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Post by Kaez on Jul 7, 2009 16:53:04 GMT -5
THE YESTERYEAR SERIES PART:
WOLVES
in the
DARK [/size] by Agro & Kaez[/center] |
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Post by Kaez on Jul 7, 2009 20:07:04 GMT -5
PROLOGUE
"The Kharnathian Empire, ever since its founding some fifty-four years ago, has been a distinct and individual nation. Though it was born out of warfare, it has now found peace and even friendship with Rosia, developed foreign relations and trade, and established itself as a legitimate nation amongst the world. Its culture, though established from Rosian traditions, has grown unique and prideful, representing a nation of diversity and of common bonds. Despite its relative youth, the Empire has known many trials and his has overcome them all, against any odds that had presented themselves -- for the hard-working Kharnathian men, no matter their disagreements, will always find decency at the one place where they can escape the world of mannerisms and standards and can be themselves and relax.
The Timberwolves Lodge has made itself a cultural icon in the Kharnathian Empire. Since the nation's founding, in the very first year of the great Winter War when the northern lands that would later become the Empire were known only as the Vaesar Kingdom, the first of the Timberwolves Lodges opened. In those years, when time was given off to the brave soldiers who fought for the freedom of their nation on the cold southern front, it was to the Timberwolves Lodge they went for warm food, a cold drink, and friends to brag to about their courageousness and ferocity on the battlefield.
True, Vaesar Rolland himself visited the original lodge more than once to greet his surviving soldiers who rested there after many weeks on the front. The original Lodge still stands today in the village of Ava, just to the northeast of Natha. Today, though, nine more stand. Ten Timberwolves Lodges are dotted across the entirety of the Kharnathian Empire, and still today one may be lucky enough to find a venerable veteran of the Winter War sharing stories with the brave Standing Army of today. The walls of those Lodges, no doubt, have heard more brutality, more courage, and more drunkenly spilt battleplans than any man himself has ever been told."
-- Of History, by Will'im Madfoot of Rose |
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Post by James on Jul 7, 2009 22:16:40 GMT -5
Wilam Flecter, head of the Nathanian Home Guard, rode through the muddied paths of the town of Natha, the husks of houses enclosing upon him on either side. Houses were always built close together in the north, compacted into small spaces to provide heat for their inhabitants. These houses were only skeletons though, left to the harsh weather of the Broken Woods as their builders fought in the war against Rosia. He hadn’t come to admire such houses though. He had come because General Rolland, the brave Vaesar Rolland himself, had summoned him. The urgency of the summon still imprinted upon him as he passed through the gates of the large military outpost upon the outskirts of the town.
A stable hand emerged to take his horse as several guards took step around him to escort him to the general’s room. Wilam took sight of his appearance from a stray puddle outside the outpost’s door, making sure that he looked a respectable solider for the general. Light brown hair was grown long but tidy to protect his scalp from the blistering cold that sometime settled over the woods. His young, clean-shaven face slightly reddened due to the chill and his green eyes glinted from behind unusually long eyelashes, a quirk that had resulted in teasing from his fellow guards. Thick leather clothing sandwiched a garment of chain mail, protecting his body from the cold, while a smooth short sword sat sheathed upon his hip.
Vaesar Rolland was sat waiting, his eyes occasionally glancing down at a report, when Wilam arrived within his office. Upon first glance General Rolland wouldn’t have looked out of place at an inn or tavern, black hair wildly covering the top of his head and a shadow of stubble across his cheeks and chin. But then you would catch sight of his clothing. Unlike most northern soldiers, Rolland wore his warm leather beneath his armour and unlike most soldiers he did not wear chain but shining metallic plate. Leaning upon the desk stood a large mace, smooth stone glinting off the meager light within the outpost. Wilam had once heard that Rolland had declared the day he would be separated from his mace, would be the day he die.
“Flecter,” Rolland said, rising to meet Wilam as he was escorted into the room. “I am glad you came with speed.”
“Your summon sounded urgent, General,” Wilam replied, taking a seat that Rolland gestured to, wood scraping against itself as he sat down.
“It is urgent. Indeed perhaps the weight of the war rests upon it. As you know, the crown that Savin Orsea wears rests heavily upon his head. The fingers of old age are slowly claiming the old man. Meanwhile his daughter Amoria looks more favourable upon our plight, in mere months we might finally have our freedom.”
“So what is so urgent?” Wilam asked quickly.
“Well with each passing the day the military of Rosia grows more desperate to beat us. Indeed we’re expecting them to launch one final more push into the heart of our defensive line at the border and try to crush us,” Rolland explained.
“That’s madness,” Wilam blurted before recomposing himself. “How would they possible know where to strike? If they guess wrong then they are utterly destroyed.”
“Exactly,” Rolland said. “Which is why you’re here. They have infiltrated the Nathanian Home Guard and are currently receiving all of the information that all units of our army receive. They will know exactly where the border is weakest and strongest, which is why the spy needs to be brought to me. I need to learn how much they know. You must return to your barracks and arrest the man and bring him to me, I would go myself but my arrival or any armed force would cause him to bolt.”
Wilam wouldn’t have believed the story if it came from anyone but General Rolland himself. That one of his own men was betraying him and his fellow guards sickened the young man to the core. But who? Who was sending information to Rosia and plotting their doom?
“Yes sir,” Wilam muttered, forcing himself to talk. “Which guard?”
“Denis Legetta.”
***
As Wilam thundered back down the muddied path, his leather breeches splashed with dirt and grime, he tried to contemplate what he had just been told. Denis Legetta was a spy and a threat to the state of the north’s freedom. He couldn’t quite believe it. Denis was perhaps a little too quiet for his liking, but he always completed his tasks on time and in quality. Could he really be a spy? General Rolland was sure and had commanded his arrest, was he somehow mistaken?
