...
Suddenly he found himself standing in what seemed to be an endless black void. Where was he? And what was going on? It was so unclear.
Though no light seemed to shine down upon him he could see himself with perfect clarity. The thing that caught his attention first though was his arm. The left arm was strangely free of the scales that he had remembered being there. Instead, his skin was smooth and clean; his hand also lacked the nasty brutish nails.
He could hardly believe what had happened and grabbed the arm with his free hand to assure himself that it wasn't some kind of illusion. Indeed, he could feel warm skin and hair rather then cold and sharp scales. At the revelation he began to cry and jump for joy. The curse that had doomed him was now gone! Removed as quickly as it had come!
However, he didn't get long to enjoy the blessing when something else caught his attention. Several paces away stood another figure, also a man. The man had a strong build and stringy brown hair, he stood half hunched over barring his teeth in a fighter's crouch. He quickly recognized the painted patterns that adorned the man's body, red lines and streaks over the chest and face.
A member of the Taw Forest clan. Our ancient enemies.
The once cursed knew that only a warrior aiming for battle would wear such paint in that way. He looked over himself again and saw that he also was smeared with paint, blue though, in concentric shapes and patterns over his bare limbs and naked chest. He knew that the patterns would guide the spirits in protecting him far better then any hide could.
Drums pounded in his ears and crying voices egged him on from somewhere in the distance.
Well, at least things will be simple. Warrior to warrior.
With that he leapt at the red man bringing his fists upward and driving a strong blow into the man's gut. However, the attack was responded to as the opponent brought his own fist down on the blue's head.
Pain sprang through his head as the pair grappled and fell to the invisible ground punching and kicking wildly. Somehow the blue painted figure ended up on bottom as the other began to punch him in the face again and again. Pain blossomed and receded in rhythm with each blow of the fist, but as he regained his breath he opened his mouth and bit down, gratified as he tasted blood in his mouth and heard his opponent scream in pain.
Still disadvantaged he looked about for a way out as the red pained recovered from the bite. And he saw exactly what he was looking for. Just in arm's reach of the pair was a spear, clearly discarded from some other part of the battle. He quickly reached out and grabbed the weapon driving it's rough iron head up into the chest of his enemy.
A gasp of pain escaped from the red pained lips, but that didn't stop the man's hands from reaching down and constricting around the unnamed's neck. Another twist of the spear and another shower of blood though and the pain of being choked suddenly receded.
I won. Was all he could think.
...
Suddenly everything shifted again. Now in front of the northerner were a pair of very different figures. The old druid who knew the ways of the spirits, and one of the ancient crones who kept the histories of the tribes.
"Soon you, gathered here, will pass your 12th summer." The crone said in her cracking voice. "It will come time for you too leave the time of childhood and become adults within the clan."
The druid picked up the speech flawlessly without even his normal stammer. "And as adults you will be given a name that the spirits can recognize alongside your achievements. With it you will cast away your child names along with your child ways."
Pride suddenly swelled in the northerner's heart. His first victory, hard won though it was, would surely be only the first of many once he got a properly fearsome name in the coming day.
It was then that everything went wrong. while his left arm had been aching all day he had assumed it was just a bit of residual from the battle earlier that week. However, unbearable agony suddenly shot through the limb. He was quite incapable of keeping from crying out in pain. He looked over at the arm and to his horror it looked as though a thousand red shards were trying to force their way though his arm and hand. He rotated the limb, but it seemed the same on every side that he could see.
He looked up at the crone and druid, but they swam before his vision and then everything went black again.
...
The northerner was once again aware of the druid looking at him, but the old man quickly turned away. His eyes were quickly drawn to his arm, but it was wrapped in a skin, clearly hidden from view. He began to lift the limb a bit, but the druid quickly pushed it back down. He now realized he seemed to be lying down.
"I'm s-sorry to s-s-say, but it is worse then I f-f-feared." The druid spoke calmly, his stutter evident though. "Your arm is the s-s-sign of a terrible omen."
Once again he tried to look at it, but the druid reprimanded him.
"No! Do not s-show it here!" Still, the druid would not meet his gaze. "You have been unmis-unmistakeably cursed by the spirits. A terrible doom will come upon you at your end." The druid also didn't seem to want to even glance at the fur wrapped arm. "Needless to s-s-say, it has been decided that you must leave. We cannot s-share in your doom as well, so you must go."
"But..." The druid seemed to hesitate now, as though he was only coming to the bad part. "You have yet to receive a name. Yet you do not yet have a name. But only one will do for you. The name you will carry, that the spirits will find you by, must be Spirit Cursed."
The name itself seemed to strike a blow at it's owner's heart. To be known forever as Spirit Cursed would be a true doom in itself. No one would ever willingly associate with someone like that. No one would ever host a feast to a name like that. And on top of that he had to leave? His village? His clan? His life? All reject him.
Leave him alone...
...
Once again, the northerner found himself facing the red pained warrior. This time though his body was only covered by mud and smeared with paint half washed away. His left arm had also taken on it's familiar hardened red form.
The red painted warrior though stood mocking him. A proper warrior of honer and purity, protected by the spirits rather then rejected by them, Everything that the cursed would never have. Never bee again.
Anger roared up in his heart as he again charged at the enemy. This time though he swung only his left arm around and planted a devastating punch into the enemy's chest. The foe flew back like a thrown pebble before landing a distance away, his whole chest clearly smashed in.
The northerner looked at his changed arm again. There was still no denying that it was a curse, but there was also no denying the power it gave him.
That's it! I need more strength. Once I have enough power I will go back and show them their mistake. I'll make them pay for everything. But I need more strength first. Nothing will stop me. Spirit cursed? I'll show them what a true curse is...
...
