*Round-Robin ‘Riting, a multiauthorial MuseBlog tradition.
Darth Yoda is looking for four or five dedicated writers to help start a new story. Any takers?
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“ge,they make school fun and then the backpacks get hevey”said misty on her way to muse skool.she was a tall smart blond with blue eyes.her frined was gary,a short,smart brown head with brown eyes.
They had been friends since they were babies, sitting around together, drooling over the latest Muse. Of course, they were only about 3 when Muse came out, but who says babies can’t read? After all, look how smart they are today.
wait, wait.
Don’t start yet, please. I want to see whose interested. I want to start right away too, but if it was just you and me who wanted to, the thread would die in a week.
I want to plan just a little, so people don’t ruin the story by changing evgerything in three sentances. This should only be for serious writers, not “oh, I’m bored with this. I’ll just drop a meteor on everything and see were it goes.” If I’ve sacared you off, so be it. :-/
I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I’m just letting you know I’m serious. (sorry for the triple post, I’ve been interrupted twice)
Me me!
I’d love to help! What is the storyline?…
Hey, I’m not taking total control!
What are your ideas?
I’d like to help too, please. I luv writing. And yeah, what’s the storyline?
*raises hand* I’ll help!
Since most of the previous RRRs have been fantasy, let’s make this one a different genre, like science fiction or mystery. Whaddaya say?
I’d LOVE to help. The RRRs are so amazingly fun.
A question that we’ll have to ask ourselves: magic, or no magic? Another: How many main characters?
Those are the big ones. I vote for about 2 main characters, (either best friends or enemies) and talent that seems like magic, like being amazingly scarily good at something, but not real hard-core magic. We have too much of that already. Or something like Charlie Bone – It’s magic, but they use it in everyday circumstances, and there’s a strong everyday but terrible (as in bad for the character) plot. How does that sound?
I know, we haven’t even come up with a story, but you know….
I’m lurking here. I’ve got homework so I probably won’t be able to post for another hour or so. What are you ideas? I’ve always wanted to write one of those city watch books like Night Watch by Terry Pratchet or Terrier by Tamora Pierce. What are you ideas?
I’ll help! Yes for me getting here early enough. :O
No magic, I say. There’s been loads in the past ones, and it ends up ridiculous in my opinion.
Let’s have them be enemies! Always more interesting.
If we’re doing fantasy, let’s make the magic rare and mysterious (think LOTR) as opposed to popping out of the woodwork (as in Harry Potter.)
Ok. I think it might be good for a change from fantasy, but then again, a lot of people like it. lets see how it goes. I also like THF’s idea of having the two main characters being enimies, that sounds like it could come out really cool.
IS IT TOO LATE FOR ME TO JOIN?
*crosses fingers*
please? please? please?
I’ll help too. I always came too late on the other RRRs so I would lurv to help write.
Yeah, let’s have the two main characters be enemies. What age?
And on the subject of magic, let’s just see how it goes. But we do NOT go overboard. One character should be able to use it, maximum. And neither of the main characters. Or maybe this could be set in a world where magic used to be widespread, but now it’s gone, and it only remains in a few dusty artifacts and mysterious forests. Whatever. Just ideas.
15-I totally agree. Now that thats settled, lets get down to business. What kind of story?
If the two main characters are enemies, it would give the story more moral complexity, and that’s a good thing for any book. We still haven’t made up our minds about a genre yet. That’s often decided in the first post. I think a “city watch” book, like DY suggested, would also be rather good. Or at least a story set in a city. That always lends a refreshingly mundane element even to the most fantastic of plot lines.
Actually, I see from post 20 that we have decided on a genre. Fantasy, but not with magic popping out of the woodwork. Got it.
If we set it in a city, I have an idea for a name. Ulbosmeg. It’s an anagram of MuseBlog.
20 – Main characters’ age – Not older than, say, 15, because we want to be able to connect to them directly, and that’s the oldest age here, generally. Okay, a bunch of people are older, but you know what I mean, right? Good.
Magic – I agree with PraCan, that the main characters shouldn’t be able to use it. I think it’s a great idea to have it take place in an ancient place that used to be full of magic, but not anymore. And the characters should be from the place, and know a little about the magic, not from our world, and then have to suddenly find out about it. But other than that, I don’t care. And if those ideas aren’t used, that’s fine too.
So maybe a boy and a girl, ones a watchman/woman and the others a crimminal but for good reasons. Hows That?
22 – I don’t know… I don’t really like that name. Or any other anagram of MuseBlog, for that matter:
Golbsmue
Selgbumo
Sumobleg
How about an anagram for something else? Like Round Robin Riting?
I’d really like to join this one, if I can, since it’s just starting. I guess you already have more ‘riters than you wanted, though.
(24) I disagree, I think they should have the same gender. It just feels better that way. Unbalanced, I guess. Yes.
lawl double post possibly, but I also disagree with the name bit. My main problem with fantasy is that it’s often so similar; these names that try so hard. Often contain “y” and “k”. Something simple, prz? Latin maybe.
28- Yeah, Latin. Sounds good. I’ll check some possibilities. I do like Golbsmue, though.
23- Hmm. PraCan. My name hasn’t been abbreviated in that way before. But yeah. I agree that these people should be from the world the story is set in, i.e. not ours.
Anyone who wants can drop in. I meant at least 4-5. My main concern is people coming in once we’re well on our way. I don’t really care about the characters genders at this point. Since more than 80% of you are girls, it might be easier that way. But w/e
So, what’s the main concern in the plot? We should definatly all agree on this one.
Science fiction, YESPLZTHX. We haven’t done that yet. It would be even better if it was dystopian.
I’ve found a good name for the town. Wandstadt. “Wall City” in German.
I like the idea about the ruins and the name Wandstadt. I think that there should be echoes of magic but it should be from an ancient and ruined city. Well, not completely ruined but the cool bits are deteriorating. And also, about the main characters, I think that they shouldn’t actually be enemies but just believe that the other is their enemy but through the course of the story realize they’re not. Like rival tribes/groups or something. I had something else but I forgot. I’m sure I’ll think of it right after I post this…
Maybe they are freinds who turn into enemies and in the end are friends again?
Those are just tiny details we’ll figure out as we go along. If your all ready to start, just one more thing. What is the main idea in the plot?
34 – Sounds like an okay idea. I know these aren’t the “ruins” your talking about, but I know about “runes”. As in, Celtic. Me and my one of my bestest freinds use them as a secret alphabet. Everyone else think’s were kinda strange, but it’s alot of fun!
. Appearently, they used to be used by shamans or magical people to predict the future or used in rituals. Maybe we could do something with those.
Another idea – This is really part of a story I’ve already started working on. It’s set after some huge war in magical medieval times, and one of the sorcoresses (sp?) who played a big part is being depended on for way too much. Another war has just begun (reasons currently unknown, but I’ll think of something eventually) and she’s being asked to play a big part again. I’m not sure where to go from there, but I’m just throwing in some ideas.
Perhaps there was an ancient alphabet of primal runes that humans learned over the years, and they managed to control magical forces, but recently the knowledge was lost.
ok ok lets start already
Main Idea of Plot:
Let’s see. An idealistic young watchman in the city of Wandstadt is trying to catch a criminal about his own age who knows how un-idealistic and bureaucratic Wandstadt really is. Just a very loose outline. Like it?
Centuries, or maybe milleniums. That’s how long he had waited, dormant. Waiting for someone to rediscover, to relearn those ancient arts, whose practices had long ago faded into history. Through those many years, he pondered on many things, but the thought foremost in his mind was “When?” When was he going to get out, to emerge and live as he once did, free of the constraints which had been cast upon him long ago?
It would need to be someone young, someone inexperienced, who had little knowledge of the art and was bold enough to try something that was far beyond their talent. Someone who believed they could bend him to their will without knowing what he truly was, how powerful he could be. The art was little known, but there were still a few Books of Power out there, drifting around second-hand bookshops because they had yet to find an owner. They had minds of their own, minds actually borrowed from practicioners of old. They would choose their user, and though many collecters had eyed them greedily before, they were always destracted by some other book, or inexplicably forgot about them. However, they had been waiting for a long time, and someone just right was bound to be found soon.
He sat, and waited, sifting through ancient memories, memories far too old for any mortal being to ever recount. The evolution of humans, their discovery of the arts, and the way they had used them to capture and constrain him, using hime for their foolish whims. Luckily, those creatures and short lifespans, though they could make some assigm=nments feel years longer than they actually were. His power had been channeled into their wishes until they knew that their power was dying, and then permenantly bound him so he could never work against them.
That race of humans was now long gone, and he knew that a new one occuoied the world. Though he was unable to exit his prison, he would still check on the world outside ever now and then. These humans had created much more powerful weapons than the old spears, bowsa and arrown. They had metal sticks that delivered death with the movement of a finger, small devices that would blow everything around them to peices, and larger ones of those that could rip entire settlements to peices and cause everyone around them to become mortally ill.
He needed someone to redisocver that art that was almost lost so long ago, the one that brought around the sinking of Atlantis, the burying of Pompeii, and the vast spreading of the bubonic plague. A small, flickering fire snapped into existence in the room, and illuminated greedy eyes and a snarling smile. For amusement he began channeling evergy through his palms at the long-ocked door. The flame turned into a roaring vortex, and when it died down, the door was still there, still the same, as it had been for who-knows-how long. He needed someone to rediscover that ancient art to free him. Magic.
(Okay, this could be one of the evil people, but he could easily change. I left him mostly undescribed so other people can fill that in. Okay start?)
