by J. C. Fiske
"Now that that’s all covered, I'll explain about the Renegades themselves. We may have different classes within our league, but we are still bound by one common name, along with all it represents and upholds. You may have noticed by looking around that some bandana tails are longer then others. You may have also realized that the markings on their arms tend to differ as well. All these differences come down to one thing: rank. The longer the uniforms, capes and bandana tails, along with the size and number of tattoos, represents the strength of the Renegade and where he stands in his training. You two are not deemed Renegades yet, nor will you be for some time," Falcon said as he continued talking without looking back.
"But I thought you said . . ." Gisbo began to protest. Falcon raised his hand to command silence, still refusing to face the recruits.
"Renega, Renegara and finally, Renegade. These are the three titles given to you upon completions in your notches. You two have completed your first trials and will be deemed official Renegas at a ceremony to take place soon. For Renegara, you must complete the three notches in Renega, and to meet the requirements for full Renegade status, you must complete the three notches in Renegara. With me so far?" Falcon finally turned around, still walking. Gisbo and Rolce both nodded.
"Good," Falcon continued. “Within each of these prestigious levels, you will receive three tattoos. Within Renega, upon completing your first notch, you will receive a simple black band around your forearm. Upon completion of notch number two, you will receive another black band on the middle of your arm, and upon notch number three's completion, you will receive another around the top, near your shoulder. Once you have all three, you will move onto your next title, Renegara. Here is where you will begin to study within your classes. You will be designated a Class Master and it’s here that the markings will differ from each other and each notch completed will start at the bottom of your arm and move upward. By training in this fashion, your arm will serve as a constant reminder of your trials to bring you confidence, let others acknowledge your strength, and show your commitment to the Renegades," Falcon explained with a touch of pride in his voice. Gisbo and Rolce both noticed the tattoos emblazoned on Falcon's arm, covered with intricate black designs.
"Also, with each completed stage, your outfits will change. Renegas wear traditional headbands with miniscule tails and a simple poncho, all clean-cut with solid colors and a short scarf. When you gain the title of Renegara, your headband will have short tails, your poncho will have a short cape with jagged edges attached and the color white will be added to your uniform. Upon earning the full title of Renegade, you will don the true garb of the Renegade: long bandana tails, caped poncho with tattered edges around the front and back and the iconic light blue color will be added to the designs across the uniform. When you complete the three notches of Renegade status, only then may you have the color black grace your uniforms. Like mine, for instance," Falcon stated, striking a pose.
Their little group had reached what looked like the center of town. They could now see the huge golden statue of the lone Renegade Warrior and the black needle-like tower behind him. It was this monument that Gisbo wanted an explanation of. This man looked like the ultimate warrior. The statue was even more detailed up close and looked as if it could come to life at any moment. The scars stretched vividly now across the man's proud face and his neat chinstrap beard and thin mustache were precisely rendered. His hair was like a flowing mane, thick and long. His face was frozen in intense excitement, as if he was about to land the final blow to his enemy. The man looked wild and would have been terrifying if it weren't for his quiet eyes. Gisbo reckoned they must have been a soft shade of blue in person.
The man's uniform looked a lot like Falcon's except that it had further intricate designs and some sort of a light armor chest plate and leggings. It was then Gisbo observed how long his bandana tails were. They nearly touched the ground. He hadn't noticed before, being up in the air, but by his side was a large fearsome lion, looking like the man's wild persona incarnate. Gisbo and Rolce didn’t move as they gazed with the rest of the boys and girls who had joined their little group. Falcon was beaming, watching the kids gaze at the statue. He cleared his throat and began to explain just who this man was.
"My favorite part of this little tour! Watching the looks on your faces as you gaze in awe of the Renegades greatest champion. Believe me, he was even more of a sight to behold in person, outdoing this hundred foot golden statue by far. Ladies and gents, I introduce Warlord Vadid the Valiant! Renegade Chieftain, Berserker Class, above and beyond notches.” Falcon spun around to stare up at the statue as well. Gisbo’s eye’s lit up.
