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| Welcome to Sectarians of Eliraihah.. We are a group of those striving to create a utopia for roleplayers and writers alike, and provide a shelter from the normal confines of society. On our behalf, enjoy yourself. Your friendly overlord, --Crimson Knight |
| Untitled Work; Senior Project - Novella | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 18 2009, 11:13 PM (515 Views) | |
| Post #1 Aug 18 2009, 11:13 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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((No title yet, because I only just came up for the idea of this during the weekend and it's still in the development stage story-wise. Still, I wrote a few pages in Word to get the ball rolling because I may not have all the time I want to work on it once classes start back up in less than a week. Also, this is seriously unedited up to about 1/5 of the way through, so excuse any obvious errors; I'll fix it up soon. I also purposefully left the last scene open so I didn't leave you all with a longer block of text than usual, but again, the rest will be up with part 2. So without further rambling and excuses, here's the introduction to my Novella. This is the one I really need input on, and if my fanfic scared you away, this is all in third person past-tense and in a self-contained world I created a couple years back. No junkie jargon here. Okay, okay, enough with my rambling. Enjoy. XP )) UNTITLED Written by Grunt_of_War And in his hand, the familiar idol felt lighter than he expected, possibly even empty. The gauntlet grasped the object firmly and held it to his side. Frustration clenched his teeth. He’d been prepared for this and knew moving on could be the only option, but in the face of rejection this seemed far from the truth. Picturing her face had become too easy those past few days, finding himself reaching out with his other hand to soothe the girl’s flowing hair, only to find empty space and an impossible dream to intensify the looming despair. The night grew dim until only the torches outside the window reached his lackluster complexion and disordered auburn hair. Inside, only the creeping shadows stirred, but even they remained silent behind the castle walls. A mildly petulant stare judged the outside world and concluded a lack of meaning for his existence. But most of all, he wanted her back. The young noble now paid a hefty price that strained the future he had otherwise took for granted: A lovely wife, a family, and a happiness that would span the remaining two-thirds of his life… all gone. The words that had rejected him still rested on his night table beside his bed. The gift he’d presented to her on that first night was held in his palm. How silly of him to believe otherwise that she’d choose him amongst the crowds of nobles littering the province like ants. Brom remembered the motions of his dagger when he had carved the crude decorative present, starting from the base block and a basic shape, then the head, neck, chest, body, legs and arms. The waves in the hair and the bangs had come next, along with ribbons, the eyes, nose, and mouth, and the dress he’d imagined her to wear. He’d whittled away until the parting of her hair could be seen from a distance, and the texture of the wood reflected the smoothness of her skin. This had become the image of a girl as he remembered her, and though it lacked the definite finesse and color of a painting or sculpture, a single look at the idol induced a familiar memory: the young countess-to-be he had first fallen in love with years ago. Of course, he’d forgotten all about its existence until now, when it had suddenly come with the dreaded parchment. Since the night before, he had read across the decorative paper a great many times, unsure whether the ink making up the words alluded to a prank or the truth, or whether someone else could be on the receiving end. But lying to himself only managed to harden the blow; if Brom had read the letter and understood the meaning word-for-word, he’d be in the dining room forgetting the girl had ever existed over a stomach filled with fresh lamb, vegetables, and a fine glass of wine or barely mulling it over in a drunken stupor. Instead he had feigned ignorance, then locked himself in his room the last two nights, wallowing in suppressed grief and disconnecting with everything but her. “Geez, I really am pathetic,” he murmured, finally collapsing on the bed with a tired expression. He hardly noticed the inkling of light protruding from his doorway, and before long a solitary candle entered his perspective, its bearer expressing a modest smile. Brom chose to ignore it, crossing his arms around the back of his head and counting the stone blocks that made up the surrounding walls. “Early to bed again, Lord Montifen? If you’re going to miss dinner, you should inform the cook at the very least.” The maid bent over the nightstand, lighting one of the candles with her own. The luminosity was enough to brighten both Brom’s and the girl’s face, the latter’s reddish brown hair the only hint of liveliness present against the gloomy atmosphere. Brom nodded with a stoic face even as her grin became compulsory, rather than the genuine pleasantness he’d become accustomed to. Simply looking at him must’ve been pathetic, him remembering the disappointment he felt looking at his reflection in a goblet of wine. It might as well have been a dead man’s face floating in the water. “So… what are your plans for tomorrow?” the young woman inquired as she straightened out the pillows. “I… I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Emeline.” Saying so instinctively, the baron quickly bit his tongue. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to apologize, but saying that so abruptly and without real reason… “Sir?” He finally looked directly at the young maid, her cute face often highlighting her expressions even when she intended to hide them. Emeline’s eyes instantly charted the floor in response; she knew exactly what Brom meant despite her inquiry. “I-- you don’t need to apologize to me or anything. It’s just…” “Yes, I do,” the boy stated with a sigh, “I’ve felt really horrible lately, not just because of the letter, but because I just can’t seem to get over… her.” A moment passed where Brom thought he mistook a moment of surprise cross her gaze. Then again, she had every right to overreact. He expected a rebuttal about how his situation couldn’t be helped. “Maybe you’re right.” Instead, Emeline decided to agree almost matter-of-factly. The familiar smile returned to the maid’s lips as if she was already confident in her lordship’s recovery. Now it was Brom’s turn to be a little surprised. He still felt miserable, but her objectivity shed some light on his mind. With a simple nod and a bow, the maid turned to exit. “Please sleep well. I’ll wake you for a lavish breakfast in the morning since you haven’t been eating much lately.” The red-haired girl beamed, clearly fermenting her enthusiasm for no other reason than to cheer up a friend. “Thanks. Just don’t overdo it, all right?” He then bid a farewell to the disappearing figure. Without an appetite, a wave of fatigue washed over his sluggish mind as he got changed and slipped under the covers. This had been the sixth time today that he’d been checked up on by her and only now did he realize how odd it seemed. Naturally Emeline would be worried about her employer, the