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 Posted: Sat Jun 06, 2009 8:58 pm Post subject: From the burning embers Ch.5 (New) |
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Introduction (Note: I got tripped up on thou and thy, so if someone could point out the proper ways to use those in a sentence, I would be greatful of thee.)
Copenhagen, Denmark 0637 June 5, 1849
Capital building, conversation between Danish Supreme Court and King Frederick VII
King Frederick: “So ‘tis true that I am forced, for the benefit of Denmark, to sign this constitution?”
Supreme Court Noble Anders: “Sire, I reckon thy own name bears the meaning of peaceful ruler, if thou wishes to uphold the peace in Denmark, I suggest thou sign this document.”
Frederick: “Thou asks of me to sign a constitution that limits my own power. Art thou mad?
Supreme Court Noble Jakob: “Thou are wary of the civil unrest within the Faeroe Islands, art thou not? The only option is to give up thy sovereignty and withhold the power to the Danish people.”
Frederick: “And if I am to not sign thy constitution, what will become of the dire civil situation in Faeroe?”
Supreme Court Noble Hans: “Faeroe will undoubtedly secede from our absolute monarchical government and become independent.”
Anders: “Thou hath no choice but to uphold the peace within Denmark and within all of which Denmark rules. Nothing else can stop such an uprising but signing this constitution.”
Frederick: “Fine, thou shall have thy way, ’tis the only way-”
Supreme Court Noble Niel: “There may be another way, sire, a mercenary army.”
Jakob: “Niel, why don’t you shove thy corrupt mouth up thy-”
Frederick: “Silence, Franz. Niel, I find myself enthralled with such proposition. Please, continue without interrupt.”
Niel: “I owe my thanks to thee, sire. A man that calls his army the Black Bartram can be hired to quell a civil war that will inevitably come with this signing. He is extremely professional, and I happen to know just how to contact him.”
Frederick: “Why should I need a mercenary army when the worst Faeroe could do is secede? I see naught the use of violence in such a situation.”
Niel: “What? Thou means to say thy trusted advisors have not yet informed thou of the weapons raid in Faeroe? Nor of the man who is supplying even more arms to their military, and even offering training?”
Hans: “Niel, thou just never knew when to keep thy goddamned mouth shut, hath thee? How did thou even manage to gain such a position in the Supreme Court?
Niel: “Those facts are… of no real concern, but this war thou hath to deal with in thy own land is, sire. Hire the mercenary and his forces.”
Jakob: “No, milord, sign the constitution and end this peacefully, violence is naught necessary here!”
Sadly, power is the greatest tool of corruption, even in peaceful rulers such as Frederick. Signing the document would mean to give up all his power and hand it to nobles. Engaging the civil war and winning would mean even more power. The small islands of Faeroe had a much smaller population than mainland Denmark. His military was better trained, and with the allied mercenaries, his forces would be almost indestructible. The one thing Frederick failed to notice, and how could he, was that there was another mercenary that would lend the hand to Faeroe. Whether he commit acts of evil or acts of good, he would help the Faeroe people nonetheless. The king Frederick decided, on that day, to follow the path of war, and if he retook Faeroe, he would most likely not stop his homicidal crusade. Once he tasted power, he would want more of it.
Last edited by Reasoner on Tue Mar 16, 2010 3:04 pm; edited 8 times in total
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| Posted: Sat Jun 06, 2009 9:07 pm Post subject: Chapter 1 Humble Beginnings |
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10 years ago, Faeroe’s capitol city, Torshavn
11 year old Franz, living in the streets
The red morning sun shone across the street, illuminating it with its radiant glow. It weaved through the alley ways, casting itself unto a parchment being taken with the wind. Brightening the stone walls of near houses, the light crept across a small reflective mirror nailed to the side of a wooden wall. The reflected light burned straight into a young boy’s eyes, waking him. He stood up from his makeshift bed, built on the stone ground alleyway, which consisted of a tattered blanket and a folded shirt as a pillow. He adjusted the years old shirt he was wearing, patched with odd cloth and scarred with a number of holes, that was just a bit too small, showing his skeletal like figure. Glancing around with sunken, weary eyes, he spotted his equipment, hidden underneath a nearby porch. From his equipment sack he retrieved a sturdy stick, worn on one side because of how much it had been held there, and a survivor bow along with some wooden arrows, sharpened to a point with a sharp rock. The bow he made himself from a yew branch and a certain type of bark that peeled in strips, and when wound could make a flexible chord. He walked forward through the alleyway with calloused feet, he could not afford shoes so he went barefoot. Gloved hands idly fiddled with what was left of his pockets set within torn pants, too many holes to count. The wind rustled his messy, greasy black hair causing it to sweep across his lively, piercing azure eyes.
Upon exiting the alleyway into a small portion of nature unaffected by the city that overlooked the market district came an older girls voice. “I knew you would show up here at this time, it’s where you go as soon as you wake up isn’t it?” The boy looked up, knowing that in a tree sat a 15 year old Arvada, in almost just as patchy clothes. She sat on a crevice created in the middle of the tree where all the branches split outwards, a bottle of cheap wine was leaned up against her side, resting in the crevice for additional support. Her blonde hair, frayed and tangled, idled around her would be beautiful face with the breeze, half covering her gray-green eyes. “It’ll be winter soon you know,” she dropped from the tree with the bottle of wine in one hand, “Franz, we won’t survive. The kind people that had sheltered us last year have moved away, we have no where to go.” Tears welled up in her eyes, “ We have no hope.”
Franz’s soothing voice replied, “Don’t worry Arvada, if we were meant to die to winter’s fury, we would of died years ago. There is something we are to live for, we’ll find a way out of this situation, I’m sure we will.” Arvada embraced Franz in a warm, friendly hug, seeking to find comfort in his arms, the only love she had ever been shown was from him.
Distantly came the shouts of citizens, farther down, a few streets away. “We better go check that out, we might be able to find some money to survive with.” Franz nodded in agreement and the went off towards the ruckus. Both Franz and Arvada were taught to read from the kindness of strangers, and both of them had educated themselves, even though they had little rigsdalers, not even enough to cause a jingle in their pockets when they walked. Nevertheless they survived, and prospered in the harsh conditions in which they faced.