“That’s Vadid the Valiant? So he was a Renegade? Oh man! I’ve read all about him! Well, what’s left about him,” Gisbo said with vigor.
"Good to know you’re a fan! You should also know that this man was my Class Master,” Falcon said, beaming with pride. Gisbo’s face flushed with excitement.
“Wait, Vadid . . . trained you? No way!” Gisbo said excitedly.
“Yup! When you reach your Renegara stage, a Class Master takes you on as his trainee. While you train under your Class Master, you will also be forming a synergy with two other subordinates. A synergy contains a Berserker, Shininja and a Nazarite. Their three Class Masters will be working together to train the synergies to play toeach member's strengths and compensate for each member's weaknesses. The classes were created for this very purpose, since no one person can become a master of everything. Rather, you become fluent in all forms of combat, but focus on one area for mastery while your counterparts focus on others, making you an impenetrable force when you work in unison. Synergies are mostly how the Renegades operate nowadays. Every Renegade belongs to their own synergy and should something need our attention, a synergy is usually sent to deal with the issue," Falcon stated.
"As for you two, I will be one of your synergy's leaders, meaning that you will also be in the same squad," Falcon said as Gisbo and Rolce looked at each other, excited.
"All of our lives have been carefully calculated from birth. We place our offspring in situations that will allow their natural talents to thrive based on their pre-determined class. I think you two might have figured this out by now . . . but I’ll tell you anyway.” Falcon turned his attention to Rolce.
“I am quite proud of you, my young friend. Intelligence, integrity, self control and brute strength. A Nazarite you will be," Falcon continued and Rolce beamed, reddening just a little.
"Now as for you, knucklebrain . . ." Falcon said, pointing at Gisbo. "WE are going to be spending some quality time together. Fearless, confident, powerful and possessing an undying will, a Berserker you will be. I will train you personally upon completion of your Renega stage. Now, as for me and my personal synergy, it will be our first time taking on a group of our own for training. Sure, I have rounded up the kids to bring them here, but never rounded up my own synergy. You two have probably wondered why you never had proper surnames and now . . ." Falcon began to look rather nervous before continuing.
"Now . . . ah jeesh . . . well, it's Renegade custom that a Class Master passes his name down to his trainee as their surname for the ceremony . . . and, well, I'd completely understand if you didn't wish to . . ." It was then Gisbo interrupted him.
"No problem at all," he said with a big proud smile. He turned to Rolce, who gave a quick nod, matching his grin. Gisbo swore Falcon had a small tear in his eye as he continued.
"I . . . I thank you. AHEM! Why don't we head to the festivities, shall we? To the courtyard of strength!" Falcon stated as he spun to begin the trek. Gisbo began to walk forward and couldn't help but focus upward at the glowing blue tip of the tower once more. What on Thera is that? Gisbo wondered to himself, wishing he had asked Falcon, but no matter, he was sure he would find out at some point.
It was then a man clad in Nazarite attire made his way toward them, smiling broadly. A thin black beard extended down about a foot from his chin, looking
somewhat like a spike. He had very long black hair with only a touch of gray flowing over his shoulders on both sides. A thick, green steel colored pole-arm was strapped to the man’s back. He had a friendly air to him, but also some very stern facial features and thick aging lines across his face. His voice matched his intimidating persona. It was deep and resounding.
"Well, well, look who has finally returned to us. None other than Falcon Vadid," the stern man said, extending his fist. Falcon returned the smile and thrust his own fist outward to make contact with the Nazarite’s, then pulled it backward, raised two fingers to his forehead, threw them downward, and raised his hand upward again in a fist which he stamped over his heart, finalizing it with a short bow.
Must be a traditional Renegade greeting. Wonder what it means . . . Gisbo thought.
"It's been a little while, good friend, and look who I have brought you," Falcon stated as he motioned to Rolce. The stern man’s eyes sparkled for a moment before dimming, as if he were embarrassed to show excitement. He walked toward Rolce, who was easily a head taller. Even so, Rolce looked rather nervous as the stern man looked him up and down with curiosity.
