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NEW CHAPTER! Crimson Corsair NEW CHAPTER!


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#1 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 11 April 2008 - 03:50 PM

Legend of the Five:
-The Crimson Corsair-
-Seal one-

Cold dark water writhed for as far as the eye could see, wrapping the world in spray and froth, giving life to some and taking it from others. The moon shone gently on the almost calm sea, turning the seascape into a twist of changing black and white, whirling and leaping, then imploding upon itself. A large wooden ship cut through the film of water, rending the surface in two, pushed by the power of the plains; the wind. It was almost a contest between gods and mortals, the sea resisting, the wind struggling, and man and beast along for the ride.
Up and across the splintery hull of the wooden marvel slumbered a misunderstood marvel of itself: a sentient being. Half human, Half elf, it had grown from a minuscule size, expanding, learning, repairing and improving. Of all the humanoids on this world, none were the same, yet all so alike.
A stray wave met up with the hull, and breaking upon the surface, dashed its remnant on the boy’s face...

“Gaah!” I cried, stumbling backwards, shaking the salty water from my eyes and hacking the salty slimy substance out of my throat. I looked around with wet eyes, and found myself near the rail of the ship; The Fogrunner. I recognized my situation; I was on lookout duty, and I’d fallen asleep. I was lucky nobody had noticed me doing so, for I would have been beaten for being so careless. It must have been a few minutes, as I noticed a once close rock far out in the distance.
It was a great night to be sailing, the air warm, the spray chill, the skies clear and the stars gleaming, ever constant. Of course, anyone with half of a sheep’s brain could tell that there would be a great storm soon, and we were heading at all speed for land. Storms didn’t bother me, I in fact enjoyed them. But the other men hated them. They said that it showed the wrath of the gods, and any caught attempting to defy the gods by weathering their storms, in turn earned the wrath of the gods. I knew it was all superstition, there was too much of it among them, and I viewed them as chains that restricted your mental freedom.
A storm pushes you to your limits; making you feel totally hopeless, and fighting to survive. You cannot possibly contest against that kind of power, that of the sea, the air, and of the light from above. I had once seen a spectacle, a great tornado, which sucked up all before it, spewing it into the air, then dashing it to pieces. It had sunk into the water, creating a maelstrom, one that we narrowly escaped. Out captain was brilliant, but dysfunctional. He would never help on board, or steer the vessel. He issued orders, and then retreated to his quarters.
As I stood barefoot on the rough deck, I gazed out upon the moon. I had always been captivated by it. What was that which shone when the sun didn’t? And why was it always changing, but ever the same. When it was at it’s fullest, I couldn’t help but stare at it. It enslaved my mind, and as I slept I would dream of it, standing still in the dark sky.
I could see better than the other men, climb better, think harder, and move quieter; and I was quicker too. In most cases, the captain would order me to do most things when I was not already enslaved in some task, and I was only just a man. I definitely had the upper hand over the rest of the other men, and boys for that matter, and for that, I was hated. The other men envied me, and one not too bright man had tried to kill me at one point. The captain didn’t like me, neither the first mate. There was no preference, only the mentality of who could do the most work.
“Oi you worthless sea scum! Wha’d dur ya see?” Shouted a gravely voice from above. It was one of the men; he had long black hair, and an eyepatch, as did we all. We swapped the patches from eye to eye to increase our vision in the night, although I didn’t need it so much. His name was Kaeb, a somewhat common name.
“No’ much!” I responded gruffly, “Noth’n s’as far as I ‘kin see! Lady wind’s pick’n up though.” I could speak well, like the refined men in cities, but I sharply avoided doing so in front of the other sailors, in front of the other Pirates. Yes, pirates. Fear is invoked with that one word. The strange ship that pulls into your harbor, pirates pouring over the sides, pillaging and burning, killing an wounding on our way. But for all that terror, we mainly struck against the Empire, the main wealth in the world. We had some cities and villages paying us tribute to avoid raiding, but we never accepted those offers from Imperial cities.
A dark wispy cloud blocked the moon for an instant, and as I looked away, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. A figure was creeping along by the poop deck. I stared at him in the corner of my eye, and discerned his nature. He was a mutinous pirate escaped from the brig. He, being called Jaelif, had been planning to turn on the Captain, and I can’t say I would have been sorry, but he was reported by one of the men he shared this plan with. He was obviously trying to get away, and He hadn’t seen me yet. He was staring at the helm; where I should have been. He began slinking down the stairway to the main deck; starboard side, when he spotted me. I whipped my spear off from around my back, and stared him down. I heard him chuckle, and saw him pull two scimitars off his back, ones that belonged to the brig keeper. I assumed he killed him, and I advanced, menacing his frame with my weapon. He had been malnourished while in the brig, and not too skilled to begin with, so I reasoned that I could take him.
‘Wha…? Ye ain’t gonna fight me, eh? Stupid kid, ye should ‘ave-“ His sentence was cut short. A huge beastman dropped from the main mast, embedding a heavy axe into Jaelif’s back, flooring the body and making a dull thud, accompanied by a splintering sound as bones broke. Kashij, the beastman, was the only one on board who could exist without my knowing. He was completely black, with thick fur covering his entire body. Blood was seeping from what used to be Jaelif, who was now a crumpled heap. The Kashij snorted, pulling his axe out of the body, and out of the deck. Not only was he the only beastman on board, but he was also the closest thing to a friend I had. He watched my back for me, and as much as he didn’t need it, I his. He was very knowledgeable, and the only one I would ask answers from.
“H’ve been watch’n yew…” Kashij commented, not even addressing the body or the not long past event.
“Yer like that moon, eh?” He continued, cocking his head at me, clicking his tongue and squinting.
“Ar, mate. It be very appeal’n. Puts me in mighty savvy a state.” I replied lightly.
“Does it now? Yer best be watch’n the horizon ‘stead of that there moon mate, storm’ll be comin’ soon.” Kashij said, turning as he finished the lecture, and lifted the body from the deck. He spat in the mangled face and threw it over the railing of the ship, disappearing forever.
Kashij lifted a grate on the deck, and sinking a handful of claws into the wood, dropped down into the heart of the ship, silent as the shadow he did not cast.

