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| A Visit | |
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| Topic Started: Mar 29 2009, 11:20 PM (71 Views) | |
| Nex Terren | Mar 29 2009, 11:20 PM Post #1 |
EXAMPLE
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Officer Blackman strode down the Narsian courtyard-decorated with a few wanting, though luxurious plants--one hand playing with a Yafutoman silver mark. His stature was short, his frame wanting, however a look of pride, precision, and intelligence marked his features-which included gray eyes, a small, strong nose, and a well trimmed ebony halo-beard-making him clearly the equal to any other in the likes of an argument, if the lesser in a fight. Lightly colored canvas clothing covered him from the neck down, and despite the scorching heat, he didn't sweat. The mark of a Narsian local that-not sweating, though in truth he wasn't a local; he was just adept at ignoring distractions. "My, my. What a fanciful place," Blackman said, casting his gaze around him. Gold and growth-equal luxuries in that heat-blasted world. "A king's ransom, or a sultan's as the case might be. If only the Fleet had this sort of wealth. If only... ah, ah! But there's no use in wishing for what might be, is there?" Unconsciously he found himself tugging on the simple leather patch that covered his right eye. His garments were at least of a wealthy merchant, but the patch felt out of place among the wealth that surrounded the officer. If only… if only the fleet could taste this wealth! He was a good officer of the Black Fleet. Everyone in the fleet knew it. Kind, honest, morally upstanding and unquestionably loyal to the Admiral's ideas, and the Fleet's true purpose. Who better, for the fleet to place confidence in? Who better, to be assigned a matter of justice, and trusted for his verdict? Though there was always favorites within the fleet-always men of prominence, or Captains with especially loyalty from their men-universally, however, there was one man who stood out as the finest soldier and gentleman to entrust the Fleet's most important matters, if, even so, in his strange way he stood out in the back of men's minds. Everyone knew what fine character, of what high morals, of the fatherly and brotherly kindness Blackman claimed. Everyone knew. Everyone… knew… The upcoming Yafutoman attack... what a troubling thing. Healing crystals were getting so difficult to get one's hands on, and they were a necessity in any fleet's provisions, but perhaps even a more important matter was speed wax. There were a great number of different engine waxes on the market, some made by Valuan chemists, others through the use of the quicka properties of blue moonstones, and still others by unknown methods from the Ixa'Takan regions. A scattering of sources, however they was no reliable manufacture of the substance in the larger Nasr region. Strangely enough, it was the cheapest in this area, due to trade struggles. Healing crystals and speed wax were not only stop he had to make here in this trader's haven. No, there were other threads that needed to be woven into a pattern, other threads here in this city, and then more in another city. But for now, Nasrad was his concern. Men died that day to see Blackman where he needed to be; in the courtyard of something short of a palace, the home of one of Nasr's most wealthy businessmen. His name was Dallan'Barr, the owner of Barr Ships, the Nasr Kingdom's largest government contractor. It was said that the Nasren government paid gold out their nose to rebuild their fleet, fearing that any of the nations--or even a band of 'simple pirates'--would come and destroy them. Those nations or even pirates could do it too-so such fears were well placed. Due to such concerns, they did not care in the least who built their ships as long as they were built. They tried their best to ignore prices, past records, and questionable comments, as long as they could get their ships. This was a good thing for a certain businessman, else he would not still be in the business. Dallan'Barr held little love in his heart for the Kingdom of Nasr since the destruction of its capital well over two years ago. He saw it as weak, wanting, and most importantly not his to command. He said that he wanted to control the Red Land because he knew how to set it right, he knew how to fix it. This most certainly was not the case, however. The reason he wanted it was simple; greed. It was a weakness, a wanting aspect of himself that was fit for others to prey upon. For his lust, he could be more easily manipulated than silver under a smith's hammer. Blackman might not have a hammer, nor be a smith, but, well… he pocketed the silver mark that he