Seems good, but it appears to be in our world, and this story was going to be set in a fictional place. Could you tweak it a little?
I really think we should do a science fiction or big city thing.
I also think that Kiara jumped in WAY to early. Sorry Kiara! But I do.
Let’s get a real outline first PLEASE!
Wandstadt is a big city. Maybe the GAPAs could set up an ‘07.2 thread for those who want sci-fi.
43 – Sorry. 39 said something about getting started, so I decided to provide a bit of starting material. Doesn’t matter.
Seeing as I made a mistake about starting that, I’ll let someone else make the outline.
PC and I seem to be the only ones who really agree. Hers’s my outline:
The two main characters chase each around the city. Evtunally, when it seems like everything has come to an end, a mysterous starnger called the Sorrcerer comes to the city and turns there world upsidedown. Now they must put aside there differences to defeat this seemingly upstopable foe.
Open to critisism.
45-HEY! don’t get all deppressed! We want your help. That’s excellent writing, we’re just not quite ready yet.
46 – I think it sounds pretty good.
I just feel bad about posting the wrong thing. I guess it isn’t a big deal.
47 – Thanx.
46- Sounds good, but the Sorcerer is a little cliched. How about the bad guy is really one of the city’s ruling council, and he’s after one of the last remaining magical artifacts that is buried beneath the foundations of Wandstadt. To get it, though, he must control Wandstadt first.
49-Good idea. Sounds like we’re almost ready, we just need names and a few more characters.
Okay, so there are two main characters, and one of them is an evil person who needs to control Wandstadt to find a magical artifact underneath the city. He might need to be in charge because the way to get to the artifact is in a hagh-ranking official’s office or something similar. Maybe the main good character is freinds with someone that fills one of those offices and the evil person first tries to make freinds with him to gain access that way and the good and evil characters become freinds (or so they think) before the conflict about the artifact starts. That would put in another character. Also, what time period would this be set in. So far it reminds me a bit of “The Land of Elyon”, so we could set it around then.
Some names that are good for books are Celtic, and are found at name-meanings.com when you press the link “Celtic Names” If you find anything that you really like , we could use it in the story.
Some I liked were: Aidek, Alana, Aoife, Arten, Bedalia,Caelan, Caiter, Camryn,
Oops! Didn’t mean to hit the Submit button. List continued:
Cargin, Catriona, Ciara, Connan, Darey, Deidre, Devan, Eadoin, Faolan, Finlay, Guthrim, Kara, Keenan, Kellan, Kerri, Kirra, Kyle, Myla, Maeve, Marise, Morna, Nuale, Phiala, Rhoswen, Riono, Shaylee, Skyla, Terenika, Vevina, Wynna, and Zeohan(ia)
Okay, I’m done.
Minor characters:
An unfriendly, corpulent sergeant in the Watch who is always on our young Watchman’s case
An old master criminal, who cannot see but insists that his other four senses are enough, plus his huge, well-trained dog Brutus: accomplice/rival of the young thief
We also need some female characters, but I can’t think of any at the moment.
52-the two main characters are a low ramking theif and a cop. The evil dude is the main antaganist not a main character. The names are awesome, but which gender is which?
Male:
Aidek, Arten, Caelan, Caiter, Guthrim, Keenan, Connan, Faolan, Riono, Zeohan, and Rhoswen.
The rest are female, but Eadoin, Finlay, Maeve, Nuale, and Darey could be used for either.
So the evil guy in the council isn’t going to play a big part? How’s that going to work?
Can we please start writing already?
Do we have enough of the outline ready to start actually writing yet, or should we figure out more characters and details first? We could make them up as we go along and then change stuff that doesn’t work out instead. If the entire thing is preplanned, then there isn’t going to be as much fun reading it. What does everyone think? Post Voting!
55-He’s the bad guy, of course he is.
58 – Whoopsies. I misinterpreted #54. Sorry.
Let’s start! I’m quite horrible at beginings, so someone else.
Officer Caelan strode through the sea of humanity in Argent Square. He was only about fifteen, but he was a strapping lad, with plain, inconspicuous features that were unlikely to stand out in a crowd, so he was an excellent candidate for the City Watch. This was not the first time he had been assigned to patrol, but it was the first time something was likely to happen. The protective walls of Wandstadt loomed over him like reassuring sentinels, but it didn’t ease his nerves. The real danger came not from outside the walls, but from within.
A spate of daring thefts had broken out five weeks before, and showed no sign of slowing down. The culprits were as yet unknown, but it was clear that they were extremely skillful. Just two days before, a small sorcerous amulet had been stolen from the Wandstadt Museum of Artifacts. As the amulet was of relatively little power, it would not have been a problem in the heyday of the Three Kingdoms, when magic flourished and popped up on every corner and in every book. But one by one, the tomes of power were burned or ripped to pieces, their remains scattered to the four winds. One by one, the magicians weakened, their hands too palsied to inscribe the mystic runes or to form gestures of power, their voices too cracked to speak the ancient incantations with any degree of confidence. Nowadays, in the days after the decline of magic and the fall of the Kingdoms, even in oases of stability like Wandstadt, even the smallest amount of sorcery was powerful and potentially dangerous. A contact of the Watch had hinted that the amulet would soon be bargained over in Argent Square. Sergeant Finlay had thought that this would be a good test of Caelan’s mettle. Unfortunately, neither the Watch nor the thieves knew what they were getting themselves into.
((Too compressed? I tried to get the background info into a small space so that we could have fun writing.))
About 10 feet away from Caelan, an unruly rouge of perhaps 14 made a show of tripping and bumping into a richly dressed gentleman. Only Caelan’s watch-train eyes saw a glint of metal pass beteewn them.
Caelen strode towards the square, glancing nonchalantly at items in vendors’ stalls. All of those whom had once sold small magical trinkets, of great value now, had abandoned the crowded streets in fear of the theives. Those merhcants were some of the most properous in the area and had good reason to be afraid. Not once had the robbers left any clues, until the police had been notified about the poosible bargaining.
As Caelen drew closer, the streets became even more congested. He had to struggle to step forward instead of taking two steps back at every wave of people that blocked his way. Finally, he reached Argent Square. This was the center of business and Wandstadt, and the most, crowded, noisy place you could imagine. Some stalls had strange, outlandish creatures that made a discordant ruckus, while others sold flashy trinkets, herbs and spices, and the latest styles in clothing. Groups of young boys were playing in the streets, tripping up anyone who happened to get in their way.
Caelen gave a soft sigh of exasperation. The bargaining of the amulet could be anywhere in the huge place. Unsuer of where to start, he began walking around the outside of the square, looking fr anything that could possibly be considered “out of the ordinary”.
As he approached one of the myraid small, winding streets that led out of the square, he saw a darkly-clad figure scurry away. Then, from across the square came a roar of outrage. The sole magical item vendor who had dared to advertise his products was yelling at the crowd, the stout man’s face turning bright red hiana-fruit. As Caelan shoved his way across the square to find out what was wrong, a foot tripped him and sent him sprawling. By the time he had managed to get up, the magical vendor had already packed up and left.
When he reached the group of people that had previously surrounded the stand, he heard several murmurs of “stolen” and “gone”. When he inquired as to the culprit, several people said that there had been three people who had left the stall only a few moments before the vendor had started shouting: an elderly lady with her husband a youth in dark clothing. Caelan immediately suspected the latter one, and remembered the figure he had seen in the alley. Could it possibly be one of the theifs? Caelan decided that it would be better to try and find the theif than to just stand around, so he started back against the crowded square to find the place the mysterious figure had occupied only minutes before.
Those will work together with a bit of editing.
Caelan steped into the alley and had enough time to indentify one of the two figures as the right hand man of the High Thief, the blind master criminal who orcestrated many of the city’s illegal activities, before two throwing knivies shot towards him. One scratched his cheek and the other buried itself in his left shoulder.
I know I’ve come in a little late, but I’ve read over everything and it’s starting fabulously. You can discard this if you decide it doesn’t flow:
A gasp of pain, barely audible, came from the youth’s direction. Advancing on him, Caelan was pushed over fiercely and suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by 3 young boys, maybe 11 years old. Here could here some voices. “Are you all right Terenika?” Asked what Caelan understood to be another one of the boys. “I’m alright, but I need to see someone who can fix this.” a female voice answered.
“What should we do with him?” asked one of the boys holding his wrists.
“Knock him out and leave him somewhere.” Replied the girl whom Caelan assumed must be Terenika. He felt something hit his head. Dark.
(If you continue using my bit, maybe we could do a little part from Terenika’s point of view? Just a suggestion)
He gasped. It felt as though an icy lance of pain had plunged into him. He managed to fumble his whistle out and blow twice, before he dropped it in a haze. A strange numbness spread out from the point of impact, darkening his vision until he finally fell into merciful unconsciousness.
A wiry, ginger-haired boy stepped out of a shadowed alcove in the wall, holding another knife at the ready.
One of the men turned. “Thank you, Keenan,” he said. “You have proved yourself invaluable once again.”
His oily tone grated on Keenan’s nerves, but the boy refrained from making a sarcastic comment. It didn’t pay to mess with the High Thief’s inner circle.
He kept his tone deferential as he stepped out of the alcove and retrieved his knives. “Red mamba venom, straight from the islands of Pori,” he said. “But it’s diluted. He’ll wake up in two minutes, with no memory of the incident.”
“Then let’s get going,” said the man. He was small and thin, but Keenan knew him well enough to be certain that there was no mercy in his soul. “The Watch will be here before he wakes up.”
Sorry. Whichever is liked better, Julieb’s or mine.