A torrent of rain whipped into my face, it almost being a wall of water. I was soaked to the bone, and waves were constantly crashing down on our vessel.
“We be ‘most there!” Screamed the captain, who was fastened at the wheel. “Ye mainland be com’n!” Men were scrambling back and forth, trying to get the ship past the last league. I was holding down a rope that had snapped free, and as it was attached to a sail corner, it was whipping me around the deck. A great gust of wind blasted me over, and a giant wave slammed me down, pressing me into the deck like I thought I could not stand; yet I held onto the rope with a death grip. I had just righted myself when a wave came from behind, throwing a man at me. I just had time to duck before he flew spinning over my head, dashing his brains out on the railing behind me. Not a soul seemed to notice the body as it was swept overboard. I scooted up to the railing, grabbing hold to the edge with one hand, the rope in the other. The deliverance of this ship to shore depended on this rope being held. I shook the water that was blinding me out of my eyes, just in time to see another wave towering above me. I took a deep breath, half of it water, and curled into a ball at the edge of the ship. I was blown over the rail with the sheer impact of the wave, but remained holding the rope. I was hanging over the side, the barnacles gouging deep into my legs. I slowly pulled myself up, being beaten down with wind and water. I looked down to see a frothing mass of black liquid, and a drowning man spluttering and thrashing. I continued upward, and as I put my arm on the top rail, a furry clawed one gabbed hold. It was Kashij. He yanked me aboard with one tug, and then left me, breathless, on my back. I turned over onto my stomach, and was stepped on by a careless pirate. He was swept off of me by a wave and thrown over by the stern. He rose, only to be blasted in two by the runaway boom. I looked over the wheel, to see the captain and two other men struggling to brace it.
“’Most there!” The captain cried over the storm triumphantly. I looked at the mainland from the corner of my eye and found that it was indeed getting closer.
“Victory gents!” He raved on madly. Then the unexpected happened. A stray lightning bolt hit our main mast, blasting it into a thousand pieces. I was relatively close to it, so I was only temporarily blinded, but I later saw maimed bodies covered in splinter littering the deck. Pieces of the cross masts fell to the deck, destroying the rails and part of the deck, as well as squashing one unlucky man. The charred corpse of the lookout in the crow’s nest fell at my feet. The flames were extinguished quickly by the tsunami and gale force winds. I dropped my now slack rope, bracing for another wave.
“Nooooo!” The captain screamed, and he swore a continuous stream of oathes.
“Curse the Gods! Curse the-“ There was another blinding flash of lightning, and a deafening roar, and when it all cleared, the captain was gone. I stood numb for a moment. This was the first time throughout the entire storm that I felt anything near fear. What would we do now? Who would guide the ship? The first mate was nowhere in sight, probably dead. We were losing manpower at the blink of an eye, and those who lingered were fatiguing. I couldn’t see Kashij, but that was typical. With his long claws and heavy fur, I had no doubt that he was still on board. But who would lead? A stray wave knocked the last man off the wheel, and then without thinking, I took it.
I raced up the stairs, and catching the spinning wheel, began turning it. The clouds broke in a patch, and the moon shone on me in its fullness. I was illuminated by it, and then an insane rage gripped me. I forced the wheel to right, the boom to come into place. I shouted orders to the remaining men, and they followed me. My once faint limbs grew solid and immovable, and my gaze unchangeable. The mainland was too close to be lost now. Suddenly the situation inverted. Now the water pushed to the mainland and the air to the sea.
“Slash those sails!” I ordered indisputably. Men rushed at the forward and rear masts, risking life and limb unquestioningly. They skillfully scaled the nets, reaching the midpoints and tips of the cross masts, and slashing the ropes from their anchoring. The only men left now were the most elite, the best, the most weathered. We would hold out as long as out strength lasted. I had the feeling that my strength would last forever. I saw Kashij’s elegant silhouette drop from a cross mast, landing on the deck as the last sail flew away, landing in the sea. We streaked toward the mainland, and I struggled to angle The Fogrunner toward a harbor. The ship wouldn’t turn as fast as needs be, and the land came on too quick. A strip of land sprung up out of the sea, blocking out entrance to the harbor. It came all to quickly to be avoided.
“Brace!” I shouted as I did so myself. All I remember is hitting the strip, and the wheel snapping off it’s anchor and I sailed overboard from the inertia…

I saw the moon, bright and full. No matter where I looked, I saw the same moon. I was admiring it, gazing at it’s white light, brilliance the sun did not own. I sighed. I was at peace. I saw dark outlines of strange creatures all around me, but I didn’t mind. I was unarmed, and did not see what I stood on. All was dimly lit. It was at this time I discerned a forest, and a clearing not far in it, upon which the moon shone greatly. I walked without effort to it, somewhat gliding. I entered the clearing to see the moon larger and closer than I’d ever seen it, bright and pure. And then another moon appeared, just the same, side by side. I mildly thought of it as odd, and as I did the world stared fading away, but the moons stayed the same. Soon all but the moons were dark, and then I felt weight on my back, and pain in many places of my body…

I inhaled sharply, and opened my eyes. I saw the two moons again, only to my gradual discernment; I found that they were not moons. They were the gleaming eyes of a white Werewolf.
Its huge, lean legs were spread out on either side of me, trapping me on my back. It snarled, sending spittle into my face, and then sunk it’s dripping teeth into my shoulder. Immediately an intense pain shot along my body, as if my blood had turned to thousands of sharp wooden splinters that tore me open from the inside. I screamed, for the pain was more than I thought I could bear. A cool burning sensation was slowly traveling from my shoulder along my body, and as I looked up at the moon, my eyes burned. I shut them, but I could see the moon beneath my eyelids. The Whitewolf had stepped away from me, and now watched me intently, showing no compassion. I writhed around in the gritty sand, inhaling, and inducing violent coughing. I couldn’t breath the pain was so bad. I made a pitiful attempt at grabbing my dagger, and ending the pain, but my fingers would not grasp the blade. The Whitewolf, upon seeing this roared, and raced to me, pinning my arms down with its front paws, holding me in place. His left paw was on my right shoulder, the one that had been bitten. I roared out in pain, struggling to get its razor paws off of my bleeding wound. I kicked at the beast’s belly in pain, but it had no impact. It roared at me again, and I roared back, but there was something different. By now the cold fire sensation had traveled to my head, and was spreading towards my legs. My voice had become deeper, and was steadily growing so. The Whitewolf roared back at me, and I to it, but it sounded more and more like the Whitewolf’s roar. I broke eye contact with the Whitewolf and looked down at his front paws, although something else distracted me. I saw my arms and chest expanding rapidly, as if they were swelling. The clothing around my chest and arms ripped in two, and long black fur burst forth. If I had the air in my lungs I would have screamed, but the air was gone. I was becoming a monster before my very eyes. The Whitewolf stepped off of me with a snort, and stood watching. My legs swelled to four times their size, and that long black fur replaced the need for clothing.
For a long while I was not conscious of what happened, but when the pain finally subsided, I stood on four feet, staring with rage at the Whitewolf. I was completely jet black, with long sharp teeth and claws. My hide was tough, my body lean. I was a Blackwolf.
“Why doth thou loath this new power I’ve given to thee?” The Whitewolf asked, his eyes flashing with a strange light that revealed a great amount of wisdom. I stood shocked, staring at him. It was true; I felt the power course through my veins, my muscles huge, and my mind clear.
“Why am I worthy of this power?” As I spoke, I noticed that I was not speaking audibly, but through a kind of telepathy, like that which greatly skilled wizards do. “What do you want from me in return?” I continued, somewhat angry.
“I ask thee to use this new power wisely, and follow mine direction.” She replied with an unheard air of dignity.
“And what do you ask of me?” I inquired hostilely. The Whitewolf seemed to grin, the spittle dripping from its teeth.
“Infect.”


The moon shone brightly as I snuck up on a small group of people crowded around a campfire. They were travelers, lightly armed and wore next to no armor. I surveyed the four men, and at once noticed a tall lean man with blonde hair. It was him. I suddenly felt my mind split in two. The new half of me was a Werewolf, seeking to infect and spread this power, hungering after more numbers, feeding off of success. For now, the new half of me had control, and the old was along for the ride. I stalked up to the group silent as my shadow, and stared at them. My man’s back was towards me, and he had a sword across his back. I wasn’t going to let him escape my grasp. I was almost jumping distance away from him, but the cover of the forest ended in a brightly lit clearing. If I went any further, they’d see me. It was then that I felt a strange feeling inside of me. I would let them see me. They would feel terror. They would witness my power.
I sprung from the forest, and into the clearing. I was two lengths away from the men around the fire. The men whipped their heads around to me, and my man stood, whipping his sword off his back. His full height matched that of my back. I was enormous, as big as three of them.
“By the Gods!” Screamed one of the men in pure horror. He tried to back up, but tripped over a log. My man ran at me with his sword raised, but I sprung at him, knocking him over with my front paws. A man swore as he ran up to me holding a flaming log. I knocked the sword from my man’s hand, and slamming my huge paw down on him, turned to destroy his friend. Upon seeing my approach, he threw the flaming brand at me and ran. I dove on him, ripping him to pieces, and turned back to my victim. He was on his stomach, crawling away when I dove on top of him and bit him on the leg. I shook him around a little bit, and laid him on his back in on the cold dry grass. I turned to look for the last companion, but saw no one. I turned to the fire and smote it out, spreading it out in the dirt clearing, extinguishing it. After I did so, the Whitewolf entered the clearing.
“Well done.” He ‘spoke’ approvingly. He motioned for me to leave, and I did so, rushing away into the night, leaving my victim to be tortured by his transformation. I knew my purpose now; I would pass this power on to those called ‘the Spawn of the Five’, of which I was one. I would help the Werewolves ascend to their glory.

