This is a story i started writing 2 years ago, but i never really had time to finish. i picked it up again this year, typed it, edited it, and made it much longer. the thing is, its big. really really big. 22 pages big. (double spaced though, as it originally started out as a lit paper) its called The Wanderer for now.
WARNING: there is language in this, and slightly disturbing themes. it'll be edited when it goes through, i'm too lazy to edit all 22 pages of it by myself.
oh yeah, steal this, and bad things will happen to you. VERY bad things.
Edit: i just re-read it, and something seems off in the flow of the story, but im not sure what. any ideas?
Nother Edit: the page break stuff was in word, so i can get a hang of where the story's supposed to break off in different places. ignore my randomness
“****! How could you let him slip from your grasp AGAIN?” roared the voice of a man. The man was a tall and muscular, middle-aged human clad entirely of red. He prided himself on being the Commander of his section of the Crimson Guard, the most prestigious army in the land. Now however, he was quite angered. His squadron had let a very valuable man slip through their fingers not even five minutes ago, and they would pay for this. Because of this mishap, thought the man, he might not even get a promotion. Worse, he could be put back to a job training the new recruits. This was serious…
“After him men!” He yelled. “He can’t be far! I’ll give whoever catches him half the price that he’s worth!” Finally his motivational tactics paid off. The squadron, his pride and joy, started to fan out through the narrow alleyways of the city of Almstead.
As the other red-clad figures ran around like mere children in the dark, another man was hiding in the alleyway. He was very striking, but still managed to pose as a beggar on the side of the alley. The soldiers ran past him without a thought. After all fifteen men ran past; he stood up and walked the other way, sword in hand. A scream was heard in the direction he went about two minutes later, and the soldiers ran back to their regrouping area. One man, the stupidest of the bunch, peered over the slashed corpse of their Commander, and whispered “You think he’s alive?”
In the desert outside Almstead, a figure rose out of nowhere. To the casual eye, he was human, but anyone with common sense could feel the evil manifest itself around him. The black figure strode towards the town, acid left behind in every footstep. Five minutes later, he was an elderly wizard, who rode into town on a gallant horse; looking for housing and maybe a servant. The One Known as Nothing was about to finish his ingenious scheme, and finally, after millennia of waiting, the human world would finally be his.
Sicyrn Mathasol kept walking, even though he knew he wasn’t going to make it. The closest town was over three sand dunes away, and he had been walking for well over five days with nothing but his troll-bone armor, his sword, Seon, and his mirthrat-hide water skin, which was strapped to his waist. He had killed the giant rat two days, maybe three, before. He couldn’t remember. Sicyrn was having trouble remembering anything since he started his journey across the desert. He was at the top of the first sand dune now, overlooking the outlaw’s town of Balthen. There he would find a haven, for Balthen was a town of thieves, with no laws, much less anyone who would enforce them. He would finally find rest there, and then lay low for a few weeks, provided he could even get there.
Sicyrn let himself fall down the giant dune, hoping he would get down quicker. It worked, he got down the hill in a matter of seconds, but it hurt more. Grunting from exertion, Sicyrn heaved himself up and continued. The sun beat down, and he quickly brought his water skin up to his mouth and took a swig. That was the last of the water. Now he would have to put his endurance to the test if he were to reach Balthen. Thank the gods cloud cover was beginning to form. He looked up at the blue sun in the sky, named Alteron after the Sun God, and quickly jumped out of the way to avoid a diving… whatever it was. The thing looked like a vulture, despite the fact it was well over 18 feet tall and had four wings. Sicyrn, however, quickly stopped gaping and there was a ring as he drew Seon. The bird lunged at him, talons raking his chest, and then Sicyrn brought his strength to his arms, and gave a mighty swing. The coppery stench of blood filled the air as the bird’s head separated from its body, lifeless. Sicyrn was about to journey onward, but he paused. Something about the bird was not right. Besides its grotesque features and odd number of wings, there was something about the bird that did not fit. Sicyrn tried to focus on what was wrong with it, but he could not place the source of it. Finally, he realized, that the bird just seemed…evil. He didn’t know how he knew, or what he was basing it on, but it seemed to be almost evil incarnate. Suddenly, Sicyrn realized that he had to get to Balthen. Now. He would dwell on the matter later. Exhausted, Sicyrn made a journey of what seemed hours to the top of the second sand dune. At the top, he could see the city, and it was a welcome sight, even though it looked horrid. Thatch roofs and ramshackle guard towers were haphazardly placed around a strong brick wall and gate. The Gates were Balthen’s greatest pride, because they were its greatest protection. Sicyrn shook his head to clear the sand, and started down the second dune. As he took his first step, Sicyrn saw the ground closer than he ever had before. The sand was beautiful, but…it also hurt. He realized that he had fallen as soon as everything went black.
“Ton'hin, come here now! I think he’s awake!”
“Yes, Master Jaoulai.”
Sicyrn grunted as he felt cool, refreshing water splash onto his face. He gasped, and reflexively, his eyes shot open. Immediately, they went to his surroundings. He was in a small room, probably above a tavern judging from muffled noise which he heard below the floor. The room also had two beds, one of which was no more than a cot; a frayed rug; and a portrait of some ‘great warrior’ with a sword over his shoulder, a damsel at his side, and a dragon, dead at his feet. What bull****… These people obviously weren’t staying for a while, for there were two sacks, one much more glamorous than the other, one at each bed. Sicyrn immediately labeled the one carrying a water bucket as the one called Ton’hin, for he was wearing clothes that immediately brought the term ‘servant’ to mind. Strangely, he looked like he should be a rich man compared to the man next to him. The one who called himself Jaoulai, looked like a servant himself, except for his clothes. He had almost no muscular build, and was about 60 years old. His clothes, however, were long, elegant and flowing, and looked like he should belong in a palace, rather than a grubby one-room apartment in a thieves’ town, if that was even where they were. Sicyrn hated slave-master relationships like this for exactly the reason which was visible: Ton’hin looked more than able to inflict pain on his master than vice versa, but he never did. Servants never did anything but what they were told.
Finally, Sicyrn had the strength to talk, so he slowly asked, “Who are you… and where am I?”
The old man laughed. It sounded harsh and judging, not the friendly laugh that most people would expect from an elderly man. “Well, I am Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order. This is my servant, Ton’hin. If I am not mistaken, we are in room 15 of The Dirty Wench, in Balthen.”
As soon as the old man spoke, Sicyrn found himself hard brought to trust the man. With an icy voice, Jaoulai sounded like he would rather kill Sicyrn then help him, but his intent seemed peaceful. Still something itched at the back of Sicyrn’s mind, but he pushed it away. He would find out more about this man later. He always found out what he intended on finding out. Sicyrn was a man who always got what he wanted. He stood at about six foot one with flowing white hair, which greatly deceived his age. At a mere twenty two years old, he was a man of immense strength. Because of this and his height, Sicyrn’s friends always joked about him being a half-giant. His friends were the only ones that joked about this because he would not tolerate anyone else to. Many people found themselves with broken limbs from this mistake.
The old man interrupted Sicyrn’s deep thought by saying “Do you want something to eat? I’m going down to the tavern. You can help yourself to food if you want.”
Sicyrn replied, “No, thanks. I don’t have any money.” The old man pushed five gold coins into his hand and smiled. The smile, although it had good intentions, put a deep fear in Sicyrn, which surprised him. Sicyrn wasn’t scared easily. Either way, money was enough hinting for Sicyrn, for he hadn’t had any food since he left. He had been in such a hurry fleeing that he hadn’t bothered to bring food. His thoughts slowly drifted to his life back in Almstead, when…no. No more of this. What is past is past, Sicyrn reminded himself. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and left the room. As he reached the stairs, he felt himself shaking uncontrollably. Once again, Sicyrn saw the ground much closer than he would have liked. As tumbled headfirst down the stairs, he saw his head rapidly approaching a barstool. After that, there was a deafening ‘crack!’ and everything went black.
Sicyrn groggily woke up to a man shaking him. “Hey, wake up!” The man said.
Sicyrn looked around. The entire bar was looking at him like he had just appeared out of…oh. He remembered now; he just fell down a flight of stairs. Trying to act casual, Sicyrn got up and looked around. True, there was some ruckus, but compared
to other bars, this one was silent as the grave. There was no way that this could be a bar in Balthen, it was too quiet. Time to test that theory, Sicyrn thought to himself as he walked to the bartender.
“Give me the finest drink in all of Balthen.” Sicyrn grunted.
