Games Gods Play Book 1: The Beginning

Chapter Two. He Who Has Control.

The Free Lands are just a unity of various human and not-quite-human beings, which are generally despised by humans for what they are. No true-blood human is allowed safe passage through this land...

- From "The Chronicles of Otherworld".

Waking up from being in a nearly-drowned state was bad. Draco pulled his head out of the water swiftly, wishing that whoever put him in there would die a most painful and gory death.

The thought subsided from his mind the very moment he looked around himself. What he saw most definitely did not look like Malfoy Manor. Actually, it did not look like Tanelorn either, raising doubt in Draco, doubt of being capable of perceiving reality the way it was supposed to be.

He was sitting on the shore of a mountain lake and the chilly wind was currently freezing his wet head off. Draco stood up, looking for a way of drying it off as soon as possible, but found nothing. He started looking through his pockets, but a switchblade was all he found.

A switchblade? Draco looked at the knife and then at his clothes. Those were definitely not the clothes he has been in when he had returned from the Sleazy Weasel! He was wearing a set of studded leather armour, complete with a helm that was now lying next to Draco's feet. There was an empty sword sheath on his belt, the knife being the only thing in his possession classifiable as a weapon.

"Damn you, Mister Know-it-all-god!" he yelled, shaking his fist at the skies.

"You say something, boy?" an evil-sounding voice came from behind him, "Or not?"

"Oh crap!" Draco thought, twirling the knife in his pocket with his fingers.

"I asked, did you say anything, boy?" the voice repeated.

Draco turned around to see that the voice belonged to a short man (if the thing he saw could be called human at all) that had a half of his face virtually missing - the skin was absent, and the horrendous sight of the deformed face was not a sight Draco's eyes welcomed. The intention that this horrible face bore was definitely somehow connected to invoking the Gods of Death of this world.

"Bugger off, you filthy abomination!" he replied, "Or I'll... I'll..."

"You'll what?" the man asked, pulling out a jagged and old-looking broadsword, an evil smile playing on his lips, "Scare me to death with your human face?"

"I'll show you what it means to be a pureblood wizard!" Draco replied, the hand he had the knife in swinging forth, the switchblade opening in the air, the blade sinking deep into the leg of the man. "Take that, you filthy piece of scum!" Draco exclaimed angrily as he kicked the man's sides until his feet started hurting.

He picked up the assailant's sword and put it into his own sheath; pulled the knife out of him and wiped it clean on his victim's clothes. A quick search of the man's clothes revealed a money pouch. It was far from being full, but not empty either, so Draco pocketed it as well.

"Another one bites the dust," he stated calmly as he walked down the path that led into the town...

*****

A day later a strange young man appeared on the streets of Gy-Ler, the town of the inhuman ones - mutants, vampires and the like. He was wearing the clothes and armour of the northerners, a sheathed sword on his belt, his grey eyes radiating hatred, so pure and uncontrolled that if looks could kill, this town would be a smouldering ruin.

He entered the tavern, completely ignoring the sign that said "No humans allowed". He calmly walked up to the bar and asked for anything with alcohol in it.

The barman looked at the stranger with a mix of shock and surprise, but put a mug of strong ale in front of this stranger, his second set of arms receiving the money for it.

"You're a werebeast or what?" one of the bar patrons asked. Draco turned around to see that the speaker was a mutant - three eyes spoke of his descent pretty loudly and openly.

"Nope. Not even a filthy abomination like yo--" Draco started, but was cut short by the club of another patron.

"Slay the human!" he yelled, but his breath was cut off as Draco's knife made its way to the attacker's guts.

"Be a nice monster and die!" Draco hissed, pulling the knife out of his opponent, drawing his sword.

"Hey, that's Mark's blade!" the barman exclaimed.

"Yeah, but Mark was beyond the state in which he still could try stopping me from taking it, so I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself!" Draco spat in reply.

The customers of the bar got up, every one of them either drawing a weapon or picking up a piece of furniture. Draco tossed his sword from the left arm into the right one and back in an attempt to ease his nerves and check his reaction.

Once the monsters charged forth, he did the same. Ducking under the goat-headed woman's club swing, he swung his sword in a half-circle, cutting the legs of everyone in front of him, sending several of them onto the floor.

Getting up quickly, he drove his free right hand into the face of that three-eyed man that spoke first, at the same time his sword cut the chair that another mutant tried to bash him with into two halves. As Draco saw one of the more human-looking people present charging forth, he supposed that in this place of no human-likers this bloke was either a werewolf or worse...

His surprise was great indeed when the man stopped a blade directed at Draco's head with his own sword.