The noise of the crowd steadily grew louder as Arvada and Franz turned yet another dirty street corner of the slums. The only few people walking the streets were leery eyed and suspicious, some shady looking. A prostitute showed off her figure and tried to cleverly seduce people with her words and movements so she could put food on the table. Guards were few and far between in the slums, so there was usually open crime and ne’er-do-wells walked freely in the streets. In fact, Franz often times pick pocketed for some spare change when he couldn’t get enough from begging. It wasn’t a preferred life, but he lived.
The crowd of people came into view just around the old barber shop, where the picnic area, or what could be called a picnic area, was located. The area consisted of only a patch of grass and a small undernourished tree. But this time a small tent was set up on top of that patch and a line of people waited outside, most of the gathering impatient. A small wooden sign sat facing in front of the tent, facing the street. It read ‘Seeress and fortune teller’.
Arvada walked up to the nearest man, waiting in line, “Excuse me, sir, but do you know how much it costs to have our fortune told?” She asked him in a sugary voice and wide pleading eyes so he would tell her. And he told her, 3 rigsdalers. She then turned to Franz, an adult look on her face, “3, we could eat for five days for 3, we shouldn’t waste it on such trivial and false things. Do you really believe that someone can read your future? It just seems impossible Franz, there’s no way.”
“Lets get the money. Let’s see our fortune.” Franz replied.
“Is that really what you want?”
“Yes.”
And so it was, the two set off, turned towards the intersection near them. Straight ahead was the forge, where hard labor was required and strength was of the asset. To the right of them a gun store, where they could earn their rigsdalers in the repairing of guns, which required coordination and a steady hand. And to the left was the small school, where the two could teach young children basic skills and learning, there intelligence and analytical abilities mattered. Which direction is Franz to go?
Nice short chapter
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| Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 7:08 am Post subject: Re: From the burning embers |
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| Reasoner wrote: | | Introduction (Note: I got tripped up on thou and thy, so if someone could point out the proper ways to use those in a sentence, I would be greatful of thee.) |
Euh...thy is the possessive, like mine or yours. I don't know the difference between thee and thou...always remember that thou is the familiar and singular form of you, ie. when you're talking to a friend. You is for groups of people and important people.
Think that's right.
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The White Blacksmith
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| Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 7:11 am Post subject: |
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Ok. Time for some serious second-person-singular lessons.
'Thou' is just the nominative, so if we would say 'You are good writers' we would say 'Thou art a good writer'. 'Thy' is the genitive, but if it is followed by a vowel use 'thine' (as it 'thine own name'). 'Thee' is the accusative and the dative as well, I think. If anyone else thinks differently, please say.
Other than that it's coming along nicely. Reminds me a little of Fable 2's opening, but it's fine. I say they teach at the school. It's a skilled job, any passersby will see their intelligence and they would be able to get contacts among the children and their parents, useful whatever they want to do.
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| Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 11:16 pm Post subject: |
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Neat. I did think a little about fable 2, but mostly the first part remeinded me of some recent political situations : )
Picked the school. They're more likely to make friends there.
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| Posted: Thu Jun 11, 2009 9:18 pm Post subject: Chapter 2 It's just a package! |
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“I’ll head to the gun store, I want to see the new models anyway.” Franz had always been interested in guns, though he wouldn’t of minded going to look after the little kids at the schoolhouse. He had a particular interest in challenging himself, and almost always he won, be it luck or skill. He disliked manual labor though, strength was not needed when you could use a ranged weapon or trick your opponent, preferably with guns.
“I could guess you’d go there, you always hang around that shop in your free time so I suppose that is what you like. I’ll head down to the school, little kids are just too cute, I’d enjoy myself more down yonder.” She glanced at the clock tower, towering higher than the rest of the buildings in Torshavn so all could see. The shingles of the roof were an aqua green colour that stood out among the higher buildings that didn’t quite reach its height but were near it. The tower itself was of gothic architecture. Wide, arching doorways and ceilings, the roof coming to a point at the top and the support pillars built in the corners of the walls so it looked as if it was part of the wall. “We’ll meet back at this intersection ‘bout an hour ‘fore high noon.”
“That sounds good, take care of yourself Arvada.” As Franz turned away from her to head down the lane of the intersection towards the gun store, he couldn’t help to notice Arvada blushing after he said to take care of herself. Strange, he thought, I wonder why she was blushing like that. He was brought back from his thoughts by the random bump of a stranger.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” A blond haired blue eyed stranger wearing a large overcoat looked down at Franz, “I’m sort of in a hurry and I’m trying to be in a few places at once.” He must’ve been in his late 30’s early 40’s, but still fit and in shape. “Where are you headed any way? A boy your age should be going the other way towards the school.”
“Oh no sir, I’m going to the gun store to help there and earn some money for my,” he paused a second, thinking that telling an adult that he wanted to see his fortune was silly and childish, “food this week, I need to eat every few days to stay alive.” The older man’s eyes suddenly softened in sympathy for the boy, he understood his situation too well.
“Well, could you give this package to the gunsmith, it is of the most urgent importance, I’m sure he’ll give you a few rigsdalers for the delivery.” From beneath the mans overcoat he conjured a package about half a meter across not nearly as wide, wrapped and locked with a seal that seemed to crackle the air around it. A red glow of energy seemed to emanate from it into the air. Franz was filled with dread just thinking about opening the package. “Careful not to open that boy, bad things will happen if you try, and make sure you get that to the gunsmith quickly, because I’ll know if you do deliver it and when. Now make haste, your wasting your and my time standing there gawking boy.” With that said the strange man turned and went off in his own direction, whatever responsibility he had calling him.
Franz started off again at just faster than his starting place, he really didn’t care what was in the package at that time. He was just thinking about the rigsdalers he would get for such an easy task instead of the consequences for his actions, who would think of that for such a mediocre seeming thing though, no one. But as he neared the gun store, the package seemed to glow increasingly bright, and a power seemed to come alive in it. He held it closer to himself, not wanting people to see the package, he wanted it for himself. It beckoned him, called out to him, like it wanted him to keep it. Then he walked into the gun store.
A man, dressed in dark and a hood covering his eyes was waiting at the door. His voice came out rough and hoarse, like rocks scraping against sandpaper. “Give me the package you rat and you won’t be killed. If not I will take your head and shove up the gun smith’s ass, then I’ll behead you and leave you in there for the gun smith to enjoy.” A cynical smile flashed across his face, but his eyes were full of malice and hatred.