After Sicyrn said that, he knew that something was wrong. The bartender just looked at him strangely. Time seemed to take hours just to pass less than a minute. Then the laughter started.
“This guy must be lost boys!” shouted the bartender. “Let’s show him where he is!”
There was a giant roar, and the men lifted Sicyrn above their heads and threw him out into the street. Sicyrn got up, dusted himself off, and looked around. The shops were fancy, the people well-dressed. This was not Balthen… He was in Almstead, where he was wanted for the crime which occurred years ago. For some reason the price on his head was 5,000 gold pieces, enough to buy a small house. This part confused him. He didn’t think he did anything that wrong. He had to get off the street before anyone saw him. “There he is boys!” shouted a man in a bright red uniform. “After him!” Too late for that plan, Sicyrn grimaced.
“For Alteron’s sake” cursed Sicyrn as he turned to run, but he only got about two feet. As he started to draw Seon for the upcoming fight; but his foot seemed glued to the ground. In fact, the rest of his body couldn’t move either. Sicyrn could only find strength enough to move his eyes and look about. He glanced around, but besides the soldiers running towards him, he could see nothing of interest. Two soldiers finally caught up with him, and immediately, Sicyrn’s frozen form was facing two sword tips. The man who had shouted before walked up to Sicyrn, pried Seon from his hands, and looked up at the window of The Dirty Wench as he shouted, “Thank you, Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order, for help in capturing Sicyrn Mathasol. You will be rewarded handsomely for your actions.”
Sicyrn’s eyes shot up to the window where the captain had shouted, and what he saw horrified him. Jaoulai, the man who had claimed to save him. The man who had—wait…it all made sense now. Jaoulai had found him unconscious and took him to Almstead, not Balthen! By now, Sicyrn was seething with rage, and at that moment, Sicyrn wanted nothing else but that man’s eyeballs dangling on their stems from his hand. That double-crossing gutter-snake had better hope that he not see Sicyrn ever again, or he would be slaughtered; presuming that Sicyrn even got out of his current situation. However, suddenly Sicyrn saw movement from the window and quickly tore his gaze from the gloating captain, and back to the small hole. It was Ton’hin, the servant, carrying the bucket of water that he had used to revive Sicyrn. In one swift motion, Ton’hin cracked the bucket over the wizard’s head, leaving the old fool to slump down on the floor.
Sicyrn was ready for the spell to be released, but the guards were not. He ducked to avoid their swords, and rammed his head into one man’s stomach. In the same motion, Sicyrn snapped the head guard’s wrist as he ripped Seon from his grasp and gored another soldier. At first, the captain just stared, but then gave a bloodcurdling scream and shouted for more troops, but it didn’t matter; Sicyrn was surrounded. He glanced at the soldiers, trying to find the man who would look weakest. Right by a food stand, a man was busy trying to scrape something off his boot. Sicyrn made haste to swing Seon at the unsuspecting guard, cleaving his head in half before the man had seen Sicyrn as he sprinted down the road.
A left, a right, another right, jump the stand, dodge a sword. Sicyrn knew these movements like clockwork, and he sprinted down a random alley, pushing carts, people and anything he could find into the path of the soldiers, even though he knew that it wouldn’t slow them down. The Crimson Guard was a unit of bold, strong and especially ruthless men that would hunt and kill a man like he was a rabbit. This didn’t bother Sicyrn, for he was neither a rabbit, nor a mere man. However, he was smart, and he didn’t want to shed more blood than needed to be. He had already killed two of the guard trying to imprison him, and although he didn’t mind killing, he didn’t want any more crimes to be held against him.
Sicyrn vaulted a cart of vegetables, overturned it, and jumped on top of it. It was finally time to test his acrobatic skills. He prided himself on being almost as nimble as he was strong, and he hadn’t jumped over anything for about two weeks. Time to see how limber his body would let him be… Sicyrn leaped from the stand to a sheet of carpet hanging from a building, quickly jabbing Seon into carpet, and the wall. He then hung there for a fraction of a second, and leaped off the curtain, taking Seon with him. Vaulting himself to the roof of the clay house, and at that point, Sicyrn was almost surprised for a second. Almost. There were about five or six archers already on the building, and they had to have gotten there fast as a sand wurm, which could outrun most draft horses. But he quickly got over it as he smashed the gold (now ironically crimson) hit of Seon into the archers helmet, knocking the man unconscious, at the least. Ignoring the others, Sicyrn deemed that it was time for roof-hopping.
With the acrobatic ability of a cat, Sicyrn leaped from roof to roof, dodging arrows and archers, while trying to avoid the soldier’s glances from down below. Finally, he reached the town gates, which were closing rapidly. There was no time for subtlety, so Sicyrn jumped down from the roof while he grabbed a drain from the house, sliding down the two stories like it was a simple jump, then using his remaining strength to sprint to the gigantic gates that enclosed Almstead.
Once out of the gates, Sicyrn ran and never looked back. It was his personal mantra that once something was behind you, it says behind you. This had been true in many aspects of his life, and it was especially crucial here. Arrows from the archers on the wall were hitting the ground all around him, but he had been lucky so far. He kept to a zigzag pattern so as not to get hit, but just then, he felt a sharp pain in his arm. As he looked at his side, he saw something he dreaded. An arrow embedded itself right into the only weak point in Sicyrn’s armor; the shoulder. There was only one way someone could have hit him with an arrow at over about 500 yards. There had to be an elf up there. Elves were master archers, and judging by what he had seen from corpses, he was lucky the armor hadn’t shattered. Sicyrn’s careful thoughts were interrupted by another sharp pain as another arrow found its mark in his shoulder. Yep, definitely an elf, Sicyrn thought as he winced in pain. Thankfully, he was over 800 yards now, and no creature in the known world had an aim which was that precise. Sicyrn finally slowed his pace to a walk, and wondered how far it was to Balthen… again.
OMGWTFPAGEBREAKOWNED
Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order, a powerful man, possessed more power in his little finger than a barbarian had strength in his entire body. Jaoulai Kientan, once a rich boy, but sent away from his parents to go to this hell that they called a school simply because he could supposedly wield magic. Jaoulai Kientan, the poor wretch who refused to eat for a month because he could never see his parents again. Jaoulai Kientan, who had finally realized his strength and destroyed every one of those old fools at the school, had been bested by no barbarian, no member of his family, no wizard, but by a servant. A mere servant, Jaoulai thought, as he looked at the quivering Ton’hin lying in the corner. If only that pathetic fool knew how much pain he would be in by the end of the day.
“Why did you do that, Ton’hin?” asked Jaoulai calmly, but in an icy tone. “Why did you hurt your master?” Ton’hin didn’t answer. Jaoulai knew that the fool wouldn’t talk, but he still prodded at his psyche. “You know, if I had gotten the reward for that idiot’s capture, I could finally get on Emperor Rayam’s good side. You might have even gotten more coin than you had bargained for.” Nothing. Why wouldn’t he say anything? This almost made Jaoulai want to kill him quickly, but he knew that patience was a virtue, especially in this case. Ton’hin backed into the wall as Jaoulai approached, the poor fool had no idea of what was coming, the madman thought. Slowly extending his hand towards the ragged servant, Jaoulai smiled a warm smile. Confused, Ton’hin looked at his master, and then relief spread over his face. Maybe he would not be killed, thought the slave weakly. He did make a mistake after all, and everyone makes mistakes. Then Jaoulai forced just a tad of energy into his outstretched hand, and Ton’hin’s body went rigid, and he slammed into the wall, bound as if by invisible restraints. The impact of his head on the wall knocked him out; a pity to Jaoulai. People were always more fun to take apart when they were watching. Nevertheless, he would have to start soon if he was to catch that nuisance called Sicyrn. Manipulating the air, Jaoulai waved his hands around to make light-as-air gloves, then slowly slit Ton’hin’s chest apart. Oh, this was going to be too much fun…
As he wiped the blood from his shirt, Jaoulai leapt out the window. It might be five floors above the ground, but he did not fear death. He was death, after all. After destroying that pitiful servant, he felt extremely refreshed. But now, he pondered, how could he regain the king’s favor with Sicyrn. This part was crucial. Sicyrn said he was going to Balthen, Jaoulai figured, so that should be where he would head. Yes, he smiled, he would march on Balthen. The city would think they had been invaded by the Crimson Guard, but he knew that he was the one behind it. The city would really tremble under the might of Jaoulai Kientan
PAGEBREAK DOS!