"So this is him? Hmmm . . . I sense much potential in him, much potential indeed. Also much conflict within, passive feelings, fear . . . yes, I will have my work cut out for me. That is certain," the Nazarite man said to himself.
"Oh, how rude of me, boys! May I introduce you to . . .” Falcon started a formal introduction before he was interrupted.
“The name is Moordin Grandir, Renegade, Nazarite Class, above and beyond notches. Falcon has told me much about your progress, young Rolce. I look forward to training you personally upon your Renegara status,” Moordin said smoothly. Falcon rolled his eyes.
“Or as I like to call him, Moordin the moody. Professional as always . . . Look what happens to you when I leave for a week. IAM knows you belong in the Shininja class with your utter lack of humor. Try a joke a day, Moordin, just one is all I’m asking! It can do wonders for your health, old friend. Why, did you hear the one about the chef and the sheep when they . . .” Falcon started.
“That joke should not be told in front of such young ears! Honestly, how will subordinates learn discipline and respect if their Class Masters do not show it? I can already sense YOUR subordinate will be just as reckless as yourself.” Moordin flashed the same disapproving look Gisbo's way.
“If you only knew the trouble your Class Master has gotten me into and the countless times I have had to bail him out! I assure you, MY trainee WILL learn discipline and respect above ALL else . . . won’t he?” Moordin turned his stern look back in Rolce’s direction, whose smile disappeared and fast. Moordin’s wicked stare turned to that of curiosity, then anxiety, as if a cryptic thought had suddenly flashed through his mind.
“Falcon, where is the third?” Moordin asked, sounding rather worried. Falcon looked down and Gisbo noticed his fist tighten in anger as he looked up and continued.
“I am afraid they have gotten to him first. He was gone before I got there. I even went a week ahead of schedule to check on them, due to my suspicions,” Falcon said. His voice held reluctance and a touch of anger as he looked away from Moordin’s gaze, ashamed. The Nazarite looked down as well, abashed.
“This is severely troubling news. The number has nearly doubled this time around. We have had a total of eight interceptions this term, leaving a mere fourteen subordinates to be initiated this year. Foxblade will not be pleased when he's told about his chosen subordinate. I hope he won’t try anything rash. Perhaps we should not share the news ‘til the morrow. He usually passes on the ceremony anyway and has been in quite the mood today.”
“I already know,” said a gruff, growling voice. It seemed to come from the air itself. They all looked about to see nothing at all.
“So, how long have you been standing there?” Moordin asked. A man appeared out of the nothingness. It looked as if he had the same type of cloaking the bubble around Heaven’s Shelter gave off around his entire body.
“Long enough. You both are getting rather unaware in your old age,” said the now visible man. He was obviously a Shininja, clad in the tight garb Gisbo had seen earlier, with his mask over the lower half of his face. The man had black skin with long, dark hair braided into streaming dreadlocks. His eyes were an intense aquamarine color. Two curved daggers were hanging from his sides with yellow orbs at the hilt.
“It seems our premonitions were correct in the matter. The boy was indeed taken. This dilemma has all but proven my theory. There is a traitor among us,” Foxblade said matter of factly. Falcon raised his hand, signaling for him to stop.
“We will all discuss this further in private . . . we need not trouble the boys on their first day here.” Falcon's tone was final.
Psh, too late for that, Gisbo thought.
“For now, we need to get them to the ceremony. Boys, I would like you to meet the final member of my personal synergy. May I introduce you to Foxblade Dreadka, Renegade, Shininja Class, above and beyond notches,” Falcon said. He shot a quick look at Moordin as if to say, 'There, ya happy?' Foxblade put his fist across his chest and gave a short bow without a word.
“Well gang, let's go! I’m starving!” Falcon announced as they all turned and made their way towards a large building. Gisbo bent over to whisper in Rolce’s ear as they followed Falcon and his band.
"Can these guys be any more vague?" Gisbo whispered.