My vote for PC’s, but change Keenan to Terenika.
I’m sorry, I know that I’m late, but I read all of the posts on the thread, and would like to join. Is that ok?
I always thought Maeve was just a girl’s name.
Is it to late to join?
69 – Maybe it is. Sorry, I wasn’t sure so I decided it could be both. Never trust my bad judgemnt.
68 – I second that. There needs to be an okay female character somewhere.
70 – Okay, there are now more people who want to join. The main posters seem to be me, Pralius Canix, and Darth Yoda. If we count everyone who has posted so far, there are 17 people. And most want to help write. I think it would be great to have new ideas and writers. I hope everyone else thinks so too. I don’t think it’s too late to join. We only just started the story. CONTRIBUTE!!!!!!
The thieves paid Terenika 6 Kentos for the magic disk. That should be enough to keep her going for a month or two.
As she headed back to her apartment, she thought. In the past few months, there had been a very high demand for magical items, among the nobles as well as the theives. Almost everything she had brought Guthrim, the High Theif’s second in command, had been worthless. But they had paid lavashly. It seemed as if they were searching for something.
ok whos the villon and whos the good guy?
73-read through this thread and you’ll figure it out.
Teranika wandered towards one of the less pleasent parts of town and stopped in front of a ranshackle old building. She walked through the front hall and up the stairs and then unlocked the apartment door. Once again she looked upon the simple furnishings. There was a heap of discarded matresses that resided in one corner, serving as bedding. On the far wall, there was a drafty window, and to the right of that there was a rickety, old dresser. On top of the dresser was a clumsily framed letter. It had been from her mother, coming a few days after Teranika had been notified of her disappearence. She had been returning from a trip to some distant land and had inexplicably vanished on the way home. Teranika had waited for several years near their old home (it had been taken as soon as she had run out of the funds to keep it) hoping that someday her mother would walk through the door and give her one of those huge smiles that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, each day had only brought hunger and realization that she was deeper in debt than she could ever pay. She somehow escaped the numerous people she owed money and broke into one of the unowned buildings. Teranika had chosen the only room with a working lock and an unbroken window to reside in. She never accepted charity, and would never bring her pride down to groveling before the people who regularly brought bread and water to the area. Instead she began to work in a rather less erspectable way to earn her food and drink; stealing. She knew little about the reason everyone wanted magical items, but resolved to find out. If those items were really as important as the others made them seem, then the more she had, the better. Teranika opened the botton dwarer of the dresser and pried off a false bottom. Inside were several small trinkets, each of them glowing faintly. Each time she went on a job, she took more than was rodered and kept the surplus. Teranika did not know the specific uses of each one, but she knew that someone else would pay a high price to get them.
Terenika felt a surge of ambition as she slipped a hand through her hair. She couldn’t afford too many more stealths in the knot of time she had come to power in Aprinleaf (month equivalent), but it seemed like the merchants depended on her cunning to keep the discovery–and pawning–of magical artifacts running smoothly. Of course, like any good thief–stealing, risking, and selling was her life but it couldn’t be for long because of one word, Jagu. Jagu was the highest of the high in the throne of nobles. He knew more about magic than any of the magicals combined. So why didn’t merchants come to him? A very interesting reason indeed. For somebody like Jagu, he obivously kept a second identity. Although his first as the all-knowing magical was splendid enough, he couldn’t resist the call to fame in his second life. Instead of being a magical, he decided to become a fighter, stealing into the suppoosed headquarters, that sadly, were a trap by the City Watch. They had imprisoned him, but he had escaped. Obivously, when you escape from law, you hide. And the problem was, Terenika or any of the other thieves didn’t know where he was. Without Jagu, the had no idea how to fight things of higher levels–and slowly but surely, many of great thieves died as the ring of self-protecting magical items created in the long-last past killed them one by one. Sure, why wouldn’t a thief simply be humble and stay with dinky things like self-tying shoelaces or a flying hezmoir? Thief and humility? The words are like magnets turned to the opposite sides–repelling each other and never sticking for anything. Thiefs drank from the cup of greed, and they refilled it and refilled it until the day that they died. For the day you steal something–maybe the most trivial of things, like everything else pleasurable you want to do it again and again for it endlessly benifits you. Terenika wanted to do better than the other thieves but, as she tapped the unawaked City Watch, she couldn’t without this worthless, smelly, Janu person. She gave the man a good kick and his body flopped over. With that, she walked away into the depth of the city.
I’m just writing for Terenika ‘cuz I can relate otherwise. I’m not a J.K. Rowling. I write to relate.
Is that good?
oops. looks like Kiara just beat me!! Iemme check if it follows. sry.
oh i know how to fix it, we just switch around. it totally works together that.
78 – That’s great!
. I just think we need to switch our two posts around because they’ve been written in reverse order. Whoops!
Caelan woke up in a grimy alley. His head was throbbing, and a sharp, shooting pain pounded through his left shoulder. Sergeant Finlay was bending over him. “Officer, what do you call this?”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Caelan replied shakily.
“We hear your whistle blowing, so I dispatch two men to find out what happened. We find you lying down here outside Argent Square, stone cold senseless. What happened?”
Caelan thought. He had come into Argent Square, and then- and then- His memory blurred into haze at that point. “I don’t know, sir.”
“And what do you mean by that?” The Sergeant’s voice had gone dangerously quiet. Caelan knew from experience that this happened just before he burst into full-throated rage. Finlay’s shouts had been known to deafen dogs two blocks away.
Sergeant Finay continued to stare at him expectantly, and then, in a tone chillier than Caelan thought possible, he slowly repeated “What do you mean by that?” Caelan shakily opened his mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted. “What you mean,” roared the Sergeant “is that you let whoever stole an important item get away! What you mean is that you are incompetent enough to let petty theives knock out YOU, an Officer of the Watch, and get away with it!” Sergeant Finlay was fuming now, spittle flying from his mouth, and the redness of his face exceding even that of the robbed merchant. Half-formed images were forming in his head now, despite Finlay’s shouting. A murmering group, being tripped in the crowd, and then….nothing. He had no idea what had happened. Something from his training for the Watch, only a few years ago, was nagging at the back of his mind. There were different poisons that could be used on you, and they did different things. He could have been poisoned, but how? They could have done it while he was unconcious, but what would have knocked hime out?
Caelan was still lying on his back, half-listening to Finlay’s ranting and raving. He started trying to sit up, but immediately fell backwards when he felt an excruciating pain in his left shoulder. A breif memory came back to hime; two flying knives, one embedded in his shoulder. He reached to the place the knife should have been, and found that it was not there. The theives ahd not immediately fled after wounding hime, so they might have taken other things too. He searched through his pockets to see if anything was missing, and, thankfully, discovered that everything was in order. It would be even more humiliating if Seargent Finlay found out that he had been robbed as well.
“But-” Caelan started to say.
“But NOTHING!” roared his superior. “You are on KITCHEN DUTY until FURTHER NOTICE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Now come on back to the station. And try to look like a half-decent Watchman, though I know it will strain your acting skills.”
Finlay had already turned to leave. Caelan struggled to get up from his lowly position, but his shoulder was practically screaming with pain. The thin scab cracked and the wound reopened with a spurt of blood. It was only then that Finlay realized that he was wounded and bound the wound before pulling Caelan onto his feet and forcing him to stumble back to headquarters.
***
Terenika slammed the drawer shut and crossed to the window, looking out over the Dales beyond Wandstadt. Though the rolling green hills seemed peaceful enough, anyone with a grain of sense knew that they were hives of brigands and cutthroats. When the Three Kingdoms collapsed, Wandstadt was one of the few city-states that survived amid the chaos. Beyond the few aldens* of Wandstadt farmland, there were no laws.
*equivalent to roughly 15 acres
What we know about this world so far:
Kentos are a rather high denomination of currency
Aldens are 15 acre increments
Aprinleaf is a month
Oddly enough, the country where my latest book takes place is called Calaen. Hmm.
I was thinking kentos are somewhere in the 800-1000 dollar area.
89- Whoa.
89 – Whooooooooah. Pretty expensive.
And, if anyone has the capcity of writing multiple stories at once (ex. Pralius Canix), there’s a new RRR thread which is bracing for a wave of newbies from other threads – go check it out (after you read the first part) and cosider writing there. The story so far is superbiful!
Thanks for the ad, Kiara. ‘06.6 is in need of more ‘riters.
Terenika’s thoughts turned to the young watchman.
I meant to post a longer post but i g2g.
He seemed to be an earnest sort, but, of course, clueless about anything that was really important. It wasn’t really his fault, anyway. Just like her, he was doing whatever he could to survive. Of course, his problems were not nearly as pressing as her own. She sighed, her breath fogging up the dusty window, and realized that, maybe, they had treated the poor lad unfairly. But, then, the hard shield over her conscience that her time on the streets forced her to develop propelled that thought away, into the dark recesses of her mind.
Ookay. I’m so behind….
An ear-peircing scream came from outside Terenika’s window. A large man, maybr 6 and a half feet tall, held a knife to a merchants throat as the surronding crowd did nothing but watch.
Terenika gasped. She knew that it was a bad idea to get involved. She knew that she must avoid speaking up in large crowds. She knew that when you lived like she did, it was a death sentance to defend the weak and helpless. Still, she crossed over to the door, and placed her hand on the knob. And she waited, knowing what choice she was going ot make, and regretting it even before all of the connected events unfolded.