Sicyrn Mathasol wandered into Balthen slowly, avoiding the eyes of the countless others that stared at him. Even in a town of thieves, with no government whatsoever, he was still a strange sight. He highly doubted that he was the strangest, however. Having been in Balthen before, Sicyrn knew that all sorts of odd people wandered around the city. One time, Sicyrn thought that he saw a dark elf (more commonly slurred as Drow) hiding under a cloak, which would be rare even in Balthen, but he would have been a fool to try and look. Still, he must look horrid judging by the looks some people gave him. Days of wandering over vast desert had worn him out, giving him a dazed look in his eyes and a weak look in his muscles. His face had grown a moustache and a beard was starting, once again, thanks to the long trip. This part, however, only added to his fearsome look. People always avoided him, but if they didn’t, there was always one man that learned his lesson about messing with this giant of a man, and this made all of the other pests avoid him.
The Crimson Guard would never dare to venture into such a ruthless town as Balthen. Hopefully, he would be able to lay low there for a while as the Guard looked around for him… away from Balthen. Eventually, the Guard would forget about him and he could go back to his regular life... or something like it. Going back to complete normality would be impossible, because before the incident, he had been a soldier. That life was far behind him though, and he could never go back to it. No matter how he hated to admit it, Sicyrn was dishonorably discharged from the military, a term which he hated. It was probably for a good reason, however, because he was discharged after killing a superior officer. As Sicyrn told the story, the officer was being a complete idiot. Sicyrn’s squadron had been assigned to go into a chasm for reconnaissance of a barbarian tribe the next morning. Since Sicyrn was half-barbarian himself, he knew that a chasm would be a perfect place for the barbarians to hold an ambush. He took his case to the captain of his squadron, but as usual, no one believed him, and he was discharged. Sicyrn had done a few illegal things in his life, but the only thing the Guard could pin directly on him was his refusal to fight in the military. Well, he did kill the men after him, but they were probably more concerned about his desertion. He was probably lucky that was the only thing too, Sicyrn reminisced.
Oh well; no time like the present, he thought. Besides, there was no way the Guard would ever find him in Balthen anyway. By now, Sicyrn had reached the first inn in Balthen. As he reached the inn, called Dirtbag’s Rest, he opened the inn door to see complete chaos. Apparently, there had been a bit of a fight in the inn, and after adjusting to the light, Sicyrn saw what had been going on. There had been some kid of dispute it seemed, and the bar had been divided into two sections of people who were going at each others throats with anything they could find; bottles, chairs, even a torch. Two drunkards swaggered out of the building past Sicyrn, and all the while, the bartender had been turned around, polishing a glass. Sicyrn walked past the fights, ducking to avoid a chair, turning to dodge a pool cue and then jumped over a goblin lying sprawled out on the floor.
Now standing at the bar itself, Sicyrn tapped on the bartender’s shoulder. After waiting for him to turn around, Sicyrn asked, “How many rooms do you have open?”
The bartender turned around, stared at Sicyrn’s torso for a few moments, and then brought his head up so he could look Sicyrn in the eye, which was normal for people when it came to Sicyrn. The bartender was obviously an orc, Sicyrn noticed. With green skin, formidable muscles and two battle-axes strapped to his belt, the bartender could hardly be mistaken for anything else…maybe a midget troll, but that was another matter entirely.
“One, but from the looks of it, you need two, son.” The orc had an evil-seeming grin on his face, but from prior experience (beheading an orc while it was torturing another soldier); Sicyrn knew all orcs smiled like that. Although not entirely pleasing, that was far from the only thing an orc did that came off that way.
Sicyrn just smiled back, and said, “How much?”
“Two pieces of gold for the night, but you won’t be getting lots of sleep with this lot here.” Commented the orc. “My name’s J’on by the way. You’ll need all the friends you can get around here, even for a man of your—erm—stature.”
“Sicyrn,” he replied, slowly forking over two pieces of gold. Hopefully this was the most expensive thing that he would encounter, for he was low on money. All he had was the five gold which that fool wizard had given to him “Now could you tell me where my room is?”
After walking up the stairs, narrowly avoiding the fight yet again, Sicyrn entered an extremely unkempt room and simply fell into bed. He was exhausted. Sicyrn always slept with his troll bone armor on, and that day was no exception. After he slept for a while he decided to shave, and then when he finished that, he took a bath in the tiny (by comparison) tub, and finally helped himself to the buffet downstairs, courtesy of J’onn. The orc is right, thought Sicyrn as he ate; I will need friends in Balthen. With this thought lingering in his head, Sicyrn, now in his room, dropped into the first healthy sleep he had gotten in days, maybe months; hand on Seon as an instinct.
Yet another boring chapter divider
There were screams. Lots of screams. Sicyrn thought he would go deaf from all the noise, but he did not put his hands over his ears. He simply did not need to. He walked straight, because he was obviously facing the direction he was for a reason. Corpses were piled up all around him, completely bloodless, but torn apart from the inside. Sicyrn then realized, in sick disgust, that he was walking on a path made of human bones. Besides being gruesome, the crunching underfoot only added to the noise. He walked on the path, he didn’t know how long, but eventually the corpses stopped piling up, and the bones stopped. There was a man there. A man completely covered in a black robe, who seemed to be…hovering… over the ground.
“Greetings, fool.” Said the man scathingly.
“Well nice day to you too,” replied Sicyrn, who had no tolerance for imbecility, even from this man, who seemed as evil as the bird he killed.
The man shifted, and his tone now conveyed anger instead of just hatred. “I suppose you don’t even know why you are here.”
“I’m in a dream. I’ll wake up sometime soon,” said Sicyrn, genuinely unconcerned, “It’s probably just a side effect of a lack of sleep. Now go away.”
The man threw back its cloak, and Sicyrn could no longer call it a man. It wore a crown made of thick, solid, blackness, which only managed to half-conceal a rotting skull. Flesh hung off a nondescript face, a ribcage with no organs, and a spinal cord which ran down to nothingness. It waved its hand, and a staff appeared. “Your feeble mind could conjure nothing as terrifying as me. I will make your days blacker than darkest night, and the nights filled with nightmares beyond your imagination. Unless, of course, you surrender yourself to Jaoulai Kientan.”
“So that’s what you want…” mused Sicyrn “I’d rather kill him than talk to him, so I think I’ll have to decline your offer.”
“IDIOT!” blazed the man. “Well, it is your choice. But if you won’t do it, I’ll turn myself in for you.” Suddenly, the man changed shape. He was no longer hideous, floating, or had a staff. He was…Sicyrn. “Now do my bidding, mortal,” he hissed.
Sicyrn woke with a start. Something was wrong. Pushing some troubling thought out of his mind, Sicyrn strained to hear what the problem was. The usual ruckus downstairs had quieted, and Sicyrn seemed to hear someone barking an order. Instantly, Sicyrn’s thoughts were fixated on the Crimson Guard, but they could never get into Balthen, much less know he was in this particular building. Hand on Seon; he pushed the door to his room open. Nothing. Everywhere else was silent as the grave, and the hallway was as well. He carefully made his way to the top of the stairs, not making a sound, and peered down, but then instantly shot his head back. It had been the Crimson Guard after all! Sicyrn could tell from their deep red uniforms and nasty demeanor to the drunks, it was definitely them. One question still lingered though; how had they gotten into Balthen? Determined to answer this question, Sicyrn crept down the stairs slowly, and then ducked behind the nearest table, which had been conveniently upended.
Carefully surveying the bar, Sicyrn saw that there were only about five or six Guard members actually inside the building. Two were helping ‘quiet’ the drunks, which looked more like holding them hostage in a corner; another member seemed to be questioning J’onn; and the others were patrolling the inn, and probably looking for Sicyrn. J’onn had definitely seen Sicyrn sneak down the stairs; for the Orc caught Sicyrn’s eye by making a subtle throwing motion with his hand. Wondering for a minute, Sicyrn looked around the room and saw bottles and other guerilla weapons all over the place. His soldiers’ instincts instantly kicked in. With all the random things littered around, he had at least a hundred improvised weapons at his disposal. If he could throw something at the guards, he might be able to start an ‘accidental’ riot. The drunks hopefully would follow his lead, and Sicyrn could start an attack against the Guard without even being noticed…but hopefully it would work. Priding himself on his ingenuity, Sicyrn picked up the nearest bottle and quickly and silently threw it across the room. With a loud smash, the bottle broke on the back of the guard questioning J’onn, and he was dropped to the ground. The soldiers immediately suspected the drunks, since they were the only known presence in the room, and the fight was on. In the midst of the fight, J’onn was left unguarded, so Sicyrn watched him quietly walk out the door unnoticed. Sicyrn waited a few seconds to make sure no one was paying attention, and then decided to follow.