The Nathanian Guard House stood nestled within the more completed section of the town, larger wooden buildings towering over the homes in-progress. Many inns were packed with families as they awaited their home to be finished, but Wilam could spare no thought for them today as he leapt from his horse and raced up the shallow steps to the guard house, pushing the door open with such force that the hinges squeaked in pain.
“Hey Cap’t, what did the Big Boss want?” cried one guard as they saw Wilam enter, but he paid no heed disappearing up the stairs to Denis’ chambers. “Cap’t? What’s wrong?”
Wilam neared Denis’ quarters, one gloved hand reaching for the door as the other went to his sword. Metal rang as the sword came free from its case and stood poised to strike as the door swung open to reveal Denis’ room. It was empty. Paper was strewn across the desk and a still wet quill was at Wilam’s feet as he strode into the room, turning from left to right to check every nook and cranny. This couldn’t happen. He had to be here.
“Captain? What’s happening?” asked one guard, stepping forward from the audience that had followed Wilam up the stairs.
“Where’s Denis?”
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Post by Kaez on Jul 8, 2009 19:18:38 GMT -5
Dear WC,
All has gone smoothly, as we had hoped. The eagle is in the nest and the skies are calm. Though food has been short, the spring is coming soon, I’m sure. My only concern is the Hawk himself. His wits are sharp and his eyes are keen, though as of now his hunts have all been fruitless. The Good Sun has been warm and very helpful, and I’m gra
Denis Legetta was not a particularly outstanding fellow. He kept a thin, uneven beard and his hair was always a mess, though it complimented rather unremarkable eyes and an average, everyman’s build. He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve and listening. He set down his quill and slid the letter quietly behind the lamp at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Quiet though they were, Denis was trained to hear such things.
One knock, two more, and one knock again – as per code. Denis stood from his chair and peered through the eyehole in the door. Miller stood on the other side, glancing about himself with abnormal paranoia. Something had gone awry. Quickly, Denis unlocked the door and Miller stepped in before he closed it again and locked it.
Miller was a short, stout man with a rounded stomach and not much of a neck. Sweat beaded all off of his balding head and down his plump cheeks. “Mister Denis, they’ve heard! They know!”
Denis immediately went over to his desk and began gathering up his things. “H-how do you kn-kn, how do you kn-know?”
“I heard them talking, I did. It was General Rolland, he was talking about a spy and then I heard him say your name, but he didn’t know where you were, oh, but I’m sure he knows now, Denis, you’ve got to get out of here and you’ve got to do it now!” Miller spouted out in a single breath.
“K-keep your voice down, M-Miller,” Denis whispered, dropping all sorts of things into his backpack. “Are the p-patrols out yet t-t-tonight?”
“Not yet, sir, they shouldn’t be. Just get out! If anyone asks I’ll say you went into town for supplies?”
“Th-that’ll do, y-yes, Miller. J-Just need a b-bit of time to s-slip away.” Denis tightened his belt and slid in his daggers, tossing his long coat over all of it. He pushed open the window, and a bitter gust of wind swept inside. “Th-thank you so m-much, M-Miller.”
“Oh, it’s nothing! Get! Now!” With that, Denis hoisted his legs through, dropped out into the cold, and shut the window behind him. A few beggars were about in the streets, luckily enough, and he walked over to them and sat down behind their pathetic excuse for a fire.
“Who’re you?” one of them asked rudely, nudging his shoulder.
“N-no one,” he said, glancing about the streets. Damn it, he thought. He had left the note inside. Luckily he hadn’t said much yet. For if there was one thing that Denis Legetta had, and possibly the only thing he had, it was luck. Luck had gotten him his job, his belongings, and saved his life on more than one occasion. The faint galloping in the distance grew louder until Denis saw a man out of the corner of his eye, riding through the muddied, cold streets. Surely, he was the guard that General Rolland had sent. His opportunity was coming.
“No one? How can any’ne be no one? What’s y’er name?” the brute questioned, but Denis ignored him.
The man entering the barracks was armed, with a rather large blade at that, and he stepped inside with a hurry. The time between the guard closing that door and him leaving again empty-handed was the time to run. Not a single patrol was on the street until sundown and the sky still had hints of blue in it. He should be safe.
When the door to the barracks closed, Denis was off to great confusion of the beggars and he ran as swiftly as his legs could take him, right into the heart of Natha.
The town might have been as big as Halan by now, had the military not decided it more fit to wait than Halan and stopped nearly all of the construction before any major buildings were finished. Who could spare soldiers for construction work? What could were buildings if there was no freedom to live in them? Looming all around him were massive wooden skeletons of would-be schoolhouses and churches, Denis assumed. Still, it was hardly a ghost-town by any means and every room in every inn was booked for the entirety of the foreseeable future.
The Cantillian Woods made the backdrop of the half-finished town. Named after a large village in the far north, the Cantillian Woods were an unforgiving place. Much closer, just northeast of Natha, a small, insignificant village rested at the base of the Cantil Valley. Though it still required venturing through the woods, it shouldn’t be too rough of a trip as long as there were no guards on his tail.
The name of the village was Ava, and it was the last place anyone would look, he was certain. When he was first sent into Natha by the Rosian War Commission, he was told that in case of trouble, Ava would be a safe hideout due to its small size. Then again, Denis thought, it would be especially cunning of them to look first in the places in which they would logically look last.
No matter. Even if he wasn’t absolutely sure about the place, he knew that anywhere was better than here. It was to the Woods he was heading, and he rounded icy bends and made his way through tight corridors between homes until he was at the outskirts of the city. He stopped in the dark between two large, stone houses and crept very low to catch his breath before he would make a break for the woods. All was quiet in Natha, somewhat to his surprise. Though he wouldn’t let himself grow too comfortable just yet, he did believe he had escaped safely – at least for the time being.
