| We're a small community based on Super Smash Bros. Brawl. We have a ranking system, but it doesn't matter. That's right, the rankings are like the Wii Remote Jacket: nobody cares. If you're seeing this, that means you're a guest, which means you either haven't signed up or you haven't signed in. Unfortunately, we've had to disable guest posting, so if you want to contribute to our community, you'll need to have an account. If you make a new account with us, you'll be limited to posting in the Beginners forum. Once you make just one post there, you'll become a full-fledged member, and you can post wherever (and almost whatever) you want. We look forward to brawling with you! (Also, if you got here without checking out our main site, I suggest you do so: www.globalsmashfederation.com) |
| I'm writing a book. | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Jun 4 2008, 06:30 PM (180 Views) | |
| Memento Mori | Jun 4 2008, 06:30 PM Post #1 |
Founder
  ![]](http://209.85.117.197/static/1/pip_r.png)
|
Those of you who were part of E_G back in November 2005 might remember this book. I'm telling you right now to forget everything. I started this almost three years ago, wrote over 50,000 words in a month (that was the challenge, see www.nanowrimo.org for details), then neglected it for a long, long time. I recently started working on it again. However, skimming through the 100+ pages I wrote back then (and the book wasn't finished), I realized something profound: It was crap. With that revelation lodged firmly in my brain, I followed the only logical course of action: rewriting it. From the very first word of the very first page, everything is redone. Characters have been changed, the plot is altered -- even the structure of the novel is different. I think it's turning out much, much better. So, those of you who remember the last version, forget it. Those who have never read it before, I hope you enjoy it. Synopsis in next post, first scene in third post. |
 |
 
|
| Memento Mori | Jun 4 2008, 06:47 PM Post #2 |
|
Founder
|
The tentative title of this book is Demon Rising. When I first chose it, the title simply referred to a plot device. However, as the story and characters have developed and matured, the title has taken on several layers of meaning, and I think I'm going to keep it. DR has a medieval fantasy setting. Swords, sorcery, and the like. The Kingdom of Varilgia is divided between two power centers: the throne and the church (currently called the Holy Order). The HO holds sway over much of the masses; the aristocracy is largely loyal to the crown. The Holy Order is unquestionably the real power in the kingdom. Two hundred years prior to the book's events, the School of Necromancy, a magic academy located deep in the northern tundra of Varilgia, was converted into a military school by an overly ambitious Headmaster (who has yet to be given a name). The Necromancers, as their name suggests, were skilled at raising the dead, but they were also quite adept at demonomancy -- demon summoning. The more biologically inclined of their ranks fused demon and beast to create twisted monsters. With zombies, demons, and monsters at their side, the Necromancers quickly overtook Varilgia and brought a bloody end to the country's Golden Age. For ten years, they ruled Varilgia, renaming it the Varilgian Empire and setting their sights on neighboring countries. Then something happened. The truth has been lost to time, but official lore states that the Goddess sent her messenger from the heavens to smite the evil Necromancers. This smiting involved the complete decimation of the School of Necromancy, the scattering of the remaining Necromancers to the winds, and the sealing of all their magic. This messenger then established the Holy Order, which would keep the peace and protect the people for all time. Now the book begins. Isaac is a blacksmith's son/apprentice, living in the Varilgian port town of Cassias. Isaac's had a rough life, and as a result, he hates pretty much everybody. One day he learns that underground Necromancers were a direct cause of his life's primary tragedy, so he joins the Holy Order's Demonslayers (Necromancer hunters) so he can get his revenge. ...Really, I don't want to spoil anything. (I left out quite a bit in the above paragraph.) Let's just say that it involves large-scale war, small-scale tragedy, romance, delusions of grandeur, and complex internal dilemmas. I think it's going to turn out fantastic. The book is written with three main points of view: Isaac; Sideris, the Headmaster of the School of Necromancy; and Seth Radia, the king's Sworn Protector. Occasionally, special plot events will get a one-time perspective from a different character. It's also shaping up to be really long. Opening scene in next post. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jun 4 2008, 06:48 PM Post #3 |