The second he got out, Sicyrn knew it was a trap. He saw two Guard members wrestling J’onn to the ground, and immediately, a group of others were on top of Sicyrn. Unfortunately for him, the giant man could not draw his sword in time, and he was quickly pinned to the ground. He watched helplessly as a Captain sneered down at him and J’onn. Sicyrn knew that he was a Captain, because although he was dressed in the casual red, he had two gold stripes on his shoulder denoting his rank. Ironically, if Sicyrn was still in the army, he could have made the petty officer shake in his boots. It was days like these he shouldn’t have quit, he thought to himself.
The Captain stepped towards J’onn and proclaimed, “For aiding Sicyrn Mathasol escape our arrest, J’onn Muale, you are also under arrest for aiding an escape.” Sneering at Sicyrn, the commander said “Oh… that’s right. I meant to say escape… attempt.”
Sicyrn knew struggling would be no use while in handcuffs and while under the watch of twelve or so soldiers, so he just went along with the Captain and J’onn, who now also had his hands bound. They passed deserted buildings and dead townsfolk that seemed to show that the town had a few problems with the Guard entering. As they reached the city gates, Sicyrn stared in a mix of horror and rage at the reason that Guard had found him.
Jaoulai Kientan, that bastard of a wizard, thought Sicyrn, was on top of a jet black horse outside the gates, sneering at the two prisoners in haughty triumph.
“Good to see you again, Sicyrn Mathasol,” said the wizard mockingly “so sorry you had to leave early our last visit, but we shall finally get you pleasantly settled for your execution.”
At these words, Sicyrn paled. An execution? He thought, but why? The Guard had no reason whatsoever to execute him, even if he did escape from them! …twice. He was only charged with desertion, wanted in prison, and maybe for escaping arrest. He had not killed any of the guard or anything like that… oh, wait. Yes he had, he thought glumly. Knowing he had to escape, and fast, Sicyrn looked at J’onn and almost started. J’onn had a knife in his hand, and was looking at Sicyrn intently, with his rope dangling from his arms. Sicyrn grinned, and shifted his attention to the wizard for the moment. The Captain was discussing something with Jaoulai Kientan, and the other members of the Guard were busy mounting their horses, so Sicyrn and J’onn were left unguarded for half a minute. Stupid of them, though, because half a minute was all Sicyrn needed. He took advantage of this moment by silently taking the knife from J’onn, and rubbing it against his rope handcuffs.
By now, Sicyrn had the ropes off his arm, and he drew Seon, the beautiful sword glistening softly in his hand. J’onn drew both battle-axes with the strength of two men, and the two ran at the Captain and Jaoulai, letting out a fierce roar. The poor Captain was cleaved in half with one battle-axe with a look of shock on his face, before he could even raise his weapon, but the wizard was luckier. He simply raised one hand and Seon stopped in its tracks; it just hung in midair. Sicyrn let go of the sword, which then dropped to the ground, and charged the wizard. Surprised at this exhibition of brute force, Jaoulai went down with Sicyrn on top of him and Sicyrn let loose, punching with every ounce of strength he had.
Then everything stopped. Sicyrn stopped punching, his fist frozen in midair; the members of the Guard were frozen in various stances running at a defensive J’onn; but Jaoulai simply pushed Sicyrn off him and stood up, panting. Waving his hands in a circle, Jaoulai threw Sicyrn about 200 meters, sending him smashing into the gate of Balthen, the huge man still unmoving, but now with a look of rage on his face. Then time, and the battle, resumed its original course and no one noticed, or seemed to care, what had happened to Sicyrn… until he came charging back fifteen seconds later.
It takes a lot to make Sicyrn angry, but that had done it. With a yell of pure rage that made even J’onn turn to see where it came from, Sicyrn leaped back into the fray of battle. With fury unmatched, he tore through five of the Crimson Guard in a matter of seconds... with his bare hands. Then he turned to face the others. Even though Sicyrn was outnumbered by at least 20, the Guard turned and ran as fast as they could to their horses. As the fools ran, Sicyrn picked up Seon from where it had been cast out of his hand. He and J’onn then turned to face an unconcerned Jaoulai, who already was moving his hands to cast another spell. Darkness flowed from his hands as the two warriors charged at him, but then they literally stopped in their tracks. The darkness was clinging to the ground, and it clung to the four feet that were stuck in it. Jaoulai then cast another spell, which caused him to levitate; hovered over the darkness, and glided towards the two stuck warriors laughing.
“You really think you can defeat me?” Jaoulai said rhetorically, still laughing.
“Maybe,” responded Sicyrn, “It’ll definitely be a victory if you keep coming near us.” Then Sicyrn flung Seon at Jaoulai’s prone form. It landed in the wizard’s stomach with a sickening crunch as Jaoulai winced in pain. Then, Jaoulai muttered to himself, and suddenly Seon came out of the wizard’s stomach and hurled itself at J’onn. Unprepared, the Orc barely had time to dodge as Sicyrn’s sword hit his arm. With a cry of pain, J’onn dropped to the ground bleeding, but as he hit the darkness, his whole body was consumed by the darkness. Sickened, Sicyrn turned to the wizard.
“People like you deserve to die… so make it quick” spat Sicyrn at the wizard.
“Now, now. That’s not very nice,” said Jaoulai, seemingly oblivious of the gaping hole in his stomach, “don’t you at least want your sword back?”
Seon lurched itself out of the darkened ground and hurled itself, but this time at Sicyrn. Sicyrn, prepared, bent to the left, and deftly grabbed Seon’s handle as it flew by. This last attack had mysteriously been too much for the wizard, however, and Jaoulai fell to the ground in exhaustion. The darkness consumed him, and then started sucking in on itself. When it was done, Jaoulai’s form was a black outline for a split second, and then a blast of energy threw Sicyrn back, making him drop his sword. Forgetting about his weapon, Sicyrn ran to the spot where J’onn fell and found him lying on the ground. He was unconscious, at the least. Sicyrn ran to the fallen orc, checked for pulse and breathing, and with a breath of relief, deemed him unconscious. He will live, thought Sicyrn, but I don’t think that the wizard was be that lucky. Quickly, Sicyrn made a makeshift bandage out of his sleeve, and started tending to J’onn’s wounds.
Pouring water on J’onn’s head about ten minutes later, Sicyrn was relieved to see his companion jolt awake again. J’onn sat up, and Sicyrn handed him his battle axes. J’onn grunted in thanks, and slung them over his back.
Turning to reclaim his sword, Sicyrn said “The wizard’s dead. I think the Guard left their bags when they had to leave in a hurry, though. Let’s get what we need and go before they come back for both of us. That won’t be pretty at all.” The two hurriedly went to the backpacks, and found a plentiful supply of water, some dried meat, and other various items. Shoving it all in one backpack, Sicyrn hoisted it over his back and turned to look at Balthen one last time before heading off into the vast desert. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he’d get there a lot quicker if he started walking. He sighed, and then turned to J’onn, who silently started walking over a dune. They were both wanted now, so most cities wouldn’t even think of taking him in.
Seeming to read his thoughts, J’onn interrupted them. “Orcstead is only about two or three days away from here. My people do not care who I have killed, and they will probably welcome me back. They might even appreciate the giant of an outsider that I bring with me.”
Sicyrn grinned, and then replied “Well, lead the way then, J’onn. One day might make all the difference.”
Sehr sehr gut; you have an interesting story.
First thing, I think you should separate the larger paragraphs into smaller ones. It'd make it easier to keep track of eveything you're describing.
The voice you have it in is sounds kinda matter-of-factly. It might be more fun to follow if you take some of that out.
Nice story man i like it, but try and change the name if you can. ''The wanderer" just seems out of context for this story. Or maybe im just retarded, whatever.
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Heartbeat of Spring RUGB Standard
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ZedruuRWU; "Dick move."
Riku GRU; "YOU WANT MOAR?"
WHY ARE THERE FOUR COLORS IN THIS DECK? JESUS CHRIST, MY EYES THE GOGGLES DO NOTHING.
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i should have the next portion (considerably smaller, seeing as i did the first one over 3 years and this one in 3 weeks) up next monday, im working on it a bit.
and wannabe, when i made the title, sicyrn had just escaped almstead, so at the time it fit.
EDIT: For any morrowind addicts, Balthen sounds like Balmora. I know. Get over it.