"You got me! And here I was thinking every Renegade would be as goofy asFalcon. That Moordin and the Foxblade guy are intense," Rolce whispered back.
"Tell me about it! Felt like they could look right through me or something," Gisbo agreed.
"You didn't have that Moordin guy look you up and down, felt like he was literally
reading my mind or something. His analysis of me wasn't far off either," Rolce admitted rather reluctantly.
"You serious?" Gisbo asked with surprise.
"Dead serious. We better continue this conversation later, they can probably hear
us," Rolce whispered anxiously. It was at that moment Foxblade turned and looked at them both with his frightening eyes. Gisbo could have sworn there was a wicked smirk under his cowl.
Both Rolce and Gisbo gulped simultaneously. They walked no further than ten steps before they were at the entrance of a building. Gisbo and Rolce made their way inside, wondering what awaited them.
Chapter Six: The Ceremony, The Rival, and the…ugly?
"Whoa . . ." Gisbo and Rolce both said aloud. They couldn't tell by looking at the outside of the building that the inside was this large. The ceilings seemed to stretch to the skies themselves. There were tapestries all over the walls, along with animal skins and various weapons with plaques beside them dedicated to Renegades of old. Gisbo was fascinated. He could have taken it in all day, but it was actually just a large hallway, a bridge over a stream. Their destination lay on the other side of a wide aperture, revealing an open field.
They walked down the steps on the other side of the hallway and out onto the field where all sorts of festivities went on. People were everywhere, all seated at large oaken tables clanging mugs together and laughing in good spirits. Not more than three more steps forward did the smells hit Gisbo’s nose, making his mouth water instantly. He watched chefs running to and fro from cooking huts holding skewers of lamb, salmon, chicken, various filets, tenderloin and marinated steak tips. They slid the succulent meats onto the plates of hungry Renegades while others ran with large bowls full of all sorts of vegetables, fruits and assorted sweets. Gisbo had never witnessed such a feast in his life.
Gisbo and Rolce were led to a table front and center where about fourteen other recruits sat, all dressed in ratty clothes like themselves. They seemed completely oblivious when Gisbo and Rolce sat down, too busy surveying the scene with nervous eyes. Falcon and his band gave the boys a quick, wordless salute and made their way towards the head table on the other side of the staging area. Rolce then
noticed something and he pointed.
"Look over there, Gisbo. I’ll bet you anything that that’s the Renegade Chieftain." Gisbo followed Rolce’s finger to the table where Falcon and his band sat. There, at the head of the table, seated in what looked like some form of throne, was a man garbed in Berserker attire wearing a new kind of uniform. Instead of the vibrant blue, his entire outfit was the cleanest white Gisbo had ever seen, making it look aglow. Intricate dark and light blue designs graced his ensemble beside the traditional Renegade stripes. His uniform was also clean cut, no tattered edges, and both arms were tattooed instead of just one. His bandana tails were immensely long and flowed over each shoulder like thin capes. There was no mistaking it, this man had to be a descendant of Warlord Vadid. He had the same tough jaw and wild look in his eyes. If he had to guess, Gisbo would have judged him to be about the same age as Falcon, but he had streaks of white in his black hair, beard and mustache, so symmetrical that it almost looked dyed.
Gisbo noticed the Chieftain pause in his conversation with the man next to him. He locked eyes with Gisbo from across the field and knowingly gave a slight smirk. Gisbo thrust his head downward, away from the probing glance. He couldn't believe the sort of senses these men had. It was almost supernatural.
Gisbo quickly forgot the embarrassing incident as food came their way. With a hungry grin, he grabbed every kind of meat he could, sampling everything in sight, while Rolce did the same. They were unable to believe their stroke of fortune and unable to say no to any food offered to them as it built upon their plates like small buildings. The chef stared almost disapprovingly at Gisbo as he cut up all the meats in one big pile and covered it with sauces that shouldn’t be mixed and loaded on the salt and pepper. It looked like chopped liver, but the meat just seemed to melt in a symphony of flavor within his mouth.
