Memories Of Another Time May 10, 2023 23:04:35 GMT -5
Post by Treses, The Million Year Scar on May 10, 2023 23:04:35 GMT -5
Power Level: 24,000
Word Count: 2,439
Total Word Count: 2,439
Text Hex: 009d5b
Word Count: 2,439
Total Word Count: 2,439
Text Hex: 009d5b
It had been way, way too long for Treses. His eyes scanning the acres of fields that made up the land he now stood. He could remember this place, if only vaguely. The glimpses of running through the fields as a small child, his hand running through the stalks of Ajisa grass that rose high above his small head as a hatchling. The experiences of his childhood shaped his life today, and just returning to where his village once stood brought small hints of joy to the Namekian. Even if his family, his fellow villagers were long dead, he would always remember them. Their sacrifices they made, the rules they broke to bring him to where he stood now, everything about it caused Treses to stare on blankly, his mind filling with good memories. Ones he hoped Namorel also had. The positive memories, ones he knew would benefit his good half far better than he.
His time alone from his life-link something he was becoming more and more comfortable with. Once before, when they first rose from the underground layers of the Whistling Caves, Treses was deathly afraid of separating from Namorel for even a moment. They were, inherently, severely weakened when apart. Namorel was a part of him he needed to survive, and finding comfort in his absence would always be an issue he would have to deal with. At least he could manage it without hyperventilation.
Walking forward through the massive fields of cabbage-like plants, Treses would step between two rows of the blossoming herbs and reach down to the dirt and drag his fingers through the soft, sand-like fertilized soil. His hand reaching down into the depths of the ground, dislodging one of the plants as he retrieved what he was looking for. A box, made of a durable and thick stone. The cover of the lockbox was emboldened with a hand-carved symbol of the holy Ajisa tree. Treses remembered suddenly the box, his mind filling with previously foggy memories of the younger, middle-aged Namekian burying the contraption. It was during his warrior caste training, he had befriended a young Namekian of the dragon clan who used his mystical powers to protect the box from time and weather.
Sitting down on the ground hard, the massive hulking figure of Tres seemed so odd and out of place as he tried to open the box. It's lid stayed shut, despite all of his attempts to remove the cover. It was only when he pricked his finger and watched as his purple blood dripped on the seal above, the loud click of a magical seal breaking allowed it's opening. Inside sat a multitude of objects, one sight of these brought a flood of emotions to the relic of a bygone age. The hands of the Namekian removing these artifacts, he would lay them out before him on the grass and dirt. Two sleeves of Ajisa bark paper with writing done in the ancient, forgotten variant of the Namekian tongue, a hand-carved figure of a Namekian frog, and an old, dust covered hard cover book. As his hands slid from one item to another, Treses was unable to withhold the memories of his burying these.
As he picked up the two notes, he carefully read the contents to himself, each letter more painful than the last. It was from a friend he made as a child, one who shared his same love of something he could not truly have. He remembered the day they had met oh so long ago at the temple where Treses had trained. It was just after he had been allowed by the local to learn from the warrior caste after having been born a farmer. His friend found it honorable that he would seek more in life than he was given. The two spent all of their free time together traveling the planet as best as they could, going on adventures together and planning for the future. His friend was born a member of the dragon clan, but wanted a more physical training in the warrior clan much like Treses had. Unlike Tres, though, his friend was bound to the dragon clan. He was not allowed to leave his magical responsibilities. Treses took to training his friend in secret, the two meeting up at the very spot where he now sat. In return for the training in fighting and strength, his friend guided Tres on the proper application of Namekian magic and gave him all of the tools and books he would ever need to learn this forbidden, restricted art. The Namekian wiped the sweat from his brow as he neatly folded the material of the letter and replaced it back into the box, making sure the magical art protected the notes from any natural decay.
Reaching out and grabbing the frog statuette, Tres would drag his finger across the smoothened surface of the piece. He could feel the latent, dwindling ki signature that gripped onto the material from it's previous owner. A latent reminder of it's life and past. Atop it's neck at the base existed a hole where thread had once made the small figurine into a necklace pendant. This was the gift Treses had carved for his friend with his sharpened finger nails. He had spent weeks on the project, catching frogs to get every detail about them perfect for his friend. He remembered the day he gave the pendant to his friend, the thin string of the grass fabric allowing the little frog to sit just at the collar of the chest. They were older, about the size of teenagers for the other species of the galaxy, still mastering their craft and training both at their respective temples and in private with each other. He remembered the bright smile on his friend's face as he put the necklace on. One of Treses' fondest childhood memories, now meaning even more as he held the frog pendant in his hand, it's soft wood perfectly preserved through the megaannum. He would gently place the frog in his robe internal pocket, right next to his chest.
Finally, the Namekian placed a single hand on the book and wiped away the thick layer of dust and grime that covered the surface of the grimoire. As he did, it revealed the image of a great dragon stitched into the leathery surface wood of the cover. Just at the spine, Treses could barely make out the text in the old Namekian dialect. 'Dilettante's Guide'. He knew this book, it's stained pages revealing various magical incantations, spells, and other magical abilities of the dragon clan. Long forgotten powers cultivated from generations of elders working the art to teach all of the future clansmen on how to perfect their craft and provide progress for the clan as a whole. He opened it, looking through the pages intently as he did, seeing the hand-scrawled writing inside taking notes and providing insight into each page's text.