Baron of Holston. The two had been friends since before he could clearly remember anything else significant in his life. Unfortunately, the only way a commoner like her and a noble could remain acquainted without suspicion was for her to work inside the castle, and Emeline had taken to the job of a maid since Brom was expected to leave his childhood behind. As his only friend from the outside world, the young Baron could only wonder if the things she had to sacrifice, including time with her family, was worth taking a job just to be with him, but Brom couldn’t be more thankful for it. If anyone understood his issues and problems as the sole ruler of the surrounding land, it could only be her. When he had lived as a commoner’s boy, he never could’ve imagined how difficult a noble’s life could be – it was always strictly regulated by certain expectations he couldn’t step out of without the appropriate consequences because his people looked up to him. Now he was the adopted son of the highest noble family on the northeast side of the province, and after the untimely death of the man he called his father just a year before, he had become Baron and ruler of the surrounding lands and its people. It amounted to a low position in the noble hierarchy, but he didn’t doubt his life was better than that of a peasant’s. What he lacked now was a direction, and the simple fact remained that he couldn’t easily let the person he had expected to marry leave his thoughts. Brom wanted to ask what the reasons behind the letter could be, but feared rejection from personal issues rather than practical ones. It’d be different if she hadn’t said those words those many years ago after being given the wooden doll, the same words she continued to uphold through letters and infrequent visits to see him. He only wanted her to be happy so that, even when she lacked the ability to choose a husband, Thea wouldn’t regret the intended pairing. The young man blew out the candle’s light, and his thoughts immediately grew dim. --- The clacking of horse hooves through the wet dirt and rock below had become all too familiar to the remaining three Holston scouts. For five hours straight they had run at full speed, though the animals’ endurance somehow managed to keep them moving. Through dozens, hundreds, thousands of trees, and then into the open plains, they continued forward. The terrain didn’t matter; all that drove them forward was the dire message they needed to give to their Baron at the castle, still another half hour away. But the enemy trailed them. Twigs and underbrush broke before the pursuers, who were unconcerned with their mounts’ safety or even their fellow men. Ruthless men and women who knew the land better than any domesticated knight, they were the bane of civilized society who lived on the fringes, unable to be saved or loved by the ones who ousted them from the cities and farms. They weren’t the barbarians of old who lived with the land and were fabled as warriors, but ruthless ex-convicts, highwaymen, and ruffians who escaped from the law, forming temporary tribes to ruin the lives of the people who shunned them by stealing, murdering, and pillaging. Revenge and desire drove them onwards, and they were slowly coming into range. They weren’t about to let the dogs of a lowly Baron spoil the surprise. “Sir! I—I don’t think I can make it. She isn’t gonna be able to keep up much longer!” The scout on the left yelled over the rushing wind to the knight in command. “If you’re suggesting buying us some time, do it already!” the man at the center growled, though it wasn’t condescending – rather, his irritation had reached a new peak upon realizing he’d have to sacrifice another man to these low-life rogues. What angered him more was realizing he was about to suggest diverting the enemy instead. The horse’s feet ground against the soil as the first soldier pulled his reins, turning towards the vague figures a relatively short distance away. The air whistled, and the stationary knight toppled over from a flurry of crossbow bolts. The remaining two scouts didn’t even have to look back to know their foes’ stride hadn’t even hesitated with the man’s sacrifice. “Shit… gallop faster!” But they already knew the horses were losing their fierce stride. --- Brandishing the longsword at the approaching figure, Brom sidestepped and swung diagonally for the left, only for the weapon to be retaliated by another of similar make. He grunted in displeasure, having expected an opening in his foe’s defense upon lunging forward. Instead the Baron was forced backwards to regain control of his blade, but in the process lost his chance at controlling the fight. The young man would change that. Deflecting a few blows aimed for his chest proved easier than expected and, with his confidence restoring, he lashed out at the enemy’s side. What he didn’t expect was another lunge, followed by a punch to his stomach that knocked the wind out of the young swordsman. The other fighter smirked as he relinquished his advantageous position by backing up, looking down at Brom, who stood on the brink of collapse. “An ideal move, kid, but you should know by now when an opponent purposefully leaves an opening. I’m ten years your senior with swordplay; don’t treat me like a trainee of your level. Personalize your stance and tactics to keep a superior opponent guessing!” With barely a moment’s notice, the veteran charged again like the first time, but the Baron couldn’t shake off his desire to gag and vomit on the ground. If the attack had come any lower, the strike would’ve temporarily crippled him for a few hours at least. Brom had to focus; enduring the pain was a crucial step for victory. This time, he avoided swinging with such a wide arc. He dodged the charging knight, then rotated on his foot to face his sparring partner in anticipation for the sudden attack that followed: one sword parried the other, but the younger man forced enough strength into it to push his opponent backwards. The Baron had to clench his teeth to counter the nauseous feeling in his stomach, but otherwise he upheld a solid offense without ignoring the veteran’s occasional counterattack. It’d become clear to Brom that Gale was holding back, having heard many of his experiences from his fellow knights in combat. He was the Captain of the Guard after all, and the position required nothing less than the most tactical mind and greatest skill – and most importantly, the experience. Though still relatively young at the age of thirty-two, Brom and the rest of his private army agreed he was most suited for replacing the previous captain, who had retired to the countryside three years before at a ripe old age. Of course, Gale wasn’t one to let a few skillful attacks signify a win for the novice boy. The training grounds belonged to the Knights, and the captain always made sure upstarts didn’t become cocky, even the designated leader of the barony. Suddenly, Brom encountered a totally different kind of opponent as the veteran’s blows became twice as powerful and thrice as quick, forcing him to concentrate only on parrying and dodging. “Good, my liege, if I do say so myself,” the Captain smiled despite noticing the royal figure painfully vomiting in the grass. “Your strikes are strong and true, even if your instinct and overall form could use some work. I couldn’t ask for a better pupil, really, or even a better man as my superior.” Brom finally took Gale’s hand and stood