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thanks to the Epic Graphics crew! it's EPIC!
OFFICIAL DRUG-ADDICT WANNABE OF [ROBOT JESUS!!!!] OOH-RAH!
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WARNING: there is language in this, and slightly disturbing themes. it'll be edited when it goes through, i'm too lazy to edit all 22 pages of it by myself.
oh yeah, steal this, and bad things will happen to you. VERY bad things.
Edit: i just re-read it, and something seems off in the flow of the story, but im not sure what. any ideas?
Nother Edit: the page break stuff was in word, so i can get a hang of where the story's supposed to break off in different places. ignore my randomness
“****! How could you let him slip from your grasp AGAIN?” roared the voice of a man. The man was a tall and muscular, middle-aged human clad entirely of red. He prided himself on being the Commander of his section of the Crimson Guard, the most prestigious army in the land. Now however, he was quite angered. His squadron had let a very valuable man slip through their fingers not even five minutes ago, and they would pay for this. Because of this mishap, thought the man, he might not even get a promotion. Worse, he could be put back to a job training the new recruits. This was serious…
“After him men!” He yelled. “He can’t be far! I’ll give whoever catches him half the price that he’s worth!” Finally his motivational tactics paid off. The squadron, his pride and joy, started to fan out through the narrow alleyways of the city of Almstead.
As the other red-clad figures ran around like mere children in the dark, another man was hiding in the alleyway. He was very striking, but still managed to pose as a beggar on the side of the alley. The soldiers ran past him without a thought. After all fifteen men ran past; he stood up and walked the other way, sword in hand. A scream was heard in the direction he went about two minutes later, and the soldiers ran back to their regrouping area. One man, the stupidest of the bunch, peered over the slashed corpse of their Commander, and whispered “You think he’s alive?”
In the desert outside Almstead, a figure rose out of nowhere. To the casual eye, he was human, but anyone with common sense could feel the evil manifest itself around him. The black figure strode towards the town, acid left behind in every footstep. Five minutes later, he was an elderly wizard, who rode into town on a gallant horse; looking for housing and maybe a servant. The One Known as Nothing was about to finish his ingenious scheme, and finally, after millennia of waiting, the human world would finally be his.
Sicyrn Mathasol kept walking, even though he knew he wasn’t going to make it. The closest town was over three sand dunes away, and he had been walking for well over five days with nothing but his troll-bone armor, his sword, Seon, and his mirthrat-hide water skin, which was strapped to his waist. He had killed the giant rat two days, maybe three, before. He couldn’t remember. Sicyrn was having trouble remembering anything since he started his journey across the desert. He was at the top of the first sand dune now, overlooking the outlaw’s town of Balthen. There he would find a haven, for Balthen was a town of thieves, with no laws, much less anyone who would enforce them. He would finally find rest there, and then lay low for a few weeks, provided he could even get there.
Sicyrn let himself fall down the giant dune, hoping he would get down quicker. It worked, he got down the hill in a matter of seconds, but it hurt more. Grunting from exertion, Sicyrn heaved himself up and continued. The sun beat down, and he quickly brought his water skin up to his mouth and took a swig. That was the last of the water. Now he would have to put his endurance to the test if he were to reach Balthen. Thank the gods cloud cover was beginning to form. He looked up at the blue sun in the sky, named Alteron after the Sun God, and quickly jumped out of the way to avoid a diving… whatever it was. The thing looked like a vulture, despite the fact it was well over 18 feet tall and had four wings. Sicyrn, however, quickly stopped gaping and there was a ring as he drew Seon. The bird lunged at him, talons raking his chest, and then Sicyrn brought his strength to his arms, and gave a mighty swing. The coppery stench of blood filled the air as the bird’s head separated from its body, lifeless. Sicyrn was about to journey onward, but he paused. Something about the bird was not right. Besides its grotesque features and odd number of wings, there was something about the bird that did not fit. Sicyrn tried to focus on what was wrong with it, but he could not place the source of it. Finally, he realized, that the bird just seemed…evil. He didn’t know how he knew, or what he was basing it on, but it seemed to be almost evil incarnate. Suddenly, Sicyrn realized that he had to get to Balthen. Now. He would dwell on the matter later. Exhausted, Sicyrn made a journey of what seemed hours to the top of the second sand dune. At the top, he could see the city, and it was a welcome sight, even though it looked horrid. Thatch roofs and ramshackle guard towers were haphazardly placed around a strong brick wall and gate. The Gates were Balthen’s greatest pride, because they were its greatest protection. Sicyrn shook his head to clear the sand, and started down the second dune. As he took his first step, Sicyrn saw the ground closer than he ever had before. The sand was beautiful, but…it also hurt. He realized that he had fallen as soon as everything went black.
“Ton'hin, come here now! I think he’s awake!”
“Yes, Master Jaoulai.”
Sicyrn grunted as he felt cool, refreshing water splash onto his face. He gasped, and reflexively, his eyes shot open. Immediately, they went to his surroundings. He was in a small room, probably above a tavern judging from muffled noise which he heard below the floor. The room also had two beds, one of which was no more than a cot; a frayed rug; and a portrait of some ‘great warrior’ with a sword over his shoulder, a damsel at his side, and a dragon, dead at his feet. What bull****… These people obviously weren’t staying for a while, for there were two sacks, one much more glamorous than the other, one at each bed. Sicyrn immediately labeled the one carrying a water bucket as the one called Ton’hin, for he was wearing clothes that immediately brought the term ‘servant’ to mind. Strangely, he looked like he should be a rich man compared to the man next to him. The one who called himself Jaoulai, looked like a servant himself, except for his clothes. He had almost no muscular build, and was about 60 years old. His clothes, however, were long, elegant and flowing, and looked like he should belong in a palace, rather than a grubby one-room apartment in a thieves’ town, if that was even where they were. Sicyrn hated slave-master relationships like this for exactly the reason which was visible: Ton’hin looked more than able to inflict pain on his master than vice versa, but he never did. Servants never did anything but what they were told.
Finally, Sicyrn had the strength to talk, so he slowly asked, “Who are you… and where am I?”
The old man laughed. It sounded harsh and judging, not the friendly laugh that most people would expect from an elderly man. “Well, I am Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order. This is my servant, Ton’hin. If I am not mistaken, we are in room 15 of The Dirty Wench, in Balthen.”
As soon as the old man spoke, Sicyrn found himself hard brought to trust the man. With an icy voice, Jaoulai sounded like he would rather kill Sicyrn then help him, but his intent seemed peaceful. Still something itched at the back of Sicyrn’s mind, but he pushed it away. He would find out more about this man later. He always found out what he intended on finding out. Sicyrn was a man who always got what he wanted. He stood at about six foot one with flowing white hair, which greatly deceived his age. At a mere twenty two years old, he was a man of immense strength. Because of this and his height, Sicyrn’s friends always joked about him being a half-giant. His friends were the only ones that joked about this because he would not tolerate anyone else to. Many people found themselves with broken limbs from this mistake.
The old man interrupted Sicyrn’s deep thought by saying “Do you want something to eat? I’m going down to the tavern. You can help yourself to food if you want.”
Sicyrn replied, “No, thanks. I don’t have any money.” The old man pushed five gold coins into his hand and smiled. The smile, although it had good intentions, put a deep fear in Sicyrn, which surprised him. Sicyrn wasn’t scared easily. Either way, money was enough hinting for Sicyrn, for he hadn’t had any food since he left. He had been in such a hurry fleeing that he hadn’t bothered to bring food. His thoughts slowly drifted to his life back in Almstead, when…no. No more of this. What is past is past, Sicyrn reminded himself. He pushed those thoughts out of his mind and left the room. As he reached the stairs, he felt himself shaking uncontrollably. Once again, Sicyrn saw the ground much closer than he would have liked. As tumbled headfirst down the stairs, he saw his head rapidly approaching a barstool. After that, there was a deafening ‘crack!’ and everything went black.
Sicyrn groggily woke up to a man shaking him. “Hey, wake up!” The man said.
Sicyrn looked around. The entire bar was looking at him like he had just appeared out of…oh. He remembered now; he just fell down a flight of stairs. Trying to act casual, Sicyrn got up and looked around. True, there was some ruckus, but compared
to other bars, this one was silent as the grave. There was no way that this could be a bar in Balthen, it was too quiet. Time to test that theory, Sicyrn thought to himself as he walked to the bartender.
“Give me the finest drink in all of Balthen.” Sicyrn grunted.