“No, give the package to me you fool!” The gun smith burst through the closet door, a flintlock pistol pointed at the obviously evil man. The man was too fast though, he already had his pistol pointed right back at the smith, and he didn’t even have to glance to see where he was aiming, he just aimed straight at him.
“I’m going to repeat myself, give me the package.” He pulled out another pistol and aimed it a Franz, forcing him into a decision. Break for it, give the package to the bad man, or try to get the package to the smith. Those are your options, choose wisely.
sorry about the short chapter, just not a lot of time, and a word of advice... every small decision, almost every at least, has a monumental consequence. Maybe you'll start to see them later in the story if you pay attention real well.
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| Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2009 10:34 am Post subject: |
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Well, I voted for running, but I think he should only run until he's sure he's lost the hooded fellow. The gunsmith will stay in the shop, but the hooded fellow will probably try to follow Franz. Since I get the impression he knows this part of the city well, it should be easy to escape. Then he can go and deliver the package.
Also, at one point I noticed that you said "would of". "Would have", please, or at least "would've".
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| Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 8:07 am Post subject: Chapter 3 |
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Franz glanced at the man, then the blacksmith, and then he took a quick glance at the door with confused eyes. He took a small step towards the door.
“Don’t even think about running you little shit. We’ve got you trapped here.” The man said calmly, almost a scary calm, as another darkly dressed man stepped in front of the door way. He was a big man, arms like tree trunks and a chest hard as steel, but that didn’t deter Franz. Franz ran straight for him, kicking the large man hard in the crotch. Well the man was bent over double from pain and puking Franz hurtled over him into the streets with the package in his hands. The large man, furious for his failure, gave chase, following Franz’s every turn.
Looking back over his shoulder, Franz saw the man, and could he run fast for a guy with such a large build. The ground between them began to shrink as the man gained on Franz. A shout from the blacksmith’s shop rang out into the city, “Catch that boy! He stole that package from me and ran! Stop him somebody! GUARDS, STOP HIM!”
Franz ran and ran as fast as he could, but he could not lose that large man, plus there were guards chasing after him too. He cursed at himself, why did he take the package from that old man. He ran past the town center, he ran through the garden that he found Arvada in that morning, and ran past that. He got to a precipice that overlooked the part of the city near the ocean that lay between here and the next part of the isles which you could see clearly in the distance.
“You’ve got no where to go now you thief!” A guard shouted in triumph. Franz glanced over the edge of the cliff with scared eyes, “No where but down, and you wouldn’t give up your life, would you?” The guard stared at him accusingly.
Franz took one last glance at the people surrounding him, guards with mean and cruel faces. He realized something, his city was corrupt, and he was going to change it, he wasn’t going to die right here. He wasn’t going to get jailed so he didn’t have a chance. He turned towards the cliff edge and jumped. The ground rushed towards him for only a second before he closed his eyes. There was no scream, no cry of fear, just a feeling that everything was going to be alright.
A guard ran over and peeked over the edge and let out a gasp of surprise. There was no body where there should have been a body. Were the boy should of laid dead there was only grass. “Where,” the guard said completely dumbfounded, “where did he go?”
Franz was running along a small ledge, about 6 inches wide. Luckily in the cliff face there was a crevice where he hid out of view from the precipice he just jumped from. He ran on shaking legs and his face was a pale white, but he managed to keep his wits about him. This cliff ran all the way to the ocean, so he kept running along it until he reached the ocean.
______________________________________________________
The ebbing tide crashed against the broken cliff side, rocks jutted from the sea, smooth but still coming to a rounded point. White foam shined as it was it by the sun whilst the whole sea sparkled, it was a beautiful noon.
“Shit! It is noon; I forgot to meet up with Arvada.” With that, Franz started scaling down the cliff frantically. He moved his leg before he got full grip with his left hand on a ledge and it slipped. He let out a small cry in surprise as he began to fall from 30 feet up, trying uselessly to grab at anything he could. With a loud thud he landed in a wagon full of hay.
“By the grace of god are you alright?” A boy’s voice called as Franz lifted his head from the hay. The boy speaking to him had dark read hair, a fairly strong build, and very intelligent green eyes that reminded Franz of a hawk. He was about as tell as Franz, maybe a few inches taller, and wore worn down peasant’s clothes, which were better than his own torn garments.
“Yeah, I’m fine, just a little,” Franz paused as he collected himself, “unsettled, that’s all.” Franz hopped out of the cart and wiped any hay clinging to him off. The boy stuck his hand out in front of Franz and proclaimed, “I am René De Arc the III, and you are?”
Franz reached out and grasped the boy’s hand and replied, “I’m Franz, and your name sounds French, is it not?” René grinned and nodded, pleased with his new friend being so intelligent.
“You don’t seem like your from a well off family, how are you so well schooled?” He looked at Franz with burning curious eyes, waiting for his question to be answered.
Franz patted his jacket and his face went pale again, he turned and started digging through the hay in the cart in a hap-hazard panic, there was no order in how he searched. He stuck his arms triumphantly in the air, the package in his hand. “There’s no time to explain, I’ve got to run, and I’m already late enough.”
“Wait, can I come with you, I’ve had nothing to do lately and I still have ‘till 3 before I have to be home. Please.” He looked at Franz with pleading eyes.
“Yeah, sure, just keep up.” With that, Franz took off running towards….
Does he run towards Arvada or towards the Gunsmith, or does he swim across the ocean to another city where he isn’t known?
Sorry for the lateness, only about 2 weeks late though. I just couldn't write for a long enough period of time to get anything done.
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| Posted: Wed Mar 03, 2010 7:13 pm Post subject: Ch. 4 (Finally) |
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Franz took off towards Arvada, keeping a good pace so Rene could keep up. Surprisingly this strange friend was fairly fit, and kept up very well. Franz decided to pick up the tempo and see if Rene could pull off a faster speed. Quicker they went, then Franz flat out yelled, "Race ya to the clock tower!" and started sprinting, Rene sprinting right behind him. Rene reached the clock tower just fractionally before Franz, reaching his hand out and touching stone. Enlightenment and victory flowed through the essence of him, and he cheered with bouts of happiness. Then both boys were laughing.