held, and onwards, deeper into Dallan'Barr's near-palace he strode. ~~~~~~~~~~ Today Dallan'Barr was reading. It was one of his chief joys in life--to his credit--; when bored he didn't throw a party, or lay in a pool as servants fanned him. No, what he did was read. Today the Nasrian sat in his library with the curtains pulled to make the room dim as dusk. When ever he first entered his private sanctuary he would send a servant off to fetch him two goblets; one with warm wine, and the other of chilled water, and like that he would sit and read for hours upon hours. Even the illiterate could find themselves lost in Dallan'Barr's library; shelves and shelves of books lining walls and forming divisions were scattered about in that room, the shelves nearly lost to the rugs, pillows, and tapestries that further filled the room. Candles--chiefly unlit--appeared in randomly placed clusters on the floor, accompanied by stacks of unshelved books, or strange works of art on pedestals, making it hard to walk from place to place in that library. Dallan'Barr loved his library, and the books it held. He loved it almost enough to satisfy. Almost. He read all day, teaching himself new things, learning about heroes and leaders, and all the while convincing himself that he could do better with Nasr, that he deserved Nasr as his own, that he... "Hmmmph. This man drones on and on!" Dallan'Barr muttered to himself, pushing his pince-nez farther up on his nose, "Who cares about the landscape of some pass. If I wished to know what wildlife could be found along Valuan airways I would have picked up a textbook of biology, not a tale of-bah. I'll read this later." He sat the leather-bound book aside, scanning his gaze over a nearby once-pile of books, now cascaded in a fallen heap across the floor. " 'The Silver Wing,' 'On Arcadia and her Legneds,' 'Tales of the Ixa'Takan'-a good one that, but I'm looking for something different, let's see… Ah! Here we are! 'A Thousand Sailor's Dreams!" He picked up the blue velvet backed cover, turning it over in his thin, knobby hands. His large, watery eyes blinking at the book in unison to twitching of his pinched nose and the flaring of nostrils. "Ah, yes, this is an old one. You can tell from the smell, now let's see what's in store…" He cracked the book open. "Dallan'Barr." A quiet, taunt of a whisper pierced the darkness. The spoken of man started, spinning away from his chosen book with a stifled cry. A green eye met his startled gaze, hidden in the darkness, and the chilling, tempered voice continued. "Dallan'Barr, I thought that you wanted Nasr. Was I-perhaps-mistaken?" Dallan'Barr shivered-despite the heat-, wetting his suddenly parched lips with an equally wanting tongue. That single green eye, looking at him from the shadows. He could see nothing else of the man who claimed the emerald for his own, and in its solitude, the eye seemed almost to glow. "Ah!" His voice shook, "You--you fool! Somebody could have seen you!" "Ah, ah..." For the briefest moment a smile became visible. Dallan'Barr's stomach sickened at the sight of that mirth. "Who is to say that they didn't see me? Do come. Do be reasonable. I never claimed to be some thief of the night." The voice responded, in tone akin to the shadows that housed the speaker. "They saw you?!" The Narsian, cried. What was he thinking? What was he thinking! Everything was lost, everything! "You fool! You fool!" "Oh, don't worry my good friend," The voice laughed quietly, mocking friendly tones touching his voice. "You'll have nothing to worry about. From them." " 'Nothing to fear?' 'Nothing to fear,' you say?" Fear left Dallan'Barr's eyes, replaced by anger in an instant. "You're a fool, if that's how you speak-an incompetent fool! Nothing to fear from them? Of course I have something to fear from them. And what of you?" The Nasr-born man snapped, quickly moderating his voice to a sharp hiss. "You can't endanger my name like this! My image, my reputation! If anyone knew that you were meeting with me, if anyone knew who you were, where you came from--! No, no! We had a deal! A deal!" "Dallan'Barr, Dallan'Barr." Measured patience. Cool amusement. "And I should uphold my end of the deal? Why? Why?" Once again that smile emerged from the shadows. "You have yet to do likewise." Dallan'Barr. The shadow-clad spoke as if it had a bitter taste to it, and every time he said it again it seemed to get more bitter, and more bitter... and yet the voice spoke with such amusement at it all the while, almost as if the man himself was laughable, almost as if his life… "What? You couldn't have..." The Nasrian's voice broke, "I sent the ships like you asked. If you didn't receive them, blame pirates, blame the Nasr navy, but don't