After Sicyrn said that, he knew that something was wrong. The bartender just looked at him strangely. Time seemed to take hours just to pass less than a minute. Then the laughter started.
“This guy must be lost boys!” shouted the bartender. “Let’s show him where he is!”
There was a giant roar, and the men lifted Sicyrn above their heads and threw him out into the street. Sicyrn got up, dusted himself off, and looked around. The shops were fancy, the people well-dressed. This was not Balthen… He was in Almstead, where he was wanted for the crime which occurred years ago. For some reason the price on his head was 5,000 gold pieces, enough to buy a small house. This part confused him. He didn’t think he did anything that wrong. He had to get off the street before anyone saw him. “There he is boys!” shouted a man in a bright red uniform. “After him!” Too late for that plan, Sicyrn grimaced.
“For Alteron’s sake” cursed Sicyrn as he turned to run, but he only got about two feet. As he started to draw Seon for the upcoming fight; but his foot seemed glued to the ground. In fact, the rest of his body couldn’t move either. Sicyrn could only find strength enough to move his eyes and look about. He glanced around, but besides the soldiers running towards him, he could see nothing of interest. Two soldiers finally caught up with him, and immediately, Sicyrn’s frozen form was facing two sword tips. The man who had shouted before walked up to Sicyrn, pried Seon from his hands, and looked up at the window of The Dirty Wench as he shouted, “Thank you, Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order, for help in capturing Sicyrn Mathasol. You will be rewarded handsomely for your actions.”
Sicyrn’s eyes shot up to the window where the captain had shouted, and what he saw horrified him. Jaoulai, the man who had claimed to save him. The man who had—wait…it all made sense now. Jaoulai had found him unconscious and took him to Almstead, not Balthen! By now, Sicyrn was seething with rage, and at that moment, Sicyrn wanted nothing else but that man’s eyeballs dangling on their stems from his hand. That double-crossing gutter-snake had better hope that he not see Sicyrn ever again, or he would be slaughtered; presuming that Sicyrn even got out of his current situation. However, suddenly Sicyrn saw movement from the window and quickly tore his gaze from the gloating captain, and back to the small hole. It was Ton’hin, the servant, carrying the bucket of water that he had used to revive Sicyrn. In one swift motion, Ton’hin cracked the bucket over the wizard’s head, leaving the old fool to slump down on the floor.
Sicyrn was ready for the spell to be released, but the guards were not. He ducked to avoid their swords, and rammed his head into one man’s stomach. In the same motion, Sicyrn snapped the head guard’s wrist as he ripped Seon from his grasp and gored another soldier. At first, the captain just stared, but then gave a bloodcurdling scream and shouted for more troops, but it didn’t matter; Sicyrn was surrounded. He glanced at the soldiers, trying to find the man who would look weakest. Right by a food stand, a man was busy trying to scrape something off his boot. Sicyrn made haste to swing Seon at the unsuspecting guard, cleaving his head in half before the man had seen Sicyrn as he sprinted down the road.
A left, a right, another right, jump the stand, dodge a sword. Sicyrn knew these movements like clockwork, and he sprinted down a random alley, pushing carts, people and anything he could find into the path of the soldiers, even though he knew that it wouldn’t slow them down. The Crimson Guard was a unit of bold, strong and especially ruthless men that would hunt and kill a man like he was a rabbit. This didn’t bother Sicyrn, for he was neither a rabbit, nor a mere man. However, he was smart, and he didn’t want to shed more blood than needed to be. He had already killed two of the guard trying to imprison him, and although he didn’t mind killing, he didn’t want any more crimes to be held against him.
Sicyrn vaulted a cart of vegetables, overturned it, and jumped on top of it. It was finally time to test his acrobatic skills. He prided himself on being almost as nimble as he was strong, and he hadn’t jumped over anything for about two weeks. Time to see how limber his body would let him be… Sicyrn leaped from the stand to a sheet of carpet hanging from a building, quickly jabbing Seon into carpet, and the wall. He then hung there for a fraction of a second, and leaped off the curtain, taking Seon with him. Vaulting himself to the roof of the clay house, and at that point, Sicyrn was almost surprised for a second. Almost. There were about five or six archers already on the building, and they had to have gotten there fast as a sand wurm, which could outrun most draft horses. But he quickly got over it as he smashed the gold (now ironically crimson) hit of Seon into the archers helmet, knocking the man unconscious, at the least. Ignoring the others, Sicyrn deemed that it was time for roof-hopping.
With the acrobatic ability of a cat, Sicyrn leaped from roof to roof, dodging arrows and archers, while trying to avoid the soldier’s glances from down below. Finally, he reached the town gates, which were closing rapidly. There was no time for subtlety, so Sicyrn jumped down from the roof while he grabbed a drain from the house, sliding down the two stories like it was a simple jump, then using his remaining strength to sprint to the gigantic gates that enclosed Almstead.
Once out of the gates, Sicyrn ran and never looked back. It was his personal mantra that once something was behind you, it says behind you. This had been true in many aspects of his life, and it was especially crucial here. Arrows from the archers on the wall were hitting the ground all around him, but he had been lucky so far. He kept to a zigzag pattern so as not to get hit, but just then, he felt a sharp pain in his arm. As he looked at his side, he saw something he dreaded. An arrow embedded itself right into the only weak point in Sicyrn’s armor; the shoulder. There was only one way someone could have hit him with an arrow at over about 500 yards. There had to be an elf up there. Elves were master archers, and judging by what he had seen from corpses, he was lucky the armor hadn’t shattered. Sicyrn’s careful thoughts were interrupted by another sharp pain as another arrow found its mark in his shoulder. Yep, definitely an elf, Sicyrn thought as he winced in pain. Thankfully, he was over 800 yards now, and no creature in the known world had an aim which was that precise. Sicyrn finally slowed his pace to a walk, and wondered how far it was to Balthen… again.
Jaoulai Kientan, Wizard of the First Order, a powerful man, possessed more power in his little finger than a barbarian had strength in his entire body. Jaoulai Kientan, once a rich boy, but sent away from his parents to go to this hell that they called a school simply because he could supposedly wield magic. Jaoulai Kientan, the poor wretch who refused to eat for a month because he could never see his parents again. Jaoulai Kientan, who had finally realized his strength and destroyed every one of those old fools at the school, had been bested by no barbarian, no member of his family, no wizard, but by a servant. A mere servant, Jaoulai thought, as he looked at the quivering Ton’hin lying in the corner. If only that pathetic fool knew how much pain he would be in by the end of the day.
“Why did you do that, Ton’hin?” asked Jaoulai calmly, but in an icy tone. “Why did you hurt your master?” Ton’hin didn’t answer. Jaoulai knew that the fool wouldn’t talk, but he still prodded at his psyche. “You know, if I had gotten the reward for that idiot’s capture, I could finally get on Emperor Rayam’s good side. You might have even gotten more coin than you had bargained for.” Nothing. Why wouldn’t he say anything? This almost made Jaoulai want to kill him quickly, but he knew that patience was a virtue, especially in this case. Ton’hin backed into the wall as Jaoulai approached, the poor fool had no idea of what was coming, the madman thought. Slowly extending his hand towards the ragged servant, Jaoulai smiled a warm smile. Confused, Ton’hin looked at his master, and then relief spread over his face. Maybe he would not be killed, thought the slave weakly. He did make a mistake after all, and everyone makes mistakes. Then Jaoulai forced just a tad of energy into his outstretched hand, and Ton’hin’s body went rigid, and he slammed into the wall, bound as if by invisible restraints. The impact of his head on the wall knocked him out; a pity to Jaoulai. People were always more fun to take apart when they were watching. Nevertheless, he would have to start soon if he was to catch that nuisance called Sicyrn. Manipulating the air, Jaoulai waved his hands around to make light-as-air gloves, then slowly slit Ton’hin’s chest apart. Oh, this was going to be too much fun…
As he wiped the blood from his shirt, Jaoulai leapt out the window. It might be five floors above the ground, but he did not fear death. He was death, after all. After destroying that pitiful servant, he felt extremely refreshed. But now, he pondered, how could he regain the king’s favor with Sicyrn. This part was crucial. Sicyrn said he was going to Balthen, Jaoulai figured, so that should be where he would head. Yes, he smiled, he would march on Balthen. The city would think they had been invaded by the Crimson Guard, but he knew that he was the one behind it. The city would really tremble under the might of Jaoulai Kientan
Sicyrn Mathasol wandered into Balthen slowly, avoiding the eyes of the countless others that stared at him. Even in a town of thieves, with no government whatsoever, he was still a strange sight. He highly doubted that he was the strangest, however. Having been in Balthen before, Sicyrn knew that all sorts of odd people wandered around the city. One time, Sicyrn thought that he saw a dark elf (more commonly slurred as Drow) hiding under a cloak, which would be rare even in Balthen, but he would have been a fool to try and look. Still, he must look horrid judging by the looks some people gave him. Days of wandering over vast desert had worn him out, giving him a dazed look in his eyes and a weak look in his muscles. His face had grown a moustache and a beard was starting, once again, thanks to the long trip. This part, however, only added to his fearsome look. People always avoided him, but if they didn’t, there was always one man that learned his lesson about messing with this giant of a man, and this made all of the other pests avoid him.