up, albeit weakly. “Yeah, I appreciate your sparring with me. It’s been awhile since I’ve fought with something other than a plank of wood or a straw doll. I can’t believe you made lunch go to waste, though…” He coughed as more threatened to escape from his throat, which made the brutish Captain laugh with enough gusto for the both of them. This time it seemed the Baron was on the verge of crying. “Sorry about that. But you know: no pain, no gain, right? It’ll tide over by dinner anyways, but I bet you won’t fall for that again.” Gale itched at the intimidating mustache kept for that very reason - for he was an intimidating, well-structured man to anyone he considered an enemy. Even before he had become Captain, everyone had regarded him with great respect for his talent as a fighter, even if he took his often flamboyant actions with a dash of salt. Brom finally shook his hand with respect once his system calmed down, having agreed with the Captain simply because it was likely true, but more so because of his desire to get some rest before dinner. The spar had turned out to be more strenuous than he’d originally thought, especially when Gale had gone all out towards the end in an effort to discourage the Baron from thinking too highly of himself. Though he had a point, Brom decided he would lay off asking for another session for a few days since he wished to be in top condition if the scouts returned with less than ideal news. Entering the keep from the front, he sighed upon realizing the distance between him and his bedroom on the other side of the second floor. What’s more, someone sat at the staircase as if anticipating his arrival. “Tilly?” The Baron inquired with a wavering voice. Holding the back of his head up with one hand felt odd, but it was the only thing that looked like a natural gesture and calmed his fatigued mind at the same time. The consistent motions and maneuvers for over two hours had had its effect on the young man, and though his body ached, the nauseous feeling from before was also returning little by little. Even an indirect hit by the captain had felt like a solid blow on the system. But the last thing he wanted to do was have his younger sister find out and risk being nagged about injuries. “Sorry, I took a while longer than expected. Have you been sitting out here all this time?” Coincidently, the youthful face looked up from her slumped, open palms, her elbows resting on her knees while they supported her head. The one named Tilly had a dazed expression as if in deep thought, but her brother’s familiar voice snapped somewhere in the girl’s mind. Her eyes and lips beamed with enthusiasm. “Well no, I went outside, and then helped out Emeline with the cleaning. I can’t believe how colorful the trees are, can you? I even picked one of these for you to keep.” Tilly stood whilst picking up something from behind her back, revealing a deep blue flower roughly half the size of her palm. Brom took the gift with his free hand, idly spinning the stem in his fingers and then sniffing the sweet fragrance at his sister’s insistence. Handing the blossom back to her, the Baron smiled. “Can you put this in a small vase with water and take it to my room? Gale really made me work today; I need some rest.” “Sure.” Without question, she jogged out into the front towards the well, leaving Brom alone once more in the open entrance. Looking around, he could hardly believe how long it had been since the first time he stepped foot inside the castle. The weathered stone surface on the outside didn't compare to the finely furnished rock that outfitted the interior walls, and while the beautiful red and gold rugs, oil paintings, and waxed floors provided a royal flair beneath the great chandelier above, they rarely diverted from the great emptiness and withstanding age of the establishment. Brom didn’t even know what to do with more than half of the rooms other than leave them as they were: guest rooms. Rumor had it that the castle was once a large garrison for a king’s regiments from before the formation of the province of Yutha. Now it supplied a home to the Barony of Holston, which served to defend the boundaries of the kingdom from other ambitious nations, as well as the occasional bandits, tribes and monsters from the Aktesh Desert to the southwest. Rarely did anything dangerous and unexpected happen these days. But standing there, admiring the majesty of the singular room alone, made him feel more like a prince than a lowly noble; when his father had been alive, the keep had never felt as hollow as it did now, what with that man’s audacious and ambitious qualities. In contrast, the boy simply didn’t fulfill those attributes as a leader. Sure, he was confident, but rising to a higher pedestal felt… presumptuous, as if growing to this stature was simply premature or simply wrong. With a defiant sigh, Brom started his trek up the staircase to the largest bedroom in the entire castle. After that, he needed to find a bucket… Edited by Grunt_of_War, Oct 10 2009, 03:42 PM.
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| Post #2 Aug 19 2009, 04:50 PM | Sgt. Tacoz |
Is gewd, I liek it. ![]() Oh, and an obvious mistake is threat in the third to last paragraph. In that context I'm almost positive you meant to say throat.
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I happen to know for a fact that Unicorns puke rainbows.
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| Post #3 Aug 21 2009, 09:25 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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I appreciate the complement. More to come, for sure; I'm just having a bit of trouble placing whether I should move on to the first big event or go into more detail with the introduction, but I'll come up with some sort of compromise eventually. =_= Anyways, I edited the first part above to finish it up; it's only an extra page or so extra, but I didn't want to incorporate it with what happens after that, so all in all: I'll get part 2 up soon, promise. |
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| Post #4 Aug 31 2009, 10:27 PM | Grunt_of_War |
((Wow, that took longer than expected, only to come up with something nearly half as short as the first part. Ah well... hope you guys enjoy the 'small' update. I may tack on more to this part later, though, or give that its own post, depending on how long it ends up being. Again, this is unedited, so hit me with everything you got if you can criticism-wise, though I always welcome praise, too. XD EDIT: Edited semi-heavily. Hope you enjoy it. ))As the glistening sphere in the sky descended below the horizon, numerous shadows filled the hills like cockroaches, conglomerated into one mass bent for destruction. Mounted horses stolen from countryside farms crossed the solitary river between the desert and Yutha, often considered the boundary between the province and the expansive lands of Haladen. Other men swam across the water and then clunked through the landscape by foot, their bare clothes worn and torn with weapons ranging from armaments to stolen military equipment to simple farm tools. The destitute and scandalous continued unhindered. Those who confronted them were few in number and easily accounted for. No one knew ahead of time when the tsunami would strike, and some weren’t even aware of its existence; the marauders simply came in the dead of night, then pillaged and raped the various outlying communities