I woke on my back in a dark room, made of stones with thick grout on them. There were bars in the heavy wooden doors, no windows, and worst of all; I was chained to a wall. There were other men chained up too. I groaned. I was in prison.
“Heheh! Feel’n sick blighter?” cackled an old man with next to no teeth. His breath reeked of rotten fish. I spat at him, but it fell short. I leaned my head back, trying to remember…
In a second the night before came to me, but dismissed the Werewolf episode as a dream. I began thinking of how I got in this cell after being thrown from the ship. I guessed that the Imperials had taken me off the beach of the Harbor, and thrown me in here. After all, I did have a telltale Eastsail brand. I looked down at the place on my forearm where it should have been branded, but found a different garb on my body. I was in a sackcloth robe. “Why would the Imperials go through the trouble to undress me?” I asked myself quizzically. The sackcloth didn’t itch very badly, so I moved the cloth away from my neck with my chin to see if I still had my pirate garb underneath. There was none, but I did find something that made my blood freeze: Bite marks. Big ones, deep into my shoulder. Suddenly a vision of the moon and of the Whitewolf flashed past my eyes, and a quick intense stab of pain splintered through my body, originating at the shoulder.
“No…” I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t remember anything far past the moment when the White Wolf bit me, and then… nothing. Regardless, it appeared I was infected, and now a Werewolf.
The old man laughed again, rather cackled, spit flying from his mouth.
“What time is it?” I asked him sharply, demanding he answer.
“Near’n sundown I’d say! You’ll hang ‘afore tomarr’a, dn’ont worry!” He crowed feebily.
“What is this town called?” I continued impatiently.
“Town?” He asked somewhat seriously, “This ain’t no town seascum! This’ Gildoen! little city, dirty pirat’ trash!” His sentence was ended with a maniacal laugh. I knew he was crazed, probably in here for that reason.
“Gildoen…” I muttered. My thoughts hearkened back several years, when I was but 54 seasons old. I was in this town for some time, with the love of my life. Her musical laugh echoed through my mind. She had been ‘accidentally’ killed when her father was arrested for treasonous affairs including a beastman tribe. My heart ached at the remembrance of this tragedy in my life, and I shed a bitter tear. This was a memory I kept buried, and it had rose from the dead to scourge my soul. I yelled at the top of my lungs, beating my fists on the stone floor. I hated the Imperials for what they had done. It was not the order of some Monarch, not the will of some general, but the lust of a common soldier, the one’s that walked the street, kept the ‘peace’. I hated them all, but the hate went only so far up the line of command. I knew that those ‘I charge’ could not be responsible, although I tried to convince myself that they were so I could hate them all equally, and kill anyone on sight.
I began trembling involuntarily, from rage and grief. At times like this, Kashij would always let me go at him as hard as I could; I could never lay a blow on him, and I would become too exhausted to move when I was done. The memory of Kashij started a new kind of anger in my heart, and I screamed aloud again, with a different tone to it.
“Everything is gone! Everything!” I screamed from the bottom of my soul. I raked my hands across my head, and down my neck, but accidentally touched the injured part of my shoulder, ensuing another kind of pain. I writhed on the stone floor in pure agony. There was nothing left for me. My love: dead. My Friends: gone. My ship: wrecked. My freedom: stolen.
The old man was quiet, going as far from me as his chains would allow. I stared at my hands, tears clouding my vision, and with the sound of boots clanking, my heartache ceased. All of the passion and emotion I had just felt had turned towards one horizon; Revenge. My fists involuntarily curled into a fist. The boots were getting closer. I stared at the door, and a poem from a scroll my love had read to me came back:

…His en’my neared, so didst the night,
His reas’n didst flee, forth came the fight,
His will was strong, his eyes were bright,
Yet shown with strange, unearthly light,
The time had come, take heed, and take flight.

The door opened. A short fat Imperial with a dirty face and fat arms stomped into my cell, eyeing me haughtily.
“Wha’re you doing, ye want me to beat you good? Yeh disturbin’ the peace.” He asked, revealing a mangled set of teeth, not really asking for an answer.
“The Captain wants to know why you’s show up naked at our walls at night, pirat’. Wanna tell?” I didn’t answer; my tongue was incapable of speaking a legible word. My whole frame was shaking in pure rage, my eyes fixed on my antagonizer.
“Wha? You wanna fight? C’mere you piece of trash!” The Imperial spat, walking up to me while pulling a long, cracked leather strap off his belt.
“I’ll show you what!” he laughed mercilessly, bringing the strap down on my back. I didn’t feel the pain, neither did I flinch when he whipped me across the face, or when he kicked me in the gut with his heavy boot. My eyes were fixed on the open doorway, the only place I’d see a moonbeam.
As I endured his torture, I waited for an opening, and to my great satisfaction, I found one. His foot came too close to me, and his one mistake would be the end of him. It was like I had become the Werewolf, but the moon had not yet risen.
I launched off the floor, grabbing his foot and twisting it as hard as I could. I had been in many skirmishes and fights, so I knew how to kill a man. He came tumbling down while uttering oaths, and landed on his back. He pulled a dagger out of his belt and tried to stab me, but I wrapped my chains around his arm and pressed his own weapon into his leg. He wriggled from my grasp and rolled onto his stomach, but I dove towards him, grabbing his head and biting down on his throat. Blood spurted from the open wound, and I stifled his screaming by jamming my blood-covered arm in his mouth, hyper-extending is jaw. After a few minutes he finally stopped struggling, yielding dead. I located the prison keys, freeing myself from the chains. I stood up straight, my eyes on the door, and the guard’s dagger in my hand. I walked towards it slowly, and passed through the narrow doorway, walking towards a set of stairs leading to the dimness of twilight, and I ascended to atop the battlements just in time to see the sun die.
Anyone listening that night would hear the howling, and the screaming. Anyone listening would have felt terror. And by the time the night was through, almost anyone who could have listened was lying dead.

Swirls of white and yellow broke through my dreams, forcing me awake. Like so many times in my life, the sunlight pierced my eyelids. I was on my back, lying in a thorny bush of some kind. The thorns broke and bent on my tough sun baked skin, few puncturing me. I sat up, and looked around. I tried to remember what had happened, how I had gotten here, but I couldn’t. I then remembered my brief time in the jail cell, and then gasped. I got to my feet, orienting myself with the sun, and a far off mountain. I ran southeast, towards Gildoen…

“No…” I started to chuckle, a strange, disturbing laugh; the laugh of the madman. I shook my head. The town was in ruins, the whole place demolished. Part of the city was burned, and most of the houses were missing walls and roofs, and livestock lay mangled, torn and mauled all around. The city was decimated, and I only saw one stray peasant in the streets, moping around with no purpose. I turned and ran, nowhere in particular, I just ran. I had to get away, I had to save everyone, and myself, from my own power. I had to run somewhere where I could learn to control whatever power had destroyed an entire city… A full moon wouldn’t come for some time, but I’d heard of Werewolves changing every night… I’d locate a Eastsail ship, and come aboard, and have them strand me somewhere, somewhere offshore, maybe get my own ship, and just live on it myself, away from everything…
As I ran, the sun burned on my bare back… the sun. I loved the moon, I waited its arrival, but now, I looked with despair as the sunlight fleeted, and I dreaded the approach of moonlight. Mine was a life destroyed; I had no home, and would never have one. I must continue onward, onward to anything, or nothing at all. But no matter what, I would not give up. I would flow as blood does; it’s scarlet drops staining the earth, the memory scarring the sky. It would be hit and run, I would always be drifting… I would write a record, that maybe someone would learn a secret that I may find... These are those, my writings, and the record of my life… the life of the Crimson Corsair.

rsz_17103456_804341766390322_88650203142     rsz_17103583_210540556092434_55832859985     rsz_17155802_10212220403766592_217493358     

 


#2 Archon

Archon

    Sith'ari

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  • 443 posts

Posted 12 April 2008 - 09:11 AM

I still think it's brilliant.