KitKat posted this continuation by mistake on another RRR thread between posts 97 and 98:
She flew away from the bedpost shoved the window up and stared. The merchant! No. They were supposed to sell to the merchants, not kill them! She dashed to her cloak and flew, as fast as a night bat, down the hallway of her house, which was so small it took hardly any time to reach the door. She slammed it open and jogged to the scene, hands flailing, the merchant took a slight peek at her, and then returned to gaze into his threatener’s eyes.
“You sell it to me, scum, or I sell your soul to death!”
A pang of fear was obivous as the man’s tongue licked his lips.
“I c-couldn’t sir,” he said feebily, lifting his arms. “You see, I have a debt on my–”
“Your house, i suppose. The house that you don’t have. You are a merchant, and I am not stupid. Both of us know very well what you have, I saw him give it to you. Paper bags do not hide to more than stupid eyes.”
“P-please…”
Terenika couldn’t take anymore. Even at the age of 14, she was powerful and easily could take on somebody–well, at least she hoped. But unlike you or I might have done, she acted well like a thief would. Slipping like a beetle through the crowd, she inched up into she could’ve taken him to dagger’s point, and then she gave a quick tug, and in the same second drawing up to full height.
“Wuh, huh?” He cried, jumping around, the dagger only whizzing past the merchant’s throat. The merchant took advantage of the situation to grab a brown papered item from his cart and dash away full speed. Without even giving the girl a proper look. But Terenika had sawn his face. She knew it, she knew it well, she just couldn’t place it…
It was in the caverns she had seen them, yes, in the caverns….
Janu!
But she couldn’t call after him! She had to keep her discovery to herself. If the other thieves learned, they’d knock her aside like a badly earthed rock.
Her only choice was a dire one…she had to run too.
***********************
The squidging sound of the mop seemed to provide a dismal soundtrack for Caelan’s misery. Up and down the Mess Hall he trudged, pushing it in front of him and carrying a bucket of soapy water that slopped onto his once-dry boots with every step. Fuming, he swore revenge on the knife-thrower for the umpteenth time.
(let’s just ignore my previous post, 98, because it doesn’t really fit in with everything else)
A herd of other, favored watchmen passed by, grinning widely at Caelan’s predicament. Then, the man in the very front of the group slyly kicked over the bucket. It fell to the cobbled stone with a clang, sending soap suds and lukewarm water every which way.
It splashed everywhere. (ooh! long post)
Sergeant Finlay, who had just walked into the hall, slipped on the water and fell to the ground.
He stumbled into a standing position, sputtering. Caelan groaned. The sergeant had been wearing his best dress tunic, which almost always meant that he was on the way to meet someone important.
“Fool boy!” He growled. “I had an appoinment with one of the city councilmen! Now look what you’ve done!”
Caelan looked scared and turned away. Sergeant Finlay stalked away, looking furious and swearing under his breath.
Caelan didn’t care. he just splashed more on.
“Look what you’ve done now, boy! I have to go change!” said the Sergeant. “I’ll have to run because–”
but he couldn’t finish his sentence. Sure enough *splat* he had fallen on the ground again.
the sargeant said to caelan “thats it! you have one chane and then you will be fired.”
************************
terenika sat on the ungraded wall.she was upset about …………..
o.k. what shes upset about?
107- Someone ate her pudding?
**********************************************
Caelan was a little worried but not much, after all, Sergeant Finlay always threatened people. Sergeant slipped away, trying to keep his balance. Caelan snickered a little. He thought ‘Well, it’s not every day you get to see a man of importance sliding around a floor wet.’ Sergeant looked back and smiled at Caelan, with a smile so evil, it sent chill’s up Caelan’s back.
108-You can’t switch storyline’s after not even one sentence. We’ll go back to 107 later.
“Well then, you don’t seem to care about your job any longer, you are fired.”
Caelan simply stood where he was, staring in disbelief.
Caelan was shoved into his room and ordred to pack his belongings. They had, generously, provided him with a few more sets of civilian clothes and a sparse amount of money.
**********************
terenika sat on the ungraded part of the wall.she was crying becuse as she was walking to her home/hideout/cave? she drop her thing and a gared got to it before she could.
111-What? What is “gared”? Are you trying to say “guard”? Please explain the last sentence.
she droped that thing she had and as she was going back to get it a guard got it dk
(continued from 110)
Caelan felt odd in his new, stiff tunic. Although it was made from the coarsest, cheapest homespun in the market, he had not worn the clothes of civilians for a while. He grabbed his small haversack, and glanced around the cell-like room one last time. It was completely bare, except for the cot that he had slept upon, and the washstand that was fastened upon the wall.
It was all that girl’s fault, he thought. She was the one who caused me to loose my place, here. Maybe I’ll find her, and bring her to justice. And, then, maybe I’ll get my place back! I might even be promoted!”
Fired with new purpose, despite having been fired in another sense, Caelan left the Watch station with a spring in his step. Once he reached the street, however, he realized he had no idea what to do. He sat down on a convenient bench to think it over.
****************
Terenika sat up suddenly and looked down the road. That Watchman that she had felled had apparently been kicked out. He was inconspicuous, but strong. Clumsy, but she thought he might be good at providing cover, if she could recruit him.
She quickly but cautiously stalked towards him, trying not to attract the attention of any of the oblivious passerby. Just as she neared the rough bench, she realized, belatedly, that this might be some trap set up by one of the senior guardspeople, or, maybe, the young man himself. She drew her dagger, for protection. Caelan, hearing the rasp of metal against her crude sheath, spun around to see Terenika approackhing him, holding a knife…
caelan yelled momie and then terenika saind”ok so its not a trap ” caelen said “huh who are you?”
((Ummm… Caelan isn’t exactly the sort to yell “Mommy.” He’s about fifteen, and he’s not a wimp. Back up.))
Caelan ducked and kicked out wildly. He slipped off the bench and knocked it over.
“Definitely too clumsy for delicate work,” Terenika muttered, but she was relieved. If it had been a trap, he would have given some sort of signal.
Caelan looked up at the girl. She seemed somehow familiar to him, and he had a vague feeling that he should hate her for something (which was irrational, because she seemed nice). “Who are you?” he asked.
“Come over here,” she said. “What I have to say isn’t something that people should overhear.”
Caelan was puzzled, but he followed her down a narrow gap between two crumbling brick buildings.
Terenika stopped about halfway down the gap. “Listen,” she said. “You were just kicked out of the Watch. No family, no home, am I correct?”
Caelan bristled. “Just who are you, exac-” Terenika interrupted him. “Hear me out! I have a job for you. Pays well, good benefits-” she smiled a secretive grin as she toyed with her satchel of magical trinkets-“and you might get a chance to get back at the guy who fired you.”
Caelan hesitated. The prospect was alluring, but he had a nagging feeling that he shouldn’t take it.
“Listen,” Whispered Terenika. “I’ll just tell you a bit about it. You don’t have to take my proposal afterwards, but just hear me out.”
“Fine.” Caelan grunted.
118-It was funny though.
Terenika continued, her eyes alight. “The Organization first got together about six years ago. Ever since the Three Kingdoms fell, the few city-states that didn’t descend into chaos- Wandstadt, for instance- began locking up any remaining magical artifacts. People became scared of magic, when once they used it every day. Some, however, knew better, and wanted to get their hands on any magic still around. The Organization supplies that. We- ahem- liberate the artifacts from the museums and private collections, and sell them to a select clientele. I joined back in Aprinleaf.” She didn’t go on to mention why she’d joined. She kept the tragic secret of her mother’s disappearance to herself.
Caelan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This girl was asking him- who’d been an officer of the Watch ten minutes ago- to join the biggest crime ring in the history of the Three Kingdoms or afterwards.
caelen said yes.
Later, when he had time to think, to consider what he had done, he wondered exactly how he had found himself accepting. It was odd, really. But it was too late, then…
“Magnficent!” Terenika exclaimed in a hushed voice. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you, we even bury you, if you end up being caught by the Guard!”
Caelan groaned, and closed his eyes in disbelief of what he had just agreed to do.
It was getting later into the day, and Caelan had to find a place to stay before nightfall. Terenika led him back to the area she, and many others in the Aprinleaf, lived. There was an abandoned house a few doors down from Terenikas that was in reasonably good condition. All of the windows on the first floor were broken, and so was the front door, but the upper level looked habitable. When Caelan asked about the papers and paying, Terenika said “If anyone pays, it should be the people resonsible for kicking so many good people into these parts. We should be payed to live here, so there’s no reason we should pay them to live in the city’s dumps.”
Caelen trudged up the rickety staircase, contemplating what Terenika had said. Most of the people here were poor because of the government. Many of them had run out of money because of lost jobs or increased taxes. Before, he had always believed that his job had been a good one. He had been forced to start training ant age five, and didn’t remember much about his family. He remembered that his father had left, and that he had had an older sister, but nothing more. He was used to being alone. He had few freinds before, and now he didn’t have any. Unless, he counted Terenika, which seemed rather unlikely from their first meeting. Or was it there first? He kept on feeling that he’d seen her somewhere beofre, and that he had heard that name………
this is good.
Caelan turned around, shaking off the silly thoughts. “Anywhere I can get dinner?” he asked.
Terenika pondered his question, then said, “Tell you what. Since it’s your first day, and you haven’t got a salary yet, I’ll give you a few irrins ((about a thousandth of a Kento)) to purchase something. There’s a bakery down the block where the weevils have only infested one barrel of flour.”
“Weevils? You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I was. I wasn’t joking when I told you this was a bad neighborhood.”
Caelan shook his head in exasperation, but still walked towards the direction Terenika had pointed. Returning to his earlier train of thought, he once again considered whether or not Terenika was someone to be trusted. She had greeted him with an unsheathed knife, but was still kind enough to find him shelter, loan him money, and direct him to someplace he could find food.