|
Founder
|
Waiting. Waiting. Had the old men lost count? How much longer would they make him – not just him, but them, the people – how long would they keep them waiting? The elections had never felt so excruciatingly drawn out when he’d been looking up at the platform, not looking down from it. Then the results had come back immediately, or so it seemed; now the elders seemed to be taking sick pleasure out of torturing him. He glanced nervously to his left and right, at the other three candidates lined up on the platform. They’d all made their speeches. They’d all received thunderous applause. But he knew they didn’t stand a chance. They didn’t have destiny on their side. If anything, they were destined for failure. He suppressed a smirk. They needn’t have wasted their time with formalities; he could have told them who’d win the election beforehand. It was destined; he knew it. What was taking so long? Destiny or not, there simply wasn’t any excuse for this. But he fumed in silence. To distract himself, he looked out into the crowd in front of the platform, picking out individual faces instead of regarding them as a mass. There was Alexander, his closest friend and best supporter in his bid for election. There was Professor Baskin, the man who’d first opened his eyes to all that could be done with the skills they were learning. There was Catherine, blonde hair brilliant even in the dull wintry sunlight. He wondered how long she and her family would remain at the school before returning home. He shivered but did his best to hide it. He didn’t want to show any signs of visible weakness, not with the whole school, gathered together from every corner of Varilgia, watching him. Damn this cold, he thought bitterly. Even in the summer, the temperature always lingered between cold and freezing. Who decided that the school should be so far north? He knew the rhetoric, of course: the cold sharpened the mind and kept students focused on the task at hand. He didn’t care. If he became headmaster, his first action would be relocating the school farther south. There would be many other actions after that one. The mere thought of them was enough to make him grin like a schoolboy who’d just received a large bag of candy. He had a lot of plans for the school, and he was just as certain of their success as he was of the election. Destiny was guiding him. He knew it. He could feel it. He stole another glance at his competition, all of whom were wearing anxious expressions. He alone appeared calm. Poised, even. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost. Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The crowd silenced their conversations, and he felt the eyes shift away from him. He soon found the new object of their attention: an old man, wrapped in a heavy cloak and using a walking stick, hobbled to the center of the stage. The elder raised his hands for quiet – a pointless gesture. He had the rapt attention of every single person present. “It is my pleasure – ” The elder stopped to cough. Decrepit old man, he thought viciously. Why must we rely on these relics? The elder began again. “It is my pleasure to announce your new Headmaster.” He wanted to applaud the man just for making it through a sentence. He settled for a wry grin. “It was a very close race,” the old man said, smiling, “but the man you have chosen to be the next Headmaster of the Academy of Necromancy is...” He was ready to burst with anticipation. This was destiny, manifesting itself. This was the first step of change, progress, a better future for the world. And this melodramatic elder was taking his time for the sake of suspense! He curled his hands into fists. “Sideris Falloductis!” Cheers. Applause. He hardly heard them. Sideris was too lost inside his own head to hear anything. “Destiny,” he said, staring at the ground. The candidate – no, now just the loser – next to him gave him a questioning look. Sideris ignored him. He was Headmaster now; he could do what he wanted. After a moment of getting nothing out of Sideris, the defeated man left. He was followed by the other two. Sideris became aware that he was alone on the platform only when the crowd fell silent again. He looked up into their expectant faces, wondering what they could possibly want. It quickly dawned on him