The Crimson Guard would never dare to venture into such a ruthless town as Balthen. Hopefully, he would be able to lay low there for a while as the Guard looked around for him… away from Balthen. Eventually, the Guard would forget about him and he could go back to his regular life... or something like it. Going back to complete normality would be impossible, because before the incident, he had been a soldier. That life was far behind him though, and he could never go back to it. No matter how he hated to admit it, Sicyrn was dishonorably discharged from the military, a term which he hated. It was probably for a good reason, however, because he was discharged after killing a superior officer. As Sicyrn told the story, the officer was being a complete idiot. Sicyrn’s squadron had been assigned to go into a chasm for reconnaissance of a barbarian tribe the next morning. Since Sicyrn was half-barbarian himself, he knew that a chasm would be a perfect place for the barbarians to hold an ambush. He took his case to the captain of his squadron, but as usual, no one believed him, and he was discharged. Sicyrn had done a few illegal things in his life, but the only thing the Guard could pin directly on him was his refusal to fight in the military. Well, he did kill the men after him, but they were probably more concerned about his desertion. He was probably lucky that was the only thing too, Sicyrn reminisced.
Oh well; no time like the present, he thought. Besides, there was no way the Guard would ever find him in Balthen anyway. By now, Sicyrn had reached the first inn in Balthen. As he reached the inn, called Dirtbag’s Rest, he opened the inn door to see complete chaos. Apparently, there had been a bit of a fight in the inn, and after adjusting to the light, Sicyrn saw what had been going on. There had been some kid of dispute it seemed, and the bar had been divided into two sections of people who were going at each others throats with anything they could find; bottles, chairs, even a torch. Two drunkards swaggered out of the building past Sicyrn, and all the while, the bartender had been turned around, polishing a glass. Sicyrn walked past the fights, ducking to avoid a chair, turning to dodge a pool cue and then jumped over a goblin lying sprawled out on the floor.
Now standing at the bar itself, Sicyrn tapped on the bartender’s shoulder. After waiting for him to turn around, Sicyrn asked, “How many rooms do you have open?”
The bartender turned around, stared at Sicyrn’s torso for a few moments, and then brought his head up so he could look Sicyrn in the eye, which was normal for people when it came to Sicyrn. The bartender was obviously an orc, Sicyrn noticed. With green skin, formidable muscles and two battle-axes strapped to his belt, the bartender could hardly be mistaken for anything else…maybe a midget troll, but that was another matter entirely.
“One, but from the looks of it, you need two, son.” The orc had an evil-seeming grin on his face, but from prior experience (beheading an orc while it was torturing another soldier); Sicyrn knew all orcs smiled like that. Although not entirely pleasing, that was far from the only thing an orc did that came off that way.
Sicyrn just smiled back, and said, “How much?”
“Two pieces of gold for the night, but you won’t be getting lots of sleep with this lot here.” Commented the orc. “My name’s J’on by the way. You’ll need all the friends you can get around here, even for a man of your—erm—stature.”
“Sicyrn,” he replied, slowly forking over two pieces of gold. Hopefully this was the most expensive thing that he would encounter, for he was low on money. All he had was the five gold which that fool wizard had given to him “Now could you tell me where my room is?”
After walking up the stairs, narrowly avoiding the fight yet again, Sicyrn entered an extremely unkempt room and simply fell into bed. He was exhausted. Sicyrn always slept with his troll bone armor on, and that day was no exception. After he slept for a while he decided to shave, and then when he finished that, he took a bath in the tiny (by comparison) tub, and finally helped himself to the buffet downstairs, courtesy of J’onn. The orc is right, thought Sicyrn as he ate; I will need friends in Balthen. With this thought lingering in his head, Sicyrn, now in his room, dropped into the first healthy sleep he had gotten in days, maybe months; hand on Seon as an instinct.
There were screams. Lots of screams. Sicyrn thought he would go deaf from all the noise, but he did not put his hands over his ears. He simply did not need to. He walked straight, because he was obviously facing the direction he was for a reason. Corpses were piled up all around him, completely bloodless, but torn apart from the inside. Sicyrn then realized, in sick disgust, that he was walking on a path made of human bones. Besides being gruesome, the crunching underfoot only added to the noise. He walked on the path, he didn’t know how long, but eventually the corpses stopped piling up, and the bones stopped. There was a man there. A man completely covered in a black robe, who seemed to be…hovering… over the ground.
“Greetings, fool.” Said the man scathingly.
“Well nice day to you too,” replied Sicyrn, who had no tolerance for imbecility, even from this man, who seemed as evil as the bird he killed.
The man shifted, and his tone now conveyed anger instead of just hatred. “I suppose you don’t even know why you are here.”
“I’m in a dream. I’ll wake up sometime soon,” said Sicyrn, genuinely unconcerned, “It’s probably just a side effect of a lack of sleep. Now go away.”
The man threw back its cloak, and Sicyrn could no longer call it a man. It wore a crown made of thick, solid, blackness, which only managed to half-conceal a rotting skull. Flesh hung off a nondescript face, a ribcage with no organs, and a spinal cord which ran down to nothingness. It waved its hand, and a staff appeared. “Your feeble mind could conjure nothing as terrifying as me. I will make your days blacker than darkest night, and the nights filled with nightmares beyond your imagination. Unless, of course, you surrender yourself to Jaoulai Kientan.”
“So that’s what you want…” mused Sicyrn “I’d rather kill him than talk to him, so I think I’ll have to decline your offer.”
“IDIOT!” blazed the man. “Well, it is your choice. But if you won’t do it, I’ll turn myself in for you.” Suddenly, the man changed shape. He was no longer hideous, floating, or had a staff. He was…Sicyrn. “Now do my bidding, mortal,” he hissed.
Sicyrn woke with a start. Something was wrong. Pushing some troubling thought out of his mind, Sicyrn strained to hear what the problem was. The usual ruckus downstairs had quieted, and Sicyrn seemed to hear someone barking an order. Instantly, Sicyrn’s thoughts were fixated on the Crimson Guard, but they could never get into Balthen, much less know he was in this particular building. Hand on Seon; he pushed the door to his room open. Nothing. Everywhere else was silent as the grave, and the hallway was as well. He carefully made his way to the top of the stairs, not making a sound, and peered down, but then instantly shot his head back. It had been the Crimson Guard after all! Sicyrn could tell from their deep red uniforms and nasty demeanor to the drunks, it was definitely them. One question still lingered though; how had they gotten into Balthen? Determined to answer this question, Sicyrn crept down the stairs slowly, and then ducked behind the nearest table, which had been conveniently upended.
Carefully surveying the bar, Sicyrn saw that there were only about five or six Guard members actually inside the building. Two were helping ‘quiet’ the drunks, which looked more like holding them hostage in a corner; another member seemed to be questioning J’onn; and the others were patrolling the inn, and probably looking for Sicyrn. J’onn had definitely seen Sicyrn sneak down the stairs; for the Orc caught Sicyrn’s eye by making a subtle throwing motion with his hand. Wondering for a minute, Sicyrn looked around the room and saw bottles and other guerilla weapons all over the place. His soldiers’ instincts instantly kicked in. With all the random things littered around, he had at least a hundred improvised weapons at his disposal. If he could throw something at the guards, he might be able to start an ‘accidental’ riot. The drunks hopefully would follow his lead, and Sicyrn could start an attack against the Guard without even being noticed…but hopefully it would work. Priding himself on his ingenuity, Sicyrn picked up the nearest bottle and quickly and silently threw it across the room. With a loud smash, the bottle broke on the back of the guard questioning J’onn, and he was dropped to the ground. The soldiers immediately suspected the drunks, since they were the only known presence in the room, and the fight was on. In the midst of the fight, J’onn was left unguarded, so Sicyrn watched him quietly walk out the door unnoticed. Sicyrn waited a few seconds to make sure no one was paying attention, and then decided to follow.