He entered through the bakery’s front enterance; an old wooden door that seemed to be several sizes too small for the jamb. behind the counter was a thin, wiriy man with a face that slighty resembled that of one of the rats that ran under the counter when Caelen entered the place. He cautiosly approached the counter.
“How much can I get for four irrins?” he inquired.
“Not much, sonny.” replied the man behind the counter. His voice was low, but slightly nasaly also. “But you could get a lot more with that thing around your neck.”
Caelen reached up for the chain, feeling its slim coolness run through his fingers, and pulled over his head. It was a medal he had won a few years back, a rare occasion in the training school. Awards were hardly ever given out, save for special circumstances. He had been given it for beating his own teacher in hand-to-hand combat, an accomplishment worthy of noting. He bounced ot lightly in his hand, trying to decide whether or not it was worth a supply of food.
caelen said “no,but if i can beet you in a fight will you give me food? ‘the baker said “thats to easy.” caelen haert was sank.
At that moment, a man who had been sitting near the counter got up and started walking towards them. Caelan turned to watch him, still clutching the medallion in his hand.
The man was tall, taller than anyone else in the inn. He had long, dark hair and a strong chin. He was wearing a heavy fur coat, held in place by a wide belt, upon which was hanging a sword. His pants and boots were made of a material that, upon closer observation, proved to be dragonhide.
He had muscular arms and walked with an easy step that somehow gave Caelan the impression that he could easily change it, adopting a position perfect for decapitating people.
The man walked up to them. Caelan was suddenly aware that everyone in the inn was staring at them.
“Jembo,” he said, addressing the innkeeper, “last time I checked you were handing out beds for an irrin a night. Now don’t take this boy’s medal away for your greed!”
Jembo glanced at Caelan, who had stuffed his medallion back down his shirt and was glaring at the innkeeper. Then he muttered an assent and handed a key to Calean.
“Well, that’s settled then. Come with me, lad!” the man pulled Caelan over to his table.
“You were lucky. Jembo won’t hesitate to invent inflation rates to suit his needs.” said the man in an amiable tone.
“Yes…” said Caelan, “but why did you help me out?”
The man looked at him for a moment. “My name’s Sigmund. I recognized the medal. I had one too… for defeating my teacher in swordsmanship.”
dammit, missed the part about a bakery. Why don’t we you change it to an inn? Sigmund’s too awesome a character to be cut out.
o.k.
caelan said “You are in the gaurd!?” “was ,boy,was.I made a tiny slip-up,was assind kichen duty,and then the conmander fired me.I meet some one .they gave me room to sleep.then they were killed by some gaurds.I took up selter here.”sigmund said with a siagh.
Caelan didn’t reply. Something drew him to this large, dangerous-looking stranger. Perhaps he would be good in this Organization, or whatever Terenika calls it. “Where are you from?” he asked.
“Up in Skarjandr.”
Just so you know, Skarjandr is a sort of pan-Scandinavian area.
I could guess..
Sigmund paused, then continued: “It’s a beautiful land… Wide tundras stretch to both ends of the horizon; the oceans are white and clear… I lived in a town up north, near the Kraki mountains. My father was a court poet to our king, Halfdane the Red. He taught me the art in the hope that I would one day be a poet in the favour of kings as well… But I had a natural talent for the sword, and an affinity with animals shared by no other in my town. The king, Björn Bjarki, who had the finest mead-hall in the land, gave me a position among his warriors when I was 12. I killed my first man when I was 14. A fellow warrior, under the influence of spirits, insulted me and my family. I killed him… The king cast me out, but his family was not content, and initiated a blood-feud against my family. My father was killed… And so I travelled south, until I reached a town were they drafted me into the guard. One day, during training, I defeated and struck down my teacher. I was given a medal and assigned to kitchen duty.” Sigmund paused to take a long drink.
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Caelan.
Sigmund pondered for a moment, then replied: “For no other reason than that I sense an affinity with you, and that the Norns, who weave the fabric of time, must have set our meeting as fated.”
Caelan stared at Sigmund. “Why aren’t you with the guard now?” he asked.
“I got into a fight with my superior, a man called Finlay, and would have killed him had I not been held back… Then they threw me out. I was 16.” replied Sigmund.
“I know Finlay!” exclaimed Caelan “I’ve had some problems with him too…”
“Then we were most definitely fated to meet.” said Sigmund in a low voice. “Do you have an occupation, boy?”
I’m such a kickass writer…
“Er… ” Caelan paused. He thought about the events of the day, before deciding that he did, in fact, work for the Organization. “Yes, I do. I can’t really talk about it here, but if you’re interested, my… associate… will give you some information.” His head was spinning. From what he’d heard of Skarjandr, it was filled with bloodthirsty murderers. But, of course, that description could also be applied to the lands outside Wandstadt, and Sigmund seemed pleasant enough, in the sense that he was excellent to have as a friend, but not so nice to have as an enemy.
“Good.” Sigmund turned to the door. “I’m out of work at the moment. Do you think your associate would have a place for me?”
caelen ran quikly ahead and talk to terenikla about whean sigmundcan in
137: Dude, I really wish you’d be a bit more grammatically correct and more expansive with your narratives.
RRRiter’s block…
Well, I can’t really write about the Caelan-Terenika story, I came in later. Maybe if we moved the thread to the first page it would attract more writers.
Terenika was sitting on the cot in her room when Caelan barged in. He immediately smashed into the dresser, almost knocking out the secret drawer with the amulets, tripped over his own feet, and bashed his head on the projecting windowsill. It’ll take a lot of training to get him ready for silent work, Terenika thought grimly.
Caelan picked himself up from the floor and dusted off his clothing, trying to retain a bit of dignity, despite his throbbing head. He drew a breath to begin to explain about Sigmund, but Terenika cut him off.
“Now, I suppose you call that a silent entry.”
Shocked by the dose of venom in her voice, he started “I….”
But Tereniak spoke again. “If you ever want to succeed at your new job, you are going to need to start training, and fast. If you are incompetent at your assignment, or fail it completely, it is likely someone would murder you, simply for the fact that you risked their being uncovered and that you could leak information to the Watch. Mind that, because your being on the Watch previouly will repel customers. It’s best that you put all that behind.”
Caelan once again thought of that little medal around his neck that made him so absurdly proud not so long ago. Put it all behind? Everything he had worked for since he was barely able to walk? Then, he remembered how Sigmund still remembred that little award that meant so much, and realized that, though he would cerainly have to cover it up, he could never completely leave the past. It was part of him.
Then, bringing the thought of Sigmund foremost into his mind, Caelan, for the third time, tried to get a word in edgewise. But once Terenika saw him preparing to speak again, she immediately presumed it was a complaint, and stopped him from speaking with a raised hand.
“If you don’t think that you can handle the job, then leave.”
With a burst of frustration, he yelled out “I’m not saying I’m incompetent! I’m trying to tell you a few things I found out at the store today! If you’d stop speaking so much, you might actually find that I have some useful information!”
Temporarily suprised by the shouting, Terenika was silent. She then gave him permission to report what he had learned, and Caelan began to relay his trip that was only made to buy some food, but turned out to bring some much more valuable items.
“Hmmm,” Terenika said when he had finished. “This Sigmund sounds interesting. Skarjandrians are always good in a fight. When’s he coming?”
The door flew off its hinges.
“Now.”
Sigmund sat in his corner, mulling over the previous events that evening. If Caelan could get him a steady position in the city, it would be a big step towards his return home.
Sigmund sighed, as his thoughts drifted towards his homeland in the north. He recalled the wide, unending plains, the great forests, the many lakes, the beautiful mountain ranges…
He was jerked out of his reverie by the sight of a group of men entering the inn. They stopped in front of the desk and began talking to Jembo. The old innkeeper was sweating and fumbling with his greasy sleeves.
Sigmund sat alert, watching the men across the room and straining his ears for snatches in the conversation.
[At this point I will proceed to give some physical description of Caelan. I apologise if I violate a previously established attribute]
“Tall fellow, quite muscular…”
“Brown eyes, maybe you’ve seen him…?”
Jembo was shaking his head and trembling. Once the men had left, Sigmund walked over to him.
“What did they want?”
Jembo was visibly recovering.
“They asked me about that lad who was here earlier, Caelan.” he said.
Sigmund nodded. “Do you know who they were?”
Jembo shook his head. “If I had to guess, I’d say they were guards in civilian clothes.”
Sigmund nodded again, then ran out of the inn. He was headed to see an old friend of his, one of the first people he had met in the city. Although perhaps ‘friend’ wasn’t the right word. “I just hope she won’t attack me after what happened two years ago,” he thought grimly, relfecting that Terenika was not the sort of person to forgive and forget easily.
((If we put my post after Fridgey’s it works.))
Sigmund stood in the doorway, looking surprised. “Terenika? You’re his ‘associate?'”
“Sigmund… I wasn’t expecting it would be you.”
Caelan was confused. “You knew that a guy named Sigmund was coming, right?”
“Yeah, but he has the same name as about a million other Skarjandrians. None of whom are such lying, cheating mudspawn as him…” She spoke with quiet venom. Sigmund’s expression looked like that of a polar bear that had spent a happy life as the top predator on its little stretch of tundra, until a large dragon migrated into its territory and was making itself comfortable in the bear’s den.