Suddenly Franz was face up on the ground, Rene on top of him. The ringing sound of a musket firing hung in the air. The crowded center of the slums was silent. A hole shattered the concrete that Franz was standing in from barely moments ago. "Rene, you saved my life!" He had pieced it together.
"No time for gratitude or explanation just listen to me." His voice was much more serious than what it had previously sounded like. "Unwrap the package, your the rightful owner of the pistol. Kill the man with the musket." Franz gaped there almost glassy eyed, unable to follow what was happening. For some reason logic still functioned. "Don't worry about ammo it's already loaded." Franz was just about to ask about that.
Everything went slowly. Franz was in a sense of elation, a high of his own will. The confused crowd was a blur to him, just waving motions as they all ran away. The only thing he could focus on was the shooter, 57 meters away. It was the same guy that was chasing him earlier. The wind was blowing 5 kilometers an hour south south west. His hand moved with a mind of their own, creeping on the strings of the package like a wolf stalks upon his pray. In one fluid motion the flintlock pistol concealed inside the package was in his hands aimed at his enemy. The pistol was a neutral metallic gray metal, designs were engraved into the metal, each side was embroidered by a silver lining and the handle came down into the shape of a three pronged crown, the middle prong tipped with a small round metal sphere and had its own designs. The two outside prongs curved inward towards the middle one, almost spiraling but not quite. The hammer was shaped like the head of a wolf, teeth barred in a snarl. The barrel was a glossy black, two rings of silver lining where at the end of the barrel, one at the edge the other about and inch from the first. Etched on the side of the barrel were two words. Forlorn Hope.
Franz took the shot. The bullet whizzed through the air, piercing through the left side of the gunman's temple and exiting out the back of his skull.
"Nice shot! But do you think you could help me out a bit?" Rene was busy sword fighting with what seemed to be another henchman. There were already two bodies laying motionless in a pool of blood on the ground. Franz ran over and picked up one of the sword from one of the dead men. He then tackled the unprepared man to the ground and stabbed him in rage. Blood splattered all over his patched shirt.
"You snotty kids never know when you can't win do you?" Both Rene and Franz turned towards the voice to find two pistols aimed at them. It was the hooded man from the gunsmith's shop. "Now it's time to die."
"WAIT!" Franz shouted before the trigger was pulled. "I challenge you to a duel."
At this the man laughed cynically. "Boy I'm the best gunman around, you don't stand to have an inkling of a chance."
"Second best." was Franz's reply as he shot daggers at the man with glacier blue eyes. "Ten steps then we shoot."
The man turned around as did Franz, so they were back to back. Rene said go and counted out the steps. "One... Two... Three..."
The palms of Franz's hands were already sweaty, his legs felt like lead. He had no idea what he was getting in to, he had no idea of the skill of the gunman he was up against. "Four... Five... Six..." A bead of sweat dropped down Franz's forehead. Looming behind him was fear, terror, torture, pain. In four more steps he would have to turn and face it. He forced himself to take the next step. "Seven..." He was getting nervous now. What if the gunman shot before ten? He shook such minuscule ideas from his head. "Eight..." There was no way he would win, but what did he have to lose. Family? No. Possessions? No. Arvada? Suddenly his tensity was forgotten. Suddenly his head was filled with I will win, I will win, I will win. "Nine..." I will win. His past came back to him. The struggles on the streets, the pain he was now dull to. He had always felt there was something monumental he would do with his life. Was it fate, or was it destiny? Whatever awaited him it was his to decide. "Ten..." There was a quick one two from both contestants to turn around and face each other. Both of them bringing their gun up simultaneously. The only difference was one pulled the trigger faster, one was so sure of there aim they didn't bother taking a half a second longer to make sure of themselves. It was at this moment the other turned to the side and fired, perfectly aimed, hitting, piercing, crippling the heart. The unknown gunman fell to his knees, bleeding profusely from his chest.
"I missed." He lay motionless. He lay on the cobblestone streets he sought after to control. Laying in a pool of his own blood, no different from the many people he had slaughtered out of evil intent, selfish desires, and strives for power.
"You did it!" Arvada ran straight up to him and wrapped her arms around in a huge hug. She let go of her embrace on him and smiled the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Her face was lit with natural beauty, her eyes twinkled with a new shine, she was truly happy. "You saved me!" Then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Her smile turned to a desperate line, she pushed Franz out of the way then stepped in front of him. There was a gunshot and the whole world stopped. Arvada was suddenly on the ground bleeding, dying. Franz was losing the only person he ever loved.
"You bastard!" He pulled out his own pistol and pulled the trigger at the gunman he thought he had killed. Funny though, he didn't remember ever reloading. He felt like his soul was poured into his shot. Instead of a bullet a red condensed sphere of energy shot out of the barrel. It tore the man laying on the ground in half, obliterated his midsection. Without a moments loss Franz was kneeling, holding Arvada's hand. "You saved me."
"Looks... like we're... even." Arvada coughed out, her words mixing with blood which trickled down the corner of her mouth.
"Don't talk." Franz had streaks of tears running down his face, anguish was all he felt. "Why did you save me?"
"Because..." She had a long coughing fit, spitting up blood. "I... Love... You..." Franz racked with sobs as her grip on his hand slowly fell away and she was no longer breathing. Rene put his arm around him and helped him up.
"You have a choice now, come with me and train as an assassin. You have the most extraordinary instinct to survive, and you have nothing else left here." Rene held out his hand for Franz to grab.
Does he grab his hand? Or does he leave and if so to where?
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Mon Mar 08, 2010 2:45 am Post subject: |
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Hey there Reasoner. Good to see that you are continuing this after such a long break, and I'm surprised I missed this SG before.
Your initial concern about the 'thee and thou' thing I don't really think you need to worry. In fact, you could get away without using the archaic form completely, for two reasons - first this is Copenhagen, and likely that their language would have been Danish (translated to English) and secondly, the date you give is 1849. Excessive use of thee and thou might have sounded archaic among the nobility even in those times - certainly in England during the 19th and 20th centuries it was more commonly used in rural areas.
So basically you have a lot more flexibility to write it whichever way you wish - don't worry about it! 
To the DP - I think after watching his friend die, his gut reaction will be to go with Rene. He will want to do something, and in the absence of any prior plans, going to train might be the thing to do.