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Gamertag: Archonize


#3 HJC

HJC

    Master Specialist

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Posted 16 July 2008 - 01:40 AM

I honestly think this is one of the best first-person stories of this genre that ive ever read. 88% i'd give

EDIT: Catchy title wink.gif

Edited by HJC, 30 July 2008 - 10:25 PM.


#4 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

Hurki-Wan KenobLee

    regular dudebro

  • Nova Member
  • 3,076 posts

Posted 07 November 2008 - 11:35 AM

New Chapter peeps. Well, It's old, but wasn't posted. I'm considering working on a third, but for now here's this. I doubt anyone will read it. tongue.gif

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Record Two:
The Nature of the Beast

I swore, as I remember, and rolled under the table, clutching my bleeding arm. I watched in a daze as the dagger punched through the wood, leaving the tip to dance inches away from my face. I curled my legs up and pressed against the table, forcing the Imperial on top of it backwards, crashing to the floor amidst the spilled and shattered beer glasses. I dove atop the table, which obscured all but the man’s head, and reached for a shard of glass. I saw worried, confused faces forming a broken circle around us as I hunted for a suitably sized shard. The man had freed an arm, and was now gripping my hair. Finally I found a piece that wasn’t ground into powder… the handle part of a glass pint. It was surrounded by a platform of jagged glass, already stained by blood, likely that of someone who was knocked to the floor in the confusion. I twisted, my scalp on fire from the essentially futile grasp that the man had on my hair, and shoved the shard into his exposed throat. After that motion, I don’t remember much… blood had squirted in my eyes and face, and the trauma of what I had just done alone made my vision swim. I felt lightheaded… combat that close had a different feeling than from a sword’s length… It went from killing to murdering.
As I ran from the pub, I remember feeling two chainmail-covered arms grip me around the chest. I brought my armored elbow back into his gut, and the back of my head into his neck. I heard him grunt and fall as I broke free of his grasp and ran towards the nearest building. Once I got inside I wiped my eyes, somewhat returning my vision to normal, and I regained my orientation. I found I was in an inn, and I immediately rented room. The innkeeper looked at the splash of blood on my face with an appalled look, but apparently he couldn’t turn down business. I had just locked the door of my room and bailed out the window when I heard the door bust in, and heavy footsteps drummed against the wood floor of the room I had rented for the night. I took off down the alley between the Inn and some other buildings, and headed for the port.

“What happened, now?” asked an agitated Captain Mattul, who was in the process of pacing his cabin.
“Our contact was an Imperial spy.” I explained dryly. The Captain was coming out of a drunken stupor, and didn’t quite have all his sails up.
“What kind… of a spy?” Asked Mattul, crowning the sentence with an odd spitting noise. I rolled my eyes.
“The ‘jump you while you’re talking with him in a bar and call for backup’ kind.” I responded with a disgusted smile, At this point, Mattul couldn’t discern sincerity from sarcasm, and didn’t remember what a disdain-filled glance meant. The sun cut through the imperfectly–blown glass windows, generating a kaleidoscopic effect on the walls of the cabin, especially on the empty rum jugs on the desk.
“And what…” I looked around the cabin, waiting for him to remember what he was going to say and finish the sentence. “…did you do?”
“I got him a bit of a pint, and put it down his throat. I don’t think he liked it though. From the gurgling noise he made, I judge it was pretty strong -sharp, if you know what I mean.” Mattul gave a longing glance at the empty rum jugs.
“I wish I did…” He whispered, while putting a pitiful expression on his face. Several minutes passed, in which I spent looking around the room, waiting for dismissal. Finally Mattul seemed to snap.
“Why are you still in here!?” He shouted angrily. “Get out, worthless boy!” I wasted no time following Captain’s orders. After I had left the Inn and headed for the port, I had swam around the outside shore and hiked towards the cove where the ship was hidden. Mattul had had good enough sense to not bring the Thunderwind into port. If he had, I’m sure an Imperial battalion would have boarded the ship around the same time I was jumped. But the main problem was, my arm was still bleeding. I had torn off one of my sleeves and wrapped it around the cut, but the time to clean it had come.
“Oi, mates! Gimmie some water! I’ve got to clean out a stab!” Almost immediately after I had called for it, a bucket full of it was emptied in my face by a group of laughing pirates. My eyes were closed, a smirk on my face despite the prank, but I heard a thump on the deck in front of me, and I felt water splash on my boots; a bucket of water. I shrugged my shoulders and bent down to pick up the bucket, water dripping into my eyes as it ran off my coarse, light hair. I dragged myself over to the railing, and tore off the other sleeve on my shirt, dipping it in the cold water. As I sponged up my arm my eyes shot towards the horizon. The sun was fleeting… I judged we could make a couple leagues before the moon was up. Tonight was not the night, but the next was. I licked my lips anxiously. Mattul didn’t know of my condition, and I had little intention of telling him. If he were ever to find out, It’d be when a sinewy hulk of black anger was sinking his ship. Somehow he had to get off the ship before tomorrow night without letting Mattul think ‘full moon’.

“And what did he look like?” Asked a tall, hard-faced man of a large, slope-shouldered drunk.
“Hesh a liddle boy… big ash a pint!” The drunk burst out laughing as if the matter was too hilarious to contain, and only stifled by a swig of spirits. The Tall man turned to the drunk’s partner, who tersely replied:
“Older boy, kinda tall, lean with light, kinda red hair with big arms for his size, fights real good.” The gruff man who had just finished talking waved his hand and glared up at the tall man.
The tall man turned up his nose in disgust, turning on his heel and stomping towards the opposite side of the tavern.
The tall man strode to a table taken by a single, cloaked and hooded person, who’s angle of the head suggested that he was consumed with thought, staring into his liquid. The Tall man knocked on the table with an air of importance mixed with annoyance.
“You. That.” Asked the questioner, pointing towards a scene of a dead man lying amidst broken glass, pinned to the floor by a large table. The hooded figure slowly looked up, his face covered by the shadows cast by his hood and bad lighting. His hand slowly snaked out, his fingers curling and extending in a motion that commanded the official to lean in for a whispered answer. The aforementioned communication came out in a heavy, hissing way.
“Glad you came to me.” The tall man’s eyes widened as he inhaled sharply through his nose; his eyes filled with terror. The Hooded figure grasped the tall man’s tunicfront as he plunged a barbed arrow into the Captain’s throat with his free hand. The cloaked figure pulled the man down onto his seat, trading spaces with him as casually as if the man were not bleeding out. The tall man barely gurgled before stiffening in death. The assassin chuckled at the fact that the entire tavern was ignorant to what had just happened, fresh blood dripping off the corpse. The hooded figure slumped the body over the round, splintering table. He bent over the victim’s body and slid a note along the backside shaft of the arrow that was protruding from the victim’s neck, cutting a bag full of coins from the man’s waist simultaneously. As the assassin exited the stuffy Tavern, drop after drop of blood slid along the shaft of the arrow, onto the note which was impaled upon it, bleeding through the paper, leaving a sinister pattern on the paper obscuring the ink letter ‘U’ in the word ‘Durrak’.

There was shouting. I hit the wooden bottom of the ship, hard. I gritted my teeth and grunted as I opened my eyes to see my hammock swinging –empty, above me. I sat up, and massaged my aching hip, looking around to see a couple other men who suffered my same fate.
“Whart’s knockin’ me outaa’ bed!” Yelled a particularly angry pirate, who stood up, arms held out wide as though he was going to pummel someone. I immediately asked the same question, and unable to answer it sitting down, headed up to the deck.