littered along national borders. Few escaped the chaos, but even the so-called “fortunate” ones were eventually found by the horseback rogues constantly on patrol. Few could match their speed and instinct, for they lived as highwaymen and solitary thieves keen at escaping from the law. It was only fitting they would now serve as trackers for the Night Corps. In the process of pillaging, they restocked on food and supplies, recruited through assimilation, and outfitted unarmed members with the weaponry needed to fight. Once everything useful was taken, all remaining townsfolk were slaughtered, and then burned along with their edifices to leave no indication of their presence. For the Night Corps, secrecy was everything; propaganda would spread of unrelated wildfires or raids by angry barbarian tribes. In the meantime, their numbers, armaments, and organization remained… anonymous. And at the front of the veiled army stood a menacing man, his head matted with gray hair with darker highlights mixed in. The commander would hardly stand out from his unkempt and unclean subordinates if not for his disposition. A head taller than the average human, his reddened gray eyes saw above and beyond the first ranks of the regiment, and even a menial gaze straightened out the vicious dogs behind him. For the first time since emerging from those sandy dunes, his lips erected a genuine grin. Ahead of him and his bloodthirsty legion, the semi-distant yet magnificent keep sat on top of a gently sloping hill, surrounded by golden grass and dozens of crop fields as far as the eye could see. Indeed, none of them could contain their excitement. Most hollered and hooted into the evening air, brandishing a multitude of armaments like new toys just waiting to be played with. All of them… except for the commander and a hooded man who stood with him at the front. Only a tattered cloak adorned the gaunt, awkward figure, emphasizing what little humanity he had inherited from his species while hiding his true origins from those who saw him from a distance. A pair of violet lips wrapped around two narrow, white tusks rooted inside his jaw, forming a malevolent grin appropriate for the rigid, primal face he had been born with. And though the shadows reigned past his pointy nose and longer ears, a pair of eyes glinted like black pearls, a tinge of crimson outlining the irises like that of a demon’s. Of course, no one in their right mind would associate with such a creature, and thus the Troll kept himself ambiguously tied to the massive war band, associating with none other than the commander himself. A cackle erupted from the sickly being’s putrid lips, spouted as only a monster could replicate. “A beautiful evening this is, ya know…” While the Troll moved forward on foot, the tall man rode on top of a black horse with gray-tinged hair. Even so, they both kept up a moderate pace, weaving over the hill and towards the dip which led to the outskirts of the inhabited lands. In the midst of the violent cheers of the company, however, a perpetual silence seemed to overtake the duo standing at the front, the commander’s head tilted forward as if assessing the other’s statement. But as the cloaked figure leaned towards the mount to speak, leather gauntlets gripped the bridle, the commander turning around unexpectedly to face the mottled crew. “Ya hear that? Listen up!” Barely a second passed before the quarter front completely fell into wordlessness. Those behind them stopped and imitated the stillness, forming a domino effect until everyone to the far back had eventually given attention to a solitary man. With the night filtered of man-made noise, that same person continued with a gruff yet commanding voice meant to penetrate the ranks of ill-reputed men. Even those who couldn’t hear his words would be able to pick up on the severity and importance. “So I don’t know your names, what you did, or even why you’re here. I dun’ really care, either, ‘cause my dead granny probably did worse than all of you sorry souls put together! What I want from ye all tonight is the best gods damned bonfire I’ve ever seen, rivaling the Nine Hells!” Just as quickly as the silence had come, so did unanimous cheering fill the night air. Incessant yelling also spread their commander’s announcement to the legion’s back front, growing with unadulterated excitement. “The main lot o’ ya are gonna screw with the surrounding farms and foodstuffs first. The front two groups’ll follow me. You all know what we’re here for – keep the silvers busy. We’ll be pillaging fer some great loot tonight, fellas, so dun screw up or get yourselves killed! You guys ain’t seen nothing yet!” With a reckless cry, the man hefted a large sword over his head, seemingly too large to be wielded with a single hand. Yet the commander did so effortlessly, encouraging the hollers and hoots from the crowd that he so desired. As it rose in loudness, so did an eerie luminescence, the color of scarlet seemingly originating, even glowing from the warped blade, roughly the shape of a raven’s wing extended for flight. The bandit soldiers emulated their leader’s call to attack with weapons held high before the commander shouted above the crowd in a vitriolic voice. “Let us make this evening beautiful with the color of blood! Make it run like wine!” With his last words spoken, the man turned, galloping forwards like a knight garbed in a magnificent cloak of absolute darkness – a cape which spread the length of tens of thousands of men and women. Like an assailant aiming for an artery, the formation would break upon the Barony and leave it crippled and starved before dawn broke. But this would only be the start of something new, a change upon the outlook of “petty” rule breakers. Regardless of circumstances, each and every one of them sought another chance; not for life, but to wipe the slate clean. Nobles, knights, the goody priests and peasants, and anyone who stood between them and their revenge would be cast to the blade as an example to anyone who remained breathing. For them, it was too late to start anew in this world. The Night Corps wanted to leave its mark, and the Commander would allow them this privilege. All but one left the declining hill behind, and once they were clearly out of sight, the Troll could no longer contain the laughter welling within his lungs. Even the twisted nature of his interracial cousins couldn’t explain the wicked joy he articulated from this scenario. Truly, working alongside the infamous war hero-turned-bandit lord proved the commander was a great candidate for this plan. Even the shrouded figure couldn’t quite fathom what the man would do to elate his confidence, and desires. The man held the confidence and charisma of a general but didn’t care about the consequences of his actions. That suited him just fine. The Troll merely assisted the commander and brought him the resources needed to fulfill his aspirations. In return, he only wanted one thing from the fallen champion: a single life. The lost experiment. “Peh. Won’t be long now, little puppet.” A short stride brought the scheming creature to a halt at a large bolder firmly inset with the hill. Climbing atop the stony surface, he witnessed the sparks and flames erupting from various plots of land, small torches lighting up the otherwise dense gloom approaching the Barony. Within an hour, he imagined them growing and illuminating an auburn sky… Edited by Grunt_of_War, Sep 13 2009, 01:35 AM.