Sigmund’s eyes sparked. He looked at Terenika, completely ignoring Caelan, who stood dumbstruck at this new turn of events. It was hard, but he had to prove to Terenika that he wasn’t going to stand down, and that his opinion and will had to matter in the hours that were to come. For Sigmund’s affinity with the natural world of his native Skarjandr had been developed to a whole new talent in the southern cities, and a very useful one. While on the tundras he could feel the movement of every single living thing, and connect himself mentally to the life of the wilds, the overpowering humanity of the cities enabled him to sense intentions, changes, and urges, all part of the great natural state of the city. And what he sensed now wasn’t good.
Terenika shifted, averting her gave from Sigmund’s face momentarily, and provided him with the opening he needed.
“They’re coming. I don’t know how, but they’re coming. You need to leave right now. Go east, across the river. There are greater things at work here than your petty Organization. The Dragonheads are moving, and we will need all the artifacts available.”
Terenika was visibly shaken. She seemed about ready to submit entirely, then recovered. “Why should I trust you?” was the obvious query.
Sigmund paused, gazing at her. Then he said, “because I feel it. And because in a few minutes men from the Guard will be here. Will you come with me?”
Terenika hesitated, then nodded and began gathering various items from around the room.
Caelan turned to Sigmund. “What? I don’t understand! You know Terenika? And what are the Dragonheads?”
Sigmund answered him without taking his eyes off of Terenika. “Not now, I’ll explain later. Go outside and keep watch for anyone moving. Or anything.”
Caelan paled, but went out the door into the night.
Terenika turned to Sigmund. “There, I’m ready,” she said, “I just hope you’re right about this…”
Sigmund responded with honesty coating his voice: “I am. And Terenika…” his voice faded. She turned and faced him. “Yes?” she asked, voice trembling a little. He hesitated, then said “I’m sorry. But it will be alright.”
She nodded, then walked by him.
As Terenika stepped out into the night, Caelan dashed up to her. “For the umpteenth time, who are these Dragonheads?”
“Mercenaries,” Terenika replied, brushing a lock of ginger hair out of her eyes and pulling out a knife. “They started as a Skarjandrian cult that worshiped the dragon-god Fafnir. They’re nomadic now, kidnapping strong young lads from villages and raising them to kill. They sell their swords to the highest bidder. But who would want to attack Wandstadt?” She dropped to her knees and readied a knife.
Caelan looked around, feeling vulnerable without a weapon. “I need a sword.”
Sigmund strode out of the gloom, carrying his own blade as well as a lighter one for Caelan. “Keep those hidden. The Watch will be along soon. Not that they can do much against the Dragonhe- GET DOWN!!!!!!”
Caelan dropped to the pavement without question. A lone figure stepped around the corner of the street. In the falling dusk, light glinted off its sword. It turned around. For a horrible moment, Caelan thought that it had the head of some horrible lizardlike beast. Then he realized it was just a mask. Or, indeed, an ornate helmet.
The man seemed to be sniffing the ground. He looked as though he was half beast. Terenika was shaking, but her knife aim never wavered.
The Dragonhead turned and let loose an insane, bestial howl, then charged straight at their hiding place. Caelan scrambled to his feet, snatching up his sword. Terenika dipped her knife into the special sheath filled with red mamba venom.
Sigmund rushed out to meet the man, swinging his sword upward with easy grace. The fighters used strokes that Caelan hadn’t learned in Watch training.
Terenika threw her knife. It plunged into the man’s sword hand. He dropped as the poison overwhelmed his brain.
Sigmund bent down to survey the Dragonhead’s features, pulling off his helmet. Terenika and Caelan left their hiding places to join him.
When Terenika reached his side and saw the Dragonhead’s face, though, she let out an involuntary gasp. The man who had attacked Sigmund was the thief who had been blackmailing Janu.
“What?” Caelan asked quizzically.
“This man. I saw him threatening a former member of the Organization who seemed to have a powerful artifact to sell.”
Sigmund stroked his chin. “So whoever employed the Dragonheads wants something inside Wandstadt. Why-”
Shouts and whistles came from one side of the square. Watch lanterns shone their powerful beams on naked swords and bows.
The other side of the square was quiet for a moment, then it erupted into a small army of yelling Dragonheads, rushing at the Watch like a tide of destruction.
Sigmund, Caelan and Terenika were caught in the middle, with the crumbling slum at their backs.
Oops. I missed the part about the Dragonheads being across the river. My continuation now seems really stupid…
149: No, the Dragonheads ARE a nordic cult (much like the Berserkers, eh?). Sigmund was telling Terenika to escape across the river, away from the Dragonheads.
OK. Get rid of my posts, then.
No, I was saying that the posts work.
Oh. Cool.
Sigmund didn’t waste any time. He raised his massive sword and swung powerfully at the decrepit wall. The plaster crumbled under the impact. “Get in there,” he instructed Terenika and Caelan. “Then find an exit. Once you’re out, go straight out of town, to the river. Take a barge down to Muhlstadt. You can do nothing here. If the Watch and I can’t save Wandstadt between us, it can’t be saved.”
Terenika went through without question, followed by Caelan. They dashed out of the room without noticing what was in it, exiting through the door, into a central hall, and out the main door at the other side of the building. Terenika, however, did not head down River Street. Instead, she went the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” Caelan yelled.
“We can’t just stand by while Wandstadt is attacked,” she replied. “We’re going to the Organization to get as many artifacts as they’ll let us grab and we know how to use. Then we’re coming back. Hurry!”
Caelan followed her down a narrow alley, panting for breath. They stopped in front of a massive warehouse. It looked deserted.
Terenika stepped towards a small door on the right side of the large building. She proceeded to knock a complicated series of taps on the door, then took something out of her pocket and slid it under. The door opened from the inside, and Terenika stepped in. As Caelan tried to follw, his way was barred by a long spear. The spear’s holder stepped forward: a young woman whose face was hard as a stone with muscles, and most likely an attitude, to match.
Terenika rolled her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. She then whispered into the guard’s ear, explaining the predicament. The guard drew back, but scowled as Caelan stepped into the building. The Organization had to be very careful with newcomers. They never knew who to trust. Just last night a high-ranking official in the Orgainization had to be hunted down and killed ecause of him being witnessed passing on information to a soldier. The soldier had been captured, but he was not harmed in any way, for they needed more recruits.
Terenika and Caelan began to walk the length of the building. About halfway down, Caelan happened to glance at barred door that led to a seperate room. He lloked in, and saw a familiar face. It was the watchman who had kicked over the bucket of water that Seargent Finlay had slipped in. The watchman had lost all of his egotistical confidence now, and was looking pleadingly at Caelan through the bars.
“Aodhan!” Caelan gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question. Get me out of here!”
Terenika cut in. “We’re in a hurry. Sorry.”
They came to the end of the hall and dashed into the main meeting room. Terenika had seen it before, but Caelan hadn’t, and he stopped to get a look around.
At the end of the oblong room, on a raised oak dais, was the chair of the High Thief. The old man was hunched over in it, his fingers still long and nimble, poking out of red-gold fingerless gloves. His eyes were filmy and discolored. A massive dragonhound lay at his feet.
((Quick note- The “dragonhound” is Brutus. He sort of serves as the High Thief’s eyes. Dragons apparently exist in this world- Sigmund’s boots are made from their hide- and I wanted Brutus to be a breed that doesn’t exist in ours. I thought that a “hound” of a powerful animal would be good. Wolfhounds and boarhounds have been done. OK, not-so-quick note. Sue me.))
156: I don’t want to think about the necessary sexual activity needed to create a dragonhound… Hmm, I’ll write something later, right now I’m not up to it.
156- Nonononononono. Dragonhounds were bred in order to hunt dragons (a despicable practice, by the way), like wolfhounds or boarhounds were bred to hunt wolves or boar. There is no cross-breeding involved.
158: aahhh, so it’s not a hound with wings and scaly skin… gotcha.
Sigmund ran through the streets, grasping his sword. The Dragonheads were after something specific, something powerful… Undoubtedly a powerful magical artifact in posession of the Organization.
Sigmund’s thoughts churned. The Dragonheads were strong warriors, and he had to alert the Watch immediately.
He ran through the empty streets until he reached the guards quarters. Then he began yelling.
Disgruntled shouts began emanating from inside the building.
Sigmund squatted down, and began tracing something on the ground with his sword. When he finished, he muttered something under his breath. Immediately a fire sprang from the ground. Sigmund stared at it, then it moved across the cobblestones like a ghost towards a corner of the wooden building.
Sigmund grinned. If that wouldn’t wake them up, nothing would. He got up and turned to leave, taking a moment to clear his mind from the effort of what he just did. Then he began running again.
He ran until he reached the warehouse where he knew the Organization had it’s headquarters. Instead of openly approaching it, he crouched down between two houses, directly opposite the entrance to the warehouse. Then he waited. At a certain point voices reached him, and from his hiding place he could see a group of men, none of them Skarjandrians, all bearing the emblem of Fafner.
“Desecration of the gods…” he muttered. Then he traced a pattern on his forehead and jumped out of the shadows, sword raised.
The Dragonheads were taken completely by surprise. There were seven of them, all southlanders, and they stared, stunned momentarily, as the giant Sigmund appeared before them, seemingly out of nowhere.
He was an awesome sight. On his forehead a strange pattern gleamed bright red, and on the hilt of his sword runes blazed their power. He ran straigt up to the closest Dragonhead, yelling like a wild animal, and cut through the sword the attacked man had raised in defense, slicing through the iron like a red-hot knife through snow, and embedding itself in the man’s head, killing him instantly.
The other six Dragonheads had gathered their wits, and they rushed him all at once. Sigmund side-stepped the first assailant and swung around, tearing out the man’s throat with his hand as he ran by. The next man to reach him never got within reach before Sigmund’s three metre long blade decapitated him.