“Quickly! Quickly!” Yelled Captain Mattul, swinging the helm’s wheel like it was a tornado. “No! After them! We’ll take them both!” He turned abruptly, and drew his sword, grinning like an idiot, displaying his dirty teeth.
“What’s goin’ on?” I inquired of a shirtless pirate who was hurrying past me.
“Seen two Imp ships!” He shouted, not stopping to talk, but looking back. “Cap’n can’t decide whetha’ to run or attack ‘em!” I looked at the sun. It was early morning, but night; and the full moon, was coming in a matter of hours.
“Raise the sails! Let’s move in!” Screeched Mattul commandingly. He started swinging his sword through the air wildly; sending a few men scrambling across the sun-bleached deck for their lives.
“Captain!” I yelled, catching his attention. The sword stopped swinging, and I raced up the stairs leading to the helm to talk to him.
“What’re you want?” Shouted the Captain with an air of being burdened beyond something he could cope with.
“I… I need to get off the ship. I’ll lead the first boarding party if we’re to attack the Imperial fleet.” Mattul narrowed his eyes at me, craning his unshaven neck forward, bringing his likewise face closer to mine. He smiled deviously, and spat at my feet.
“You’re talkin’ like one’o’dem Imperials… nice an’ spiffy! You only talk like that when yer skittish!” He cocked his head, studying my face closely. “What make’s yer antsy?”
“Well,” I began, my thoughts racing for a suitable excuse, yet my tongue and actions expressing calm. “I…” …Was cut off. Just as I was about to lie myself out of the situation, the boy in the crow’s nest started screeching.
“The ships’re comin’ round! There be two! The Imps are comin’!” Mattul swore, then addressed the crew; indefatigable.
“They’re comin’ to us boys! Let’s giv’em a great big greetin’! Ready ‘dem fire arrows!” He bellowed overconfidently. He walked back up towards me, muttering curses, looking towards the horizon.
“You’re goin’ first!” He shouted in my face overenthusiastically, jabbing me in the chest with his thick finger. I looked towards the sun sharply; it was still high in the sky. I looked back at Mattul to see him with a disturbing smile on his face. His lips parted, and he wheezed out two humorless chuckles.
“Didn’t wanna be onboard for the full moon, ‘eh?” He whispered meancingly. “Well, I don’t think they’ll like you onboard either.” He abruptly turned around, shouting at the crew once more.
“Buy us time till nightfall, gents! This liddle’ werewolf scum needs some moonlight!” Eyes on me. I flexed my biceps.

“So,” repeated a pirate “We jump aboard and keep ‘em off until’da moon, really comes up, ‘din we jump ‘arf while yew thrash ‘em- ”
“And we drop on ‘der other ship, and take ‘em out!” Interrupted Mattul triumphantly.
“That’s the idea.” I breathed hesitantly. I wasn’t sure if I could take a whole boatload of armored Imperials. Mattul saw the concern on my face, and drew his sword, pointing it at my nose.
“Yew’re mah weapon while you’re aboard” Mattul shouted as ever, his chosen level of volume defining him. I narrowed my eyes at him, and stood up, kicking the sword out of his hand in one fell swoop. He stepped back and pulled out another sword, pivoting his wrist, making the candlelight in the room reflect off the edge of his sword. The said light reflected into my eyes, turning everything a silverish color. Just then, the whitewolf’s face flashed in my vision. I suddenly had a strange, dull hunger… that worsened as I stared at the Captain. My head involuntarily cocked to one side and my eyes widened.
“You’re a…” I breathed, over just a whisper. Mattul turned away, addressing the boarding party as a body.
“’Is transformation will take time.” He drawled, “It’ll take ‘eh few moments. Yer’ guys guard ‘im ‘till then, ‘din gets the Shades outta there. He’ll be so crazy, ‘e’ll shred anyone.” He turned to me, sitting down upon a bench in a leisurely fashion.
“If ‘der ship is in any c’ndition, meet ‘us at ‘Jilch point. ‘Yew ‘kin steer one ‘o’ ‘dem ships int’a harbor by yerself. ‘Yer good at that.” I gasped. That was the first compliment I had ever received from the Captain. That was highly unusual, seeing as the Captain didn’t even address the first mate’s helmsmenship. I swallowed, and nodded.
“Wit’ any luck, we’ll be able ter’ loot both ‘o der’ ships.” He paused, and turned his back on the collected group of pirates, myself included. “Now get to ‘yer arms!” He yelled, whirling around as he did so. The men scrambled to their weapons, and out of the Captain’s quarters.
As the men and I toiled to ready for combat, they distanced themselves from me. I had seen this coming. I was now something different to my crewmates. They looked at me with fearful and scorning glances, disowning me because of my infection. If I neared anyone, they would indiscreetly remove themselves from my presence. Those whom I regarded as comrades and friends now turned to skeptical critics. I worked alone, readying for combat. Readying for transformation. I was now condemned to a life of solitude.

“Sir, they’re coming around to face us.” Called an Imperial watchman, spyglass stowed in his belt; it was not needed, the ships were already readying their bowmen for imminent combat.
“Unexpected.” The fleet Commodore thought aloud. “They’ve been running all day, night is coming on, and the wind is in their favor… We’ve outnumbered and outmatched them two to one… how could they hope to win…?”
“Sir! They’re readying two boarding parties!” The Commodore looked over to see an Imperial soldier pointing frantically towards a group of sixteen men, and then a group of neigh fifty.
“They’re spreading themselves out too thin.” The Commodore smirked, but that quickly turned to a frown. Mattul, Captain of the Thunderwind had never been defeated in combat, and survivors of raids had described his tactics and execution as flawless. The Commodore’s eyes narrowed, the frown deepening. Something was wrong. How could sixteen and fifty take on two ships of seventy? What was Mattul thinking?
“Grease the rails.” He commanded sharply. There had to be more pirates. The figures present didn’t make sense.

“Ready men!” Shouted Mattul. The ships were seconds from colliding. The Thunderwind was half a length away from broad-siding the Gerande Liu, men standing on the rails and the prows if the ships.
“Steady!” Called the Pirate captain anxiously. “Now!” The men sheathed their weapons, picking up a huge, broad; studded shield, the length of which spanned four men. The other twelve of the party, including me, crowded behind the shield. The ships collided; sun-bleached wood meeting Imperial oak, and as the men with the shield flew forward off the Thunderwind and into the soldiers lining the rail, the other eleven pirates and I leapt onto the fallen Imperials, savagely ending their lives at their exposed throats and faces, their blood dark in the fading light.
“Turn ‘der ship ‘round to the other one!” Shoued Mattul, grinning as he watched his elite warriors fight off the Imperial soldiers aboard the Gerande Liu.

“Ready the Archers! Gain distance!” Shouted the Commodore. These pirates were better fighters than he had thought. Although his men were well trained, in the fading light and heavy armor the lightly clad raiders easily outmaneuvered them.
“Strip your armor!” He shouted to a group of incoming Imperials. They immediately began untying the leather straps that held their chainmail on.

“Push up the stairs!” I yelled gutteraly, grappling an imperial as I did so. His arm flashed out at my neck, but I twisted sharply, my grip on his forearms loosening, He lunged forward, and I dropped, sending him sprawling over my extended leg. He stood up, steadying himself on the railing. I dove foreward, grabbing his legs and pulling up. I heard a scream before I heard a splash, and after that I heard a sword swing past my ear. I looked up to see an armor-less Imperial swinging a sword up above his head, ready to strike down on me. I involuntarily stuck my arm out to grab something, and I caught up what felt like a boarding pike. I swung it, expecting the length to be excessive. I was surprised to see a spearhead lacerate the soldier’s stomach, blood spilling from his stomach. I rolled over to the side, belting him in the stomach with the butt of the spear. The man’s sword fell to the deck, and his body likewise. He was writhing on the ground when I stood up. I looked around to see men engaged in combat, strangely, almost everyone was engaged in one on one combat. I looked around to see another pirate; he was looking around after killing an Imperial too. We moved closer together, heading towards a body of combatants. I yelled out in pain as an arrow buried itself in my shoulder. I dropped to one knee, breaking the shaft at the head.
“Group together!” I shouted authoritatively, swinging the Imperial’s sword above my head with my good arm to parry an attack from an Imperial who had wormed his way through the grappling, fencing throng. I stared at him, clashing steel angrily. We danced back and forth, our blades flashing in the moonlight… Moonlight! I swung at his face wildly, my partner intervening. I stumbled backwards, writhing in pain. My spine felt like it was being stretched out on a rack. My head ached as if it was splitting, and my chest had an odd needle-like pain in it. Once again my vision blurred out in pain, my arms wrapping around my head in pain.