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| Post #5 Sep 11 2009, 11:40 PM | Grunt_of_War |
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The longest part yet. I took some time to proofread (for once), so it should be okay... at least for a rough draft. Tell me what you think. Again, enjoy! EDIT: All parts have been updated quite a bit. I think it's fair to say they're near their final draft unless I state otherwise. Brom hardly recognized the situation and the time. No wonder he found it so difficult to wake up. Fuzzy light greeted his pupils, and a familiar breathing sound soothed his drowsy mind. Stirring from his bed sheets, the Baron rubbed the bridge of his nose, glaring at the shadowed window. The sky wasn’t its previous bright blue color anymore, but the beginnings of a dusky blackness tinged with remains of orange and red. The rest of the heavens sparkled, surrounding a half-moon amidst the onset of twilight. This was the same sky he saw every day, and the ceiling that encompassed the world where the ground could not. But he had come to expect the greatest mysteries to be well within sight. For him it was enough to simply admire the day and night, never expecting a clean-cut answer as to why he abided by its regular cycles. Such was beyond his power. While his eyes took in the wondrous sight, it soon became apparent he didn’t have that luxury at all. Judging from the outside, about an hour would pass before supper was prepared, but that left little time to do anything significant. He had a number of duties to fulfill as Baron, and waving them away with a lengthy nap never did him any good. Brom couldn’t fully blame his earlier fatigue on Gale, either, which aggravated him even more. With a non-exuberant sigh, the young Baron rose from the bed, realizing he hadn’t even made it to the pillow when he’d passed out. Luckily the nauseous feeling had already faded from his body, though he felt slightly sore at the joints and where he’d been punched in the gut. He applied a gentle touch to his bruise like a parent would to an infant. No real pain, just a consistent ache whenever he stood and even more so while turning or moving around. Just in case, Brom took a moment to test his body by waltzing around the solar, only to conclude he hadn’t been crippled or really even injured. At least that was good news, especially considering Gale was his sparring partner. What wasn’t so pleasant happened to be piled on his desk: an intimidating stack of letters on top of several open parchments in need of his attention. If Brom concentrated, he might even finish reading them later that night, answering many requiring his authority or support with a signature. But it was mundane work like this that made him groan. He’d much rather be doing something more likely to keep his attention, nothing which would drive him back into a coma. He sat at his chair lazily, preparing his quill and ink. He could get at least some of it out of the way before dinner and save himself an hour of sleep. With Brom making his way through the third letter, a knock came from across the room. He bellowed for the person on the other side to enter, only for the door to open immediately with a resounding creak. Toting a small clay vase, Tilly entered carefully towards the open casement. The container held the familiar flower she showed him earlier surrounded by many other blooms of different colors and sizes. “Sorry it took so long. Emeline said this was the smallest we had, so I found more flowers to make a bushel.” She placed the jug on the ledge, sighing with relief. “It’s fine.” Brom stood from his chair, pacing to the arching window to inspect the gift. Over the years he’d become familiar with many of the blossoms’ scents and colors. To have them all sitting in one place must’ve been a daunting task for her to undertake, so he could only feel grateful. “Makes a good decoration, don’t you think?” “Mhm. And look, it matches the sunset!” Tilly’s hands rested against the stone sill, the Baron quickly following her example. For a moment he stared, adjusting his vision between the sky and the flowers as if in disbelief. “You sure? A lot of the colors are too… bright.” The girl sighed. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she said, pointing at the petals. “It looks like they’re glowing, see?” The Baron blinked once, and then reached over as if to feel it between his fingers. “Sorry, guess I wasn’t really paying attention. But you’re right…” Brom straightened himself, facing Tilly with a sincere expression. “Thank you. If anyone asks, I’ll say that a cute girl picked these for me.” “Hey, I’m not four, you know.” She pouted, though the girl didn’t ask her brother to take the compliment back. Instead she crept up towards the wall, picking at pieces of stone chipping from the wall. “So have you been working?” “A bit. The pile over there hasn’t gotten much smaller,” he said in reference to his work desk. “Ahh...” A pause overcame the room, just long enough for Tilly’s face to contour a sly grin in Brom’s general direction. Even her usual, stoic gaze paled in comparison to the wicked glint portrayed in her eyes. “I bet you were sleeping this entire time.” A gasp escaped from the Baron’s throat. He disguised it as a cough, hiding his lower face behind his right arm. “Actually, Tilly… I was sleeping for a little while, I suppose. But uh…” He knew resting all afternoon couldn’t be good for his schedule, but how could that be his sister’s first guess? Did she think of him as being lazy? He did say he wanted to rest before, but even so… “I should probably get back to it. Work, I mean. Lots of letters to read and sign.” The sudden change in topic made the little girl’s head tilt to the side, confused, before shrugging. “Oh, Emeline told me that you should be getting ready for the party, too.” “Ready for what?” he replied just as he sat down in his chair. Before Tilly could reply, however, Brom felt his eyes almost bulge out from their sockets, an expression that caused the child to chuckle. He had just remembered that earlier in the morning, but his exhaustion must’ve washed away any recollection of the party whatsoever. “Thanks again, Tilly. Dunno what I’d do without you or Emeline around. Really.” The little girl was still chuckling. “Sure, sure. If you hadn’t been sleeping all day, though, you would’ve remembered.” “Don’t remind me...” he spoke, unenthused. Opening a wooden, rectangular chest, Brom pried through the clothes within for something more suitable to wear than the shirt and leggings he had sparred in. He pulled out a costume and tried it on, only to find that it felt too tight. Tugging at the fabric with a discomforted look, the Baron sighed. “This was one of my best outfits. Figures that it’d be too small now.” “But you haven’t worn that in over a year,” she spouted off as if it was incredibly obvious, “Not since Dad was alive, anyways…” Brom noticed his sister’s voice trail off, glancing to see her eyes downcast with a barely trembling smile. The girl’s gaze seemed lonely, as if watching the scene from a faraway place. He didn’t know what could’ve caused her to connect the present to that painful memory. It’d been only a year or so since their father’s death, and with no other parents, the two had relied on him for emotional support up until that point. He had always been busy with his duties, and Brom had never felt as close to the man as a son ought to. They were family only in name. He still vaguely recalled his true parents and what it meant to live with them, even if the young man opted to forget. As far as the siblings were concerned, that life had ended seven years ago. But for Tilly, she had no other parents to remember. Their modest upbringing meant nothing to her on any emotional level, but it wasn’t her fault. At three years of age, she’d been taken away from her real parents, so she only remembered life in the castle. In a way, his sister had been saved from the added grief Brom had been subject to, something he was honestly thankful for. But the old Baron’s death had been all the more difficult for her to swallow. Even Brom had shed a tear that dreadful day, so for her to recall their adopted father on the death bed must still be incredibly… painful. Having removed the tight outfit, Brom continued sifting through the box of clothes as if nothing had been said. “Well, what do you think I should