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Reasoner
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| Posted: Mon Mar 08, 2010 5:37 pm Post subject: |
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Hey Crunchy, Thank you for the bit of history I must of missed that on wikipedia haha... or there's just not that much info on wikipedia... can I ask you how on earth you knew all of that? and I'm glad someone started reading it again at Ch. 4... I do plan on writing biweekly hopefully, and the next chapter I'll take more time on...
Thanks
Reasoner
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Depression is a state of mind where help just makes it worse. I'm depressed, so @#$% off.
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Tue Mar 09, 2010 8:24 am Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | can I ask you how on earth you knew all of that? |
Actually I did a fair amount of research for my SG the Magician's Touch which is based on London in the 1870's - 1880's - so it's not that far removed from the time-period you're writing in.
Most of it came from some expert Googling, reading a few Sherlock Holmes mysteries, and catching the occasional historical documentary on TV. 
Looking forward to seeing how this one develops.
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| Posted: Tue Mar 16, 2010 3:04 pm Post subject: |
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I apologize now for the extremely long chapter, but I actually found time to write and revise and make it gleam to its fullest. Also I couldn't get a good decision point before that moment, so it pretty much has to be this long. I apologize again.
Rhys could see the dew situated on the grass, candid and unaffected by the slight breeze. The trees rustled in the wind as new buds were forming on their russet crooked limbs. Hues of red, pick, white, and blue were all throughout the meadow and the surrounding woods. Maple fragrance could be smelt, alluring one into the woods. Nature was evolving into its most elegant state of sight, touch, sound, and smell. It was turning into something new, something picturesque. The sky was a pure blue, blue beyond the normal comprehension of it. Like an azure ocean ebbing in the sky, the white clouds its foam. Insects chirped a cacophony of a somehow astounding quality. Not a single abhorrent thought could be drawn from this scenic landscape. The woods glistened with life. The earth seemed to turn slowly. Everything was full of peace. Tranquility. Serenity.
Rhys sighed, mellowed out in nature’s ease and marvelous simplicity. His back leaned against the rough but sturdy bark of an old oak, scarred with its own stories, as he rested in the forking center branches. The breeze swept his thick, black, unkempt hair across a delicate, handsome face in which many found striking and attractive. Less was his thought of himself, he never saw any superiority he had over other people. His most attracting feature was his silver eyes, which members of the opposite sex seemed to fancy loosing themselves in. They were sophisticated, clever looking, with a great depth to them. Within that intensity was a great deal of veiled, cryptic pain. They spoke of loss, fraudulent hope, wounds that could not be healed, only sheltered and hopefully forgotten. A scar ran, slightly diagonal, down from the right side of his forehead, onto his eye, and down his cheek. The doctors had said they could mend the scarring to his iris, but he refused, he was too proud of his history and what that history had left to let his flesh not be the authentic book of its chronicles. Instead, he let anyone read his legacy openly if they so desired to observe his body close enough. Many girls have.
The sun was high in the azure ocean sky, it was well past noon. He couldn’t go back to where he lived just yet though, so instead he waited for the sunset. He thought of her as the sun began to go down. How stunning she was and everything she meant to him. That girl didn’t know how he felt about her of course. How he would give up anything for her just to see her smile. He thought about that. He thought about her smiling. To that thought he fell asleep before sunset. And he dreamt about her.
Rhys awoke with a yawn and a stretch, almost falling out of his resting place in the tree. He was pleased no one was there to witness him stumble though, but still felt like an idiot. What if she saw him stagger, that would be embarrassing, he thought. The sky was pitch black except for the luminescent stars all hanging in the sky like specks of snow frozen in time. The moon sat solitary and forlorn, and the night darkened as a passing cloud shadowed it. Shit! I was supposed to be back before sun down.
Hopping out of the tree haphazardly and falling fifteen, Rhys took off at a sprint for what he called home which was only about half a mile from where he had slept. It felt pleasant to just run, to feel the sodden dirt underneath his feet. He ran along a well worn, well known to him path. Pine trees and deciduous trees lined the trail on his right, open meadow on his left. A brook ran along the path that he effortlessly cleared with a leap. Crisp night air caressed his face coolly and it felt so satisfying to have his hair whip around behind his head. He felt liberated, empowered, and most of all happy. He was happy to just run in the dead of night with no pressure, no stress, and no expectations.
A very large house, an orphanage actually, could be seen on the horizon, and the run ended too soon for his taste, but he had to get inside and to bed for school the next morning. Running down the steep hill directly behind his house and bounding up the steps that led to his back porch. After crossing the distance from the stairs to the door in quick silence, he edged open the door with great concern and slipped noiselessly inside.
Taking his shoes off to one side of the door and placing them next to the other pairs of shoes, he then walked through the small entrance walkway into a more open hallway. To his right was the kitchen, very spacious despite there being an island in the center, two refrigerators, and a table large enough for six. A large arching window directly in front of you as you walk into the kitchen let plenty of natural light in during the day, along with windows to the walls on both the left and right of that. In front of him was the dining room, a large ten seating table occupied most of the space of the dark hardwood floor. Directly in front of you when you walk in were to rectangular windows on the wall, and to both your flanks was a cabinet full of whatever found its way into them. A small balcony overlooked the main entrance on the left front side of the dining room. On the other side of the left wall of the dining room was adjacent stairs that led down to the main entrance landing. A whole other floor was down there, as well as a three car garage. To the left the hallway continued for a few rooms, in order from closest to farthest room: Office room, bathroom, laundry room, and then master bedroom. The master bedroom housed its own bathroom and two walk in closets. To the immediate right of the hallway was a stair case that led to the top floor, so three floors in all, and to the right of that was a living room. The living room was another very spacious and open room. Connected with glass double doors to the living room was a smaller room that had a billiards table in it and connected to that was a few bedrooms that were fairly small and sparse. The billiards room took more space.
Rhys took the staircase to the upstairs that was on his right and walked up it as ninja-like as he could. But to no avail, for his caretaker saw him from the living room couch trying to cross the open space to the staircase.
“Rhys! What were you doing out so late?” Her tone was on of an expected answer and used to immediate obedience. She was in her late 40’s but still looked fairly young. In her prime she worked as a model. His caretaker was always dogging him about how he only weighed 115 pounds, but he ate when he was hungry and only until he was full, he never ate more than what he needed.
