's Ascension

Nahk said, looking out to the world on his steed; the seat upon which he would conquer. It was a normal day, no different from any other, yet it was not.

Today was a day of blood, sweat, and tears. It was the day that Nahk would push himself beyond himself, and try to become the soldier he pictured in his mind. Yet, that picture was not quite a soldier. It was a scout, the fastest man alive, set out to see beyond the known lands, guided by the light. He knew this was his path, but he also owed allegiance to King James. After all, the throne was taken, and it was a throne that he saw purpose in. One that he saw a point to. If he did not, the answer would be quite simple; he just become a rogue. However, he did believe in a kingdom, and so he would fight for one.

Despite his words, however, Nahk did not have much training with actual fighting. He had only just gotten his horse, one which he had insisted on training himself. This had set him back a ways in the learning process though, because while all the others his age were already jousting and riding each other down, Nahk was still learning how to ride, and had never once learned how to fight. Why? Because he knew that fighting horseback was far different than on foot, and so he never wanted to learn foot soldier ways when he knew he was destined to never fight off his horse.

And so it was that the great horse warrior was not a warrior at all, and also not so great with horses. It was saddening, truly, but Nahk knew this, and he resolved that if he did know this, he could then change it. And change it he would try.

Turning his horse, which he called Argo, around to face the straw target that he had set up, Nahk reared, and set Argo into a charge. He felt the wind whip past his face, knowing that it was the feeling of true power as Argo ran. Going on and on, faster and faster, Nahk slowly reached seventy feet per second.

It was a tremendous speed, though it might not look like it. As he reached the target, Nahk almost forgot to hold out the staff like a lance, but when he did so, the massive strain of the impact of his staff upon the wooden frame of the straw figure nearly tore his arm off. It was shot backwards, twisting his whole body, and causing him to drop the staff. After this, he slowed Argo to a stop, and slipped off the horse, hearing it breath heavily.

After retrieving the staff, Nahk felt defeated, and by the straw at that. He was not nearly as strong as he had hoped, nor did he have the stamina to keep it up. It was very disappointing to him, and he needed to change it. He had to. If he was to the be the man he always pictured himself being, he would have to do this. He closed his eyes at the thought.

Nahk needed some form of inspiration. A devotion in which he could spill his life into. Something that would keep him riding his horse and holding the staff level even after hitting a stone walk. Nahk needed some sort of intervention.

Argo was good, yes. It is in fact, what had kept Nahk going the whole time. However, now that he had the horse, and the horse had him, but it could not make him go further. Not that fact alone. No, Nahk needed more. He needed something that would push him. Make him go beyond. Yet, as he looked into the sun upon the golden field, he saw nothing.

Sitting back upon Argo, Nahk knew that it was only himself that would be able to force himself to go beyond. And so he would.

Rounding on the straw figure, Nahk charged again, bracing for the massive impact it would have on him, preparing his arm. It came again, and Nahk felt his body turn as it did, but this time, he did not drop the staff. He would not. If this were the field of battle, dropping his staff would mean death. He would not drop it. He could not. Rounding again, Nahk switched the side that he would pass on, because he did not switch arms that the staff would strike. He once more felt the rush of Argo, the powerful horse, and beneath him, the world took off. The tall grasses all around flew past his face in a blur, and Nahk ignored them all. The only thing that mattered was the enemy. Straw as it may have been, it was Nahk's enemy, and he would defeat it. He could break the wooden frame, and trample on the soft insides. He would learn to fight to the point that his words were no longer just words, but so that each was meaningful, and his bite outmatched his bark. The two wooden poles collided. Nahk once again felt his arm threaten to break or snap out of position with the massive and sudden impact. Yet it did not, though it hurt and stung. He wondered if this was progress, or if it was simply just pointless. He did not have the time to care before the wooden poles hit again, and this time, Nahk did lose grip of the staff, and watched it fall to the ground. Was he destined for failure?