The Commodore’s rapier hacked into a pirate’s shoulder, retracting and extending into the pirate’s gut several times in rapid succession. His heavy boot came down on the fallen man’s mauled stomach. He looked around, making eye contact with several ranking officers. They nodded at each other, and seeing the helm clear, looked down on the battle. The pirates were being beaten back towards the railing, and armor-less Imperials were pushing them back.
“They’ll jump ship, and the archers will finish them.” The commodore smiled, looking down at the pirates. He saw one large, grotesque figure in the middle of the pirates, writhing in pain on the deck. Moonlight poured down onto the deck, bathing the pirates and soldiers in the white glow.
“Glow… moonlight… Full moon!” The Commodore gasped, looking up at the white orb in the sky. It was full. Cold sweat. He looked back at the writhing figure. It was now a huge ball of black fur... a Werewolf.
“Mattul’s strategy… his weapon!” The Commodore looked down with horror as the mass of fur and fangs rose off the deck, the pirates around it bailing over the edge of the Gerande Liu. The Commodore looked up across the sea towards the Operus Magnus. It was ablaze, and the Thunderwind was just removing itself from the flaming craft. The commodore looked down on his men. Without their armor, they were being torn to pieces by the Lycanthrope. The Commodore fell to the deck, trembling in fear. Mattul’s strategy was flawless! He listened to the screaming and dull thuds, and watched in a daze as one of his soldiers flew through the air, landing in the water, dying the color around his body red… the same color that the deck was currently stained.

I groaned and sat up, rubbing my head. There was a sensitive cut on it. And there was one on my leg, make that two. There were three arrows in my back, the tips barely stuck in. I pulled them out with a loud roar. After catching my breath, I tiredly rose to my feet. I looked around the ship to see mauled bodies lying around the deck. I picked up a nearby spear and leaned upon it, walking around the deck cautiously. It was then that I heard another groan. I looked around, and saw a man under a ledge on the poop deck. I neared the man, limping as I went. He was covered in blood, but beneath it was a bright breastplate, and a stern face. He looked up at me, and groaned again. I stared at him, watching him try and catch his breath to say something.
“You…you see what you… did to me?” His breaths increased in rapidity, not because of internal destruction, which was present, but in anger. “You’ve… made me a monster!”
“You’re a lycanthrope now, I bit you?” I questioned fruitlessly. I knew the answer. He groaned more, and the groan turned to a scream.
“I’m ruined! I’m a monster! You piece of… filth!” He convulsed disturbingly, screaming out eyes wild. “Kill me!” He screamed amidst demented wails and obscenities. I stood watching him on a once proud, imperial ship; it’s polished deck now covered in festering blood.
My line of sight once again returned to the man, where I witnessed a disturbing sight. He was banging his head against the deck. He was trying, desperately, to kill himself. I suddenly felt a rage explode within me.
“I GAVE YOU POWER!” I screamed, raising the spear; preparing to destroy life. I did. The ship was now dead. I was the only living thing on it. Thing. I sunk to the deck, sobbing in helplessness. I was a monster.
I stared at my hand… it was involuntarily twitching. Surveying the carnage on the deck, I concluded that I would not meet Mattul at ‘Jilch point. I was going to my island. I was going to find out how to stop myself from ever transforming again.

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#5 Gryphon

Gryphon

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Posted 14 November 2008 - 01:12 AM

Pretty good. There are a few technical errors, and the narrative itself cracks the fourth wall sometimes (like when he says, "like really talented wizards can..." how does the narrator know that?). Also, telling a story from the point of view of a werewolf is difficult, and I don't think your transitions from first person to third person omniscient work that well when he's a werewolf. I understand the need to describe the action, but you do that when he's first bitten in first person POV, so why not when he boards the other ship? It never really is a good idea to switch points of view so briefly and abruptly (for one paragraph, really), if at all. Other than that, it had a good bit of dry humor, and some good (if much too accented) dialogue.
-Gryph

Currently reading: Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, and 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King. Currently building: A MOC based on the new Space Police sets. Currently drawing: a dwarf! They're fun... Currently playing: Cortex Command and Dragon Age Currently watching: Just finished Clash of the Titans. Looking forward to Prince of Persia. Currently writing: Some world-building stuff for my stories.


#6 Archon

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Posted 14 November 2008 - 01:19 AM

Good, but I didn't like it as much as the first, still looks really good!


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#7 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 14 November 2008 - 02:50 AM

QUOTE (Gryphon @ Nov 14 2008, 07:17 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Pretty good. There are a few technical errors, and the narrative itself cracks the fourth wall sometimes (like when he says, "like really talented wizards can..." how does the narrator know that?). Also, telling a story from the point of view of a werewolf is difficult, and I don't think your transitions from first person to third person omniscient work that well when he's a werewolf. I understand the need to describe the action, but you do that when he's first bitten in first person POV, so why not when he boards the other ship? It never really is a good idea to switch points of view so briefly and abruptly (for one paragraph, really), if at all. Other than that, it had a good bit of dry humor, and some good (if much too accented) dialogue.

Ah, you're very right. I did break tense a couple times... though I like your idea of first person while a Werewolf. Maybe. I'll have to correct, and from there I may augment.

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#8 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 05 December 2008 - 01:02 PM

NEW CHAPTER DONE TONIGHT!!!

--

Scerra
.