that they wanted him. They were waiting for a speech. He cleared his throat. “Brothers and sisters of the Order of Necromancy.” He waited for the roars to die down. “And all our students awaiting the day they join our ranks.” Again, he paused while the students made themselves heard. “You may think that all you have done today is choose a new Headmaster. Let me tell you that this is not so.” If he hadn’t had their attention before, he had it now. He could see it in their faces. “Today, you have chosen progress. You have chosen improvement. Improvement not just for the school, but for everyone. For yourselves. For your neighbors back at your homes. For all of Varilgia. You did not just choose a Headmaster today. You chose to change the world.” He smiled patiently as a fresh wave of approving applause washed over him. “I am making it my mission to turn this school into an agent of change. Too long have we stayed up here in the frigid north, isolated and practically ignored by the rest of the land. With your help, that will cease to be the case.” Less applause this time. He expected that. Grand talk of change was one thing; actually implementing it was quite another. “I want us to be active. I want us to take these things we are learning and apply them, use them for the betterment of society. I want to show everyone in Varilgia the values of knowledge. I want to open their eyes to the world around us. And I want – no, I need your help to do it. For a better future!” Sideris pumped his fist into the air. The rush of applause was deafening. Grinning broadly, Sideris looked out at his students, his Necromancers. His warriors, fighting under the banner of change. Together, they would sweep away the old and usher in the new. He doubted more than a few of them understood exactly what that meant. His smile widened. That was exactly how he wanted it. |
|
|
|
| Kuro-chan | Jun 4 2008, 07:47 PM Post #4 |
Ninja Pirate
|
Now I feel like taking up my book again.  I haven't read through all of what you posted, but from what I read, it's pretty awesome. It inspired me to take up my old work and re-write it (Which was what I was doing anyway). x33
|
|
|
| Yaypenguins | Jun 5 2008, 12:27 AM Post #5 |
Advanced Member
|
So is that the first chapter then? Or the Prologue, or something similar? Either way, great work. When you finish, make sure to send me a copy. It actually sort of reminds me of Deltora Quest, The Seventh Tower and, somehow, Fire Emblem Radiant Dawn. And after seeing this, it makes me want to become a video game designer even more. I have an awesome idea, but I can't really make a game until I have the proper supplies, which I can't afford. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jun 5 2008, 01:27 AM Post #6 |
|
Founder
|
I haven't really divided into chapters. It's just one scene after another. Oh, and thanks for the compliments, both of you. |
|
|
|
| lexical phobia | Jun 5 2008, 01:42 PM Post #7 |
Obsessor of all things Tales related XD
|
Holy Moly, I read the whole thing and was sad to see...the end of the post. >_>; Like Kuro said, it makes me want to write too...which I've been doing on and off... but, yes. I've always liked your writing style. ^^ |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jun 5 2008, 08:31 PM Post #8 |
|
Founder
|
You're in luck, Lex, because I'm posting the next scene. Introducing... the main character, Isaac! |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jun 5 2008, 08:32 PM Post #9 |
|
Founder
|
The pig squealed for mercy. At least, Isaac preferred to think it did. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, you filthy beast?” he muttered. “Well, maybe if you weren’t all a bunch of stinking murderers, I’d consider mercy.” He drew his blade across the thrashing boar’s throat, putting an end to the squeals and spilling hot blood over his hands. He relished it. “But you are, so I won’t.” Isaac brushed a few stray strands of blond hair from his eyes and scowled down at his kill. Given a choice, he’d have left the young boar alive to writhe in agony, but he knew that for as long as its cries echoed through the forest, he’d never find another boar except by sheer accident. But maybe he owed the boars a quick death. They’d given Rebecca that much when they’d surrounded her. Isaac shook his head violently and, snarling, stabbed the dead boar in the stomach. He’d thought about it again. He hated thinking about it. In an effort to block out his thoughts, he crept through the trees, alert for the snorts and rustling that meant another boar was nearby. He glanced to his left and