The lone soldier walked through the pavilions set up around him, his horse walking carefully behind him. All around him, others went, each minding their own business, but each also clearly a warrior. Yet, there was one clear difference between the lone man and the crowds that he passed; he was clearly less. While they had sword slung at their sides, or carried long and ornamented lances, this man carried a simple wooden staff. While they wore leather armor or chain mail, this man wore rags. While they each adorned their steed with cloth or spikes or flashy armor, the man's horse was bare, and it was bareback that he rode that horse. It was because of this that one would find it ironic that this man was known as Nahk Guul, and he was the king's personal champion.

His eyes, with strange pupils which were more gray than they were black like everyone else, searched among the large tents he passed by, though they looked for nothing in particular. His long black hair blowing in the wind that always wailed seemed to emphasize his lack of height, standing short among the masses that he pushed through.   His horse, equally short and small in stature, continued to follow him as he went, knowing not where they were going. In a way, Nahk did not entirely know himself. However, he was determined to go somewhere, unlike the past few days. If not physically, then perhaps mentally.

Breaking through the wall of both pavilions and people, the short man and his short horse stepped out onto the plane of golden grasses, where both had spent their childhood, looking at it now as the moonlight illuminated the field. The man took a deep breath, and the horse walked up beside him. It nudged him with its muzzle, and he rested his arm on its neck. After a few moments of looking, Nahk leapt up, and threw one leg over Argo, the horse, and held the staff firmly in his hand. Slowly, the horse began to calmly walk forward, though again, neither knew why, not where. The only thing Nahk knew is that in his current state, he did not deem himself worthy of the title that he had, and he wanted, no, he needed to change that.

Slowly, Argo began to speed into a gallop, and Nahk lightly rested his left hand on the horses neck, leaning forwards as he did so, and tucking the staff under his right arm, while still holding onto it. He did not know how long they rode for, but the went, and went, into the night. They went past the fields of gold, and Nahk watched the grasses go by, until he heard the dirt under Argo's hooves turn to sand, and noticed a strange sound in the distance. As they got closer to the sound, Nahk knew it, and recognized it to be water.

Of course, the only water for a long distance around was the rivers, the great rivers, heard about by any merchant that came to the kingdom. It was the largest water source in all the south, and each river must have been a hundred feet across. Of course, while the size of then was impressive, it was the number of rivers which impressed any who came. As far as the eye could see, there was only water, some parts separated by thin segments of land, but at the interchange, which is not only where the great bridge was built, but also where Nahk stood now, the rivers flowed and weaved together, and at points, it was impossible to tell them apart. Before this section, each river was clear and defined as its own, and the same went for after the area. But at that place, the rivers mixed, and thus was the source of its name.

It was there that Nahk sat, mounted on his horse, unsure of what had brought him. He looked at the great bridge, which crossed this interchange, and wondered about it all. Then, he turned his eyes back to the water, and looked at it as it flowed. Nahk and Argo stood there on the banks, looking into the water for many hours, until Nahk knew, finally, what he had to do.

His eyes, strangely gray, snapped up to the sky, and slowly turned Argo back towards the camp, where the kingdom of the south East permanently resided.

(NOT FINISHED. Will continue later.)

The hammer struck down, sending sparks outwards in a burst of energy.
 
Nahk had resolved that, if he could not afford the lance he needed to conquer the world, he would make it himself. It had taken him only a day to discover how to make a spear point, which was all he really needed. Now though, he had spent close to a week actually making his own.
 
It could not be an ordinary spear head, no, it had to be one that would conquer the West. It had to be the west. The Dragon had reigned from the West, and so would Nahk. He had to. The world needed it. Others would argue this was not true, but it was. There were times when the world needed a tyrant. Someone for everyone to unite against, all in hopes to kill. It made technological advancements, it gave them something to live for, something to strive for. They would all have to grow stronger, all in attempts to over-throw him.
 
Of course, he thought, each hammer strike pounding harder into the metal, folding it over and over, bending it back on itself, and then fusing it into one solid piece, app focused at the tip. Of course, he would need an army eventually, but for now, for now he would make do with it alone. He had to.
 
His arms aching, each blow threatening to tear them from where they worked, Nahk pushed himself more, working harder towards the ultimate goal: the perfect spear. For, Nahk realized that he was, in fact, not making the massive lance used by knights, but something lighter, though equally as deadly, and equally dangerous while mounted. He would succeed in making this weapon, and then succeed in taking the throne. He had to.
 