wear from these?” He pulled up two suits from the chest, peeking over them to see the absent-minded girl. Tilly’s body slightly shook as if her soul had finally returned. Her head rose, giving a delayed but flustered reply. “Umm… the red and silver one?” Brom simply nodded and stood up with the costume, trying it on for size. “I guess this’ll work,” he confirmed, pulling at the collar. His sister nodded, but then retracted her head behind the collar of her shirt. She seemed like a frightened turtle in her position. “Wearing that… you look kind of like Dad, only a lot skinnier,” came a muffled voice. The comment seemed to come out of nowhere. For one thing, Brom never pondered his appearance in relation to the late Baron, nor did he carry the same blood as that man to begin with. Still, the idea piqued his interest, and the young man paced towards the mirror in his room. What he saw made his eyes widen. “That’s right… some of these outfits must’ve been his at some point. Still…” He wanted to say it: staring at the reflection felt like watching himself five or maybe ten years into the future. Maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention to his own growth, but what he saw wasn’t necessarily like his father. He looked like a man fit to rule. How could that possibly be him? If that image could talk back, could he even converse with it without feeling inferior? He could only imagine how that image would continue to expand as a figure, becoming a being no less of a noble man than the old Baron himself. Brom clenched his fists, feeling the weight and pressure building inside his muscles and in his throat as he struggled to breathe. This reflection could lead knights into battle, govern a population, and be charged with protecting his people and home without a doubt. On the other hand, Brom lacked that feeling of self-confidence. Without turning to Tilly, Brom spoke as though unsure of the words. “I can hardly recognize myself. Though, you know… I doubt Father would’ve enjoyed hearing you say that about him being large.” Forcing the conversation into a lighthearted direction, the Baron smiled at his own crude rebuttal and went to the bed, collapsing sideways the same way he had slept. “Well, enough about that. We need to look and feel our best for this party.” “But I meant to say that in a good way!” Tilly snapped back. “You don’t act like Dad at all, but you look all grown-up now. People might even think you’re very responsible.” The girl made a fantastic grin that matched her previously wicked gaze, though Brom could only sigh and agree. The Baron knew she was right: he was lazy and relied on the people around him to uphold his day-to-day life, almost to a fault. “Assuming this clever disguise holds, that shouldn’t be a problem then,” Brom said with a straight face. “So do I smell bad? It wasn’t too hot outside, but I can never really tell.” Tilly sniffed the air around him, and then shook her head. “No one would notice. You don’t have time anyways, remember? Emeline wanted to see you before the guests came.” “But you never said anything about that.” “Really…? My bad. Heheh…” the girl chuckled, attempting to humor away her forgetfulness. --- Following the staircase, Brom and Tilly finally entered the Great Hall. With half a dozen long tables and benches on either side, the room was filled with enough to support a small army or a large party of people. Several windows brought in the glistening moon’s light, which sought dominance over the sky. No longer did the vivid, bright colors adorn the horizon; the land had become completely shaded with darkness, the stars the only resolute guide for the coming guests. For now, the dining area remained virtually empty of life. Plates, glasses, silverware, and other amenities for the meal had already been set out by the cast of maids and butlers, who were now scrambling around the kitchen in anticipation of their Master Montifen’s guests. By the time the siblings had arrived, virtually all of the preparations had been handled with not a single aspect out of place. The Baron took this notion for perfection calmly and naturally, nodding in contentment at what he saw. Both he and his sister had seen the staff of the castle at work so many times that it didn’t provoke much of a response; it was all part of their job, after all, and their income and shelter in the household was more than enough to warrant high expectations. But as Brom was about to check the front for guests, a young female appeared from the many bubbling cauldrons and roasting spits. Sweat mixed with her reddish-brown hair and coated her face, alluding to her winded but relieved expression. If she didn’t seem so lively at times like this, he might have felt worse for making his friend work at her limits. Emeline wiped her brow with a handkerchief and then brought it and her hands to either side of her waist as if about to scold a young child, but almost gasped in surprise at the Baron upon better inspection. “You look really great in that outfit… Lord Montifen.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Brom gave a shy smile. “Thanks. Probably the best outfit I could find, actually. You don’t look bad yourself.” Her cheeks flushed a little, Emeline turning her gaze slightly but reiterating her stringent stance. “I guess. It’d be a lot better if I wasn’t sweating so much. But as I was saying… umm… I wish you’d been down here sooner. The other maids and I would’ve liked your opinions on what courses to serve. I even came to knock on your door earlier, but you didn’t answer.” Of course, he knew the reason why he hadn’t heard, but decided not to say anything about sleeping the afternoon away if he could help it. “Sorry. I must’ve been caught up working at my desk.” Tilly, however, only gave him another sly look. “Well, that’s okay. I figured you were asleep anyways,” the maid said so quickly and graciously without even needing to reference it: Emeline obviously would’ve peeked in to make sure he wasn’t ignoring her, so she had to know. Brom knew it was too little of a hope that she’d be fooled, even as the hairs along his back stood up. But though she had snapped back with an easy triumph, she had left it hanging in the air as one of the other maids came in from the main hall, directly confronting the Baron with news of guests already coming in. “Guess I should introduce our guests and direct them here,” Brom confirmed with the red-haired girl. “Tilly can help out if you need her.” “Make a good impression!” the little girl replied loudly. Emeline simply nodded and ushered her into the kitchen, and Brom appeared in front of the first group of guests. It seemed many had arrived at around the same time with others still on their way. --- “Ah, what a beautiful evening!” Gale entered the old barracks with a clear expression of joyful merriment. After a long afternoon of sentry duty, he collapsed in his chair, leaning back so that it touched perfectly against the wall without falling over. His boots rested against the edge of his rudimentary desk, and he shifted in his seat, trying not to sit on too many folded layers of the chainmail he wore. The soldiers that followed him exhibited similar tendencies, either lying across the benches in the structure or making out with their stashes of ale and brandy. The Captain laughed at their attempts of relaxation. “Come on now. Don’t tell me you forgot about the party tonight! No use wasting your hard-earned time ‘n alcohol when it’s free in the mess hall.” “Y—you serious, sir?” One of the knights spoke up, catching the attention of everyone else puzzled about what was going on. Some withdrew their flasks and stood, prepared to leave, while others weren’t so sure about what to do. Just as suddenly, however, Gale’s tone turned cold. “No!” He laughed again, this time even heartier than the first while the others groaned. “C’mon lads, don’t you know my word doesn’t mean squat inside the castle? I can’t get you all in tonight; place is gonna be packed as it is. Plus we all have duty as back-up for tonight. I doubt anything will happen, but you gotta be wary when there’s a gathering. Who knows… we might be attacked, or a guest may puke on another and be accused of harassment. Y’never know. Just don’t get too drunk, ‘kay?” He leaned back a little further in the seat, resting his head against crossed arms that served as cushions for an attempt to nap. Gale