spotted a clearing. After a moment, he realized with horror that it wasn’t just a clearing. It was the clearing. The flowers still grew there, the flowers that had cost Rebecca her life. He immediately picked out the spot where her broken body had been; he could almost see the bloodstains on the grass. Though his mind was repulsed by the very sight of the clearing, he seemed drawn towards it. Slowly, unfeelingly, he made his way through the trees to the opposite end of the clearing and found himself standing over the spot where he’d found her body. The flowers he’d planted there – tall yellow ones; not the small white ones she’d been picking when she died – had multiplied. Isaac bent and picked one. He stared at it and lightly touched the petals. “Rebecca...” Isaac suddenly became aware that he was not being left alone with his thoughts. He glanced to his right, towards the source of the angry snorts he’d heard, and bared his teeth. A full-grown boar, in all appearances identical to one of the pack that had killed Rebecca, had entered the clearing and taken Isaac to be its next meal. Isaac let out a few angry snorts of his own. “Not both of us, you damn mongrel.” He drew his sword at the same moment the beast chose to charge. As much as he would have liked to stare the boar down and stab it between the eyes as it approached, he also knew that the long tusks the creature sported were not to be trifled with. He chose instead to leap aside at the last possible moment and tear a long gash in the boar’s side. Despite what Isaac thought were grievous injuries, the boar turned for another charge. They were ferocious and stubborn; he had to give them that. But Isaac had enough of those qualities to match the boars and to spare. He also had something the boars didn’t – intelligence. As the boar rushed him in a blind rage, Isaac calmly sheathed his sword, drew his bow, and put two arrows into the beast’s skull. He stepped aside and watched as the boar, not yet aware that it was dead, stumbled and crashed into a tree before collapsing. “I tried to tell you.” Isaac shrugged. Of their own accord, his eyes wandered back to the patch of flowers where his sister had lain. To his dismay, he found that some of the boar’s blood had spilled there. Isaac shuddered. The sight reminded him too well of what he’d seen just a year ago. He closed his eyes, trying to control his shaking and block out the images that were flooding his brain. But the darkness only made the pictures clearer. Isaac and his younger sister, Rebecca, had gone on their habitual afternoon walk in the forest. Isaac had brought his bow, hoping to do some hunting, and Rebecca had brought her childish worries. Isaac had been sixteen, she nine. Their mother was sick at the time – nothing life-threatening, but Rebecca worried all the same. She’d never been able to abide Isaac’s killing small animals, so she excused herself when she spotted a clearing full of white flowers, saying she would bring some to their mother. Isaac immediately encouraged the idea – Rebecca’s queasiness usually caused him to lose kills. Content with this rare compromise, they went their separate ways. Looking back, Isaac thought bitterly that had he known what was to happen, he’d have gladly sacrificed all of his kills for the rest of his life if it meant keeping her by his side. The hunting was going fairly well: he’d brought down two rabbits and a young deer. He was stalking his third rabbit when her first scream split the air. The rabbit disappeared into some bushes; Isaac took no notice of it. He was already running with desperate speed towards the clearing where he’d left Rebecca. A second scream, this one with a distinctly different tone from the first. Despite the exertion of running, the blood drained from Isaac’s face. The first scream had been one of surprise – she’d made a similar sound when he surprised her from behind a bush. This second was a product of pure terror. He willed himself to run faster. He knew it would be too late. He was just too far away from the clearing to save Rebecca from whatever was frightening her. That knowledge didn’t stop him from frantically crashing through any undergrowth that was in his path. That didn’t stop him from believing that there was still a chance. She screamed a third time – this one a full, long shriek. Good, Isaac thought, the amateur hunter in him taking over. Scare it away. No way they’ve ever heard anything like that before. Smiling grimly, Isaac pressed onward. Abruptly, the shriek stopped. No. It didn’t just stop. It was cut off. Tears blurring his vision, Isaac