"I suggest we join forces, or you'll die a very lowly death, Draco Malfoy!" the man exclaimed. The only thing Draco managed to notice was that the man had brown hair with completely random streaks of white among them - the Sign of the Wolf, the mark all werewolves had.

"How'd you know my name?" Draco asked, parrying someone's sword at the same time.

"Well, I read your mind... Not!" the man replied, sending another mutant flying with a well-placed punch. Looking upon the results of this, Draco made a mental note never to piss a werewolf off. "Harry Potter sent us!"

"Us?" Draco looked around, but saw no-one else fighting for their cause. The amounts of opponents still standing had greatly reduced by now though.

"They're waiting outside..." the man replied, but his words were cut short by someone landing a pretty large bottle onto his head. The bottle broke into a shower of glass shards and whatever was inside it, sending the werewolf sprawling onto the floor.

Draco swore colourfully and with two quick swings of his blade, reduced the amount of arms the barman (who did the trick with the bottle) had, to that of a normal human.

"That's for the drink!" he yelled and grabbed the unconscious werewolf by the collar, pulling him outside. The battle for the bar was won - unconscious and not-really-breathing bodies were scattered all over the place, chairs and tables destroyed.

*****

"Why are they looking at me like that?" Jonathan asked.

"Because you're human. You know it, I know it and they know it," Kro-Zhag replied merrily, "They're not touching you just because we're talking. The etiquette of the Free Lands is easy to learn but tough to master."

She stopped her tirade as she saw Draco hauling Jeremy out of the bar.

"What'd you do to him, human?" she asked angrily, her hands that held her staff firmly rising into battle-ready position.

"Nothing. The guy decided he'd try and join a bar fight..." was the reply. "Well, he got himself beaten up. I suppose you're the ones he talked about?" sneered Draco.

"If you're Draco Malfoy, then yes," Jonathan replied, "Let's get Jeremy to some safe place, shall we?"

"Jeremy?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The werewolf you're holding," Kro explained coldly, "Come on, I know a place nearby."

*****

They took cover from the crowd in the house of the local herbswoman, a friend of Kro's.

"Alright. What does Potter want with you? And, more importantly, what does he want with me?" Draco asked of Jonathan, who was currently mixing something to awaken Jeremy.

"He arrived into this plane of existence next to our base," Jonathan replied, stirring his concoction, "And since you four are the people Lord Arquin sent to aid us, we settled on recovering you all."

"Great. And who told you that I'm willing to help?" Draco sneered in response, sitting down on a chair.

"I do," Kro said coldly, putting Jeremy's sword to Draco's throat, "And if you have problems with that, you'll be severely shorter by the time we arrive to our camp."

"Point taken," Draco responded, swallowing nervously. Jonathan poured his potion into Jeremy's mouth.

"Wha-- Whoa, this was heavy!" Jeremy exclaimed suddenly, forcing Jonathan to draw back in fear, "Where am I?" he asked, looking around.

"Lenna's," Jonathan replied, "And the kid's refusing to join," the last words were accompanied by a nod in Draco's general direction. Jeremy looked at the scene of Kro towering over Draco, holding his sword to the boy's throat and got up swiftly.

"Hey, this is not the way we agreed upon!" he exclaimed, "We take him to the camp, regardless of his opinion upon this, and then let Alyssa decide if we kill the sod, let him go or make him join us!"

"Kill?" Draco asked weakly. Everyone turned to him and he did not see any traces of disagreement with that statement in their eyes. "All right, all right, I'll join, just don't kill me!" he squeaked.

"Works every single time!" Jonathan exclaimed merrily as Kro gave Jeremy's sword back to its rightful owner. Draco's wide-eyed gaze brought them all into laughter.

"And you thought we'd really kill you?" Jonathan asked, "Who do you think we are, Narretians?"

"Who?" Draco asked, bewildered.

"Oh, right, you don't know anything about this world yet..." Kro said thoughtfully.

*****

The Free Lands were formed when the first people (and not-quite-people) fleeing from the human societies (for one reason or the other) had settled in the Kelhassian Mountains, founding three cities there - the north-eastern city of Tre-Lor, the city of werebeasts, the western city of Gy-Ler, the city of mutants, and the southern city of Thi-Hal, the city of outlaws (the only one that welcomes true humans). At the only entrance into the mountains stands the small fort dubbed the Gates of Death, its sole inhabitants Shalkre the vampire and Horkal the abominated. They exist together for the sole reason that neither can exist with the others. Shalkre loves Horkal, and she feeds on the blood of her beloved, who, due to his mutation, is able to recover from this without troubles. They are the guardians of lives, for they stop all and every one entering the mountains, since Thi-Hal is the farthest from the Gates of all the three cities...

- From "The Chronicles of Otherworld".