Boots clacked on close shorn stone bricks on their way down a long hall. A man in an ornate breastplate was wearing the aforementioned boots. But he was only along for the ride. His complexion was paled, his long brown hair awry in multiple places. He hadn’t shaved for days. Wrapped around the leather tunic on his arm was a scarlet dyed bandage, still dripping with blood. He had fallen on his way up a flight of stairs, and brought the wound fresh open. In his hand was clenched a rolled up piece of parchment, the ends had been dipped in a blue wax about half an inch on either side… the mark of Imperial Secrecy? Such documents were to be delivered only to the King.
But then that was why the message bearer was sweating.
He passed through a threshold to enter a small intersect room, with doors leading out on all sides. On inside of that arched stone doorway stood a maiden… A worker? No. Too beautiful. She was adorned in a white gown with red ribbon trimming… the man’s eyes traced her figure. She turned to him, her straightened pale red hair cutting through the air as it swung from the sudden movement. For so much beauty, she seemed to emanate a strangely uncharacteristic sinister cloud… and then her eyes spied the blue dipped parcel in the man’s hand. She laughed musically; a voice that all ears knew as grace—Except her voice seemed to drag and catch faintly…
“So, another message for my father?” She smiled wryly. The man paled more.
“Forgive me, your highness, I must—“ The man bowed, backing up hastily. “—I must be going.”
Her hand fell on his shoulder. Her grip seemed strangely reserved, as though she was capable of so much more. The man froze.
Her voice cut the paralyzed room.
“The bluebird flies to me, Corporal.” The man stiffened, and then straightened from his bowed position. The bluebird. He smiled, and handed the ‘bluebird’ over to her. Her fingers wrapped around the scroll like a snake around its prey.
“When I heard that our middleman had been executed for treason,” the man in brilliant armor began confidently, “I began to worry.” He knelt, and reached for her hand, bringing it to his lips. She was o fair… yet something seemed wrong. Out of place.
“I had no idea that you were my contact…” She retracted her hand, smiling beautifully. Then she spoke.
“Then you concede that you are acting treasonously with Princess Tyraeda?”
What? Something was wrong.
Her voice had changed. No longer was it the sensual voice of an angel... It was the voice of a withered old man.
The man looked up at her face. His face. No longer did it shine of sinister beauty. Deep gray eyes peered out from under heavy black eyebrows… lips parting from between a neatly shaved beard or a similar color.
The man gasped.
It was an Imperial Magician.
“I’m so disappointed in you Corporal Mageth. You were a promising soldier.”
‘Corporal Mageth’ Flung himself backward, pulling a knife from his boot. His eyes shone with a wild light. His cover had been compromised. He had to get out.
The magician clicked his tongue disapprovingly while shaking his head.
“Poor decision. You should have given yourself up.”
Mageth snorted in scorn, launching from the floor where he crouched, knife pointed at the magician’s throat. The Magician raised his hand, palm to the sky… then brought it down.
Corporal Mageth was flung backward by a eerily silent force, his back impacting heavily on the shorn stone walls of the fortress of the King, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor. The wizard continued with his calm voiced lecture.
“Unfortunately for you,” He blew out a sigh in mock regret “…As a Magician of the King, I have full liberty to take your life.” He smiled as though he had just spoken words of comfort. His right arm reached into the tightly knitted black and gray robes that bedecked his slight frame, producing a bottle. The corporal shifted, trying to stand.
“And I figured,” continued the antagonist “That I’d test my new magic on you.” The magician’s thumb slid up the neck of the bottle, popping the cork off. A smell of alcohol filled the arid room. The magician smiled at the anguished form of the Corporal. And then he flung the bottle at the wall directly above him.
The fermented liquid seeped into the corporal’s hair, and slid down his armor into a puddle beneath him. He tried to stand, but slipped. His shin seemed to be cracked... Instead of rising, he found himself falling on the shards of the bottle beneath him. He screamed as the shards dug into the back of his hand, hip and knee. And then he looked up at the magician.
He was holding a small, brilliant shining object in his palm. It looked as though it was burning with a deep red… Flame! The arcane magic threw a devious light on the stonewalls of Mageth’s soon to be grave… Then the magician’s mouth parted. Mucous trailed from the end of his lips, his eyes watering from the intensity of the light. His arm pulled back, he was preparing to throw the burning orb!
“Goodnight Mageth.”
Mageth drew in his last breath.
Or so he thought.
As the ball of flame neared him, it suddenly seemed to stop. No, it slowed. So did his attacker! He was still reeling from the throw! What was happening? Is this what happened to all souls close to death?
Then a figure entered the room.
A familiar figure.
A figure that shone with a sinister beauty.
And she was raising her palm to the sky.
Then all was a blur. Mageth was pinned tight against the cold stonewall as the same eerie force filled the room… only much more potently than when the magician had first done it. The figures in the room were a blur. There was a bright light… and then Corporal Mageth slipped from consciousness.

Hours later, Mageth found himself on his back on the floor of what appeared to be a peasant hut. Wait. No, he was on a mat on the floor. He rolled his eyes at the attempt at comfort… but where was he? He sat up and scanned the room.
There she was.
She was sitting on a table by the door. She had the scroll in her hands. She was reading it.
Jyll Mageth coughed, reaching out at her and raising his voice.
“M’lady that record is incomplete.” A pain lanced through his leg as he tried to stand.
Then she spoke up.
“I’m aware of that. And forgive me; I do not know healing arts. Otherwise I would have repaid you for your courage in getting this to me.” She sighed and turned her head, her pale red hair falling over her shoulders.
“M’lady?” Jyll stood. He ignored the pain. He strode across the room, and stood before her. Tears were falling from her sparkling green eyes.
“Are you well, m’lady?”
She shook her head, and laughed between her tears.
“No, No I’m not fine. By no means.” And then her head fell. And she submitted to esoteric anguish.
Jyll stood watching her. He did not know how to give comfort to anyone, let alone such a woman. He had lived a life of fighting. A life of pain and selfishness. A life made from death. Empathy tugged at his heart, he could find no way to show it. All he could do was stand and stare.

“Corporal.” More hours had passed. Now Princess Tyraeda was speaking to him. She had regained her composure, standing tall and proud. Dangerous.
“Corporal. I have written you this letter to deliver to the Chief Warden of the Imperial Prison.” She handed the scarlet sealed letter to Jyll Mageth. The paper was fine and crisp… unwrinkled and stunningly white. “Inside is a letter of Unconditional Pardon. In this you will be immune to the repercussions of today’s events.”
“Then—“ Corporal Jyll began, to be interrupted by the beauty who stood before him.
“He got away. So did we. He was stronger than I thought.”
Jyll bowed his head. “Who was he?”
Tyraeda shook her head, sighing in disbelief.
“My mentor of magicworks.”
Jyll’s head snapped up, eyes locking with Tyraeda’s green eyes. Tyraeda continued speaking, drawn to a question like an arrow to the ground.
“This scroll. It is a lycanthrope’s story. Written like a book. It was written by a lycanthrope, correct?” Jyll nodded.
“It is the third record, like the two other records you delivered to me?”
Jyll nodded again. “Yes ma’am. This is the third record. The records began with the boy on the pirate ship Fogrunner. They ended on the second with the infection and death of Commodore Rellings.”
The Princess turned sharply. “And you found these accounts to be true?”
Corporal Jyll nodded once again.
She gasped in relief. She had been holding her breath.
“And this record…” She held the source of the day’s conflict out for Corporal Jyll to see. “This record is the third, in which he holds back transformation at the price of torture, and gradually succumbs?”
Jyll nodded gravely.
“Where did you obtain these records?” She asked in wonder, eyes pleading for an answer of truth.
Corporal Mageth took a deep breath… and then began.
“A merchant. He traveled. He had the first two. He said he found them in the ruins of a crashed ship. I bought the two. You had charged me with finding the boy in these stories. I happened on the merchant by chance. He was reading the stories aloud in a pub for his dinner.” Tyraeda blew out a sigh at the casual use of what had become a consuming force in her life. Corporal Mageth continued.
“When I expressed interest and a high pay towards others, he said he’d return to the ship where he found the others and get the others. But he warned me that they were in poor condition, one having been eaten extensively by rats, another saturated in blood.”
The girl’s beautiful eyes were riveted on Jyll as he spoke. Her obsessive interest had lead her to cost, labor, treason and conflict! What about these stories—were they true or not—was so important to her?
Distracted by these thoughts Jyll continued awkwardly, slowly falling back into the flow of storytelling.
“When I finally met him again, he had four more scrolls. “ Her eyes brightened, and she looked around for the mentioned scrolls. And then she realized. There was only one.
“What happened?” She inquired in a crushed voice. The despair flooding the meager room, reflecting off the knotted wood walls, refracting off the vaulted roof, bouncing off the dirt floor covered in woven mats… and ending it’s crash course as a barbed arrow to the heart.
Jyll sighed.
“The King… must have heard. His anti-lycanthropy laws placed these materials under an illegal status. Soldiers came…” He trailed off, reconciling the event to the bandage on his arm with the pointing of a finger. I only escaped with my life and one scroll. They burned the building we were in and shot arrows in after us. They intended to end us. The only got the merchant.” Princess Tyraeda clenched her fists and stared with malice off into space.
Jyll began again, slow and disjointedly.
“I Read a bit of the last scroll before I was attacked, and it ended with him setting off in the Commodore’s ship from Jilch point, headed to Ilkilon where there are Werewolf killers... I guess the Magician attacked me on your father’s orders. I wonder—“
Tyraeda slammed her fist down on the table. Sparks flew from her hand as it contacted with the wood. Intense emotions were drawing crude energy from the beautiful female magician. She stood angrily, sending her chair sprawling over backwards. She stood staring with anger at Jyll.
“That man,” She was seething, speaking between her teeth with a beautiful hate. “That man is NOT my father!” She turned and stormed to the door. She was leaving.
Jyll hobbled after her on his crippled leg, calling out in a futile attempt to stop her.
“Princess Tyraeda! Please Wait!” She turned to Jyll again for the last time, her eyes burning with hate. But not hate towards Jyll.
“I am not Princess Tyraeda! My name is Scerra, I was born in Gildoen and I am not related to that pig you call the King!” And then she stormed from the shanty.
Later she found herself at the edge on an ornate fountain, wrapped in a dark cloak. The sky was black. The candle lanterns on the buildings surrounding the square lighted the cobblestone square around the fountain. And she was alone.
And she was crying.
Beautiful and proud.
Sinister and heartsick.
She had traded a life of love for what she thought was a life of comfort and power. When the real princess Tyraeda and she had met, they had decided that they looked so similar that they could be mistaken for each other. Tyraeda had promised Scerra that if Scerra took her place as Princess, she would be happy. Rich. Powerful. And she would make sure that no one suspected the change for any reason. What happened was that she was stolen from her home in the middle of the night, and her father was killed. Framed for treasonous affairs with a lizardman tribe. And the real Tyraeda ran off with a small fortune and a lover.
And no one had known.
And now Scerra was alone, searching for her lover. And that lover was now a beast. A beast that was trying desperately to get himself killed.