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep while I was relaxing in a tree. Hah, hah… I’m sorry.” Rhys scratched the back of his head and smiled apologetically to his mother, “won’t happen again, I’ll make sure of it.”
“It’s late, just go to bed Rhys.” Whispering to herself almost soundlessly, Rhys over heard her say, “I swear that boy gets stupider every day.”
Slowly, he walked up the stairs. There goes by another boring day. At the top of the stairs, he took a 180 left and walked down the hall, past another room to hang out in, a bathroom, and another few bedrooms, and then to his bedroom, all the way on the end. Rhys’ room, of course, was the smallest out of the whole orphanage.
Not even bothering to turn the light on, he shuffled quietly into his room, bathed in darkness. He collapsed dramatically onto his bed and, without even getting under the covers fell asleep thinking about her smile, her laugh, and the way she made him feel.
______________________________________________________
Rhys woke up to five chimes of the clock tower signifying that it was five in the morning. This was when he woke up everyday because he liked being the only one awake in the morning. He didn’t have to linger to shower and his water was always warm enough to manage. He also cherished eating in the quiet that he was entitled to when he ate alone, any other time and it was forever so vociferous. Rhys was a silent boy himself, preferring seclusion over anyone’s companionship. He kept to himself, dealing with his tribulations his own ways, the scars on his wrist were testimony of that, but they all had their own tale and he was self-righteous of those as well as his other ones.
Often while he ate unaccompanied he thought about existence, about his past, sometimes even about his future. Thinking of his outlook usually left him in tears, so he shied away from thinking about that. More than less, he thought about her. Today was an exceptional day too. He would get to see her, if everything went accordingly, at the evening festival celebrating the prince’s birthday. Even a glimpse was enough to please his heart and his mind. And just a glimpse would additionally amplify his desires further. He was sixteen so he definitely had desires, desires an absolutely striking girl like she could accomplish with no difficulty.
Rhys finished his tasteless oatmeal then went around back and fitted on his shoes, tying them taut. He opened the backdoor and let the crisp, clean morning air fill his lungs, then started running. Every morning, before the sun rose completely, he took a three mile run. It started at the back porch, went around the hilly meadows, past his favorite tree, through the woods, and then looped around back to the porch.
He arrived back just as the other early morning risers were waking. Slipping through the back door he went to his room and prepared for school. Luckily, he was paired with another early morning riser, who was now taking a shower. His school uniform consisted of a light long sleeve shirt tucked into light leather pants and those tucked into combat boots. The rest of his uniform was at school, hanging silently in the barracks.
He exited the orphanage through the front door and trudged along the old cracking sidewalk to the main street. Walking along the main street he headed west towards the school by the side of the rode. People walked passed him on the sidewalk, horses went by on the streets, and shops were walked past one by one on either side of him. Soon enough he was at the highly decorated double gated entrance of the assassin academy, a silver A with gold embroidery was welded onto the left gate, and an identical A was welded onto the right. Even though it was an extremely large building with a bigger courtyard, the trainees only ever used the barracks, a single classroom, and a portion of the courtyard to train. It was a mystery what went on in the other segments of the building, one Rhys would some day figure out. Not today though, there was fighting to reflect on.
Rhys entered through the gates and went straight though the courtyard made of plain dirt to the barracks. He decided not to put any armor on for the tournament today, preferring to fight nimble and sprightly. He also decided to sport a rapier –a long, slender, in Rhys eyes sexy, sword used for mainly piercing ones armor or flesh. Usually they had a hand guard protruding from the hilt for protection. It only took one pound of pressure to penetrate through someone’s body- a sheathed short sword, and a hidden dagger. Just for fear that something went wrong, he would be equipped.
Walking into the courtyard where other trainees prepared to fight, some dueling with a friend, other’s entertaining a group of colleagues, he realized he had no one to be with. He had no friend’s here. Proving his beliefs, a rich noble trainee walked past him and spit on his boots, mumbling something about orphans underneath his breath just loud enough for Rhys to hear. He quelled his temper, holding it back for the duels. He was the lone single orphan ever to be entered into the academy. He showed prowess with a weapon when a quarrel with a trained soldier got unsightly and a recruiter just happened to be walking by. After wounding the soldier without any training of himself, he was accepted immediately. Quite an odd occurrence of proceedings got him to the academy.
Finally, the arms-master, Santiago, entered the courtyard, strolling into the center of the fighting ring, which was only about twenty feet in diameter and drawn on the ground with white chalk in the dirt. He stood tall and proud, with his shoulders back and his stance defiant, waiting for the kids to shut up and be hushed before he spoke, he was a strong man too. After a few seconds there was respectful silence. He cleared his throat and began to speak, “First round starts at 6h30. First two duelers are Rhys and Tristan. Here are the rules: First to bleed is the loser and if you step out of the ring you are disqualified. That is all.” With that short speech he walked to the side of the circle and stood there patiently, waiting for when the battle started. Rhys looked at the clock tower, over half a mile away it normally couldn’t be read, but Rhys found he was far from normal and could read it perfectly. It read 6h27. Santiago really didn’t give them any time to prepare.
Rhys stepped into the ring, “If you don’t mind sir, with Tristan’s approval, could we just start now?” Santiago laughed heartedly and gave the go ahead. Rhys turned towards his opponent, which was a noble named Tristan, and observed every infinitesimal detail. Tristan’s stance, how tight he gripped his weapon, a long sword, and the gaze in his eye. His eyes told Rhys he was terrified, because everyone knew that Rhys was one of the most unsurpassed fighters out there. Rhys took advantage of his opponents trepidation by looking him right in his eyes and whispering, barely audibly, “I’m going to make you bleed,” and smiled as sadistically as possible. It worked because Tristan switched from and aggressive stance to a defensive stance almost instantaneously, allowing Rhys to attack without much hazard.
Rhys took a huge lunge, closing the ten feet between him and Tristan in two steps and a leap, and attacked with a flurry of thrusts, stabs, feints, and moves. Tristan had so much dilemma parrying Rhys’ speed and maneuverability that he lost his footing and almost landed on his own sword. Before he even had time to say ouch, my ass, the tip of Rhys’ rapier was poking at his neck, just breaking skin and causing a drop of blood to develop where it pierced. He had won in barely twenty seconds.