The remaining four Dragonheads had surrounded Sigmund, and were slowly closing in on him, waiting for him to make a move. Sigmund watched them, his sword held ready. Then he made a feint towards one Dragonhead, who immediately charged him. Sigmund moved out of the way at the last second and grasped the man, pushing him into another Dragonhead. While these two were busy unentangling themselves, Sigmund turned to the other two. He parried a blow and punched one in the face, pushing his head so far back that the man’s neck broke. He threw the body aside and ducked a blow from the other Dragonhead, then struck at the man’s unprotected body. He jumped up, and looked around for the other two Dragonheads whom he had sent to the ground before, expecting them to have risen by now. Then he saw the bodies. The men had impaled each other with their swords.
Sigmund relaxed, took a breath, then made for the warehouse.
W00t, fight scenes written by me ist krieg!
161- They are quite good.
In the shadows behind the chair, the High Thief’s right-hand man stood with two men, both wearing light armor and carrying bows. “What is the meaning of this, Terenika?” he inquired, his voice as smooth and deferential, yet supremely confident, as a servant who has just slipped poison into his master’s wine.
“Sir, the city is under attack. We don’t know why, but we need to get all the artifacts and fighting men we can-”
“Rana!” The High Thief stood up, gesturing angrily at his second-in-command. “Why was I not told of this? Your men observe Wandstadt day and night. I’m holding you responsible-”
Rana nodded to one of the archers, who shot the old man mid-sentence.
The old man gasped, struggling to find the breath for a few more words, but knowing that he would never find them again. He then slowly keeled over, dead.
Caelan watched this in shocked silence. So did all the others who had witnessed the murder in passing, and, for a drawn out moment that seemed to last both a millisecond and an eternity (though it wasn’t either) everyone just stared at the scene, eyes drifting between Rana and their now dead leader. The, all hell broke loose.
Rana signaled to the other archers who took up their previously arranged positions as Rana began to order people around; forcing the people who he thought would later rise up against him into being bound and gagged, and training archers on those he thought would be reasonably submissive. The dead silence that had followed the High Theif’s demise was shattered, and yells and screams tore across the hall.
Caelan looked around for Terenika, and quickly found her. She was lying on the ground in a dead faint. Now Caelan was in a strange place with nobody to exlpain things to hime, and he could see an archer slowly turn towards him and identify him as some sort of straggler. The archer nocked an arrow, took aim, and deliberately drew back his arm.
In the midst of the excitement, the Dragonheads were all but forgotten by the band, and the only person that could warn them was not only a stranger, but also about to be shot.
“Stop!” Caelan cried. “Please! Stop!”
But in the din and confusion of the crowded, chaotic hallway, no one heard, or cared.
He tried again. “Dragonheads!” he screamed. “Dragonheads!” He ducked to the ground, just as archer loosed the arrow, which stuck in the wall, quivering.
————-
I have returned. And read everything from where I left off. wow. It’s very good. And confusing. I like the way it’s gone.
One of the archers stopped, confused. “Rana! You told us we’d be paid if we just killed the High Thief and any witnesses. You didn’t say you hired Dragonheads too!”
“Don’t worry,” Rana replied, “I ordered them not to harm anyone under my command.”
“You’re missing the point! Dragonheads don’t obey commands, they just go berserk!”
“I told you, I’ll stop at nothing to get the Last Grimoire.”
The Last Grimoire…the Last Grimoire… Caelan had heard those words before, somewhere. But where? Ducking to avoid a flying arrow, he ran to Terenika’s side.
Just so you know, a grimoire is a book of magic. The Last Grimoire is- well- the last grimoire.
In the brief interlude following the shout of “Dragonheads”, when everyone was eying everyone else uneasily, unsure of what to do, Sigmund made his entrance. He crashed through the wooden doors, sword in hand. It was still blazing color from the blade.
All eyes turned to him. He stood there, staring at the room, long hair hanging down his face, muscles rippling, and breathing heavily. His gave went from sweeping the room to fix itself on Rana. Their eyes clashed for a few moments, until Rana looked away. Something in the big norsemans eyes scared him. He motioned to his archers, who all turned their bows to Sigmund and drew them tight.
Sigmund grinned. “Tell your men to stand down. Right now”.
Rana frowned. “Who are you, Skarjandrian?” he asked.
Sigmund raised himself from his battle stance. “My name is Sigmund Sinfjötsson, son of Sinfjötli Saemundsson. I am here to save your skins and to take the Last Grimoire. Don’t try to oppose me, it will be easier for you”.
At the mention of the Last Grimoire, Rana’s eyes bulged. “Archers!” he screamed, “kill him!”.
It took an instant. Sigmund’s forehead flashed brightly. He sprang aside, leaving the first swarm of arrows to bury themselves in the hallway behind him. He landed and in two steps was standing behind an archer. He grabbed him, and used him as a shield against the second wave of arrows. He threw the lifeless body aside, and started running towards Rana, dodging arrows. One struck him in the flank, but he just grimaced and kept running. His sword seemed to come alive, and deflected many arrows that would have otherwise killed him. Rana’s face reflected fear as Sigmund ran towards him, his forehead shining bright red. Rana turned and tried to run, he was standing against a wall. Before Sigmund and the wild arrows reached him, Rana cried “stop!”. Sigmund ran into him, holding onto his arms and spinning him around, his sword held to his throat.
“Tell them!” he snarled. Rana gulped, then nodded to the archers.
“Caelan!” said Sigmund, “take their bows and break them in half.” Caelan jumped at the sudden sound of his name, then rushed to gather the bows.
When he had done, Sigmund relaxed his grip on Rana, who immediately sprang away. Sigmund eyed them all.
“The Dragonheads are dead. I killed them. Rana does not know which mercenaries to hire. They fell easily.” Caelan noticed that Sigmund’s speech had changed. He was talking like a monarch, like a… poet. Didn’t Sigmund say his father was a poet?
Sigmund continued. “The Dragonheads are not to be trusted. You, Rana, attempted to buy their loyalty. But they spurned you, and sent you a sad group of foreigners.” Rana was sweating. Were was this leading? “You cannot buy the Dragonheads.” Sigmund went on, “For the times are changing. The sad, decadent mercenaries of former times are gone, replaced by the vengeance of Fafnir. Björn Bjarki knew this. That is why I am here. The allfather Wodan appeared before us and warned us not to let Fafnir get the Last Grimoire. That is why I must take it. To destroy it”.
I’m not sure where this is going. Does Fafnir want the Last Grimoire? He’s a Skarjandrian god, right? And Rana also wants it, which is why he betrayed the High Thief. I’ll let you take it from here, FS, since you seem to know what’s going on.
I pretty much figured that there would be two opposing evil factions, Fafnir and someone in the south above Rana. Sigmund is trying to stop Fafnir from getting the Grimoire, and Terenika will end up stopping whoever it is behind Rana. Caelan finds himself between two powerful figures who are constantly growing more complex, and will have to master himself to be able to help both Sigmund and Terenika. I also assume that a past relationship between the two will re-emerge.
Also, some info on Sigmund: He isn’t royalty, but he’s a runemaster. The signs on his sword and forehead that flash light are runes of power and irresistibility, which is why he’s so good in combat. But the runes have a drawback, as well, just have to figure that out… Maybe he can use them sparingly, or he has to sacrifice parts of himself by ritual (blot). I’m obviously infusing lots of nordic mythology and magic into Sigmund’s character and powers. Wodan is Odin, in case you hadn’t noticed, and there will be further interaction with the gods. Maybe Thor can save ’em all in dire need or something, I dunno.
Just don’t, you know, kill Sigmund off or something.
Hey, maybe he’s also part of a cult? Something old, maybe affiliated with the Dragonheads?
So, magic died out in the Three Kingdoms, but remained alive in Skarjandr in the form of runemasters. Gotcha.
Also, though, there was a reference earlier to the islands of Pori, which seem pretty tropical, sort of a cross between the Amazon jungle and Indonesia. I’d like to get those developed a bit more. Pori, Skarjandr and the remains of the Three Kingdoms seem to be the main areas so far.
Instinct is telling me to make a map, but I’ll wait until we get some more detail on this world.
Also, some parallels to Norse mythology are fine (great, in fact), but could we keep the characters human? I don’t know, it just seems like bringing actual gods into the story would clash with how it’s gone so far. Maybe when Sigmund says “Fafnir wants it” he could be talking figuratively, about the religious leader of the Dragonheads or something. And the southern power above Rana- maybe that could have something to do with the islands of Pori.
What about parallel dimensions?
And could someone quickly fill me in with the important details of the earlier stuff that I missed?
Parallel dimensions? Maybe a reference to them, but I really think this should be grounded in one world. Earlier stuff? Caelan worked for the watch, he was chasing down the Organization that Terenika happened to be part of, he got fired, joined the Organization, and that’s when you and Sigmund showed up.
Me and sigmund showed up… and it all got a lot more awesome
ok, I’ll write stuff tomorrow.
“You won’t have much luck,” snarled Rana, like a cornered wolf. “I don’t have it either.”
Sigmund lifted him up bodily, pressing his blade against the traitor’s neck. “Who does? You have thirty seconds to answer.”
“No pain that you could inflict on me equals the torture that the Mamba will subject me to if I betray him. Do your worst.”
((The Mamba=Rana’s boss.))
A pattern on Sigmund’s sweat-slicked forehead began to glow. “TELL ME,” he thundered, no longer sounding like himself, but more like a maddened northern god. A muscle in Rana’s face twitched.