fell to his knees. He drew the small dagger he carried to finish off wounded animals and stared at it. He ran his finger along the flat of the blade. It would be so easy. But just as abruptly as his sister had surely died, Isaac banished the thought. He had to save her body before whatever had killed her desecrated it. He thought of something eating her and had to lean against a tree to throw up. In the clearing, Isaac found what appeared to be the four biggest boars he’d ever seen gathered in a circle. He knew all too well what he would find in the center of that circle. Determined not to make a sound, Isaac drew his bow and put an arrow into the haunches of the nearest boar. With a roar of anger, it turned on him. He discovered, to his displeasure, that the boar – if it could even rightfully be called that – had tusks to match its size. It took three more arrows to bring it down. The other three, as unfamiliar with humans as he was with them, fled while he was distracted. Gulping large amounts of air, Isaac approached what remained of his sister’s body. He’d never known carnivorous boars existed, let alone that packs of them roamed Cassias Forest. He was able to look into her soft brown eyes for only a moment before getting sick in the bushes. Trembling uncontrollably, Isaac was forced to admit that there was nothing more he could do. He turned to return to his village, passing by the dead boar as he did so. He paused to look down at it. Upon closer inspection, the thing resembled a boar even less than he’d thought. It had the same thick brown fur and large tusks of a boar, but its snout was shorter and oozed saliva that, from the smell of it, had to be venomous. It was thinner than its herbivorous counterpart – Isaac supposed that was due to its having to hunt for food. The fur had light patches here and there. Camouflage in the sun? Isaac could think of no other reason. But the biggest difference lay in its eyes. Isaac couldn’t explain it, but the eyes seemed crueler somehow. Angrier. They were hunters’ eyes. He’d never seen anything like this creature before. New to the forest? But where did they come from? Blood that was not its own pooled by its mouth. Then his eyes were drawn to a patch of color on the creature’s tusk – a large shred of Rebecca’s dress was impaled on the end. As he bent to retrieve it, Isaac felt a rush of satisfaction: he’d gotten the one responsible for Rebecca’s death. He looked at the cloth for a moment, then closed his fist around it and trudged home. He finally opened his eyes. When he did, he found himself calmer. He glanced at the flower in his hand for a second, then let it drop. He already had one relic. Turning to leave, his eyes fell upon the boar – properly called a tuskra – he’d slain. Yes, he’d killed the one that had killed Rebecca. But later, he found that it wasn’t enough. A year later, a year filled with the blood and screams of tuskras of all ages and genders, and it still wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure it ever would be. |
|
|
|
| Yaypenguins | Jun 6 2008, 04:44 PM Post #10 |
|
Advanced Member
|
Ahem *clears throat* EXCELLENT!!! Edited by Yaypenguins, Jul 7 2008, 12:36 AM.
|
|
|
|
| Berserker Swordsman | Jun 6 2008, 04:49 PM Post #11 |
AMAZINGJOBSQUIRTLE
|
The fact there's a bow and a Rebecca only makes me feel like crying when she dies. ;_; She didn't have green hair, right? Great scenes, as they were before. =D |
|
|
|
| Tarsir | Jun 6 2008, 05:20 PM Post #12 |
Advanced Member
|
Hmm.. I'll have to critique this later. Issue I noticed in skim: Too many adverbs. Adverbs are bad. They are redundancy. They are useless. They are shit. Use what you need, don't need what you use. |
|
|
|
| lexical phobia | Jul 6 2008, 08:04 PM Post #13 |
|
Obsessor of all things Tales related XD
|
you...you ARE going to post more, right? Right?? Because that scene was AMAZING. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jul 7 2008, 12:13 AM Post #14 |
|
Founder
|
Oh, yeah, I can. Introducing the third character! |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jul 7 2008, 12:22 AM Post #15 |
|
Founder
|