No one cheered though. Nobles didn’t like it when one of their best was just beaten and humiliated in one of the most awful ways. Though Rhys sincerely didn’t mean to make him fall, he just wanted to get it over with. He fought through the crowd of his peers towards the barracks. He wasn’t even going to inconvenience himself by watching the rest of round one. He pretty much knew everyone who would be advancing and who wouldn’t. There was no point to watch. Everyone wanted to advance despite the fact that they were opposing their friends. This competition determined who would be selected to train as an elite assassin, or as a normal assassin, and if you’re the winner you could be selected to be the king's personal assassin/guardian, the reason being the previous one had died due to natural causes, cancer they deduce. This was the most significant competition for the senior trainees, and this was Rhys’ chance to prove he was superior to everyone. It was his chance to demonstrate that it didn’t take a noble to be accomplished with a sword, only someone with heart and practice.
Soon, trainees began to fill the barracks, getting water and taking a break on a twenty minute intermission. Rhys got off the bench he was sitting on and entered the courtyard once again, this time only he and Santiago were there, everyone else was in the barracks. He performed exercise after exercise to warm himself up, trying to attack more rapidly each time. He never thought he was skilled enough; he would never be talented enough. After accomplishing six five minute exercises in less than twenty minutes, Rhys still wasn’t content with his speed or with himself. He never was satisfied anymore.
The second round began with two more nobles fighting, each trying their best to be crowned champion. One guy’s arm was almost chopped off, but he would be okay. It seemed that the infirmary in the academy was the best around. Rhys was the only one to believe it was magic, and when he asked someone if they thought it was magic they just laughed at him and walked away. But there was no way some of these wounds, the nobles arm as exhibit A, could be healed permanently like they were at the infirmary. They were somehow though, and anyone in the infirmary is put to sleep whilst being operated on so they have not a clue as to what happens.
Next round, more hopefuls entered the fighting circle, one left unscathed the other left bleeding. This went on for awhile until it was Rhys turn and he entered the combat arena confidently, ready to take on whoever got in his way. The poor unlucky bastard’s name was Finnegan, obviously he was Irish. He readied his dual axes confidently, despite Rhys victory over Tristan in a matter of seconds. Rhys walked over to the edge of the arena and gently put the rapier down, opting instead to use his short sword. He unsheathed it with that precious sound you get when you unsheathe a sword swiftly and beamed.
“You may begin.” uttered Santiago from the sidelines. Rhys held his short sword reverse style, so the hilt of the blade was below his pinky and the blade stretched out behind him. He had his hand calmly on his hidden dagger, hoping to make this fight just as quick as the last fight he part took in.
Finnegan charge Rhys, going all out in quick, but fairly sloppy, swings. Rhys could easily sidestep and parry both axes with his short sword, and could just as easily win using just his short sword and not his hidden dagger. He decided on not using his deceitful hidden blade deception in this battle, it would be an irresponsible surprise that way. Instead, parrying an especially sloppy attack to the side he feigned the counter-attack, and then spun around his enemy. Finnegan barely parried his blade from cutting through his side, and Rhys continued to pressure him. With each attack, Finnegan’s reaction got closer and closer to not making it. When one ax was knocked from Finnegan’s hand, Rhys threw his short sword, effectively knocking the other ax from Finnegan’s clutch. Rhys descended upon his opponent, who was unarmed while Rhys still had his concealed dagger. Rhys refused to attack though, not daring to hurt an unarmed fighter. He did have honorability after all. Finnegan had heart though, and began to fight him with his bare fists. Rhys dodged and weaved, ducked and rolled, successfully not getting hit once. He was being backed into the corner of the ring however, but as the lady of luck would have it, he could see the glint of his rapier in the sunlight behind him. Rhys smiled, rolled backwards over his rapier and had the weapon in his hand as he rose. Holding it straight out towards Finnegan. Finnegan’s eyes widened with terror.
“Relax, Finnegan, I dare not hurt an unarmed soul. I do suggest you resign any further attempt to fight, because I will defend myself if threatened.” Rhys, an air of calm and not even sweating, looked nonchalantly at Finnegan as he raised his right hand and relinquished himself from the fight.
Rhys walked out of the circle in a crowd of silence, all of them still trying to figure out how Rhys suddenly got a rapier and if it was all premeditated. Of course it wasn’t, but Rhys let uncertainty come to their minds by saying just clearly enough so those around him that he was walking through could heed, “Just like I planned.” Whispers ran through the crowd surrounding him as they heard what he said, seemingly to himself, to others. They were still discussing it fervently as he entered the barracks and sat in the same spot on the bench. Leaning his head back, he put his feet up for a moment.
Approximately thirty minutes later, a single noble walked into the barracks even though the echoes of fighting could be heard in the background. Rhys looked up from where he was resting, hardly taking notice of the man. The noble walked up to him, throttled him by the neck, lifted him off of his resting spot and slammed him up against a nearby wall, choking him.
“What do you think you’re doing out there!” the question was evidently rhetorical as the violent noble didn’t give any chance for a rebuttal. “You humiliated two of my friends out there, and you have embarrassed me enough. I can’t believe you were ever my friend.” His face was flushed red with anger, and his eyes had the look of uncontrolled hate inside them. Rhys almost giggled with acknowledgment of who was at this instant endeavoring to murder him.
Through his closed throat, Rhys managed to say, “So, I see you still haven’t relaxed, Rene. It’s as if things weren’t hot enough between your sister and me that one night.” At that comment Rene tightened his wrap around Rhys’ throat like an iron binding. Rene and Rhys once were close friends, Rene was actually the reason Rhys was in the assassin academy. One night though, there was a midnight party at Rene’s house while his parents were away. Rhys managed to unwittingly woe Rene’s sister, not knowing it was his sister, and take her to her room, not knowing it was her room. Rhys did admit that his sister was a looker and was of the same age as him, and she had blossomed quit fully. As if having sex with one of his best friend’s sister at the mentioned friend’s house wasn’t bad enough, Rene happened to walk in on them, to check on his sister at that exact moment as contrary to any logic as that sounds, as they were just finishing. After Rene froze for a moment in abrupt surprise, Rhys began to see the small resemblance he and his sister had. Rene almost decapitated Rhys on the spot with a sword he had just purchased to give to Rhys, but luckily Rhys wasn’t only quick with his tongue, he was also quick on his feet and at ducking, and good at landing when jumping from a second story window. Rene still hasn’t forgiven him, seeing as though it was just a few nights ago, and Rhys doubted he ever would. It was a fairly nice sword Rene had bought for Rhys that he would never get as well.