*****

Draco looked in awe at the large fortress.

"How many people does it have, exactly?" he asked, turning to Kro.

"Either he likes her or he's like that with all the girls," Jeremy thought.

"Two," Kro replied, smiling warmly, "Shalkre and Horkal."

"Two? That's all?" Draco asked in amazement.

"They don't need more. Whoever stays here doesn't stay long. Shalkre's a vampire," Jonathan said mildly.

"And that bloke... Horkal, was it? Why's he still here then?" Draco asked as they reached the outer gates of the fort.

"Her vampire poison is the only thing that keeps his human appearance. Some blood problem I presume," Jeremy explained, knocking on the door, "Hey, guys! Travellers want out!"

"Comin', comin'!" came a voice, "Here I am already!"

The door opened with a horrible creak, revealing an attractive-looking woman that appeared to be in her mid-thirties. Draco suddenly remembered that vampires don't usually age like normal people... Probably because they aren't normal people, he reminded himself.

"Hello, girl!" Jeremy exclaimed merrily, "Good to see you again!"

"Jey! Long time, no see!" the vampire replied, hugging the werewolf.

"May we pass?" Jonathan asked politely.

"Sure thing," Shalkre replied, "Y'all together with Jey here, eh?"

"Yeah," said Draco, wishing that her cold stare, even if it was accompanied by the warm smile, would move itself from his body.

"Safe passage for friends of Jeremy Hawkes!"

*****

Horkal appeared to be a man in his mid-forties, looking quite normal, as far as Draco could comprehend 'normal'. He greeted them cheerfully, provided them with a place to sleep and food to eat and in the morning, after Jeremy exchanged goodbye kisses on the cheek with Shalkre, they moved onwards.

*****

"You had something with that vampire girl?" Draco asked as they were marching away from the fort, safely on the other side.

"Yeah. Before she met Horkal, we were er..." Jeremy's face became red very fast, Draco noticed.

"...Close?" Kro suggested. Jeremy nodded nervously.

"Interesting life you've had, Jey!" Jonathan remarked cheerfully.

"At least I'm not swooning all over a girl I'll never have, unlike you!" the werewolf retaliated.

"What?" Draco was now completely confused. Was it his imagination or there was sand on the horizon now?

"Didn't you know? Mr. Alchemist here," Kro nodded at Jonathan, "Has a severe crush on our beloved leader, Alyssa!"

Jonathan himself was now redder then the hair of any of the Weasleys, Draco thought, and that was saying something.

"Yeah, but she's taken..." Jeremy added, "You see, she is a bit into Simon..."

"Simon who?" Draco asked. He was way behind on all this stuff.

"Simon Steelfeather, the manic amnesiac paladin back at the camp. You'll see."

*****

Sodne lies in the deserts, its capitol Sodrak being situated in a large oasis. Kleh, the smaller northern port, is separated from the Relanian town of Zielay by the Strait of Laku, Fygal. The larger northern port is halfway from Kleh to Ty-Fir, the northern fortress on the border with the Free Lands. The southern fortress on that border is called Ty-Dek. Finally, there is the town of Heet on the southern coast, well-known for its weapon-makers. The Camp of the Chosen is situated on even distances from Sodrak, Fygal and Heet...

- From "The Chronicles of Otherworld"

*****

They reached Ty-Fir the next morning. The guards let them through, although they did not seem so eager to do so. No one loved non-humans really, and this group had two of them, doubling the disliking.

"Not the kindest people, eh?" Kro whispered to Draco as they passed the fortress.

"What? Oh, yeah..."

He was now officially aware that she was into him as well. Either she had a thing for seventeen-year-old boys (and that called for the misuse of Draco's sword) or she really noticed his looks at her... Or those two blokes just told her everything.

Either way around, she had definitely noticed his existence, making life slightly more unbearable than it was already, as he was now the centre of all the jokes of Jeremy and Jonathan.

In another week, they finally reached Fygal, and, after taking their horses from where they left them, departed towards the camp...

*****

"Why exactly are you lot called The Chosen Ones?" Draco inquired.

"It started as a nice hoax to scare the Narretians," Jeremy replied, "You see, ever since they overtook Daed by force, there have been rumours of a prophecy that says that one fine day The Chosen of the Gods shall purge the presence of those mages from Daed."

"A hoax? Then why the heck did Arquin send us?"

"Apparently, either the gods have decided to believe in this hoax, or, the prophecy is true. The question is--" here Jeremy stopped.

"Are we the real Chosen?" Kro finished for him.

"So, how about it? Are you?" Draco asked pointedly.

"This, my friend, even Arquin doesn't know," Jonathan replied, pointing forth, "There's the camp. We're here."