Tradition be damned, Seth thought. Had he spoken it, his voice would have dripped with contempt. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Soldiers, especially those in a position such as his, had to be composed at all times. Regardless of how calm he kept his expression, Seth Radia was not pleased with his current situation. Assassins could be anywhere in this huge crowd, he lamented. How was he supposed to protect his charge if he couldn’t spot potential threats? The High Priest had been droning on for some time now; Seth had tuned out the man almost as soon as he opened his mouth. Normally he would have felt guilty for ignoring the priest, but the words were of little use to him today. His interest lay in the crowd that was, for the most part, hanging on the High Priest’s every word. He was primarily interested in those who made up the lesser part – those that weren’t raptly focused on the event going on behind him. Stony-faced and determined, Seth scanned the crowd yet again. It was all he’d been doing for close to an hour. He hadn’t found anything suspicious yet. That didn’t mean nothing would change in the next ten seconds. That was how long it took for an assassin to raise a tube to his mouth, aim, and launch a poison dart straight at his charge. How he would ever manage to notice a person doing that, or what he could do if he did see it, he tried not to think about. If he never relaxed his watch, maybe any potential killers would be deterred. Maybe. It was all he could do. Someone in the crowd moved; Seth instantly focused all of his attention on the movement. It was easy to spot – most of the people were motionless, so entranced were they by the coronation rites. Seth knew that if he bothered to listen, he would fall under the same spell. That was the best reason to ignore it, no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise. Instead, he watched the man intensely. He was just scratching. Seth stared at him until he slipped back into his still stupor, then resumed scanning. The ceremony was approaching its climax. Seth knew this because he heard the king – No, not the king just yet – begin to speak. He was taking the oath. He would have his right hand on the crown, his left on the High Priest’s scepter, gold with a green crystal orb surrounded by gems adorning the top. Seth closed his eyes, imagining the scene behind him – then immediately opened them and cursed himself. He couldn’t afford one moment’s distraction, especially not one spent with his eyes closed. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to his charge now, and, worse, nor would anyone else. After what seemed like an eternity – had the oath always been so long? – Prince Pyrus Lastname [I don't have a good one for him yet] was no longer a prince. He was King of Varilgia. Seth pictured him rising to his feet, crown newly placed upon his head. He forced to himself to keep his eyes open this time. Even in his head, the scene was majestic. How he longed to turn around and witness it for himself! He’d been protecting Pyrus since the boy was born, and now he had to miss the literally crowning moment of the boy’s life. It hardly seemed fair. But duty presided over fairness, and Seth never shirked his duty for a second. An enormous roar went up from the crowd; the coronation was complete. Seth still didn’t relax. Now was exactly when an assassin would expect him to relax. Instead, he searched the crowd more intently than ever. Somewhere amongst the applauding hands could be a pair that was doing something quite different, and Seth was determined to find them. But despite all his best efforts, he saw nothing. He remained unconvinced that there would be nothing to see. He hoped that the other guards stationed around the hall would be able to spot anything he missed. Seth heard King Pyrus approaching long before he actually reached his bodyguard’s side. Still, he waited until the last possible second before tearing his eyes away from the crowd, which was now broken up into hundreds of smaller groups, and greeting his new king. “Well? What did you think?” Pyrus asked. Despite the crown on his head, Pyrus’s face remained unchanged. He still had that young, confident grin that went hand-in-hand with being twenty-two. Seth wondered if the full weight of that crown had sunk on his young charge yet. But comments of that sort were not what Pyrus sought, nor were they of a sort that Seth would ever offer. He looked around at the great hall of Varilgia Castle, which was even more elaborately decorated than usual. Gold cloth streamed across the vast ceiling in large arches. The statues of great kings in the past, which were normally scattered throughout the gardens, now formed a line just behind the throne as if observing the passage of power to a worthy successor. Two long lines of royal soldiers formed the borders within which the citizens of Caiobren [working name] stood to watch the ceremony. Shorter lines of Holy Order bishops stood behind the soldiers, closer to the wall. Sunlight, pouring through the