Rene’s voice got really hush, the room was silent, “If you beat me, if you win, I will make it my mission to kill you from this day henceforth. Your life has been shortened. But if you let me win, I’ll spare you.” Rhys remained silent, not knowing what to say. This outraged Rene even more, “I cannot wait to run my blade straight through your damn dirty orphan heart Franz.” Franz had changed his name to Rhys, hoping to forget seeing his only true family, that pretty girl that he had once loved, murdered. With Rene saying his real name pain rose to the top of his mind. Then Rene pulled a dagger out and put it up close to Rhys gut, Rhys just stared straight back, an air of calm about him. Then he burst out laughing in an expression of his amusement. “What’s so funny?
As other people were walking in from the matches being over, Rhys composedly stated, hiding his true pain of those awful memories, “I can’t wait to run my blade through your sister again.” Rene stared at Rhys with a gaping mouth, almost disturbed that someone could make a joke with such ease when there was a knife to their stomach. Then he dropped the dagger and turned and walked out into the courtyard, completely silent, leaving Rhys to rub his now sore throat. As people walked around him, not bothering to care if something happened to him or not, Rhys bent down and picked up the dagger, placing it within a space on his belt. This kind of behavior from Rene would not be tolerated. Rhys was going to make sure of that.
Rhys looked around for his rapier, finding that it had vanished. Frantically he began searching all over the place; it was the only suitable rapier that the academy had. After not finding it, he decided on grabbing a finely crafted long sword that was hanging on the wall as it was sturdy and had nice balance. He wasn’t nearly as good with a long sword as his rapier, but he was being forced to use it. He sat and waited the next twenty minutes, then exited the barracks into the courtyard.
“First up,” Santiago began as everyone was making it to the courtyard, “Rhys versus Nari.” Rhys cursed his fortune, why was he always so close to first or first up? He stepped into the fighting ring and drew his blade, holding it expertly in loose hands, which tightened almost immediately as he saw who exactly Nari was. He was average height, skinny like Rhys, but more peculiarly he was smiling, and laughing, and joking with his friends who were on the sideline. Rhys saw this same kid during his practice, and he was good. Well, better than good, he was excellent. Most discouragingly of all though, was the fact that he was holding the rapier that Rhys had used the previous two rounds. He must have found it lying in the barracks where Rhys had left it when Gillian had him pinned against the wall and taken it. As Santiago signaled the start of the match, Nari threw the rapier out of the ring so it could not be used by Rhys. Rhys was distressed to find such underhanded tactics being used in what should be an honorable competition, but naught could be done about it now. The match had begun.
Nari unsheathed his own long sword, which was what he was most adept with, and Rhys knew he couldn’t win like this. He was sure no one else believed he could win like this either, no one ever cheered for him. No one had ever loved him. He shook such thoughts from his mind and focused on the battle ahead of him, which would test everything he knew. Nari exhausted no time in trying to pressure Rhys to make a slip-up, but Rhys wasn’t brainless and stuck to the essentials. He focused on maintaining the right form, posture, and parries. He didn’t sidestep and he didn’t put himself in peril with anything for Nari was the better swordsman. Nari was proving that now as he was quickly breaking down even Rhys fundamental work. If only he could see the world at a slower pace so he could react more rapidly.
Rhys couldn’t clarify the actions that took place even after just experiencing them, but he knew they took place. For him, time began to slow down, and his pupils became tiny vertical slits in his eyes. He suddenly felt stronger, faster, and somehow empowered. He parried an attack downwards with new effortlessness, then fully jumped over Nari, diving head first. He rolled off his shoulder onto his feet behind Nari, and as Nari was turning around, slowed by the effect that Rhys was having, Rhys sliced him across the back without difficulty of any sort. The crowd stood in a shocked surprise, for what they had witnessed was completely unorthodox, and never taught to anyone.
Time returned to normal speed, everything returned to normality. Rhys evenly walked out of the ring, retrieved his rapier, and walked into the barracks to think about what he had just been through. Had time slowed, or was he just capable of seeing things happen slower, much slower. He couldn’t decide, so he just added it to the list of anomalies that made up his oddity. He didn’t have much time to think about it because this round was over in a heartbeat it seemed. There were only four contenders left now, and Rene was one of them, along with Rhys. Everyone was crowded into the barracks, talking to one another, congratulating the ones who remained. Except Rhys, he remained alone in solitude, just how he liked it. It was just how he wanted it.
The semi-finals began and ended in another heartbeat, Rhys and Rene both continued to the finals. It was how they both wanted it to be, and Rhys knew Rene would go for the kill on him unless he decided to give up. Any mistake would be fatal to Rhys, but Rene knew Rhys wouldn’t kill him, so Rene could fight all out, and Rhys was nervous. Rhys stepped into the ring, standing defiantly, twirling his rapier. Rene stepped in the ring armed with a katana, trained gruelingly with it since he was but six years old. Rene’s skill with his weapons surpassed most master’s skill and he was only nineteen. That made Rhys three years younger than him, which tipped the battle even more in Rene’s favor.
“Let the final match,” Santiago screamed over the cheers from the rather large crowd as all the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth years gathered around to watch, “begin!” The crowd roared in exhilaration for this highly anticipated test of strength, skill, and intelligence. They all also heard rumors of what went down with Rhys and Rene’s sister and that furthermore raised excitement. The mid-summer sun was high in the sky, and a cool breeze teased Rhys’ long hair. The day was hot, almost draught like, but it was a typical day for this time of the year. Not a cloud hovered in an azure sky. Suddenly Rhys shut out the noise from the crowd, he shut out the heat, and he shut out the breeze. It was only him and Rene now.
“So, what is it, do you condemn yourself to death to defend your pride, or do you let me humiliate you so you live?” It was Rene speaking, and Rhys had to choose now.
_________________
Depression is a state of mind where help just makes it worse. I'm depressed, so @#$% off.
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