He had remembered the legends of The Dragon, the ones he had heard when he was a child. They always fascinated him, but he knew there was some part of the legend that went untold. There was more to the ruler that had been known, but he did not know what it was. Now though, Nahk knew that he could do better. Not that The Dragon had done poorly, but when he left, the world fell apart. Now though, if Nahk were to succeed in his mission, he would end up leaving the world a better place than he entered. The chaos he would make, and the order that the people would fight it with. It would work out. It had to.
 
That seemed to have become Nahk’s mantra while he worked; it had to. Why? Because it was true. If the plan did not work, at best he would be denounced rogue, which would be a sever over-looking on the king’s part. Of course, he could play things more safe, and simply take over the middle land, but then he would have to deal with the massive jungles and such, not good for horses at all, and his horse was currently his largest advantage over the rest of the kingdoms. It was a huge advantage as well, but he had to make it even more so. Monopolize it, or whichever word worked best there. His common tongue had improved greatly, but it was still far from perfect. Perhaps that would change, perhaps it wouldn’t. Regardless, this plan of his had to work, else he was worse off than he currently was.
 
The hammer swung, and hit, swung, and hit. It was so extremely repetitive that it was hard not to go away in one’s own mind, but he had to stay some-what focused. He judged that currently, the spear was roughly one fourth done, because after this, he still needed to attach it onto the lance pole; which was his simple quarter staff. He was glad that crazy man traded for him, and briefly wondered how he was doing. He supposed it was not his place to judge him cray though; soon the rest of the world would think of Nahk as crazy. Perhaps he was, but he knew that what he was doing was the right thing. It had to be. The world always advanced greatly whenever united against a common enemy, and this time would be no different.
 
Pulling up the searing bit of metal, Nahk inspected it. It glowed a dangerous orange, which let him know that his work was doing well. The hammer would now have to be swung slower, and hit with less intensity, for he had to finish up the small touches. These were likely, more difficult than the hard swinging that he had done. He had to tap out the tip, and make it as sharp as the most dangerous of swords. No, he had to make it more so. He sighed, and began to finely tap away at the small portions of the spear head.
 
It must have been a month, though he knew it was not, before the spear head was finished. The seemingly small bit of metal, attached to the long pole. Yet, there it was, embedded deep into the body of the straw being that he had previously been practicing. There was no terrible force on Nahk’s arm, and it did not threaten to break. Of course, there was a chance that some of this was due to that his arms had both grown much stronger between the massive amounts of training, and the repetitive swing of the hammer, but looking at the straw figure clad in chain mail, and the spear going in one side and coming out the other side, Nahk knew that this was a result of the work he had put into creating such a weapon. It had only cost him six gold in total for the resources to make the spear, and though Nahk only had twenty gold pieces in total, he thought of this as a relatively cheap price. For a weapon to rule the world, he was certain that it was.
 
Pulling the spear from where it stuck, Nahk nodded and smiled, spinning it in his hand as he did so.

(Still not finished.)

Nahk watched the other man fall to the ground, and smiled. That was the fifth that day.  At the start of the week, Nahk had looked like a farmer, with only a quarterstaff, and a simple horse, while he wore simple clothes. Yet, now he stood undefeated in the practice arena, having knocked five men to the ground that day, three the day before, and one the day before that. The people were beginning to know his name. Good, he thought. Soon, the world would know his name. Many wanted to fight him currently, “knowing” they could dismount him from Argo, though he knew they could not. Unlike all the other riders whom he jousted, Nahk and Argo moved as one. They were not two independent bodies, one stacked upon the other, which is how every other rider was, but instead, he was Argo, and Argo was him. They were the same being, non-separable from each other, and it was from this that they had their power.
 
Each one, Argo and Nahk, were both smaller than usual, but fast as hell, and this too they used to their advantage. Nahk jousted without any armor at all, or shield, knowing fully well that any oncoming lance that would strike him would tear clean through his flesh, perhaps even ripping his shoulder and arm off. This, however, was the reason that Nahk did not get hit at all.
 