Then, as if from nowhere, a swift, whistling noise came just past his head. He rolled to the ground and covered his face with his arms. When he maneuvered himself into position to see what had happened, he found a man, a very large man too, standing not ten meters from him, gripping a crossbow in his big, gloved hands. Though he couldn’t make out the man’s face in the dark, he was sure this wasn’t the guard for he was draped in thick furs and didn’t appear to have any blade with him at all.
“Thief! You bloody louse, I’ll have your neck!” the man’s voice boomed and echoed against the quiet evening. Even if the man’s bow wouldn’t have him pinned to the ground within seconds, the shouting would have been easily heard much farther away than the barracks. Denis rolled onto his stomach and shoved himself from the ground as another arrow flew past him. Heading straight through the eastern gate and into the woods, the sound of a horse racing through the streets wasn’t far behind him. What terrible luck, he thought. |
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Post by James on Jul 8, 2009 21:48:37 GMT -5
“Where’s Denis?”
“S-said something about needing supplies, he did,” a short portly man said from the crowd. “Needed some more fur, he said.”
Wilam’s father always knew when he was being lied to; it was one of the reasons why Wilam had grown up to almost always tell the truth. His father could detect a subtle shoulder shrug or the unusually long eye contact that signaled a lie and instantly demand the truth. Wilam was not so gifted. His heart clouded his eyes, Wilam always eager to see the best in people. This lie though he could easily detected, the man Miller, sweating profusely and his beady little eyes darting in every direction.
“You’re a poor liar, Miller,” Wilam said coldly, marching across to him. “And even worst, a traitor. Thatcher, Smith, take Miller to General Rolland and tell him he helped Legetta escape.”
“What does the Big Boss want Legetta for?” called a guard, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.
“Because he’s a spy, betraying us to Rosia and every moment we waste is another moment for him to flee,” Wilam barked, annoyed at his men’s refusal to act.
“No, not our Denis. He ain’t no spy,” said another guard, Wilam catching the look of shock upon many of his men’s faces. This is taking too long he thought, Denis could already be out of the city by now but I’m going to need their help.
“Then perhaps you can explain this,” Wilam replied, snatching the note from upon the table and bringing it to his eyes. Clearing his throat, he read aloud, “Dear WC, All has gone smoothly, as we had hoped. The eagle is in the nest and the skies are calm. Though food has been short, the spring is coming soon, I’m sure. My only concern is the Hawk himself. His wits are sharp and his eyes are keen, though as of now his hunts have all been fruitless. The Good Sun has been warm and very helpful, and I’m. It seems he was stopped suddenly,” Wilam finished, flashing Miller a deadly glare.
“I…I…Denis? A spy, I can’t believe,” Thatcher muttered, slumping down against the wall. “He was betraying us?”
“Yes, and every minute we stand here is a chance for him to escape from his crimes,” Wilam said, stuffing the letter in the pocket of his leather coat. “Now Thatcher, Smith, do as I ask and take Miller to General Rolland.”
“Yes sir,” they said, grabbing Miller under his arms and throwing him ceremoniously down the stairs, the crunching sound of breaking bones rattling through the noise of the wood creaking under the strain of the portly man’s weight. When men slept, worked and fought as closely as the Nathanian Home Guard did, bonds were made and when they were broken so often did bones break too.
“Now we are going to have to split up, Denis could have gone in any direction,” Wilam began, turning to the remaining men. “Boyle, Leicester, Pond, you head to Rive…”
“Thief! You bloody louse, I’ll have your neck!” a voice thundered through the window that Wilam had recently opened. Wilam would recognise that voice even if he was in Darrow, it was Shen Moed, a ghastly giant of a man that shot anyone who stumbled upon his land, including guards.
“You don’t think,” Leicester said, slowly.
Wilam didn’t give a reply sprinting down the stairs two at a time, the wood creaking sickly as the mail boot slammed down with force each time. As he rushed through the door and reached for his horse he could hear the steps of several more guards racing after him, willing to give pursuit too. With a glance behind him he could make out seven men, all rushing for weapons and horses before Wilam leapt upon his horse and broke into a gallop, mud flying everywhere and snuffing out a fire of some nearby beggars.
“Oi!”
Shen Moed’s excuse for a home lied upon the eastern outskirt of the town, nothing more than a barn with some animals and a bed. Why was Denis heading east? If he knew that his cover was up why was he not making a break for the border? Why head into the relatively unknown, untouched and quite dangerous east of the Cantillian Woods? Was he planning to strike out for the coast? All these thoughts crossed Wilam’s mind as he rode through the streets of Natha, cutting through the wooden foundations of a small church.
Suddenly tracks emerged as the wooden fence of Shen’s land came into sight, it was clear to Wilam that the tracks belonged to a man and a man running. Without slowing, Wilam guided his horse over the fence and into Shen’s lands following the tracks eagerly, hoping that the great beast was still preoccupied with Denis.
A sudden grunt and the whistling of an arrow proved that luck was not on his side today, as a great crossbow bolt struck Wilam in his ribs, flinging him for his horse that bolted in fear. His mail had stopped the blow from piercing his skin, but the searing pain from the chain being pushed into his ribs was enough for the guard to lie upon the cold wet ground gasping in pain.
“I told you guards to stay out of my lands!” roared Shen as he marched toward Wilam, he could feel the ground shake with each step that Shen took. “Just because I ain’t go not shiny armour doesn’t mean you can push me aro…”
Wilam heard Shen gurgling for breath before he felt the giant collapse to the ground, the guard turning to see arrows buried within Shen’s chest and sides, his fellow guards closing in from all sides. With one final splattering of blood, Shen dropped to the floor, the great body unmoving within the mud.
“We had no choice, sir,” Pond said, helping Wilam to his feet. “He was loading up another bolt in that crossbow of his.”
“You shouldn’t have killed him,” Wilam muttered softly, refusing to look at the fallen civilian. “He was right, we shouldn’t have been in his land, but Denis lead us here. His tracks head east out of the gates and into the woods.”
