Evandyr Everen.  The soul remaining heir of the Everen House.  Now he was lost and destitute.  He stumbled through the trees until he found what he was looking for on the plains beyond: the organization headquarters.  He was angry.  Angry at them.  Angry at yoma.  Angry at the world.  Angry at himself.  The organization because they had used his line for generations.  Yoma because they took all he had in life.  The world because it was a horrid, unfair place to live.  Himself because, above all else, there was nothing he could have done to prevent what had happened to him.  All he could do now was look forward.  And that direction was to the organization’s headquarters.  He had one purpose in mind for them: to destroy them.  But he could not accomplish that in his current state.  He needed to get them from the inside.  His goal: to become an elder. 

                However, if that didn’t work, if they refused him that position, he would demand the unthinkable: to become a warrior.  He knew they would staunchly refuse it.  At first.  But he would persuade them.  Oh yes, they would give in, and he would, either way, systematically destroy them, no matter by what means or in what way.  They deserved to go to hell.  If he went there too, he thought, he would be the tormentor of each of those men.  Deep inside, he knew they were behind the destruction of his family, his trade; his whole life was ruined.  He believed, on account that the warriors who existed were part yoma, that the yoma themselves were somehow linked with the organization.  His hunch couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

                He stumbled on his way to the building.  It wasn’t far now.  Within minutes he arrived.  No one blocked his entry.  No one even questioned him or his motives.  He just entered as if there was nothing to worry about.  He burst through the doors of the main hall, and several of the women warriors whirled on him, raising their swords. 

                He slapped his hand over his eyes.  How pathetic.  “Put down your swords, ladies.  I come peacefully.  I’ve a proposition to make to the elders.”

                The elders at the front ordered the women to lower their weapons.  They knew who he was.  They knew his legacy.  They knew he was not happy.  The most frightening thing, for them, was that they knew he was not happy with them.

                The women let a battered Evandyr through their guard, though they were still wary.  They kept their swords at the ready.  He stumbled forward, weak and fatigued, and sore beyond belief.  It had been a long day for him.  He stood there, his head down, eyes on the floor.  His arms hung like useless rags for a moment, then he looked up and his fists clenched into tight balls.  The warriors tensed. 

                “I am here to make a proposition to you, elders.  One that you might find intriguing or threatening; whatever.  You may be surprised to hear that my home, my family, my trade, and my life have been ruined by the damned yoma.  Curse those creatures to the deepest circles of hell,” he seethed.  Curse their creators as well, he thought, referring to the elders.  He stood silent a moment, letting that fact sink in. 

                After that moment passed, he spoke again.  “This is my proposition: to recruit me as an elder of this organization.  My line has ever been servants of the organization, and I still desire to do so.  That is all.  What think you?”

                The elders were silent a moment.  They looked at each other.  The warriors fidgeted.  Elsewhere, someone coughed.  Then the one that looked to be the head of the group spoke.  His voice was deep and rich, filled with the power and authority that his position had won him.  At the same time, it had no emotion, no feeling whatsoever.

                “Evandyr of House Everen.  We are both shocked and grief-stricken at the news that you have presented us this day.  We give our utmost sympathy and regards.”  He paused a moment.  “However, we cannot grant your desire.  We understand that your family bloodline has ever been in the service of this our organization, but we cannot allow it.  The reason is our own.”

                Because you fools know of my true intentions, he thought to himself.  He was raging on the inside, but remained calm as a summer’s eve on the outside.  He considered how he would present his next request (or demand, as it was more likely to be), and without qualms began speaking.  The only sign that gave away his anger was the flare of his nostrils.  Again, the female warriors in the hall fidgeted, daring him to attack the elders.

                “If this which you call your organization, which I may point out, was built by my line, refuses my desire to serve in that capacity, then I offer this other, more brutal way.  You will not like the idea.  You will likely refuse it.  But I will not go on without a direction in life.  Everything was taken from me.  I ought to continue giving what I can to some cause, even if it is one as mundane and grotesque as killing yoma.  Yes, that is what I want.  I want to become a warrior.”

                Silence, unbearable silence, engulfed the room.  Then the whole place erupted in a flurry of yelling, arguing, and shock.  The elders stood from their places at the front of the hall.  The warriors looked at Evandyr in disbelief.  The other patrons and those that were in attendance were noisily debating whether or not this was wise.  The head elder stood and demanded order.  Slowly the loudness and debating came to a halt. 

                “Are you aware, Evandyr of House Everen, that we no longer allow males to be warriors?  Are you privy as to why?”