blame me." "Ah, come now dear friend; you insult me. I am not a simple man. I am not that. However well you lie to your card-friends, however skillfully you deceive the court, I can assure you that your lies to me are entirely apparent. I can tell that you're lying by simply watching you speak, the manner of your gaze, your words… and that's not all I've done. You see, Dallan'Barr, I'm never ill informed. I know, and understand anything that concerns me. You should know that by now, if even few do..." The Narsian fought his eyes, forcing them to not look at the distractions around him. "Ah," Dallan'Barr jerked away as if to hide his face, "They're just not crewed. I'll get them crews," He spun back around, a snear on his face. "Don't you worry yourself about that." "Soon, Dallan'Barr? We want them soon." "How soon is that?" "Days. A few days. That's all you have." "Days?!" He snapped, "Are you mad, for I am certainly not. Crews? Full crews for three warships? Yes, maybe, maybe I could have three such crews ready in... in 'days'-the moons and the sun knows how many hoops I'd have to jump through to see to it-but you ask for too much secrecy!" From the shadows emerged the speaker. Blackman. Officer Blackman of the Black Fleet. Dallan'Barr was quite familiar with the man, the man and his promises. Dallan'Barr always considered himself a fine judge of character-and rightly so. He had not taken over the company he now commanded by luck. No, he had to ferret out the deceivers and backstabbers, and find the men of character and loyalty. The first time he set eyes on Blackman, Dallan'Barr knew the man of irreproachable character, he knew the man to be a gentleman beyond question-a man never to deal underhandedly, or lie to even the likes of a sworn enemy. He knew Blackman to be kind and simple, intelligent, not crafty. He 'knew' wrong. "Oh, decide to come from your shelter of darkness, have we, snake?" Blackman only grinned, his single unpatched eye darting a dagger up towards Dallan'Barr from his downward turn head. His gaze danced up and down the Nasrian, face seeming on the verge of laughter. Dallan'Barr lifted his hand unconsciously, as if to fend off a blow, and found himself stepping back, as if to escape the man. Promises, threats… appearing a man of inviting character to all but those he decided to smile darkly upon… a true master of lies, manipulation, and a good faith. Dallan'Barr had began the partnership with the man believe he was dealing with an officer. He now knew that he was dealing with the Devil. Blackman tossed a jailer's key ring down to the second man's feet. Dallan'Barr didn't look at the ring at first, instead he was trying to build up the courage to demand what Blackman was trying to say with it. Then, however, something odd struck him; he hadn't heard the keys jangle as they hit the floor. A quick glance down reveled that he had nothing to worry about; his hearing wasn't failing him. There were no keys to jangle. Only human fingers. Nothing at all to be worried about. Dallan'Barr wretched. "This is your first reminder." Blackman's tone wasn't dark, it wasn't commanding, but the faint whisper found in it made the businessman forget his stomach and pay close attention. "Those are the fingers of every man who tried to stop me entering this room-every one of your guards. Keep those with you because I'll have you return them to me next time I pay a visit. Either I will be taking it with me, or I'll add ten new fingers to the set. Ah, how about I leave the choice of that up to you?" The man threw aside the book before him--now soiled--and scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. No defiance, no anger, no defensive rebuke was displayed for Blackman. Dallan'Barr only looked defeated, and sick. "And what is my second?" "The Nasr Kingdom just outside everyone of your windows. The kingdom that could be yours." He was yet quieter, his volume matched by an icy edge. "Well then, if that's all-" Dallan'Baar, murmured, trying to regain his composure. He was not permitted to, however. "Aren't you going to ask me what the third reminder is?" If Blackman's last words were quiet and cold, these were nearly inaudible and a serine ice storm. "What--what's the third?" "What a good man; always doing as is asked of him." The officer paused to enjoy a smile. "This," he paused, "is the third reminder." With a sudden roar, a spell of red flame exploded on a bookshelf, instantly setting everything in its vicinity on fire. Smoke and the smell of burning paper, pillows, and fine wood crashed forward even more violently than the spell managed. "NO!" The man screeched, fingers clawing at his face, "What have you done, beast!? What have you--" His books! His life! Everything! Going