large windows that lined the walls, turned their robes a blinding white. It was a grand affair, but Seth had never taken real notice of it until then. The statues had been nothing but more places for an assassin to hide; every member of the long lines of soldiers and priests a potential impostor waiting for a chance to strike. “I bet it was majestic, sir. Awe-inspiring, even.” Pyrus’s grin broadened. “It was, wasn’t it?” He looked around. A few Varilgians, now his subjects, waved excitedly at him. He returned the gesture, then turned back to Seth. “Your job just gets harder now, doesn’t it?” Seth considered that for a moment. “Perhaps not, sir. As king, your person is certainly a more attractive target, but you also get more guards. But my job doesn’t get any easier, either.” No amount of security would persuade him to relax his stern watch. Years of hard training weighed more than a handful of extra soldiers. Laughing, Pyrus put his arm around Seth’s shoulders. The bodyguard shifted uncomfortably; the king was pressing against his sword arm. Pyrus took no notice. “I can always trust you, can’t I, Seth?” The tone of the king’s question startled Seth. Gone was the laughter and frivolous boyishness that had been present just a second ago. Pyrus sounded concerned, worried, and entirely serious. Wondering what was running through his liege’s mind, Seth silently nodded. “Good. Things are going to change around here, Seth. I’m going to make some enemies.” Having turned to look Pyrus in the eye, Seth didn’t miss how the king’s gaze flickered towards the Holy Order priests. “I’m going to need you more than ever, I think.” “You can count on me, sir,” Seth said automatically. Inwardly, he wondered even more about what was going on in King Pyrus’s mind. |
|
|
|
| Yaypenguins | Jul 7 2008, 12:45 AM Post #16 |
|
Advanced Member
|
The plot thickens like custard.... >_> Yes, that is my version of a compliment. I've fought Fawful a few too many times. Oh yeah, there was just one thing I found:
Small grammar mistake. Other than that, great job. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Jul 7 2008, 12:03 PM Post #17 |
|
Founder
|
I have no idea how, after so many re-reads, I've missed that. Thanks, guys. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Sep 29 2008, 02:08 AM Post #18 |
|
Founder
|
Necro-post! |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Sep 29 2008, 02:11 AM Post #19 |
|
Founder
|
Isaac threw down his hammer in disgust. This horseshoe was never going to turn out right, not in its present state. He’d have to start all over if he wanted to make it properly. He cast a weary glance at the furnace he was sharing with his father, Oscar, then looked back at the lump of metal that was supposed to be a horseshoe. It was hopeless. “I’m taking the day off,” he announced. Oscar frowned at his son. His mouth, surrounded by a thick brown beard that was singed in several places, turned downward. Isaac braced himself for an argument. He knew that his abrupt mood swings and flares of temper unfailingly confused and infuriated his father, but the next day he cared would be the first. He didn’t expect his father to understand. He just expected to get his way. And he did – this time. Oscar merely shrugged and returned to his own metalwork, effectively washing his hands of Isaac. A sigh of relief escaped Isaac’s lips. He’d prepared himself for a fight; by no means had he been looking forward to it. He gave a nod of thanks to his father’s unseeing back and slipped out of the forge. “Isaac!” His mother, Alice, was tending to the few livestock the Blacksmith family kept. Whatever she wanted, Isaac decided, could wait. He pretended he hadn’t heard her and continued towards Cassias. He was halfway there when he realized he’d left his sword behind. After a few loud curses, Isaac shrugged. He didn’t need to get revenge every day. Just most of them. Isaac scowled. What good was he doing, really? How was killing a bunch of stupid beasts helping anybody? All it did was satisfy his thirst for revenge, and that only lasted for a day or two. Then he was back, killing more of them. And they bred like rabbits; Isaac had no hope of exterminating them short of burning down the whole forest. He was enough of an outcast in Cassias without destroying the town’s lumber trade. He hadn’t been the only person to feel the pain of Rebecca’s loss. Cassias was a small, tightly knit community; everyone – the whole town, it had seemed like – mourned when he presented the small scrap of her dress to his parents. And when everyone had finished crying, everyone got