anthorn
Well-Known Member
PROLOGUE
2500. 12th day of Auld, Midsummer.
She laid down her quill closing the leather bound book and stood, stifling a yawn. A shaft of light illuminated her coppery gold skin. Anwyn paused for a moment, staring at the tapestry hung across the far wall before making her way down the stairs. Though Lancifer was a single tower of iron and glass with a single inhabitant, several huts and outhouses surrounded it. As she passed one, she stopped, looked inside, and smiled sadly at the half-eaten meal left abandoned. Everything comes with sacrifice, she thought as she turned away to follow the path into the forest and toward the beach. Everything was still, silent, but then that was to be expected. Not all quiet though. The leaves rustled. Anwyn ducked.
The assassin leapt from the trees on her left his face as black as his clothes and his knives out ready. Calmly she stepped aside and with a word of power, punctuated with a gesture of her hand the man straightened like a cracked whip. In another breath, he was dead neck broken. “You’ll need to do better than that,” she chuckled stepping out on to the beach and sitting herself down upon a slab of sun-baked rock. Casually she brushed the sand from her feet and skirt. Far away in the distance loomed the land that was Onchara.
“Afternoon,” said a most distinctive voice.
“Afternoon,” she replied and motioned back to the forest. “That was your assassin.”
“He was,” said Damien sitting down beside her.
A smile touched Anwyns' lips, “pity. You’ll have to try harder next time. So then, sister, what brings you to my little Island?”
“I can’t visit you without a reason now?”
“No, no you can’t.” Anwyn replied watching her carefully, though they called each other sister that was not really true. Could have been once, she supposed.
It was Damien’s turn to smile. A minute passed, a minute of the waves gently crashing upon the rocks. “Peaceful isn’t it, now that they’re gone. They’re renaming it you know, the Island. They’re calling it the Abandoned Isle now.”
“That was fast.” Anwyn said. “So why are you really here then?”
“The Verrusian Crystal, I want it.”
Brushing aside a strand of black hair Anwyn turned back to the sea. The Verrusian Crystal, somehow, it always came down to that. “The answer as always is no Damien. I cannot let you take it. I have seen the path you wish to take. Death and destruction, corruption and torment, this, this is result of the path you wish to take.”
“You speak as though you’re whiter than white but I know the truth, we both do. Cities lie abandoned and thousands are missing because of your actions”
“Actions you forced me to take.” Everything comes with sacrifice. “They were an unfortunate consequence.”
Damien sighed, picking up a pebble and threw it into the sea. She turned to face Anwyn. “One of these days Anwyn, I will kill you. You do realize this don’t you?”
Anwyn shrugged. “Whatever must happen must happen, but he won’t let you do it.”
“Neither can he stop me.”
“We’ve played this game before you and I and I’m still here. Idle threats are nothing to me.”
“I will ruin your life; no matter how long it takes I will find a way to kill you.”
“Then let the game begin.” Anwyn smiled.
Damien sighed and stood. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”
“You too,” she replied, waiting until Damien had gone before returning to Lancifer.
PROLOGUE TWO.
Unknown soldiers lament.
4004. 30th day of Auld, Midwinter.
The darkening sky was lit by fire, mapping the streets and alleys like blood and illuminating the hastily built walls to the Slums of the City. No gas or false light lamps were alight this night or had been in quite some time. The Gargoyle, the only fortress still used for its purpose and named so for its hideous appearance, jagged bricks and claw like spikes on sloping walls, stood almost as tall as the towers behind it; its men vigilant for it had only been a week since the riots had started and they showed no sign of stopping soon.
The night was silent despite the fires, eerily so, the wind was little more than a tickling breeze and the city was still, silent. The calm before the storm: The boy had made this journey uncounted times, navigating his way through the patrols and up bridges and steps to the higher levels. It was here he would always stop a chance to look down upon a city at war. From this vantage point, he could see the fires and the black smoke rising.
Armour clanking, he looked and saw a tall well built man come and join him at the wall. A Guardian; When the riots had gotten too much for the City Guards, they had come. So far though the riots had only been contained, the people it seemed had suffered too much. “Young to be out this late aren’t you boy?”
“I’m nearly seven.”
“Young enough still, for the kiddie catcher.”
The boy screwed up his face, “a rumour! No such thing.”
The old soldier sighed. “All rumours have a basis in truth, remember that, boy.”
“You’re a Guardian, a hero. I want to be a Guardian.”
“You’ll grow out of it, I did.” The man looked up at the moon, it would be a full one tonight, he was sure. The wind picked up, a blast against the Gargoyle made eerie noises, sending a chill down his spine. The Guardian yawned and spat over the side, felt himself smile as the boy tried to do the same. “That’s your kind down there boy, do you know why they riot?”
He shook his head.
“Because your Governor is a dick, your army is ****** too, it can’t even subdue peasants.”
“Neither could you.”
“We will boy we will. It’s what we do, we’re Guardians we uphold the peace, that’s out job,” he said. “Guardians, once protectors of the weak, the last stand against Anwyn in the Great War, now what do we do? We clean up other peoples messes.”