                Evandyr smirked.  “Yes, I know why.  It was because they overused their yoma-induced powers.  You stopped producing them a long time ago, though many still remain as awakened.”  The elders and the female warriors mumbled amongst themselves.  How did he know all this?

                The head elder spoke again.  “How you know all this is beyond us.  However, as far as your request goes, we staunchly deny it.  There is no possible way we can know if a male warrior can exist, even if it is someone as honest and integral as you.  The power is enticing; if overused, it causes a feeling similar to that of the climax of sexual intercourse.  We cannot trust any man to this.  We apologize.  Was there anything else that needed addressing?”

                Evandyr was visibly enraged now.  His fists were clenched and his face was slightly red.  “You will grant me my desire.  If not, then you will suffer consequences beyond your reckoning.”  The women raised their swords.  They were ready to slay him.  He looked over his shoulder at them. 

                “Pah!  Will you do the unthinkable and slay a human?  Will you deliberately disobey a long-standing rule laid down since the creation of the organization?”  The women hesitated.  He turned once again to the elders.  “Will you become heathens and hypocrites by causing them to do such a heinous thing?  Well?!”

                The head elder did not budge.  “There are exceptions, and if there are those of human origin that openly rebel against the organization, then deadly force will be used to quell them.”

                Evandyr cried to the warriors, “How is it that you can live with this ILK?!  How is it that you can live knowing that you are ruled by hypocrites of the highest degree?!”  He turned his attention back to the elders, who themselves were beginning to quiver at this man’s powerful presence.  “And you say that ‘rebellions’ shall be quelled.  Are you our rulers?!  If that be the case, then you all ought to be murdered!” 

                That had everyone in an uproar.  The warriors took a hesitant step forward, looking to the elders for approval.  The head elder stood to his full height.  He was powerful and menacing.  But Evandyr was pure rage, and in the face of that, the elder could not help but swallow hard.  The noise died down. 

                “Evandyr Everen, you are close to death.  At my command, you would die, and no one would know of it.  Do not take us lightly.  If you think for a moment that your rebellious nature can somehow topple us, you are wrong, and do err in your thinking.”

                Evandyr sneered.  “I don’t think that I can topple you.  I never said I could.  All I want is to be in the ranks of your formidable warriors, and be able to serve.”  He drew up to his full height as well, defying the head elder.  “I am merely taking my own approach at persuading you.  Apparently, violent open threats will not work.  I shall try a different approach.”  He clenched his right fist, and the veins popped out on it and the arm.  “I have power as well.  But it is different than yoma power.  I don’t need yoma power.  Observe.”  He raised his right arm, and the whole thing erupted in a fiery blaze.  Everyone, including the warriors present, drew back in shock.  This was the legacy of the Everen family bloodline: the gift of fire.  How it was acquired, no one knew, or knows to this day.  But the fact was that Evandyr had this power, and that he would make for a great warrior because of it. 

                Then, as abruptly as the fire had erupted, it went out.  To everyone’s astonishment, the only thing that had burned was the long sleeve.  His arm and hand were unaffected whatsoever.  There was yet again a silence so still, one would be able to hear a mouse chewing on crumbs.  As one, the elders stood.

                The head elder spoke for them all.  “That was an interesting display of power.  We will have to give this issue some thought and further consideration before we make a decision.  There is a good chance you may be recruited.  But do not get your hopes up high.”

                Evandyr’s face became an expression of emotionless stone.  “Oh, it will happen.  I know it will.  I know that this was enough to convince you.  Otherwise, you would not even consider it.  Had I not displayed my legacy, you would have dismissed me and secretly murdered me, or would have had these warriors kill me here.  I am not ignorant of the inner workings of the organization.  My family has been making the swords the warriors carry for generations, and so we have found out many things about the organization.  You would not want to let any of that slip, would you?”  The elders’ eyes widened.  Evandyr grinned smugly.  “Didn’t think so.  In the meantime, why don’t you have some of your strong-armed warriors come and help me bury my dead wife and children.”  He let that last phrase sink in.

                The head elder looked defeated.  “You will stop at nothing to get what you desire, will you?”

                Evandyr shook his head.  “If the gods themselves came down and ordered me to do so, I would deny them, and would go to hell for it.  I’m going there anyway, so what does it matter?”

                The elders looked at one another.  “Very well.  You shall be recruited.  Your training and rank will be given to you in the next several weeks.”

                Evandyr bowed, both out of respect and in mockery.  They didn’t know which to believe.  “I am more than willing to serve.”

                Turning on one heel, he exited the hall, shouldering past one of the female warriors who growled after him.  He paid her no heed.