“I guess it wasn’t Shen’s lucky day then.”
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Post by The Timeless One on Jul 9, 2009 9:05:13 GMT -5
((I really like it so far! I found a few mistakes in both your entries, though. Maybe next time, you should re-read it, and if you're already doing that, re-read it a bit more carefully? Other then that, though, it was really enjoyable, and I can't wait for the next part.))
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Arlyan
Scribe
/facepalm
Posts: 380
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Post by Arlyan on Jul 9, 2009 15:28:38 GMT -5
((I really like it so far! I found a few mistakes in both your entries, though. Maybe next time, you should re-read it, and if you're already doing that, re-read it a bit more carefully? Other then that, though, it was really enjoyable, and I can't wait for the next part.)) This. Very well written, I can't wait to see what happens next. There are a few things to fix, like word choice, spelling, and some grammar, but the storyline and characters are very gripping. Nice work |
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Post by Kaez on Jul 9, 2009 23:31:22 GMT -5
The Cantillian Woods were just the place to remind one of why Rosia hadn’t expanded so far north. The trees were thick, scratchy pines that clawed at Denis’ cold, wet skin. Wind whipped the branches all about and brought with it bitter temperatures that weren’t helped any by the incredible pace that he struggled to keep up. Denis swerved around the monstrous trees and bolted through any clearing he could find with all of the effort his legs would lend him, as was more-or-less a part of his job description.
There were, of course, two trails through these woods, but Denis couldn’t risk them. The guards who were after him would most certainly be horseback and by no means be capable of tackling the rough, tree-infested terrain of the woods. Still, if they managed to get far enough ahead of him, they could run right into the woods and cut him off. He pondered on this, but found it just as likely that they would send a few men into the woods from the start. In any case, neither the trails nor the woods would be safe. He would have to be clever.
With a loud crunch of branches, Denis fell face-first into the ground after getting his foot caught on a rotten log. That was not so clever, he thought, stumbling back to his feet. Surely a guard had heard him if they were as close behind as he feared. He began to sprint again, but didn’t feel he was getting to the same speed as he had before. In the distance behind, he heard faint cracking: guards in the woods, no doubt. Still, Denis had yet to hear a horse. Was the trail safe? Had the guards decided it would be too obvious to take that route? It might just be worth the chance, Denis decided.
He glanced about as best he could while still dodging the dozen obstacles per second that the forest thrust at him. There was a trail not far from his right. He slowly curved his path until he was running just close enough to hear and just far enough not to be seen. Still, not a horse to be heard. Denis leapt over a fallen tree and made a run for it through the trail. It was surprisingly clear and flat and… damn, he thought. Surprisingly straight, as well. It wouldn’t matter much how far back a horseman was if the trail he ran on was straight – he could see him from a half-mile away with the sun not completely fallen just yet.
And it was just then that he heard galloping and, quite literally, dove off of the trail. A great fallen pine tree lay just outside of it and caught his attention. Rotted and black, the pathetic beast was nothing more than home for fungi and all sorts of creeping things. Perfect, Denis thought. The trunk had decayed away almost completely, but it left a large shell of bark on one side – and luckily, the side facing Natha. Denis landed not but a few feet from it and rolled himself against the moist inner side of the carcass. All he could see were the bases of a few trees and a carpet of fallen pine needles.
If I can’t see them, they can’t see me, he deduced.
Though, they might have heard him. Panting, he was so desperately out of breath that he feared fainting. His worn heart punched against his ribs and pleaded he just rest here where it was cool and safe. When he could finally hear over his own heavy breathing, the galloping was growing louder; closer. He felt something prickly and slimy slithering across the back of his neck, but didn’t dare to move. Louder, now, and heavier – the ground was trembling a bit. There was clearly more than just one horse, now. Two. Maybe even three or four.
Just then, he heard three horses in a row speed on right past him. They hadn’t noticed a thing. He sighed heavily, and then caught himself. He lay frozen in fear, trying to figure out by whatever means precisely how loudly he had sighed. As far as he could tell, though, the horses kept on going. He managed to swing his wrist around to the back of his head and pry the insect from his skin before slowly and quietly positioning himself so that he may look around to ensure the coast was clear.
Again, he stopped cold. Soft and slow, the battered and heavy hooves of a guard’s horse stomped over the beaten trail. One of the horsemen who he had thought continued on had done no such thing. From the place he had maneuvered himself into, he could only see the very trail itself. And there, in the distance, were four black hooves, slowly trotting along… and then they stopped. Denis thought he had never been so motionless in his entire life.
The guards of Vaesar’s offensive were his standing army as well, and if there was one thing any Rosian knew about the enemy army in the Winter War, it was of their brutality. If this guard caught him there, he wouldn’t kill him. No, such would be far too merciful. He would strangle him, drag his face back through the rocks and dirt to his leader, who would proceed to do unspeakable things to each and every inch of his body until Denis’ very soul was crippled and bleeding. Only then would they offer him the sweet release of death.
At least, this was what Rosians said. Of this particular guard, however, this did not seem to be the case. He swung his leg around to the loud rustling of armor and dropped his whole weight at once onto the trail. It may have been impossible, Denis thought, to have done such any more noisily. Still, ‘the clumsy fool’ was often the most brutal, and Denis made slow, careful movements. He slid his hand slowly to his belt, and grabbed a thin, wooden tube as the guard paced about near his horse.
Holding the tube in his teeth and using his left hand for balance, he slid a piece of leather and untied a pocket, from whence he removed a small, sharp, metallic thing. He slid it carefully into the tube and stopped it from falling through with his tongue. Grabbing it properly, he closed his lips tightly at one end and held the other between his index and middle fingers, resting atop his thumb. In a movement that took every ounce of balance his ankles could muster, he leaned his head out from under his rotten veil.