The oncoming lane charged, and Nahk spurred Argo to go faster. He watched carefully the oncoming spear, and knew exactly how to dodge it. He waited the few split seconds that were vital before acting, but when he did act, it was if time itself slowed down.
 
Nahk began leaning to the left, into the direction that the spear came from, and as he did so, he also began to lean backwards, trusting Argo to run as he needed, without guidance from Nahk. Then, Nahk swung spear inwards towards his own body, and switched it from his left hand to his right, and braced the back of the spea with his right hand. Directing the tip towards the oncoming charger rider, Nahk leaned as far back as he could and pushed with both hands as hard as he could. At the very last minute, he let go of the spear with his left hand, pushing harder with his right. Then, Nahk felt the spear collide with the rider, it did not matter where, and felt the oncoming spear dip downwards as it flew, aiming towards his face. He knew this would happen, which is why he had his left hand free. Spears were only sharp on the point, and so Nahk used his free hand to grab further down on the oncoming spear, and push upwards, and as he did so, sit back upright. This, combined with the force of his own spear, which Nahk had grabbed at the butt while pushing with his right hand, forced the other rider backwards so hard that he fell off his own horse, leaving Nahk not only still mounted, but also holding both spears firmly. He smiled, and the crowd erupted again. Sixth man down.
 
He was almost disappointed though; each was only coming at him one at a time, like a classic jousting tourney, but Nahk knew that he could take on at least two, perhaps even three men at a single time, even if all were mounted and armed. Yet, it seemed that just as he thought this, so too did the crowd, for almost instantly, three men jumped over the small wall separating the crowd from the tourney arena, and began to saddle their horses. It was only then that Nahk’s courage faltered for a moment; each was heavily armored, and stood over a foot taller than himself, their horses massive beasts, bursting with muscle. But then, his mind settled in resolve. This, here, today, was his first real victory, if he were to win, and he would. If he defeated these three men, he would win here, forever. It was known, to Nahk at least. Here, he would start his reign, not as the second Dragon, but with a new title, and new reign.
 
He turned Argo, and stood still in the center of the arena. He knew these three men to be the champions of the arena currently, and if he were to beat them, his name would be known. He watched each pull out large lance, which made Nahk smile. His small spear was far more agile than those brutes. This was proven when they charged.
 
Each charged at the same time, and all from the same direction, hoping to make it impossible for Nahk to dodge, but of course, he was far smarter than that. Spurring Argo as fast as he could, Nahk rounded just in time to dodge the last lance, and the three ran shoulder to shoulder. Then, Nahk struck.
 
Hitting hard with his spear, Nahk hit one of the men on the outside hard with his spear, slamming it into the man’s side, which made a grunt. He smiled at that, and as he spun to their backs, hit the same man hard again, but in a direction to force him off the horse, which made him fall.
 
Then, there were only two left. Swinging, dodging, running, piercing, the battle did not last long.
 
Soon, only Nahk remained mounted, and it was he alone that the crowd cheered for.
 
“Remember this,” he said to the three men who now lay on the ground, one sitting, each catching their breath and aching all over. “Mine is the Golden Horde,” he roared, loudly for a short man.
“When the Middle Land falls, it shall be by mine hand! When a new king is announced, it will be my reign to follow! When it is said that a second Dragon awakens, it shall not be, but it shall be the Golden Horde, of the Golden Plains, and from there, I shall take the world, if by force, then so be it!” The crowd was dead silent, and the three dismounted riders were as well. They all knew he was either serious, insane, or perhaps both. “But I shall spare those who I need to. You are such a people. I will not destroy the world, but push it to its limits, and force it to grow! If I need to, I will do this alone, and become stronger than all, but if there are those who would help me, I will take them!
“These people will be rewarded for their efforts, and when I stand strong upon a throne, they will be rewarded! If there are any of these people present, let them come forth now!” Nahk said, his voice echoing throughout the area. He expected no one would, in fact he had almost bet on it. It would show more of just how true he was, and how much more he would be when he sat upon a throne, victorious.

(Stillll not finished)