“You’re heroes.”
“We were, once.”
“I want to be a hero like the ones from the stories. Auron the dragon slayer and Yepithamy the founder of the Council, bane of the End lords.”
“Yepithamy, the Council? Don’t make me laugh,” he said shaking his head. “I reckon he was just an arrogant ass. The Council of Alexiamdra is a myth, a rumour, if they even existed, where are they now?”
“And Garrison Grey, he’ll be a hero.”
The man sighed. Why bother? Kids didn’t know anything, only having one track minds. The Council of Alexiamdra, the secret ruler of the world and unseen for generations, it was said that the Warlords and the Kings and Queens were little more than puppets, a face for them to use. He was not sure how much of it was true; there was no way to prove it either way. “All rumours have a basis in truth,” he repeated. Somewhere in the poor quarter, a light flashed and a dull boom followed, smoke was rising quickly and several more explosions followed.
“Commander,” a voice called, a woman’s voice, cold and hard. The boy turned with the man to see this new arrival. Like the man, she was tall but slim as well and without armour. A hood of dark crimson concealed her face. “The city burns and you spend this time with a child? I can hear your men dying down there; it is a commander’s job to die with them is it not?”
“It’s open to interpretation. This boy here, he wants to be a Guardian.”
“A hero!” The boy added.
“Is that so,” the woman said turning her gaze to the child, “well then perhaps he should see what it is we do. We have her commander, the potential sorceress, we have her.”
“When?”
“An hour ago, she’ll be here soon. You can go down and deal with it; I’ll keep an eye on the boy.”
Saluting, the Commander left.
“I want to be a hero,” the boy said nervously.
“Then listen carefully boy, the world isn’t a world of dragon slayers, or heroes or villains. It is a place filled with grey, nothing is as clear cut as those stories you read.” She said, “You can do bad things doing good and good things doing bad. You’ll be a better hero if you live a nice simple life, a quiet life.”
“Are you a hero?”
Beneath the hood, she smiled. “No, they all died long ago.”
The boy considered this. “So you’re a villain.”
Her smile widened. “In a way, yes it would appear so, depending on who you ask.” Down in the courtyard below, a woman began screaming her throat raw. The boy turned but the woman placed a hand on his shoulder and knelt before him. “She can’t be helped now boy. Do you wish to know a secret?”
The boy nodded. The woman looked this way and that before removing her hood; the boy noticed the oddness of her eyes. The irises were orange, the skin a coppery gold.
What do people think etc.
2500. 12th day of Auld, Midsummer.
She laid down her quill closing the leather bound book and stood, stifling a yawn. A shaft of light illuminated her coppery gold skin. Anwyn paused for a moment, staring at the tapestry hung across the far wall before making her way down the stairs. Though Lancifer was a single tower of iron and glass with a single inhabitant, several huts and outhouses surrounded it. As she passed one, she stopped, looked inside, and smiled sadly at the half-eaten meal left abandoned. Everything comes with sacrifice, she thought as she turned away to follow the path into the forest and toward the beach. Everything was still, silent, but then that was to be expected. Not all quiet though. The leaves rustled. Anwyn ducked.
The assassin leapt from the trees on her left his face as black as his clothes and his knives out ready. Calmly she stepped aside and with a word of power, punctuated with a gesture of her hand the man straightened like a cracked whip. In another breath, he was dead neck broken. “You’ll need to do better than that,” she chuckled stepping out on to the beach and sitting herself down upon a slab of sun-baked rock. Casually she brushed the sand from her feet and skirt. Far away in the distance loomed the land that was Onchara.
“Afternoon,” said a most distinctive voice.
“Afternoon,” she replied and motioned back to the forest. “That was your assassin.”
“He was,” said Damien sitting down beside her.
A smile touched Anwyns' lips, “pity. You’ll have to try harder next time. So then, sister, what brings you to my little Island?”
“I can’t visit you without a reason now?”
“No, no you can’t.” Anwyn replied watching her carefully, though they called each other sister that was not really true. Could have been once, she supposed.
It was Damien’s turn to smile. A minute passed, a minute of the waves gently crashing upon the rocks. “Peaceful isn’t it, now that they’re gone. They’re renaming it you know, the Island. They’re calling it the Abandoned Isle now.”
“That was fast.” Anwyn said. “So why are you really here then?”
“The Verrusian Crystal, I want it.”
Brushing aside a strand of black hair Anwyn turned back to the sea. The Verrusian Crystal, somehow, it always came down to that. “The answer as always is no Damien. I cannot let you take it. I have seen the path you wish to take. Death and destruction, corruption and torment, this, this is result of the path you wish to take.”
“You speak as though you’re whiter than white but I know the truth, we both do. Cities lie abandoned and thousands are missing because of your actions”
“Actions you forced me to take.” Everything comes with sacrifice. “They were an unfortunate consequence.”
Damien sighed, picking up a pebble and threw it into the sea. She turned to face Anwyn. “One of these days Anwyn, I will kill you. You do realize this don’t you?”
Anwyn shrugged. “Whatever must happen must happen, but he won’t let you do it.”
