Legends of Belariath
Shogeton
Gender: Male
Age: 19
Sexual Preference: Bisexual
Race: Chirot
Class: Knight
Length: 4'10"
Hair: black
Eyes: black
Figure: Lean
Skin: Pale
Likes: Swordfighting, clothesmaking, planning against Torian, the inn's dice game, straightforwardness
Dislikes: Torian, too complicated plans, Torian, people mocking his size, Torian
Somewhere deep within in a cavern, there were celebrations in a city. The city was not what one would expect underground. Rather than homes carved out in the rock, these houses were built out of wood and stones. The cavern was large, larger than would be expected naturally, and the air above was filled with figures, many of them carrying musical instruments as they zoomed about, playing cheerful songs as they performed gravity defying aerial acrobacies. No alcohol was consumed. No great meal was had. The Chirot were a temperate people.
The Chirot were celebrating a heroine’s death. Kalchasa had, at age 39, left Belariath to return to Mother Sheara’s bosom and the Great Kingdom. A Torian had got in a lucky strike against her, and though the woman had managed to stay alive long enough to eradicate all Torians involved in the attack, she had been the lone survivor. By the time anyone had come to help her, she had been dead.
In the centre of the city, her naked corpse was laying on a pyre. Around the pyre were laying all the things that had been the woman’s property. It wasn’t much. Mainly weapons and some personal trinkets. Personal ownership was something the Chirot only exercised out of their cities. Some of the city’s most famous bards were taking turns singing songs of the woman’s heroic battles with the Torians, each of them more glorious than the last. Clerics were dividing the weapons, giving them to the people the heroine had asked them to be given to, or if unspecified, to whom they thought it would be best. The corpse wasn’t given much attention, left on the pyre, the wounds not even wiped away. It was just another thing Kalchasa had owned. Like her swords, and even the name Kalchasa.
Another song was finished, and a cleric, his black wings shining in the torchlight because of the golden tattoos spoke in a clear voice.
“Almost all useful goods have been divided. Soon, we shall burn this corpse, so that none shall rip our sister from Sheara’s embrace. What remains of the one we knew as Kalchasa is not in objects, nor is it in body, or even in superficial memories. Her soul carries the memories closest to her heart, and that, the Kiroan will not touch. But before that...” The cleric took one last thing. A simple longsword. “This is the sword the one we knew as Kalchasa used when she was helped remembering how to swordfight. Who shall wield it next?”
Several young Chirot opened their mouth to speak. The sword was in no way magical, but to use it in battle would be a great honour to many of them. A high voice sounded before any of them though.
“I want it! I’ll use it as well!”
The speaker was a scrawny young Chirot. A skinny boy, eight years old, but short even for the small Chirot race raised a bony arm. Nobody protested or laughed, and the other Chirot fell silent. For the child was the son of Kalchasa and beside, none of them would quarrel with a child. Still, the cleric looked hesitantly at the boy. The child didn’t look like a fighter at all.
“Young Shogeton. Are you sure you wish this? Your way might not be that of the sword. Know that Mother Sheara, as well as your mother in this life would be equally proud if you developed other skills than hers.” He gave Shogeton an encouraging look. The young boy had been raised on glorious stories of his famous mother. His father stood behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder. A short, calm and quiet man. He and Kalchasa had been together for a few years, and he had raised Shogeton while running a clothshop himself.
The Chirot boy shook his head. “No, I want that sword.” He puffed his sword out. “I am gonna be a knight, just like mommy! I’m gonna be a hero just like her!”
The cleric nodded. “Very well, Shogeton. Take the sword then, and carry it with honour.” The cleric offered the blade to the boy, who flew over and took it. The sword was too heavy though, and the child landed on the ground with a squeal, looking embarassed as he dragged the sword back.
Some time later, smoke rose as the corpse was burned. The celebration hit its climax.
...
“Ouch!” The Chirot boy dropped the heavy wooden training sword for the sixth time in a row, holding his wrist in pain. The two had been fighting up in the air, so the sword had quite far to fall. The two descended to the ground.
“Damn it, Shogeton! Hold that sword tight! How can you fight if you drop your sword when you strike it hard?” The trainer said, giving a nod at Shogeton’s sparring partner. The other boy was a head taller than Shogeton, the thirteen year old Chirot’s puberty having already started, but the growth spurt he hoped for didn’t come. He remained short, and his arms were still rather puny.
“I’m trying, teacher... but... but...” The young Chirot held his wrist, each time the weak hand was forced to release the sword by a harsh blow the hold in the next bout was weaker. Shogeton’s sparring partner grinned, and a chuckle rose from the rest of the class. The fame of Shogeton’s mother had led to some jealousy, and that, combined with Shogeton’s lack of success in swordfighting because of his strength, not to mention his loud mouth and hot temper, had caused him to be mocked with some frequency.
The old Knight sighed. “Look, Shogeton. You are a diligent student, and I know you do your best, but have you considered another way to fight for Sheara than knighthood? The leader of the scouts saw you perform acrobacies, and told me you’d make a fine scout. And I agree. With your agility and size, you could become a ‘Silent Terror’ against the Kiroans. Perhaps you should...”