The guard was a tall, well-built man who looked like he could swing his sword mightily. Denis sincerely hoped he would never find that out for sure. Closing one eye, he stared down the long, smooth tube until it aimed just with the base of the guard’s unarmored neck. The man’s wandering eyes fell upon Denis at the exact moment the dart flew from the tube, softly cutting the wind and implanting itself in the middle of the man’s throat. He hardly had a moment to gasp before his legs started tripping over themselves to keep balance.
Denis crawled out of his hiding, stood, and strode over to the man just in time to ease his fall to the ground. The affair was perfectly silent. Even the horse, of which he was deeply concerned, kept calm. Still, this spot would no longer do him any good. He had to make a move again. And now, he had transportation. |
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Post by James on Jul 10, 2009 16:18:24 GMT -5
Wilam was moving effortlessly through the woods, dodging the fallen debris that Denis had left behind in his flight. Some southern fool, Wilam thought bitterly, leaping over a fallen log and then ducking under a dangerously swaying branch. He had been brought up in the cold north, when large settlements were small cabins in the woods and men dreamed of cooked food and not freedom and peace. He had spent years within thick woods, hunting small game with his father and living off the land. Denis clearly had not, Wilam thought as he spied another trodden down branch and a heavy trail across the damp ground. It was clear that Denis couldn’t move with silence or cover his tracks; he would be theirs by nightfall.
A crack from just behind him caused the guard to spin, hand moving to his sword, but nothing was there but trees and foliage. It must have been one of the guards behind him. He had sent the four quickest riders down the main trail to try and cut Denis off; the rest had followed Wilam into the forest after the tracks. None of them could keep up with Wilam though; none of them would even try.
He continued to move with ease before coming across where Denis had clearly fallen; a dead log broken in two and the imprint of a fallen body clear across the ground. Smiling, Wilam crouched down for a second to move the log aside for his fellow guards, not wanting them to trip as Denis had. It was then that he heard another crack of a branch and felt a set of eyes upon him.
“I’m armed,” called Wilam through the woods, reaching for his sword once more. It was known for the occasional hunter to become desperate in times of cold and turn to robbing helpless travelers.
“Whoa, meant no harm,” called a hoarse old voice.
A tall stocky man stepped out of the bushes, bow and a leather quiver slung over his shoulder. Much like Shen he was covered in thick fur showing little of his wrinkled skin that was visible from ungloved hands. Within his right hand dangled two rabbits, each having the noticeable imprint of a rabbit trap upon them.
“Thought you might have been a wolf or boar, the family could use something bigger than these rabbits,” he continued. “But just another man scaring off the game, second time today in fact.”
“Second?”
“Aye, there was a man not too long ago that came rushing through here. Must have fell cause he made quite a racket; anyway I thought it was a nice large boar so I gave chase. Must have spooked him from me breaking a branch though because his tracks leads onto the trail,” the hunter said; seemingly glad for any social interaction.
So he’s out of the woods and onto the trail, Wilam thought with a smile, it would be far easier to catch him. Indeed the other guards probably already have, they would have easily had caught up to him on horseback by now.
“Well I’m sorry for chasing off the game,” Wilam replied, feeling the need for urgency slowly slipping away. The forest hunters often spent months at a time seeing no one but their families in the deep trees of the Cantillian Woods, it wouldn’t hurt to give him a small conversation.
“Never mind, the girls like coming up with creative ways for eating rabbit,” the hunter said, gesturing to the dead creatures in his hand. “And these rabbits seem to grow big and thick in these woods so there’s no need for stew,” he finished with a chuckle. It was known across the north that a hunter’s least favourite meal was stew; slow to cook and pitiful to eat.
The sounds of footsteps filtered through to the pair before Wilam could make a reply, the rest of his guards slipping through the trees and finding the spot where Denis had fallen.
“He fell?” asked Peters, more of a scout than a guard. “Have we got him?”
“Ah, so you’re looking for this feller?” the hunter asked, his voice laced with understanding.
“Yes,” Wilam replied before turning to his guards. “He’s headed off onto the trail, the others will catch him soon if they haven’t already.”
“Hopefully they didn’t let Leicester get to him first, or they’ll be nothing left of the scum to bring back to the Big Boss.”
“They have their orders not to harm him,” Wilam replied, knowing full well that if Leicester did get to Denis, well the man would be wishing for a quick death in no time. “Anyway we should continue to follow these tracks, just in case they don’t catch him. We’ll try and stay quiet,” Wilam finished, giving the hunter a small grin.
“Ah don’t worry about it, I’m heading back home now anyway. Hope you catch this lad of yours,” the hunter replied with a nod, watching the guards disappear between the trees.
***
“Dead,” spat Peters, checking Leicester’s pulse. “Some sort of dart to the throat.”
It hadn’t taken long to follow Denis’ tracks to the trail. They were thick and deep and lead straight to the narrow trail, and to the body of Tobias Leicester. They had found him laid out across the ground, almost peacefully as if someone had caught him and lowered him to the ground. Obviously he didn’t want Leicester making too much of a noise as he died, Wilam thought bitterly, looking up and down the trail. There was no sign of a struggle or of Leicester’s horse. Where were the others? Were they in pursuit?
As if that thought had traveled down the path, the sound of hooves chattered down the trail as a single horsemen emerged within sight, the darkness of night beginning to settle over the woods. Unsure of who was galloping toward them, Wilam moved forward, unsheathing his sword to meet the rider in front of his guards. He watched as the rider pulled up and leapt from his horse.
“I don’t want to duel you today Wilam,” came Boyle’s voice. “I don’t need anymore cuts and bruises.”
He has no idea, Wilam thought, hearing the cheeriness in Boyle’s voice. He didn’t know that Leicester lied dead on the ground behind them. Where was he when he fell? Why were they separated?
“Where were you?” Wilam slowly asked.