could already hear people chugging their bottles, chatting, and a few snoring from across the room. Indeed, a long day of patrolling followed by reinforcement duty could only be attributed by sleep and alcohol, because who wanted to be working sixteen-hour days? But… damn. If he didn’t have a family, Gale would be on his way to the castle by now, regardless of house rules. The nobility always had quality women among them and, from his days as a young knight in training; he could remember sneaking in so many times, his presence was eventually and reluctantly approved by the old Baron himself. Of course, that permission meant nothing to him now; he wasn’t one to cheat on his wife, though smuggling good mead from the cellar had turned out to be a fine substitute for lust. Tonight, he didn’t feel like drinking on duty; excitement coursed through his veins, but the Captain had no reason to take advantage of it. He knew tonight would be long: an entire stronghold of people would eat and dance under his watch, many of whom would stay for the night and then be off to their homes the next morning in a drunken stupor. Standard procedures for parties always seemed to hold true: crash at night and burn come the dawn. A great life, even if a double-edged sword. Then, at some undetermined point, the door of the barracks swung open, followed by two patrolmen, waking him from his nap. “Fires, sir…! We think bandits are attacking the peasantry and burning their fields.” And really horrible news just had to approach him that night to kill his mood. The captain stood from his seat, equipping himself in addition to the armor he already wore. The other reinforcements did the same, hefting whatever they had previously planned to put down for the night. “Did you send out scouting parties, Lieutenant? Do we have counts on the incidents? General directions? An estimated head count of the enemy or of the casualties? I need as much information as you can give.” “Twenty-two men have been split and sent to two different sites: one to the south and another to the west. But fires were still springing up before I was sent off; until I received word from you, I had the rest of my men watch for anything else suspicious. I’m sure we sent out enough to quell the situation, but the thing is, we can’t validate their true numbers.” The young man seemed flustered, sweat forming on his face as though unsure of how to react further. “Come, man, quit acting like I’m going to strike you. Your actions make sense, but just in case, I’ll be committing people into separate search parties.” He sheathed a sword at his hip and then took an unlit torch in his hand. “The cover of darkness isn’t going to help our cause here, especially if they’re hiding their strength like cowards. I hope I can count on you to organize the rest of your soldiers.” “Of course, sir…” the Lieutenant confirmed, bowing with respect. “Alright. You take the south side; I’ll have the west. And be sure you send a messenger to the Baron. He needs to know we have the situation under our thumb.” With another bow, the two exited with men in tow. Several of the knights were murmuring, but the situation seemed clear: there were raiders who required judgment, and it was their duty to give them just that for the protection of the people. As the Captain and his men were mounting themselves on horses from the stables, another scout appeared before Gale with an even more urgent message. “Captain, we found a small group of people in the forest. They’re all cut up and I didn’t feel a pulse. From their looks, they seemed to be expected guests for Lord Montifen’s party.” Gale’s thumb and index finger massaged his eyes with aggravated motions. The weight of the situation had just seemed to grow exponentially underneath his nose, but he couldn’t understand how this could have happened so suddenly. Weren’t more scouts doing their job? Sure more than two would be reporting to him now. “How close were they…?” “I witnessed them at about a ten minutes’ ride out, sir.” How did the assailants get that close without any of the outlaying scouts returning? “What about the others? What of the rest of your patrolling party?” “I don’t know. I was told to go on ahead after we found the bodies, but I never saw anything else on my way here. We were patrolling along the north, so…” “The north?” That didn’t make any sense… why were people being attacked from province territories? Unless the assailants had come around from the Aktesh Desert, found to the southwest, but that entailed having the numbers to spread out and surround the castle. To attack from behind and split an already meager force would be idiotic. “I suppose you didn’t catch a glimpse of who did this, right?” “No, sir.” “Alright, come with me. I have a bit of explaining to do for you and some men, but not until we’re on horseback. We’re losing against time here.” A minute later the Lieutenant and the Captain exited the gate out into the peasantry, splitting up and going in their respective directions. He summarized the situation for those who hadn’t been in the barracks beforehand and then referenced the scout. “Take me to the site you told me about. The rest of you are to go on ahead. I’m appointing John in charge until I return.” The appointed man accepted and continued forward while Gale followed the scout through the forest to the north. He needed to confirm something, but doubted the answer would ease his perception of the situation… Edited by Grunt_of_War, Sep 13 2009, 01:34 AM.
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| Post #6 Sep 12 2009, 12:21 PM | Sgt. Tacoz |
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You're so evil. -.- I'll read it tomorrow. This'll be good practic for creative writing responses. >> |
I happen to know for a fact that Unicorns puke rainbows.
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| Post #7 Sep 12 2009, 03:07 PM | Grunt_of_War |
Evil? I couldn't possibly understand why you'd say such a thing.
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| Post #8 Sep 15 2009, 01:51 AM | Grunt_of_War |
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"Moar 2 reed pl0x???///" Well here it is! I still need other people's opinions, but errors have been cleaned up fairly well, so I hope you continue to enjoy this. Hopefully I did well to convey the emotion in this piece, but we'll see... “Oh my, what a wonderful abode you have here! More than suitable for the Lord of Holston. Your father left quite the legacy behind, didn’t he?” “Yes madam, and thank you for saying so,” Brom managed to reply, smiling courteously at the older lady and her husband. The Baron could only discern how lavish their appearances seemed in comparison to his own outfit which, while certainly indicative of a noble’s tastes, lacked the outright flair the Count and Countess Suel displayed. While the lady was dressed in magnificent colors and silks which caressed the floor like water, her partner wore red stockings and a golden shirt embedded with small, sparkling gems that gleamed from the surrounding candlelight. It really had been a long time since he had left for the capital, Brom decided. In most cases, only the knights ranked lower than a Baron in the hierarchy of nobility. Having a superior title alluded to one’s level of wealth and land. However, the aristocracy often built itself within or around existing cities, ascertaining their power solely through economics in the urban realm. This was really the only reason Brom still had continued leadership over the Barony itself. During these relatively peaceful times, massive plots of land, castles, and private armies were downplayed in favor of private estates to reduce the drain brought upon their wealth. The practice of a lord’s armies overthrowing another’s for land and serfs consequently became a rare and costly practice. Why obtain a legion when it no longer had relevance? Simply buying out a lesser noble’s assets had proved a more efficient practice with fewer losses and ramifications for all parties involved, but with the demand for outlying plots all but nonexistent, few strongholds remained only for the universal protection of the province’s inhabitants. Being one of these keeps, Holston had remained unusually quiet both on the battlefield and in Yutha’s internal workings save for the obligatory and periodic festivities that had seemed to define upper class