                                                                                       *   *   * 

                The Everen bloodline was one of the first that defied the dragon kin on the other land.  They were key in the planning and the designs of the organization.  It was said that their progenitor, Arrem, was one of the founders of the organization on the new land, the one where the story of Claymore takes place.  But after awhile, they receded out of authorship into a smaller form of duty and service: the making of the large claymores that the warriors carried and wielded.  Their methods of doing so were secret, and they revealed that to no one.  Somehow, though, they were able to make superior weapons to the other, cumbersome weapons of the different eras, generation after generation. 

                One particular thing to note about them was that they had a power of their own: the ability to wield fire.  Where that came from, no one knows, save the first of their bloodline, Arrem.  He has since gone to join his forefathers in the heavenly halls, so their power remains a secret and a mystery.  Often, it was said that they used that power in the creation of the claymores.  Other rumors, amongst the elders of the organization, were that the Everens were the result of a breeding of dragon kin and humans.  No one could possibly know. 

                Evandyr was of the 8th generation of the Everens.  His father, Venden, had taught him the trade of making the large swords, that were, to the surprise of both humans and newly recruited warriors, incredibly light, and could be wielded with one hand, if the wielder so desired.  They were also indestructible, which was another secret and mystery that the Everens never revealed. 

                Evandyr grew up with a family of three sisters, he being the youngest child.  His sisters, from eldest to youngest: Evra, Kitana, and Teresa,  all joined the organization of their own free will and choice, and that made Evandyr and their parents quite sad.  They did not know what would become of their beautiful daughters.  Thus, Evandyr, as a young man, stayed with his father most of the time, and saw his mother only when they returned home from working in the forge. 

                One night, his mother became very ill.  The healers could not even begin to guess what she had.  As the days passed, she got worse and worse until finally, after three agonizing weeks of suffering, she gave up the ghost.  This upset and devastated Venden.  To hide his grief, he would work in the forge into the late hours of the night, and Evandyr would join him.

                Two months after the death of his mother (named Sareli), Evandyr was left alone when Venden went and joined her.  He had made one of the swords and emblazed a peculiar insignia upon it: the insignia of the Everen House.  He had run himself through with it, his grief being so great.  Evandyr grieved for the loss of both his parents and possibly his sisters.  He was now alone, and couldn’t do anything about it.  After about two weeks of grieving, the organization came knocking at his door.  They demanded that he begin making the claymores, or he would lose everything.  He defied them at first, but then saw the wisdom.  He would be destitute, because there was no other trade he learned.  And he did not know the art of forging normal weapons.  So he began again to make the weapons.  The sword his father had killed himself with was kept in a secret place.  Often, late at night, Evandyr would practice wielding it.  The reason is unknown, but it would pay off when he joined the ranks of the organization’s warriors. 

                After about three years of work by himself, his days of loneliness and emptiness would be filled.  A beautiful woman came into his life; a woman who had been expelled from the organization, as she could not meet their standard.  Out in the world, she began to shed and shun the cold, emotionless demeanor that the warriors had to take on.  Almost by accident, the two of them met, and it indeed was love at first sight.  It was meant to be.  After five months of courtship, they were wedded in one of the nearby cities.  His new wife’s name was Seneca. 

                Seneca bore Evandyr three children in their time together: a boy and two girls, named Delen, Rika, and Tilma, respectively.  He began teaching Delen the trade of making the claymores.  He and Seneca made sure that their daughters did not join the organization.  They lived in peace and were happy together as a family.  It was a time of great joy, and it seemed the empty void in Evandyr’s heart was filled. 

                For a time.

                On a certain day, while Evandyr was at the forge, several yoma (about 20) attacked his house.  Despite the fact that Seneca could fight them, she was killed brutally, and Rika and Tilma were equally murdered.  Delen managed to escape the house and ran to the forge.  He cried to his father that Seneca and his two sisters were dead, and that monsters had killed them.  Evandyr’s demeanor changed.  He had a hunch as to who sent them.  He had his son hide in a small storage room, and he took up the sword that his father had put so much time and energy into making.  He made a valiant effort to fight off the yoma, but the problem was that he was not fast or agile enough to keep up with them.  He did not have yoma flesh or blood in him, and therefore was no faster than any normal human.  The yoma knocked him unconscious and went in the forge.  They set the place on fire, and as a result, Delen was burned to death.  His dying screams were not heard by his unconscious father. 

                And that was where the story picked up.  The next chapter will include his training, and the melding of yoma flesh and blood in him (solely for the purpose of sensing yoki and moving as quick or quicker than yoma), among other things.