---

Obviously this isn't all Canon, but seeing as the canon is hard to get (Wink wink hint hint nudge nudge Wolfy tongue.gif) I just thought I'd follow the story where it wanted to go. And I figured a story or estranged lovers fighting a dangerous sickness would be cool.
After I posted this, however, I saw the Hulk.
And I puked in my mouth at the story.
Expect this story to end in tragic epicness. shades.gif I'll shoot to make people cry, howzatt sound?

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#9 Socks

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Posted 06 December 2008 - 01:45 AM

Wow. That was excellent. A few grammatical errors, but nothing to harmful.

#10 broons

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Posted 06 December 2008 - 09:05 AM

'Tis quite good. Aye, that it is...

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#11 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 06 December 2008 - 04:22 PM

QUOTE (Vorg o' Electronic Blood @ Dec 6 2008, 03:10 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
'Tis quite good. Aye, that it is...

VORG YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THOSE SHORT REVIEWS ANNOY ME JUST READ IT AND STOP PRETENDING YOU DID

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#12 broons

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Posted 07 December 2008 - 02:41 AM

Let me think, then: The grammar/random capitilizing got annoying, at times, but I really like how you've switched viewpoints. Didn't quite like the whole magic thingy, but that's 'cause Wolfy's said that humans can't really use magic. M'kay?

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#13 Gryphon

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Posted 08 December 2008 - 12:36 AM

Yeah, the magic was a bit much as well, but if he is working for the King, it kind of makes sense that he would be one of the rare humans that can use magic, so I must disagree with Vorg at that one point. At some times, the story got a but confusing and I found myself reading parts over, to see what was going on. She is the princess, then an old man, and then the real princess comes, and it turns out she's not the princess again? Maybe it's because the story is so short, but the changes are too abrupt. I really like the plot angle that she's got a werewolf lover, and also the reports are an excellent touch, because I interpreted them like this: the Empire is really using them to find the werewolf and imprison or kill him, but she wants the reports to find her love. You really should make us cry, it's a good ambition, and you can throw in a criticism of people distrusting werewolves as well.
-Gryph

Currently reading: Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, and 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King. Currently building: A MOC based on the new Space Police sets. Currently drawing: a dwarf! They're fun... Currently playing: Cortex Command and Dragon Age Currently watching: Just finished Clash of the Titans. Looking forward to Prince of Persia. Currently writing: Some world-building stuff for my stories.


#14 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 03:32 AM

QUOTE (Gryphon @ Dec 8 2008, 06:41 AM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Yeah, the magic was a bit much as well, but if he is working for the King, it kind of makes sense that he would be one of the rare humans that can use magic, so I must disagree with Vorg at that one point. At some times, the story got a but confusing and I found myself reading parts over, to see what was going on. She is the princess, then an old man, and then the real princess comes, and it turns out she's not the princess again? Maybe it's because the story is so short, but the changes are too abrupt. I really like the plot angle that she's got a werewolf lover, and also the reports are an excellent touch, because I interpreted them like this: the Empire is really using them to find the werewolf and imprison or kill him, but she wants the reports to find her love. You really should make us cry, it's a good ambition, and you can throw in a criticism of people distrusting werewolves as well.

Yeah, I have a few story inconsistencies to clear up. And yes, there was a ton of princess switching.
QUOTE
Didn't quite like the whole magic thingy, but that's 'cause Wolfy's said that humans can't really use magic. M'kay?

These are 'top-of-the-foodchain' humans, and they know next to no magic at all. I think it's kinda balanced, but I'm eager to hear what Wolfy has to say. SO FAR SHE'S NOT REPLIED TO MY PM COUGH COUGH. smile.gif

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#15 Gryphon

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 06:23 AM

QUOTE (Hurricane @ Dec 9 2008, 12:37 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
SO FAR SHE'S NOT REPLIED TO MY PM COUGH COUGH. smile.gif

*looks around nervously*[whisper]She hasn't replied to mine either. I smell a conspiracy.[/whisper]

But yeah, it's a good story, plot and character wise, you just need to clean it up a bit.
-Gryph

Currently reading: Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, and 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King. Currently building: A MOC based on the new Space Police sets. Currently drawing: a dwarf! They're fun... Currently playing: Cortex Command and Dragon Age Currently watching: Just finished Clash of the Titans. Looking forward to Prince of Persia. Currently writing: Some world-building stuff for my stories.


#16 broons

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 06:33 AM

QUOTE (Gryphon @ Dec 9 2008, 04:28 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
*looks around nervously*[whisper]She hasn't replied to mine either. I smell a conspiracy.[/whisper]

Ditto! Conspiracy! tongue.gif

You'd better not take a couple o' months for the next chapter, Hurc-o. wink.gif

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#17 Maverick-Werewolf

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 07:03 AM

QUOTE (Hurricane @ Dec 9 2008, 12:37 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
SO FAR SHE'S NOT REPLIED TO MY PM COUGH COUGH. smile.gif

QUOTE (Gryphon @ Dec 9 2008, 03:28 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
*looks around nervously*[whisper]She hasn't replied to mine either. I smell a conspiracy.[/whisper]

QUOTE (Vorgain @ Dec 9 2008, 03:38 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Ditto! Conspiracy! tongue.gif

Maybe it's because I don't have nearly as much time as I'd like to, I'm trying to get all my school crap finished up so I can get my Christmas break, I'm trying to write\revise various stories, I'm trying to write more general info on Wylfgard, I'm trying to make a Wylfgard site, I'm practicing drawing, I'm trying to make a Wylfgard map, and on top of all this I'm still trying to have fun playing games sometimes, even while a bunch of people on different sites PM me and tell me I need to answer a bunch of questions about Wylfgard that I'm not really sure how to answer just yet (mostly because they partain to geography and different cities that I've never written about)?

...

*shrug* Yeah, sorry I haven't replied, guys. tongue.gif For now, though, I have a stupid research paper to write, okay? wink.gif

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#18 broons

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 07:11 AM

Research paper? Shiny. What about? Those can be fun. tongue.gif

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#19 Maverick-Werewolf

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 10:01 AM

QUOTE (Vorgain @ Dec 9 2008, 04:16 PM) <{POST_SNAPBACK}>
Research paper? Shiny. What about? Those can be fun. tongue.gif

Knights. Well, more like the training a knight had to go through.

Fun, huh? Heck, I love knights and chivalry and such, but I'm having a bit of trouble with it. Do you wanna know the ONE reason why? Sources. I've read a lot about knights, I've heard about knights - so I know a lot about them, but all I managed to do tonight was find a bunch of silly, scattered sources to use. If I didn't have to use the stupid things I could just write it and get it over with, but nooo, I can only write about things that are included in the stupid sources... rolleyes.gif

Anyway, I don't want to talk about it, so whatever. It's irritating.

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#20 Hurki-Wan KenobLee

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Posted 09 December 2008 - 10:39 AM

...

Do you know how aggrivating it is to get 4 topic subscription notices only to find that they were off topic? tongue.gif

Wooooolfy be sure to review it sooooooooon I need a review from yooooooou!!!

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