“Neither can he stop me.”
“We’ve played this game before you and I and I’m still here. Idle threats are nothing to me.”
“I will ruin your life; no matter how long it takes I will find a way to kill you.”
“Then let the game begin.” Anwyn smiled.
Damien sighed and stood. “It’s always a pleasure talking with you.”
“You too,” she replied, waiting until Damien had gone before returning to Lancifer.
PROLOGUE TWO.
My path is down a long and dusty road with iron bars at either side.
I ride upon a horse, legs as lame as my arms.
My eyes are windows to my soul.
And my soul is dead.
4004. 30th day of Auld, Midwinter.
The darkening sky was lit by fire, mapping the streets and alleys like blood and illuminating the hastily built walls to the Slums of the City. No gas or false light lamps were alight this night or had been in quite some time. The Gargoyle, the only fortress still used for its purpose and named so for its hideous appearance, jagged bricks and claw like spikes on sloping walls, stood almost as tall as the towers behind it; its men vigilant for it had only been a week since the riots had started and they showed no sign of stopping soon.
The night was silent despite the fires, eerily so, the wind was little more than a tickling breeze and the city was still, silent. The calm before the storm: The boy had made this journey uncounted times, navigating his way through the patrols and up bridges and steps to the higher levels. It was here he would always stop a chance to look down upon a city at war. From this vantage point, he could see the fires and the black smoke rising.
Armour clanking, he looked and saw a tall well built man come and join him at the wall. A Guardian; When the riots had gotten too much for the City Guards, they had come. So far though the riots had only been contained, the people it seemed had suffered too much. “Young to be out this late aren’t you boy?”
“I’m nearly seven.”
“Young enough still, for the kiddie catcher.”
The boy screwed up his face, “a rumour! No such thing.”
The old soldier sighed. “All rumours have a basis in truth, remember that, boy.”
“You’re a Guardian, a hero. I want to be a Guardian.”
“You’ll grow out of it, I did.” The man looked up at the moon, it would be a full one tonight, he was sure. The wind picked up, a blast against the Gargoyle made eerie noises, sending a chill down his spine. The Guardian yawned and spat over the side, felt himself smile as the boy tried to do the same. “That’s your kind down there boy, do you know why they riot?”
He shook his head.
“Because your Governor is a dick, your army is ****** too, it can’t even subdue peasants.”
“Neither could you.”
“We will boy we will. It’s what we do, we’re Guardians we uphold the peace, that’s out job,” he said. “Guardians, once protectors of the weak, the last stand against Anwyn in the Great War, now what do we do? We clean up other peoples messes.”
“You’re heroes.”
“We were, once.”
“I want to be a hero like the ones from the stories. Auron the dragon slayer and Yepithamy the founder of the Council, bane of the End lords.”
“Yepithamy, the Council? Don’t make me laugh,” he said shaking his head. “I reckon he was just an arrogant ass. The Council of Alexiamdra is a myth, a rumour, if they even existed, where are they now?”
“And Garrison Grey, he’ll be a hero.”
The man sighed. Why bother? Kids didn’t know anything, only having one track minds. The Council of Alexiamdra, the secret ruler of the world and unseen for generations, it was said that the Warlords and the Kings and Queens were little more than puppets, a face for them to use. He was not sure how much of it was true; there was no way to prove it either way. “All rumours have a basis in truth,” he repeated. Somewhere in the poor quarter, a light flashed and a dull boom followed, smoke was rising quickly and several more explosions followed.
“Commander,” a voice called, a woman’s voice, cold and hard. The boy turned with the man to see this new arrival. Like the man, she was tall but slim as well and without armour. A hood of dark crimson concealed her face. “The city burns and you spend this time with a child? I can hear your men dying down there; it is a commander’s job to die with them is it not?”
“It’s open to interpretation. This boy here, he wants to be a Guardian.”
“A hero!” The boy added.
“Is that so,” the woman said turning her gaze to the child, “well then perhaps he should see what it is we do. We have her commander, the potential sorceress, we have her.”
“When?”
“An hour ago, she’ll be here soon. You can go down and deal with it; I’ll keep an eye on the boy.”
Saluting, the Commander left.
“I want to be a hero,” the boy said nervously.
“Then listen carefully boy, the world isn’t a world of dragon slayers, or heroes or villains. It is a place filled with grey, nothing is as clear cut as those stories you read.” She said, “You can do bad things doing good and good things doing bad. You’ll be a better hero if you live a nice simple life, a quiet life.”
“Are you a hero?”
Beneath the hood, she smiled. “No, they all died long ago.”
The boy considered this. “So you’re a villain.”
Her smile widened. “In a way, yes it would appear so, depending on who you ask.” Down in the courtyard below, a woman began screaming her throat raw. The boy turned but the woman placed a hand on his shoulder and knelt before him. “She can’t be helped now boy. Do you wish to know a secret?”
The boy nodded. The woman looked this way and that before removing her hood; the boy noticed the oddness of her eyes. The irises were orange, the skin a coppery gold.
What do people think etc.