“East, with the others. We’ve been riding the trail keeping an eye out for Denis but no sign of him yet, well I don’t think so anyway. Leicester fell behind because he thought he heard something and then a few minutes later came blistering past us, giving his horse its head. We called for him but he ignored us so we reckon he saw something. The others have followed him while I’ve come back to let you guys know.”
“Did you say Leicester?” barked Wilam, his mind already spinning with thoughts.
“Yeah, why?”
Leicester was lying dead within Peters’ arms and yet he had bolted past the others to the east. Wilam instantly knew what had happened. Denis must have killed Leicester and taken the horse. Then when he came across the other guards upon the trail he had acted as if he was giving chase, the dark evening doing the rest for him. But why ride east? There was only one destination now for Denis, the small village of Ava. And if there was a reason to ride to Ava it meant the other guards were in trouble.
“Boyle, I need your horse,” Wilam said, sprinting past the guard and springing upon the saddle in one fluid jump. |
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Post by Kaez on Jul 10, 2009 19:19:57 GMT -5
Denis grinned ear-to-ear. What fools of guards they must hire, he thought confidently. The horse was a fine ol’ girl, and fast too. Especially thankfully, she gave up no fight to him mounting her. This would make the escape so much easier, he imagined. Her hooves raced down the long, narrow trail, leaving nothing but dust and the cold, settling night behind them. Denis still kept his blowgun in hand, not yet confident enough to disarm himself, nor stop glancing behind every thirty seconds. He only hoped that the guards had no means of contacting Ava before he arrived, lest he be rushing straight into a barricade.
Nothing but the sound of rustling pines and the horse’s heavy steps filled the frosty air. It was getting darker by the second, or at least so it seemed, and a wide array of stars lit the sky above, watching his desperate escape. Suddenly realizing how tightly he had been gripping the horse’s reigns, he loosened his whitening knuckles and exhaled slowly. Calm, cool, and collected, he reminded himself. Unfortunately, the road to Ava was another forty minutes, Denis expected, and the horse wouldn’t keep this pace the whole way. He had nearly an hour’s ride.
Finally calming himself enough and after many minutes of silence about him, he slid the blowgun back into his belt and eased himself for the ride, slowing the mare down just enough to keep her steady for the rest of the way. He threw a glance behind him every few minutes, but there was nothing. Beautiful, safe nothing. The damned rebels had nearly snatched him. Nearly. Though he of course feared for his life more than once during this evening, he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy himself with an honest heart.
This was, in fact, Denis’ job. He got paid for finding out what he could behind enemy lines and when he got caught, which he almost inevitably would, escaping safely so that he may do it again somewhere else. In that way, being a spy, or a rogue as they preferred to call themselves, was something that required a certain amount of masochism. A certain enjoyment about having one’s life on the line – and such was something Denis most certainly possessed. He was actually somewhat sad for the adrenaline to fade.
Fifteen safe minutes passed, then thirty, and soon enough he was within a quarter-hour of the village. He ran his hand along the shoulder of the tiring horse. “I kn-know girl, we’re n-nearly there,” he spoke to her. Night had completely fallen now and the trail was utterly black. Only through the dim starlight could he make out the outline of the trees that surrounded him. Thankfully, the horse seemed to have keener vision than he, and she kept true and fast, though he slowed her down a bit more to save even the slightest chance of having to run again, which he was afraid his numb and tired legs could hardly manage.
Surely if a guard gave chase, they would have been at his tail minutes ago. He had made it free and safe to within minutes of Ava. Hopefully, Ava being much smaller and less populated than Natha, he could find some kind citizen who would let him stay the night if he tweaked his story a bit. Fleeing drunken losers of a card game from the pub in Natha? Anything would do. A cozy bed for his numb limbs, a hot drink for frigid lungs, and some decent hospitality was all he needed for tonight. In the morning he would write a letter to Rosia and find himself a safe path home.
In the emptiness in front of him, he caught a faint glimmer off to the side of the trail. Imagining it best not to slow down, he kept the pace until, without any chance to slow himself, a rustling through the pines and a bright blue wolf, glowing in the colorless night, strode up from the woods on his left and made its way across the trail. Baffled at the mysterious creature, Denis’ eyes widened and he admired the bizarre beast. It had the shape and stance of a wolf, and its fur was quite the same save its bedazzling blue glow that shone against the night. He had never seen anything quite like it in his life. The magnificence of the wilderness, he thought.
When it was nearly half-way across the trail, it turned and faced him. Its face was relaxed and ‘normal’, at least in regards to wolves, though it glowed as brightly as the rest of him and his eyes were as stars fallen from the sky. It was then that Denis was certain his own eyes had failed him altogether for he saw no less than seven of the same wolf instantly appear on the trail without ever having walked there. The apparitions all held the same posture, stance, and motions as the original, though they varied in distance and position. Denis’ eyes lit with amazement and his head drew back in terrified uncertainty.
The horse reared and neighed loudly at the shining beats that seemed to altogether disappear as quickly as they had came, and the lone wolf ran into the woods on Denis’ right. Hardly aware of what was going on around him, attention came back as he slid straight down off of the mare’s back as she bolted back the way they’d came. He hit the ground with a heavy thud and a strike of pain fired up his spine and down his legs and wincing, he rolled onto his side and moaned. “G-goodness,” he huffed through closed teeth, holding his back in agony. Surely if anyone had been making chase, they had their chance to catch him now.
Ten minutes from the edge of the woods, running speed – this was no time to give in. He was too close. Denis pushed himself up, standing hunched there in the middle of the trail. After a few seconds of adjusting to a relatively comfortable stance, he made into the woods. Crippled, he ran as fast as he could, but in this state it wasn’t nearly as fast as he had hoped. Nevertheless, he kept a respectable pace and dodged obstacles well enough. He even thought he may have seen a faint light in the distance. A loud crack resounded through the woods, but despite his expertise in such things, he couldn’t detect from whence it came. Was he alone? Was it an animal, a guard? Questions and pain were all that occupied his mind as he instinctively limped through the woods which were, quite thankfully, growing less dense.