up in flames-in a spell of fire! What had that demon done? Why, oh, why? He'd pay for it-the wretched fool would pay for this crime! Everything in the room would be destroyed if it was not put out soon-his life, everything! A bitter-salty taste grew pungent in his mouth at the thought of 'everything' being destroyed: the image of key ring at his feet danced to mind. He couldn't let that be destroyed! He couldn't! No, no, anything but that, anything! Stooping down, he picked up the ring, and held it close to his chest. Spinning around, he turned back to the shadows, about to reprimand Blackman, to plead that the monster undo what was coming to be. There was no Valuan to be found, however, only smoke and flames. "You-you!" He stammered, tears beginning to form in his eyes. His books, his books! "Fire! Somebody come quick! Fire! For the curse of the Red Moon, Somebody help! Fire...!" |
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| Bellflower | Apr 1 2009, 08:12 PM Post #2 |
Shotgun Hero!
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Jenna waited. Most of the time, the woman dressed to expose as much flesh as possible, wearing tight clothing that left little to the imagination and yet still caused men to picture how her body might look without anything on it at all. Handling a man who desired her was so much easier than handling one who was paying her face and words full attention. They tended to nod and agree often, and if they so happened to be the kind of person who she needed to be rid of for good, they never noticed her slip poison into whatever drink they happened to be sipping at. Today, she would not be meeting with that kind of man, and for once her clothing covered her up. Simple, lightweight cotton wear was what she had chosen to wear, something unassuming that wouldn't get her noticed. Well... Not overly noticed. Even in such things it was obvious that she had a curved, attractive body, and the coppery hair flowing down her back was enough of a feature that some men still stopped and looked her way. Provided she looked like nothing special, though, all was well. The attentions of fools was not something she could be bothered with in her current frame of mind. This was all about business, and making a deal. Jenna sipped at her drink and glanced up at the door of the Inn. The man she had come to see would be back soon. He was a very important man indeed, vital to the future of her plans. Aron himself had not heard rumours of the Black Fleet before she had told him of them, and it had been her suggestion to try and enter a partnership of sorts with the organisation. After all, it would be something mutually beneficial. Her Captain's little group would get more firepower and manpower, and the Black Fleet would get wealth and, if they did things right, an entire country to manipulate. Things were going very well as of late, and she hoped this would too. Just to make sure, though, she'd brought along a little physical evidence. Smiling slightly to herself, Jenna placed a hand on the leather bag she'd brought with her. It contained many of the 'tools of her trade,' but also something a bit special that she was going to offer as a gift and proof of Aron's achievements. Naturally, of course, her good little man would most certainly pull off something to get attention pulled his way, but she could not afford to wait. |
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| Nex Terren | Apr 15 2009, 07:58 PM Post #3 |
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EXAMPLE
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Fredrick, relaxed in the simple wooden chair as he was, seemed hardly aware of the room around him. Even the brass goblet in his hand--chilled wine collecting midday dew on the glass's smooth sides--seemed forgotten, remembered only when the memory of the man's thirst came to him. The room, filled with drinkers and waiters like he, all of which he watched with half-hooded eyes, hardly took note of him. An odd mix of natives, Valuans, Mid Oceaners, and the occasional peppering of even those as far as Ixa'taka and Yafutoma filled the dimly lit common room, polarity motivations leaving half rushing about, and the other lazing around with idle talk and food and drink just short of a meal. Faces were all but lost in that dim lighting, leaving only figures and quite voices. Or they were lost for most people. Fredrick was proud of his sharp eyes, a talent that extended beyond simple ability to see. Even when he couldn't quite make things out, his mind was quick enough to see them. Even when there was nothing there to see, Fredrick saw it. He had been told once that his ability to spot lies and see through facades was second only to his ability