“NO!” The young boy exclaimed, anger and panic fighting in his eyes. “No, I want to become a knight! Don’t send me away! I’ll do better!” He grabbed the wooden sword again, lifting it up, groaning slightly as his wrist protested when he performed some simple moves.
The teacher sighed. He was a kind Chirot, and a good friend of Shogeton’s father. “Very well... perhaps your soul remembers a previous life. On one condition Shogeton. You’ll also attend dagger-fighting class with Ferolan.”
Shogeton protested. “But I wanna use a sword!”
“You’ll learn to use a dagger Shogeton! Because you will never be a knight unless you can prove yourself in battle!” The trainer said harshly.
Shogeton pouted. “But... but... I want... I want to...”
The teacher nodded. “I know... I know you want to use that sword. And if Sheara wants it and you keep training, one day you will. But for now, focus on becoming a warrior, okay?”
Shogeton just nodded.
...
Another day of festivities. A new year of Knights of Sheara had arrived. They had successfully passed their last test. A raid on a group of Torians that had been careless enough to travel too near Chirot lands. Experienced warriors had been present to slay any Torians the young Knight-errants had no chance against, but still; five of the warriors had perished. Their parents regretted their short stay on Belariath, but still their death was celebrated. As was the death of the Torians.
The seven survivors had washed and dressed, for today they were to be knighted by a cleric of Sheara. One of them, the shortest, was dressed in his father’s best silver and black clothing He was handsome, his long black hair, youthful face and vain attention to his looks making him popular with both women and men.. Shogeton, at age eighteen, had finally accepted that he would never be longer than fourfeet and ten inch in this life. His clothes and jewelery compensated though, the Chirot having almost as much silver on his fingers and neck than on his clothes. His hair had been carefully pampered. Beside him hung his mother’s sword. It was the best day of his life.
His step was rather slanted to the right because of that. He hadn’t used the weapon during the fight, the dagger on his other hip having cut down some of the most dangerous Torians in the group. The dagger-fighting had proved to be Shogeton’s ticket to knighthood. He hadn’t been skilled enough to be called anything like a dervish, but the veteran warriors, who had been judged, had been most impressed with how the Chirot had darted through the air, going straight for some of the mages, outmaneouvring the equally inexperienced Torians and cutting their wings apart before finishing them off. Because of this, the Chirot had been pretty much insufferable ever since, describing the battle in great detail to his companions and generally looking extremely pleased with himself.
Shogeton’s father was there to observe, as well as the Elders of the city. The same cleric who had given Shogeton the sword would now hand out shields. Each of the shields had a stylized cat o’ nine tails on it, symbol of their dedication to Sheara. Shogeton would be the final one to receive his shield. His eyes were unfocused as he waited, his smile broad on his face as one by one the other Knights
Then it was his turn. As in a dream, he knelt down before the cleric, each word of the cleric repeated, Shogeton enjoying dedicating his life to Knighthood immensely. Finally, the shield was extended to him. He took it, with both hands as it was too heavy for him to carry it with one hand. Another weapon he wasn’t able to use. But he didn’t care. He raised the shield above his head, to receive the usual applause.
And then one of the other new knights spoke. “Behold! Sheara’s pretty little defender!”
And people laughed.
...
Shogeton fumed, filling the bag with clothes and food. The Elders hadn’t made a problem about Shogeton’s attack on the other new Knight. Partly they felt a bit guilty perhaps that some of them had laughed at the solemn occasion. Fortunately for Shogeton, his father had calmed him down before he did something stupid. But he couldn’t stop him from doing this.
“Shogeton. It was one comment.”
“It was NOT that! All my life, EVERYONE has been saying those... those humiliating things about me, and I shall no longer stand for it!” He tied the bag close. “When I return, the bards will precede me with songs of my glory!” he falls silent for a moment. “If... I return that is.”
The father, who often had tried to interest Shogeton in clothesmaking, but merely succeeded in interesting him in clothes sighed. “I understand. Go then with my blessing son. And remember, hero or not, there will be a place for you here when you return.
Shogeton nodded and embraced his father. Then took the sword and the shield, putting them both in his backpack and groaning under the weight. Minutes later, he left the home, the city and the cavern.
He didn’t know where he should go to. But he heard of this city. Nanthalia. Maybe he should go there.
...
Shogeton walks through the town, a shield in one hand, a sword in the other. Besides him walks Amakiir, one of his closest friends in these lands. He has made many other friends, and a good deal of enemies, most of them Torians, one called Seraph Silverwing first among them He has had moments of shame and moments of glory. He has raped, he has been raped. He has hated and he has loved.
“Hey, Shogeton...” His cleric companion timidly asked. “That sword looks kind of old. When you have enough money, do you think you’ll buy a new one?”
Shogeton stopped for a moment. He now wielded both the sword and the shield. “Perhaps.” he said. “But I will not ever sellthis one.”
And he continued his journey. Onwards to heroism.