Just seeing this reminded Tres of how he came to acquire this book. How he came to acquire all of these things. How he even managed to make the lockbox in the first place...
It was a cold, raining day on Namek when the two had found each other again, Treses remembered. There was some climate shift occurring, resulting in proper precipitation unlike the normal days. The clouds almost managed to block out the light of the three great suns above, giving shade to the Namekians who toiled in the fields. Treses always assumed his friend had known where he would be due to the importance of the spot he now sat at was to the two. What he didn't expect was for his friend to be there holding the book. Open and at the page for combative protective spells. Tres had been surprised when he heard his friend tell him how he had finally gone too far, how the caste was an important divide to allow these exact situations to not happen. Treses had just taken his first three villages by the time he had been confronted by the other Namekian, so he had been cocky back then. He refused to back down, and taking this in stride, his friend attacked him.
Tres had been forced to kill him. That is what he always told himself when it happened. He posed a threat to the cause of the Capax Clan. Everything they had done to try and advance Namekian society past the reliance on the caste system. That did not make it any easier. Even to this day, Treses could feel his blood dripping down his arm as if he had slain him today. The mental image of the shocked, horrified face of his best friend, the only one who truly understood him, as Treses' hand was imbedded in the Namekian's chest cavity. He died quickly after that, but not before the Namekian had used one of his spells to preserve himself. This spell preventing weathering and age to damage the integrity of his body. He did not want Treses being able to make him disappear. He wanted the others to know he failed, and have something to show to the rest of Namek as why they must turn on their prodigy.
The ancient Namek couldn't help but shed tears of sadness as he gripped the book in his large hands, the grimoire much smaller now than it had been to the two so long ago. Even then he was barely an adult, barely reaching his maximum size as a being of his species. The thoughts of his friend's death wounded Treses emotionally as he threw the book back into the box and slamming his fist into the ground beside him. He was just about ready to destroy all of the objects, before the sound of a small voice would be audible from behind the Namekian. Turning abruptly, he would see the shape of a small Namek wearing the robes of the modern dragon clan. His heart sank as this unfortunate figure came to him in such an odd, uncomfortable time for him.
"S-sir? Are you okay? I felt your sadness and came to see if I could help" The child spoke to him, in his outstretched hands a small crown of flowering Ajisa leaf puffs. Tres wiped his eyes and knelt down to the young one and allowed the much smaller creature to place the flower crown on his head, held upright by the stalks of his antenna. "It is okay to be sad. My master has told me, emotion is the greatest strength one can have. Our love, in all forms, gives us the strength we need to make things right".
"Your master is wise, young one." Tres would state, smiling as he stood up, lifting the child to his shoulder. "It takes someone of great courage to embrace their sadness and turn it into strength. I do not always believe I have that courage."
The young Namekian would cock his head to the side curious, before retorting on his own. "I saw you as you opened that box. It is very important to you... Were the objects from someone you loved?"
"He was my best friend. No one else understood me as well as he did. Even when everyone else was telling me I could not achieve my life goal, he encouraged me every step of the way... He passed away in this very spot."
"He died?" The child would ask, no shred of fear of the topic coming across his face. The sign of a matured soul, even if he was so young. "I am sure he is with our brothers, together in harmony, and proud of how you have become".
"I sure hope so, he deserved far better than either of us had. He always wanted to be a warrior, even when he was a dragon clansmen. He never got to achieve that dream." Tres would reply warmly, his mind thinking of his friend again. He doubted his friend would have any such good emotions of him. Treses became the monster Namek needed to become better, and everyone saw that in him so long ago. Even if he was not the most vile being to cross the world, that inherent desire for power and conquest lived inside of his soul. He needed to rule, and he was never giving up his dream of ending the caste system.
"That is sad... I wish he could have been allowed. It is misfortunate to be born in the wrong part of the social class. May he find peace in the roots"
"Yes. May he find peace in the roots."
As the two ended their conversation, Treses would place the boy down so he could make his way back to the village proper only a couple acres away. The talk with the child had impacted the Namekian, feeling inside of him an even deeper desire to finish what he had started. Never again would any Namekian feel what he felt so long ago. What his friend felt. Nothing should prevent any Namekian from achieving their dreams and becoming the person they wish to be. Just before the youngling could make his way back, he would stop and stare back at the hulking giant of a Namekian that made Treses, asking one final question.
"Who was your friend, so I may honor him at the temple's book of lost souls" He would ask, pulling from his little robes a small paper and pen, intent to write down whatever Treses had told him.
"His- His name was Namorel, born in the Pashta Village that resided where the Guru's Forest now lies. He was a dragon clan acolyte when he passed."
"His soul shall know you miss him"
And with that, the child ran off back to his people to fulfill his promise to Treses, leaving the giant alone with the artifacts once more. Tres would decide not to destroy the materials, but rather take the box with the papers and book as well under his shoulder. He would prepare to leave when something caught his eye from the hole he dug to retrieve the box. Digging deeper, Tres was horrified as he saw what lay underneath where his box had been. The visage of an old, preserved body. Treses respectfully recovered the figure and saying a small prayer before leaving, deciding to finally leave everything here behind. It was time he moved on. It was time Namek moved on.