to become the deception itself. That was the trick, though, wasn't it? Nobody knew just how good he was at spotting every detail, every mistake, every subconscious tick, because he hid everything so well. He had served a number of lords, counts, and dukes before enlisting, before the war, and his face showed that service. He was not old, simply aged; older than a tally of years would do justice to. Fredrick was quick with a cutting edge, able to end a fight before it started. Even so, that was not that skill earned him being part of Blackman's personal little force. No, it was his talent of deceptions--both ends of the lie--that had earned him that. At first, Fredrick had thought that Blackman wanted him to aid him in a set of skills so alien to the officer. That Blackman needed an assistant to tap his shoulder when someone might be trying to get the best of him, or to fill in when truth needed to be set aside. But Fredrick hadn't been asked to do a single thing on this journey. This had left the man with a question--and the man never had questions left unanswered for long. Even so, he had been two weeks at this one, and only yet was an answer just beginning to show itself; the clues just hinting at a solution. He was not a helper, not a tool for Blackman to use. His thirty-eight years of relentless practice at his questionable art weren't meant to be commanded by his senior officer. Then why was he here…? He watched a couple walk in, natives, the man tall and hawknosed, the woman a small thing, smaller in comparison. A couple? Yes, but not willingly so. Not on the part of the woman, at least. Oh, she smiled well enough, and it even reached her eyes, but that wasn’t the right wrinkle that her smile caused, her eye moved too quickly from thing to thing, her step migrated away… Fredrick glanced casually followed the woman’s chance gaze, one look in particular that, while it lasted no longer than the others, it was paired of a change of the face—the most subtle of variations, but one that the assassin couldn’t help but take note of. He smiled despite himself as he looked at the woman’s lover, a man looking just too intently at his soup to natural. He dismissed the few-second analysis of the scene with a shrug, one of many that day. An overgrown boy, red vest and tall black boots of particular note, was still up from a hard night’s work, he disliked the loqua, and someone had turned him out of his home. A giant of a man, Valuan, trader of medicine Fredrick was certain, and further, he knew nothing of the goods he traded. A woman, dressed in simple clothing with copper hair down her back, sat waiting for someone—someone she didn’t know, Fredrick thought. Even though all he could see of the woman was limited to a view from behind, and then once more by that unpretentious cotton, he could still tell that she was a beautiful woman. Not that she’d likely ever take note of him, but even so... The one-emerald eyed, one eye-patched man walked in, more of a woman’s height rather than a man’s, and earthy colored clothing speaking of a valuan trader adopting something of a nasrean blend. Apart from that somewhat lacking stature, he was well built, shoulders placed respectably apart and proportions balanced, Although Fredick had to admit the man looked better in officer’s garb. Flagship Captain Blackman; a face and name all but unknown outside the Blackfleet and a scarce few shadowed circles beyond. Those who knew him, didn’t. Fredrick wasn’t foolish enough to claim that he did. No, two weeks, day and night, making the best uses of his talents and he still didn’t know the man. Each time he discovered something about the man, all he really learned was of his ignorance on the subject. The emerald-eyed man walked into the common room, stride that of one used to a ship—but a trader’s craft, not one of war—passing people with a near-silent ‘excuse me,’ and ‘pardon,’ each with a slight nod of his head, accent a commoner’s. He passed by the copper-haired woman by two steps—not ten paces away from Fredrick’s table—and then stopped, hesitating as if he just remembered something. A moment longer, and... Blackman turned to the woman, face smiling, hand extended for a friendly shake. “Hello, my name is Blackman.” His eyes smiled also, expression light, genuine, honest. “You wanted to speak to me about something?” Fredrick blinked in surprise; he hadn’t noticed Blackman as much as glance at the woman. Besides that, what clue had the woman gave that Fredrick had missed? He couldn’t help but smile, proud of his commanding officer. Oh no, Fredrick wasn’t a member of Blackman’s team. Fredrick was just practice. Edited by Bellflower, Nov 15 2009, 08:31 PM.
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