negotiations. The old Baron had rarely dabbled in socioeconomic affairs; Brom took that ideology a step further. He disliked playing the mind games involved with them, but in the end, he couldn’t expect to stay secluded, especially since his father’s sudden death. The Suels moved on just as other guests came up to meet him. Occasionally the door would open to even more people; many from the surrounding areas, but the majority consisted of people from all over Yutha, namely nobles of pedigree families with varying outfits and styles. Brom hated to say it, but he had noticed an interesting trend: unlike at his father’s parties, many invitees were around his age or slightly younger, accompanied by some of the faces he’d become somewhat familiar with over the years. Whereas he questioned the bold looks of the Suel couple, he did so for another reason altogether just about every time a girl passed by to greet him. Brom couldn’t help but stare: they were genuinely beautiful, especially as dressed up as they were. And their bosoms… “You certainly have an eye for women, don’t you…?” the red-headed maid sneered. At that very moment, a tingling sensation crawled across his spine, betraying his train of thought. He had barely straightened out his stance before he realized it was already too late. Indeed, he could imagine a vein popping from her head if there weren’t so many people around. Her voice sounded as sincere as usual, but she had dug a hole that Brom was guaranteed to have a hard time getting out of. “I can’t say I understand your question,” he claimed, hoping to pass it off to something else, “So has the kitchen calmed down?” “Yes.” ‘Yes?’ Was that all she had to say? How often did Emeline respond with something so brief and ominous? He had dared himself not to turn around, but did so since he didn’t want to seem rude. As he was about to defend himself, however, Brom noticed her expression didn’t quite match what he had expected. Her lips formed a stagnant line and her hands clenched at her sides. “Eme? I’m sorry. It was a joke, all right? I was just looking a little bi—“ “A little?” Her eyes barely shifted towards the Baron as if finding it hard to focus on him. Everyone else had gone into the Great Hall for supper, leaving the two alone in the foyer. “You looked at all of them the same way. Didn’t you notice?” “What are you talking about?” he rebutted. Brom’s throat felt coarse with dry anger, welling from a vague feeling deep within his stomach. “Besides, it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. Okay?” “It’s not okay…” Emeline swallowed. Suddenly it wasn’t just her fists, but her entire form that seemed to tremble. “I saw you… you haven’t forgotten at all.” “What…? I don’t understand…” What the hell could she be talking about? Was she jealous? He had to change the subject somehow. “I’ll be in the dining hall in a little. We can talk about this later.” The rising pressure in his brain had to cool down. He knew his good friend well. She never called him out and argued like this; she didn’t even seem all that confident to begin with. He turned away to check outside when an unexpected thing occurred, a sound that reached his ears unerringly. His limbs stopped dead. Suddenly his anger swelled, but he couldn’t release it or do anything about it. He finally understood what that gut feeling was and hated himself for it. “I’m talking about the letter, Brom. The same way you looked at her, at her letters, and especially how you mulled over that last one she sent. I’m sorry, but… it kills me to see you with that look.” “It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” the Baron sighed. True, he didn’t even notice, but she was right. His gaze. The way he judged those high-class girls, hoping that one of them, perhaps, might be Thea Vesly L’ile, the daughter of Count Jem. But admitting this to Emeline or anyone else was torture. He realized forgetting her truly wasn’t going to happen so easily. That entailed a lot from him because, somewhere in the dark recesses of his broken heart, he held hope, even if it was the slightest chance possible. But in the end, of course she hadn’t come. That was an unfeasible outcome. “I’m gonna check outside. Make sure everyone’s well accommodated.” A silence overcame the room. Brom walked forward and touched the door handle, pulling the entranceway open. He expected the metal to be warm, but it felt icy to the touch. Of course, people were coming in from the outside; he had no reason to think anyone else had been going out. That’s right… Why did his thoughts suddenly feel so muddled? He still couldn’t hear anything behind him; he might as well have been alone, too, so why did it matter? But Brom wasn’t alone. He heard footsteps coming from behind him. Turning to see what was going on, the Baron was greeted by a defiant sound. A gentle hand smacked across his cheek. Though the blow caused him to lean his head to the side, however, it emitted more noise than pain. Truthfully, watching her expression was painful enough. She glared at him as though he’d committed a crime against humanity. “It’s my job to worry, you know. More so than that, I just wish you were more open with me. Can’t you understand that much, at least…?” Brom felt his cheek: it was numb and warm at the same time, though he couldn’t say why. The slap felt reassuring, and from that, he could recognize what she wished to convey. “Yeah, I get it. I’m sorry, Eme… again. I really must be troublesome if you had to knock it out of me.” A small grin crossed his lips, though shame had been reflected in his downward gaze. As much of a joke as he had made it out to be, Brom knew it wouldn’t be that simple to make everything better. He had clearly proved that after tonight. At that point, Emeline was staring at him, clearly shocked by something said or done. Even so, she copied the Baron’s grin, albeit shyly. “Not at all…! You were really mature about it after awhile. But I did overreact. I should’ve been calm. You know… as surprised as I was, I believe what you said. I just… well, no one wants to see the lord of this castle mulling over his regrets. They shouldn’t reflect in his future.” “That’s certainly something you would say, but you’re right,” Brom teased, closing the door. The foyer appeared dark, but the candlelight’s illumination provided an admirable glow about Emeline’s face. As if she wasn’t striking enough. The Baron felt as though he needed to protect her and hold the girl in his arms. “Why are you looking at me like that…?” “Huh?” Brom turned his perspective away almost immediately, his face growing ever warmer by the second. Why did he have to stare again and in such a noticeable way? It was really no wonder he’d gotten dumped even when a marriage had been arranged, considering how awkward he felt by feeling this way. “S—sorry.” Emeline chuckled in a way that seemed oddly relieving. Not a mocking one as most would expect, but a joyful laugh. “I see… want to lock arms?” She said so, cheeks blushing, though she hid her usual bashfulness surprisingly well behind her growing amusement. “If you want…” Brom said, unsure but clearly interested. At that point, the young maid intertwined her left arm with his right, closely holding on to him. He could feel it: her body against his, shoulder to shoulder. In some ways it seemed odd, since he’d always considered Emeline family no less than Tilly, but she seemed to state exactly how he felt. “We haven’t gotten this close since we were kids. It’s weird… but I kind of like it…” Brom, however, found it hard to continue with the subject matter. “W—we should probably eat and entertain the guests. I’m sure the guests are wondering where we are.” “Alright...” With an agreeable nod and another chuckle, she started down to the Great Hall with Brom at her side. “What’d you mean earlier by ‘that’s something you’d say,’ anyways?” she continued, expressing a sour face. “Nothing, nothing…” He tried assuring her. With a measurable amount of humor arising between the two, they finally reached the passageway to the feast... …Only for the main door to burst open, revealing a large man carrying something in his left hand. Brom barely had time to turn before the other man threw the object at Brom’s feet, its gaping mouth mangled with fear. Emeline screamed. “Message from the Captain,” the figure stated. “Cry to your gods.” |
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