| Origin Tales | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 10 2012, 11:35 AM (71 Views) | |
| Jordan | Dec 10 2012, 11:35 AM Post #1 |
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No fear
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I will preface this topic by saying that each post is going to be a short story in itself so I apologize if a single post seems excessively large. I considered doing it's own sub-forum, but found that to leave a bad taste in my mouth when most of these stories will be connected to one another, and to the story as a whole. Now, beyond this, I would like to say that these stories are going to be in a format I am toying with in an attempt to help capitulate literary symmetry. When a story is marked "Origin", it is the base days of the tale, and when it is marked "Legacy: #", it is years ahead of this(or months, days, etc, I will mark the different levels of time respectively.) With that, I would also like to note that Most of the "Origin" tales and most of the "Legacy" tales are going to follow their own character, with any deviation being pointed out before hand, so any vagueness that I put into whose view you are looking into, it simply means they are the one from the previous story. I will make sure that any jumping around of characters is painfully laid out, even separated into stories unless it is necessary for that particular chronicle. With that, I give you the Origin Tales: The Time before Legacy, and the ripples that will one day create the tidal wave that is the story ahead. |
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| Jordan | Dec 11 2012, 12:42 PM Post #2 |
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No fear
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Origin It was always a comfort, the repetitive hammering of steel. The reverberating blows of the hammer against whatever he was shaking going up and down his arms, leaving a faint tingle in his chest. It was a feeling that he wouldn't have had taken from him since the first time he felt it. It was a practiced action for him at this point, calloused hands gripping the hammer, the strength of each blow bending the steel to his will. It was a creator's art, and one that he'd done proudly since he was a lad. A long time, it had felt, even if he had only seen ten summers since he had been given his own hammer. "Your painful devotion to work is going to give you a heart attack or a divorce, brother." The sudden burst of sound made the blacksmith jump, almost causing him to hammer into his own thumb in his attempt to turn and see who had found their way into his forge. He wasn't quite as surprised as he usually was to see his older brother standing in his workshop. The man was a doctor, and often refused to bother with weapons and armor in general. The two agreed not to bother arguing about it. More often then not it would only lead to headaches. Besides, the man was the physician overseeing his wife's pregnancy, and he wouldn't want any tension to ruin that for the women. She'd kill him and likely keep something of his as an example to the next husband, he was sure. For some reason that didn't change his opinion of her much, and what it did was more to her credit. Basima was a strong women; That's what he loved in her, after all. He sighed and shook his head at his brother, "What are you doing here, then? From the look on his brother's face he had a sick feeling he already knew, but he waited for a response. Jumping to conclusions would get him nowhere, and admittedly he could hope for some good news. "Her condition is getting worse, and the baby is coming soon. I came to get you. You've locked yourself away in here for weeks. Hiding and working won't make this thing go away." The blacksmith turned his head, closing his eyes and trying to steady his breathing. No matter what, he wasn't sure what could even be said. The last few weeks he hadn't seen the same fire that he was used to in his wife. He looked at his forge, trying not to note the pile of clothing in one corner, or the leftover food laid out across a table to tell signs of him having been here longer then he'd have liked to admit. "Isidor, are you even listening? Your wife. Needs you. I wouldn't be here otherwise, and you know that." He turned on his brother, the two meeting one another eye-to-eye. He had never been afraid to meet his older brother face-to-face. He had the advantage since they were children. Right now, however, every muscle in his body felt as if they'd turned to water. The thought of his wife, and what was to be their child, in dire straights wasn't something he could even pretend he was capable of. And he was the one who broke first, his head dropping so his chin rested on his chest. His fists became balls, his knuckles whitening until it was almost painful for him to unclench his fingers. His voice came out a whisper, "What am I supposed to do, brother? I.. I don't... know what to do." His brother signed, putting a hand onto his shoulder and pulling him along until the two were walking out of the building side-by-side. He could barely hear what he was saying, but he understood the implications well enough. He was meant to be there for her until the child was born, and hope for the best. He had never had much faith in the gods, but he caught himself making a prayer to Oasynth for her blessing. They reached the house not long after, the humble little home set in the edge of town. It almost met the edge of the forest as well. He knew of a cave not far off from the home where he went when he needed to think or work to himself, without the bother of the outside world. He wasn't sure why he hadn't went to work there. Never... A chill ran down his spine, his eyes averting from the deepening darkness of the woods. Lately, whenever he was far enough from town, something felt... wrong. Something was watching him, trying to speak to him. He wasn't sure what it was, but his brother had advised avoiding it. He never told him anything more then that, but he had trusted him that it wasn't anything good. When his brother opened the door for him, he paused for a moment. A deep breath wasn't enough to calm him, but a shove from his brother was sufficient to force his foot over the threshold. Something took over in his body, his legs moving on their own to bring him to the woman he had said vows to almost five years ago. As he stepped into the room, he could smell a putrid yet sweet scent in the air, and the faint wisp of lavender. What was that? He shook his head, trying to ignore it as best as he could. When he reached the bed and took her hand, her finger's clenched around his immediately. He had never noticed how frail her hands looked, or how tiny they were compared to his own. He could hear a bit of relief in her voice, however, as she felt the calloused palms of his hands against hers, "Isidor... So glad you could make it home." He ignored the sarcasm in her words, offering her a kiss on her forehead. He knew that she was simply being herself. She hadn't had a single moment of her life that