Denis saw Ava through the trees not far in the distance. It was a small village, certainly, but that was good. He slowed his pace to a slow jog as he approached the edge of the woods. An array of cabins was spread out in the low plains in front of him, some of which had lit windows and all of which had smoking chimneys. “Ava,” Denis said softly. Besides the fall, a rather safe escape, he thought and he stepped through the last of the trees.
“Found you!” a voice exclaimed. |
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Post by James on Jul 10, 2009 21:53:57 GMT -5
He pulled out the letter within his pocket and read it through once more in the limited light, trying to gleam any more information from it. There was nothing. Not one drop of information that might tell him where Denis would go. Only the tracks in the forest could help him now and in the limited darkness it was becoming harder and harder to follow them, his back beginning to ache from having to bend so low to follow the trail at times.
He had decided to leave the horse behind; it wouldn’t help him deep within the woods where Denis had fled too. Why he had decided to flee, perplexed him. There were tracks down the main trail of a horseman, but from what he could gather the horse had bolted the way it came and the rider had fled into the forest, something must have spooked him. And not surprisingly either, dangerous creatures resided in the forest near Ava and Denis, while apparently brave, was no northerner.
It seemed to be that Denis, if the tracks were his, was favouring one leg over the other and it soon became clear he was limping. He had injured himself somehow. That would hopefully make it easier to catch him. As that thought crossed his mind, his foot came down upon a discarded twig, a large snap echoing through the otherwise silent night. Sounds like that certainly wouldn’t help finding the boy before he fled into the village, he needed to catch him before he made it to Ava or his task would become far harder.
Another sound came from behind him, no doubt an animal moving through the woods, as he caught sight of something moving in the distance. It was a man making his way out of the woods and toward Ava down below. Forgetting about stealth, he gave chase, leaping over a fallen tree and closing the gap between the two of them.
“Found you!” he exclaimed, grabbing the boy by his shoulder. He matched the description of Denis; he had found him.
“W-w-who are you?” stuttered Denis, trying to break free from his captor’s hold.
“Former General Ricard Sord of Rosia and your ticket to safety, now quiet boy,” Ricard Sord said.
Ricard knew that his appearance must have startled the rogue, as he knew they preferred to be called. He was a tall stocky man, slightly past his prime, his stomach beginning to widen but still as strong as an ox. What use to be a short crop of tidy red hair when he was a general was now a long mass of tangled red, better suited to keeping the head warm during the cold nights. Mail armour had been traded in for leather and a huge fur cloak that covered the entirety of his body. Ricard still felt vulnerable without his armour but at least he had managed to smuggle his sword over the border when he arrived in the north. Anyway being clad in armour would probably be quite suspicious for an innkeeper, he thought as he surveyed Denis. He didn’t look too beaten up except for some cuts and bruises, probably just needed some rest.
“G-general Sord? The General S-S-Sord?” Denis asked shocked.
Ricard was about to reply when the sound of armoured boots reached their ears, moving quickly towards them. With a shove he threw Denis down onto the ground, knowing that the small slope would hide him from view from the men emerging from the trees. There were two of them, each garbed in the armour of a guard and each with their weapons ready; one a sword and another an axe.
“Where is he?” one of them asked, marching toward Ricard.
“Where’s who? Lots of people in these woods, friend,” Ricard answered, moving forward so that the guard could not see down the slope.
“Don’t play tricks with us, old man. We know he’s here; his tracks lead right to this point from the trail. Hand him over, he’s a traitor.”
“Old man, aye? Well I guess my old eyes must have missed him,” Ricard replied, his hand straying to within his cloak, knowing what was about to happen. It would be good to get some practice in again, he hadn’t been able to since he had crossed the border and began his mission.
“Tell us now or we will arrest you for aiding him,” one of the guard barked, bringing up his weapon dangerously.
“Put it away, lad. Don’t hurt yourself,” Ricard smiled, unsheathing his sword and bringing it to protect his chest.
The guards were momentarily startled before they charged him from either side, both swinging their weapons across at his chest. Ricard took a step back, letting their weapons connect with each other, before rolling his shoulder into the guard with the axe, flooring him. The other guard had tried to slash at him as he moved but Ricard was ready, parrying the blow and then counterattacking. The pair moved back and forth across the forest floor each blocking and attacking as the other guard picked himself up from the floor.
Ricard heard the snarl from his left as the guard charged with his axe raised high, ready to bring it down straight upon his head. Getting beneath his opponent’s guard, Ricard grabbed the other guards’ arm and pulled him violently across, placing him in the line of fire. The axe came down despite the man’s yell of desperation and cut deep within his arm, causing the man to drop his sword and collapse to the ground. Meanwhile Ricard had moved back and lunged at the other guard, driving his sword straight through his back, the tip erupting out his chest. The guard was dead before the sword had made its return trip.
“I’m terribly sorry about this,” Ricard said, faking earnestly as he moved over to the remaining whimpering guard. “But you’ve seen my face and well now I can’t have you blabbering now, can I?”
“I won’t,” the guard cried, still cradling his bleeding arm.
“I just can’t be sure and anyway I’m doing you a favour. That arm will get infected before you can get help and what use is a one armed guard?” Ricard asked politely, driving his sword through the man’s chest.
Without another look back at the fallen guards he cleaned his sword upon his fur cloak, blood staining the dried fur, and moved back down the slope where Denis was crouched. It was clear that he had been watching the fight and was in a mixture of amazement and fear.
“H-how do you know who I-I am?” he asked, rising to his feet.
“Let’s just say wings travel a lot faster than hooves,” Ricard said, guiding him down the slope. “Now move quickly before more guards arrive, we can talk when we get to safety.”
“And w-w-where’s that?”