angry. At him. They’d blamed him for Rebecca’s death. Even before their tears had dried, they were screaming at him for abandoning her and being a stupid, reckless, unthinking teenage boy. All around him, people were vowing that they’d never forgive him. Left with no other options, he’d made similar promises about them. What was he supposed to have done? He’d never seen tuskras in the forest before; he’d had no reason to suspect any danger. Although, once prompted, he did recall a local hunter mentioning them at a town council a few days before the incident. But he was a boy; did they really expect him to pay attention to that? After the funeral – memorial really, having no body for display – the townsfolk moved on with their lives. They stopped hating him. Isaac didn’t stop hating them. Who were they to judge him? Did they really believe that, had they been in his shoes, they’d have done any differently? Made it to her in time for a heroic rescue, perhaps? Played the wise, all-knowing adults and kept Rebecca at their sides? Isaac had sneered at the idea, and he still did. They were all hypocrites, he told himself. But they weren’t shouldering the blame, and they were glad to lay as much on him as they could. He longed for the day when his sword could taste flesh that didn’t belong to tuskras. For now, though, he’d settle for sating himself on the squeals of boars. They hadn’t understood his helplessness – but he’d make them feel helplessness of a whole different kind. “Isaac!” Isaac snapped to attention, as he hadn’t done when his mother called his name. He grinned. “Phillip!” He nodded at his friend, who was just emerging from his father’s shop. “Not too busy, are you?” “No, not today.” Phillip’s grin matched Isaac’s own; through the door, he could see his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. His emerald green eyes smoldered behind the friendly smile. “Looks like you’re not, either.” “I got the day off,” Isaac said. Not a complete lie, but there was no need for details. “Can you get away from the old man for a few hours?” “Don’t see why not.” Phillip frowned and turned back to the shop. “Father? Isaac’s here. Can I go for a while?” Phillip’s father, instead of simply replying, came to the door himself. Gray lined the black hair that he and his son shared, and his beard was a patch of fuzz compared to Oscar’s; but his icy blue eyes, also identical to Phillip’s, had lost none of their intensity, and Kent was a highly respected member of the community regardless of his physical appearance. The shopkeeper blinked into the noon sunlight. “Oh, hello there, Isaac! Not out on business today, I take it?” Isaac shook his head. “No, not today. How’s your business?” He had no trouble being cordial when he needed to. After a year’s practice, he could keep his hatred simmering under the surface. Kent stroked his beard at that. “I suppose it’s been well enough, wouldn’t you say, Phillip?” He didn’t wait for his son to reply. “Finally sold that silver tableware that’s been gathering dust for months.” He made a face, as did Phillip. The set had been particularly ugly. “But you’re not here to ask about business!” His face lit up. Isaac silently sighed in relief. The less idle conversation, the better. “Yes, you may go, Phillip. Be back this afternoon to help close the shop.” Without another word, Kent disappeared into the store and closed the door behind him. “That’s that, then,” Isaac said absently. Phillip nodded. “Well, what shall we do?” Phillip rolled his eyes. “As if you don’t know exactly what you want to do. I’ll head around back and get the equipment.” He did just that, disappearing behind the building that housed his father’s store. “Why, what a good idea!” Isaac said in mock surprise. “However do you come up with these things?” “It’s a gift, I guess,” Phillip called back. A moment later, he returned laden with sparring gear. “Here, take your half.” He thrust a pile at Isaac. Isaac raised a wooden sword in the air and smiled. “I hope you’re ready to lose this time.” “I’m always ready. And you always disappoint me.” Phillip laughed and jumped away from the playful swipe Isaac aimed at his head. “I don’t see why this time will be any different.” Isaac’s face darkened; Phillip didn’t miss it. “I’ll beat you this time,” he said savagely. “I’ll show you.” And one day, I’ll show all the rest of them, too. |
|
|
|
| Memento Mori | Sep 29 2008, 02:12 AM Post #20 |
|
Founder
|
I'm going to say right now, before anyone else does, that this:
will be changed. |
|
|
|
| « Previous Topic · Literature · Next Topic » | |
4:04 PM Dec 4