The second he got out, Sicyrn knew it was a trap. He saw two Guard members wrestling J’onn to the ground, and immediately, a group of others were on top of Sicyrn. Unfortunately for him, the giant man could not draw his sword in time, and he was quickly pinned to the ground. He watched helplessly as a Captain sneered down at him and J’onn. Sicyrn knew that he was a Captain, because although he was dressed in the casual red, he had two gold stripes on his shoulder denoting his rank. Ironically, if Sicyrn was still in the army, he could have made the petty officer shake in his boots. It was days like these he shouldn’t have quit, he thought to himself.
The Captain stepped towards J’onn and proclaimed, “For aiding Sicyrn Mathasol escape our arrest, J’onn Muale, you are also under arrest for aiding an escape.” Sneering at Sicyrn, the commander said “Oh… that’s right. I meant to say escape… attempt.”
Sicyrn knew struggling would be no use while in handcuffs and while under the watch of twelve or so soldiers, so he just went along with the Captain and J’onn, who now also had his hands bound. They passed deserted buildings and dead townsfolk that seemed to show that the town had a few problems with the Guard entering. As they reached the city gates, Sicyrn stared in a mix of horror and rage at the reason that Guard had found him.
Jaoulai Kientan, that bastard of a wizard, thought Sicyrn, was on top of a jet black horse outside the gates, sneering at the two prisoners in haughty triumph.
“Good to see you again, Sicyrn Mathasol,” said the wizard mockingly “so sorry you had to leave early our last visit, but we shall finally get you pleasantly settled for your execution.”
At these words, Sicyrn paled. An execution? He thought, but why? The Guard had no reason whatsoever to execute him, even if he did escape from them! …twice. He was only charged with desertion, wanted in prison, and maybe for escaping arrest. He had not killed any of the guard or anything like that… oh, wait. Yes he had, he thought glumly. Knowing he had to escape, and fast, Sicyrn looked at J’onn and almost started. J’onn had a knife in his hand, and was looking at Sicyrn intently, with his rope dangling from his arms. Sicyrn grinned, and shifted his attention to the wizard for the moment. The Captain was discussing something with Jaoulai Kientan, and the other members of the Guard were busy mounting their horses, so Sicyrn and J’onn were left unguarded for half a minute. Stupid of them, though, because half a minute was all Sicyrn needed. He took advantage of this moment by silently taking the knife from J’onn, and rubbing it against his rope handcuffs.
By now, Sicyrn had the ropes off his arm, and he drew Seon, the beautiful sword glistening softly in his hand. J’onn drew both battle-axes with the strength of two men, and the two ran at the Captain and Jaoulai, letting out a fierce roar. The poor Captain was cleaved in half with one battle-axe with a look of shock on his face, before he could even raise his weapon, but the wizard was luckier. He simply raised one hand and Seon stopped in its tracks; it just hung in midair. Sicyrn let go of the sword, which then dropped to the ground, and charged the wizard. Surprised at this exhibition of brute force, Jaoulai went down with Sicyrn on top of him and Sicyrn let loose, punching with every ounce of strength he had.
Then everything stopped. Sicyrn stopped punching, his fist frozen in midair; the members of the Guard were frozen in various stances running at a defensive J’onn; but Jaoulai simply pushed Sicyrn off him and stood up, panting. Waving his hands in a circle, Jaoulai threw Sicyrn about 200 meters, sending him smashing into the gate of Balthen, the huge man still unmoving, but now with a look of rage on his face. Then time, and the battle, resumed its original course and no one noticed, or seemed to care, what had happened to Sicyrn… until he came charging back fifteen seconds later.
It takes a lot to make Sicyrn angry, but that had done it. With a yell of pure rage that made even J’onn turn to see where it came from, Sicyrn leaped back into the fray of battle. With fury unmatched, he tore through five of the Crimson Guard in a matter of seconds... with his bare hands. Then he turned to face the others. Even though Sicyrn was outnumbered by at least 20, the Guard turned and ran as fast as they could to their horses. As the fools ran, Sicyrn picked up Seon from where it had been cast out of his hand. He and J’onn then turned to face an unconcerned Jaoulai, who already was moving his hands to cast another spell. Darkness flowed from his hands as the two warriors charged at him, but then they literally stopped in their tracks. The darkness was clinging to the ground, and it clung to the four feet that were stuck in it. Jaoulai then cast another spell, which caused him to levitate; hovered over the darkness, and glided towards the two stuck warriors laughing.
“You really think you can defeat me?” Jaoulai said rhetorically, still laughing.
“Maybe,” responded Sicyrn, “It’ll definitely be a victory if you keep coming near us.” Then Sicyrn flung Seon at Jaoulai’s prone form. It landed in the wizard’s stomach with a sickening crunch as Jaoulai winced in pain. Then, Jaoulai muttered to himself, and suddenly Seon came out of the wizard’s stomach and hurled itself at J’onn. Unprepared, the Orc barely had time to dodge as Sicyrn’s sword hit his arm. With a cry of pain, J’onn dropped to the ground bleeding, but as he hit the darkness, his whole body was consumed by the darkness. Sickened, Sicyrn turned to the wizard.
“People like you deserve to die… so make it quick” spat Sicyrn at the wizard.
“Now, now. That’s not very nice,” said Jaoulai, seemingly oblivious of the gaping hole in his stomach, “don’t you at least want your sword back?”
Seon lurched itself out of the darkened ground and hurled itself, but this time at Sicyrn. Sicyrn, prepared, bent to the left, and deftly grabbed Seon’s handle as it flew by. This last attack had mysteriously been too much for the wizard, however, and Jaoulai fell to the ground in exhaustion. The darkness consumed him, and then started sucking in on itself. When it was done, Jaoulai’s form was a black outline for a split second, and then a blast of energy threw Sicyrn back, making him drop his sword. Forgetting about his weapon, Sicyrn ran to the spot where J’onn fell and found him lying on the ground. He was unconscious, at the least. Sicyrn ran to the fallen orc, checked for pulse and breathing, and with a breath of relief, deemed him unconscious. He will live, thought Sicyrn, but I don’t think that the wizard was be that lucky. Quickly, Sicyrn made a makeshift bandage out of his sleeve, and started tending to J’onn’s wounds.
Pouring water on J’onn’s head about ten minutes later, Sicyrn was relieved to see his companion jolt awake again. J’onn sat up, and Sicyrn handed him his battle axes. J’onn grunted in thanks, and slung them over his back.
Turning to reclaim his sword, Sicyrn said “The wizard’s dead. I think the Guard left their bags when they had to leave in a hurry, though. Let’s get what we need and go before they come back for both of us. That won’t be pretty at all.” The two hurriedly went to the backpacks, and found a plentiful supply of water, some dried meat, and other various items. Shoving it all in one backpack, Sicyrn hoisted it over his back and turned to look at Balthen one last time before heading off into the vast desert. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he’d get there a lot quicker if he started walking. He sighed, and then turned to J’onn, who silently started walking over a dune. They were both wanted now, so most cities wouldn’t even think of taking him in.
Seeming to read his thoughts, J’onn interrupted them. “Orcstead is only about two or three days away from here. My people do not care who I have killed, and they will probably welcome me back. They might even appreciate the giant of an outsider that I bring with me.”
Sicyrn grinned, and then replied “Well, lead the way then, J’onn. One day might make all the difference.”
thanks to the Epic Graphics crew! it's EPIC!
OFFICIAL DRUG-ADDICT WANNABE OF [ROBOT JESUS!!!!] OOH-RAH!
First thing, I think you should separate the larger paragraphs into smaller ones. It'd make it easier to keep track of eveything you're describing.
The voice you have it in is sounds kinda matter-of-factly. It might be more fun to follow if you take some of that out.
Heartbeat of Spring RUGB
Standard
Genesis WaveRUG/GRW
Commanders
ZedruuRWU; "Dick move."
Riku GRU; "YOU WANT MOAR?"
Put more variety in how the characters talk.
i should have the next portion (considerably smaller, seeing as i did the first one over 3 years and this one in 3 weeks) up next monday, im working on it a bit.
and wannabe, when i made the title, sicyrn had just escaped almstead, so at the time it fit.
EDIT: For any morrowind addicts, Balthen sounds like Balmora. I know. Get over it.
thanks to the Epic Graphics crew! it's EPIC!
OFFICIAL DRUG-ADDICT WANNABE OF [ROBOT JESUS!!!!] OOH-RAH!