he'd seen when she wasn't fighting something. And even he had to admit that, at that moment, he deserved it. He sat there silent for a while, listening to her complain or simply tell him about some of the things that his brother had helped her with or given to her to help the days pass. It made him regret considering hitting the man earlier. He had taken good care of his wife while he had his head up his own ass, likely better care then a cleric would have. Made him happy his brother had convinced him to let him take care of her. Physicians were a rarity, and they weren't standard fair. Most things were still in the hands of the churches when it came to the care of the infirm. It took him a moment to notice that things had changed, and his brother was pulling at his shoulder. He looked back at the man, careful to keep his anger in check. The look on his brother's face was enough to abate any argument that he was about to levy against him. Another look at his wife simply made him curious, "What... what's going on, Brother?" He sat down in front of the woman and began to clear things away, "The baby is coming, I'd recommend you prepare, Isidor. We'll be here for a while." Before he could respond, her hand closed like a vice around his own. He could feel one of his fingers crack under the strain of her grip, but all he did was let her do what she needed to. She deserved more then that, but it was all he could give now. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Legacy: 8 Years It was a bloody mess, and the ringing in his damn ears wouldn't stop. The damn Reathians had struck, and boy had they struck hard. Their king was freshly crowned after the death of his father, and his marriage to that Aldenheim whatever she was had sparked it all. That's what he was told, anyway, he couldn't be sure. Joshua Denari, barely old enough to be a soldier, had just lived through the backwash of their noble bullshit. He could still taste that guy's blood in his mouth... He closed his eyes before it would come back to him, but that just made it stark in his mind. having to bite off his ear before he could finish whatever he was doing. He still wasn't sure if the man was from his side or the enemies. All he knew was that anyone who was trying to hurt or kill him was an enemy until the dust settled, then he'd find the banner. His father had taught him that, and that old bastard had seen six separate wars before they had to shuffle him away to some backwater town's guard. Ha! Had that pissed the old goat off! Even in the midst of a killing field he had to smile and laugh to himself. It wouldn't be long before he could shove his own victories in his father's face! That old coot couldn't spend one day without complaining for his loss of prestige when they shunted him away, and now his son was on the path to glory! He hoped, at any rate. What glory was there to have here, especially for him? He had heard his father mention a few times in his life that the glory goes to the general, and Joshua was certainly no general. He wasn't one of the levies, at least, he could be thankful for that. Those poor bastards fought and died with nothing but farm tools and thick cloth, and all they got in return was a pat on the back and returned home. All the reverie made him almost deaf to the sound of hooves behind him, Joshua barely able to draw his blade before a trio of horsemen carrying a banner he could only vaguely r ecognize stopped short of strike distance with their own weapons. Spears. Yikes. He wouldn't have gotten a strike in edge-wise before they scraped him off along the way. And then he recognized the banner. The aged crown in front of the rising sun. The Ordo Verus Rex. The Order of the True King. He sheathed his blade and raised his right fist in salute. The lead rider looked to the man next to him and they both nodded, returning the gesture with their left hands. Not exactly a polite way to do it, but he had to admit it was a bit more polite then skewering him in the dirt. He'd take a win where he could get it. "Identify yourself, Itheasian, and be known." Oh right, this was the part that let them know he wasn't lying. That may explain the left handed salute. They were gathering the stragglers who didn't have their heads on straight. He supposed that would count him for now. It took him a minute to remember what the hell he was supposed to say, but it came before their uneasiness became palpable, at least, "Er, Joshua Denari, From Uithari in the southern lowlands, bordering on the marsh of Ikiral." That was sufficient, he guessed, since they drew back their spears. The other two cavalrymen sped off to continue the search, the leader of the group remaining there and silent. At least, until his compatriots were far enough away. He drew back his helm, revealing himself to not be much older then Joshua, although he had to admit the look in the man's eyes was a bit more cold then he was comfortable with. "Well met, Joshua of Uthari. We are mustering all forces at the northern fist for a rapid offensive before the enemy can recover. The attack is being headed by the Ordo, and we are searching for volunteers from the survivors. If you do not wish to join, then I believe your general is gathering to wait for reinforcements before continuing his cat and mouse tactics he's so fond of." The clear venom in the man's voice was enough to put Joshua on edge, but he had to admit that the message was clear; This was likely a suicide mission, but it needed to be done as far as the Order was concerned. Joshua ground his teeth hard, spitting what was left of that man's blood from his mouth, and smiled, "How could a true Itheasian say no? Utharians are tougher then that lot from the capital and it's ilk, this little skirmish was nothing." A vague glimpse of amusement crossed the man's face at his response, lightening the mood a bit and helping Joshua to ignore the sheer weight of exhaustion in his limbs. He had a feeling that it was obvious to someone who had earned himself a seat in the Order, let alone a commanders position. A little thought in the back of his head screamed at him about that very thing, but he tried to ignore it. Now wasn't the time for that. The man finally nodded his head, "North for a mile, then east for another, and you'll find the camp. With that spirit, the Grandmaster will be glad to meet you, Joshua of Uthari. Well met." Before he could say anything in response, the man sped off, continuing his search. The Order of the True King was looking for fresh bodies, and he wasn't quite fresh, but by the starry knight he wasn't going to be sitting on his arse when he could fight! And this all involved the Grandmaster of the Order, which was a sobering thought indeed. He was a man known not to show his face much if he could avoid it. This was looking to become a much more serious war then was intended in the first place. Joshua gathered himself as best he could and began to walk north. Towards glory, or death. Either way, he was goin' that way swinging. |
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8:51 AM Jul 11