“The Timberwolves Inn.” |
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Post by Kaez on Jul 15, 2009 21:22:25 GMT -5
“T-Timbewolves Inn? A t-t, a t-tavern?”
“Yes, yes and do keep your voice down,” Ricard spoke softly as they entered the outskirts of the village. A few dozen cabins were all centered around two larger buildings and Denis assumed that one of them had to be the lodge. Glancing behind himself for the tenth time since they’d departed the woods, he could hardly detect where the fields ended and the woods began in the darkness of the night. “Come on, just here,” Ricard said, pointing to a building up ahead.
It, like all of the others in the village, was made almost entirely out of thick, layered logs and had a big, painted doorway. Above it, an arched sign read, ‘The Timberwolves Inn’ in big, white letters. Ricard led Denis in and the inside of it was fairly typical. Lamps were lit all above the bar and the atmosphere was as warm as it was big. A rather comforting place, to Denis’ surprise. He had expected the ‘The Timberwolves Inn’ may have just been code name for a small, cramped box that Denis was intended to hide in. This, on the contrary, was lovely.
“Is it s-safe?” Denis inquired, still unsure about the place.
“A’course it is,” the general smiled, “I own it! We own it, rather.”
“We? Who-who’s w-w-we?” Denis asked admiring the large loaf of bread and pieces of meat and cheese that Ricard had set on the bar.
“Home. Rosia,” he said quietly before pouring Denis a tall glass of beer. He stood for a moment, watching it. “No, it’s best you don’t set off tomorrow with a headache, y’know?” He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, muttering, “Cheers,” before seemingly inhaling the glass in a long gulp. “Water or milk for you, mm?”
“M-milk sounds just f-fine, th-thank you,” Denis said, sitting down at the bar in front of the food. His stomach, all at once, seemed to be pleading him for it. In all the intensity he must have been ignoring his hunger, he thought, sliding a knife from his belt and slicing a piece of bread. Ricard returned with a glass of milk and Denis stuttered a ‘thank you’ through a full mouth. Ricard nodded.
“So,” Denis said, swallowing a large bite of cheese. “R-Rosia owns th-this l-”
Ricard interrupted him, not intending to force the boy to finish a sentence he already knew the entirety of. “Rosia owns the Lodge, obviously. They use this place to keep an eye across the border. Said they may be building more, they did.” Denis was startled by all of this.
“See, Orsea’s getting sickly and all. He’s gonna’ make sure his daughter doesn’t ruin his plans. I mean, can you blame him? Guy spends all of his life ensuring his nation’s safety, trying to capture the north and ensure Rosia as the world’s dominant force, as it damn well should be, and he knows that if he dies it’s all done for.” Denis’ intention was focused on the general’s worlds as his hands instinctively shoved food into his mouth and gulped his milk.
“So he sent me up here and told me to take care of the old owner, and that I did,” Ricard said matter-of-factly, pointing at a large claymore mounted above the bar. “Tells me to keep a keen ear out for any plans and gave me some of his best birds for sending the word back to the front. And let me tell you, if there’s one person who is going to spill the word on plans for an attack, it’s a drunken Vaesarian brute!”
“Th-that’s incredible!” Denis squealed through a mouthful of meat. He swallowed and held up his glass of milk, “Long live the king!”
When he had finished eating, Ricard cleaned up and showed him to his room upstairs. “I’ll go and send a bird now informing the forty-second that you’re going to meet them at the border tomorrow at noon. You’re not the first spy they’ve had to find and protect, so you should be plenty safe. I’ll give you one of my very best horses for the ride as well.”
Denis nodded and sat on his bed. A warm bed, good food, and decent hospitality – exactly what he wanted and exactly what he’d gotten. He reflected on the remarkable turn of events and smiled. “L-lucky again, ol’ b-boy,” he said to himself , laying down on the bed. “A p-pleasant night’s s-sleep and h-homeward b-b-bound tomorrow.”
Two heavy knocks echoed throughout the building and Denis lay statuesque in his bed with wide, frightened eyes. Spoken too soon, he thought regretfully. |
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Post by o ding on Sept 5, 2009 8:59:29 GMT -5
Spoiler'd so as not to break your flow.
Only read one of them so far - or would that be 2? - but...Agro.
Commas, man.
Commas.
I'll point out some examples for you later, gonna keep reading first...
LATER:
Commas...there's a little bit too much 'though' but I didn't notice it as a problem as I read further.
A comma should be after Indeed and Meanwhile, and that last comma I might replace with a dash. Maybe a comma after months as well.
Well, it should be...well,...
Again, comma after Indeed. I'm not going to call out "one final more" 'cause it's dialogue but I'm still not sure if you meant to have it.
Possibly...
Comma after wrong...
Again, I might use a dash rather than that comma after "him to me."
...I'm gonna stop here, I think you catch the drift. Proofread, dude.
*P.S., I'm totally stealing your formatting for Life. It looks epic to the max.
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Post by James on Sept 5, 2009 14:59:40 GMT -5
...I'm gonna stop here, I think you catch the drift. Proofread, dude. *P.S., I'm totally stealing your formatting for Life. It looks epic to the max. Yeah grammar is and probably always will be my weak spot. I do find it quite funny that Drall is often telling me I have too many commas and you're telling me not enough. Anyway yeah, I'll start proofreading stuff to the MAX! Cept this I can blame on Kaez... *sage nod* Because all of my pieces have been approved by him, and he's been correcting any errors...so I haven't been proofreading. *dust palms* And that's how you shift the blame. Oh and yeah the format is awesome, full credit to Kaez there. |
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Sensar
Author
Homonecropedopheliac and Legal Property of AWR
Posts: 6,898
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Post by Sensar on Sept 6, 2009 18:20:58 GMT -5
((
Well, I don't have much to say besides I enjoyed it and it was well-written.
I have to say, though, there are a few grammatical errors that may want to be reviewed. Schro pointed out most problems.
Keep going!
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