Terenika raised herself up on one elbow, muttering groggily. “A runemaster…” she whispered. “Sigmund’s a runemaster.”
Sigmund suddenly dropped Rana and turned on one of his cowering guards. “Who has it?”
“Janu! Janu has it! Rana sent one of the southern Dragonheads after him, but he failed!”
Terenika gasped, remembering the brown paper bag that Janu had run off with. Could such a small, dirty package really contain the Last Grimoire?
“Where is Janu now?” Sigmund asked, his voice as smooth and deadly as a cobra sliding over ice.
“D-don’t know! He’s in hiding somewhere in Wandstadt! He got it on the way back from a trip to Pori!”
Sigmund looked stunned at that last remark. He dropped the man, almost absentmindedly knocking him unconscious.
“Terenika,” he said awkwardly, “there’s something I need to tell you.
“The Dragonheads have been looking for the Last Grimoire for many years. Five years ago, Bjorn Bjarki sent me down south to the islands of Pori, for there were rumors circulating that it had been found there, by a mysterious man known only as Mamba. The Dragonheads were drawn to it like moths to a flame, so I knew they would be there. I didn’t, however, count on the fact that the Organization would have agents there also.
“In Port-auf-Pori, I found the man who was taking the Grimoire to Mamba. I pursued him deep into the jungle, to an ancient temple made by the ancestors of the Porian natives. I had finally trapped him on its peak, when two people ran up the other side of the great pyramid. One I now know was Janu. The other was your mother.”
“What?” Terenika gasped. “Mom never told me she worked for the Organization!”
“She did. In fact, she was one of its founders. I was halfway up the pyramid when they knocked out the courier and took the Grimoire. Then your mother said, ‘Janu, I know you’re a traitor. You just want the Grimoire for your own uses. I’m taking it back to the Organization. Don’t try to stop me.’
“Then Janu reached out, grabbed the Last Grimoire, and shoved her off the top of the pyramid.”
Terenika stared at Sigmund in shock.
“No… That is not how she died! My mother was a honorable and brave woman!”
“Aye.” Sigmund nodded. “And that is why her life ended in that way. She perished trying to do good!”
“And it was Janu.” Terenika murmured. “Janu who killed her.”
Shall we just keep writing, or stop and figure out what the characters’ world is like? FrigidSymphony and purplefinch are the ones I need opinions from, as they are the only ones besides me who have posted since March 5.
It would be interesting to discover more about their world, I think. But if you or FrigidSymphony want us to write instead, that is fine with me too. Whatever you two decide.
181- I was kind of thinking about working out the world, too. FS might not agree, but he probably will if we let him design Skarjandr.
Why should I not agree? I think the story should have some structure. As long as Sigmund keeps being awesome… Hmmm, I think I’d like to bring another Skarjandrian into it, then have him die, and have Sigmund give him a big, epic, viking burial.
OK. Let’s get started.
The way I imagine this, the Three Kingdoms are on this small continent, Skarjandr is a peninsula at the northernmost point, and Pori is a collection of large islands just off the south coast, somewhat like Indonesia. Pori is mostly inhabited by primitive (relatively) tribes, but there are ruins from a great, ancient culture (like the Mayas or Aztecs. The temple Terenika’s mother died on was one of those ruins.) Magic survives in Pori in the form of tribal shamans.
Also, we need to think of a name for the continent. We can’t just keep calling it “the remnants of the Three Kingdoms” for the rest of the story.
Hmm… So magic used to be abundant then died out, and remains only in form of Shamanistic rituals in Pori and runelore in Skarjandr, and in rare magical artifacts that the organization deals with.
185- Basically. The magicians of the old Three Kingdoms were more powerful than either the runemasters or shamans, but they all died out. That’s why everyone wants the Last Grimoire. There’s no power in the world that equals it now.
Allrighty. So what happens now?
We should probably name the continent. Something mysterious and unusual, but something that I can pronounce…
Since all the cities have German names and all the people have Celtic names, maybe something that’s a mix of the two?
Sigmund isn’t a celtic name…
180 – Sorry. I’ve been in Mexico for the past week.
170 – Well, maybe not sacrifice by ritual, but maybe using the runes, as with most magic, takes away energy, and maybe something likeloosing socialization, seeing as he obviously didn’t have too many close freinds. Maybe he had to btray someone before or something similar.
184 – Hmm…. Names –
Jhadamor
Zebalane
Brigantu
Mohieddin
Xanthon
Imrahan
Trydastrom
Any okay ones here?
190 – Nope, but I think it works out.
I like Mohieddin.
190- I meant on the continent. Sigmund doesn’t count, because he’s a Skarjandrian.
191- I like Mohieddin too.
Mohieddin is good. I like it.
OK. Since there were three kingdoms, they need names. The first one, on the southern border of Skarjandr, is Uberhieddin. It was renowned for its warriors (you need to be good if you’re regularly attacked by guys like Sigmund.) The last one, in the south (its farthest outpost is Port-auf-Pori), is Unterhieddin. It was famous for the great craftsmen that lived there. The one between them was the most peaceful, and the cradle of magic. Wandstadt is in it. It’s called Mittelhieddin.
Sound good?
Excellent. This story has evolved so much! *grins*
The fauna and flora seems similar to Earth, but there are some different ones.
Dragons- Little is known about them. Sigmund’s boots are made from dragonhide, so we can assume that they exist in Skarjandr.
Dragonhounds- Massive hounds bred to hunt dragons.
Red mambas- Very poisonous snakes, native to Pori. Their venom is a potent neurotoxin that erases memory when diluted, and is fatal in its pure state.
Hiana-fruit- Bright red. Nothing else is known.
So now what?
((198- We could continue the story.))
Caelan felt a little awkward. He felt as though he had been shunted to the side in the recent events, so he plucked up his courage to ask a question.
“Does anyone know where Janu is?”
“He lives down at the Flame Townhouse, in a flat at the top,” Terenika said. “Best part of town. He got hundreds of kentos while he was pretending to work for us.”
Sigmund picked up his sword. “Lead on, then. I’ll leave Janu to you.”
“We aren’t all runemasters,” Terenika said. “Let’s pick up some of the artifacts from the collection.”
She walked over to the High Thief’s body and drew a ring of keys from his inside pocket. The dragonhound was snuffling at his corpse and whining. Terenika stroked its head. “It’s okay, Brutus,” she whispered, knowing full well that it wasn’t.
Would it ever be okay? Wondered Caelan drearily as he turned away from the body of the High Thief. He has seen violence before (he was a watchman, of course) but nothing as cold-blooded and unkind as this. He absentmindedly stroked the rough hair on Brutus’ head. Terenika glanced down at the dragonhound.
“Shall we take him with us?” She asked Caelan. “He would probablly be helpful…”
Sigmund glared at the dragonhound. “Dragons are noble creatures… A creature designed to hunt them is horrible… But then, he was bred for the mainland, and has never killed anything above a swamp dragon, and probably couldn’t, either.”
((So there are swamp dragons and also some larger ones.
Hee hee… I love extracting virtually useless information from tiny little passing mentions in books :laugh: ))
“I think he could help,” Terenika said. “Dragonhounds were bred to sniff out the tiny traces of magic that dragons secrete. Brutus could pick up something as powerful as the Last Grimoire with a bad cold and one nostril plugged.”
“You have a point. Let’s pick up some of the artifacts and go. The Dragonheads probably have more agents in Wandstadt than those half-trained southlanders they gave to Rana. And I have no doubt that the Mamba will also be looking for the Grimoire. We need to move fast.”
“What exactly is the Last Grimoire?” said Caelan, feeling very, very stupid. “I mean, it’s obviously powerful…”
“A book of magic,” Terenika replied. She shoved the largest key on the ring into a small hole in the wall, turning it as she spoke. “The only one remaining in existence. The rest of them were burned or ripped apart when the Three Kingdoms fell and magic was considered an abomination.”
There was a click, and an entire wall of the warehouse slid smoothly into the floor. Beyond, in neatly categorized racks, were hundreds of magical artifacts, all stolen from private collectors and waiting to be sold to museums, or vice versa. The sorcerous resonance lit the interior of the room with a faint, spectral glow.
Caelan tiptoed into the room, glancing about in wonder. Sigmund and Terenika, however, were less awed. They had seen stores of pilfered magical artifacts before, and were like to see the same again. Still, they felt compelled to whisper…
Sigmund’s eyes fell to a stone tablet propped against a wall. He walked over to it and knelt, examining it carefully.
“These are incantations… from Skarjandr!” he whispered excitedly. “They’re carvings of runes combined to give different effects… I know most of them, but further study may reveal more… and the ancient Runemasters of my land did not carve everything in plain sight.”
Then he lifted the tablet from its shelf and held up, tracing the carvings with his fingers. The runes began to glow, and Brutus (cliché name for a big dog, but what the hell) began to growl. The light emanating from the runes grew in intensity, answering with an almost orgasmic pleasure to the touch of a runemaster once again. The runes had been carved by ancient Skarjandrians, as a direct channeling of the gods’ power, and had been lying unused for centuries. Now, reawakened, they were ecstatic.
Sigmund was muttering something under his breath while Terenika and Caelan stood motionless, watching, the latter holding Brutus, who’s growl had turned into a full-throated roar.
Then the tablet began to rise. It floated into the air, Sigmund still holding it in the same position, and still muttering furiously. The light coming from the tablet was almost at a blinding intensity, but Sigmund didn’t turn his head, and kept his eyes open. Then there was a flash, a clap of thunder and Sigmund fell to the ground, still clutching the stone tablet, runes now dull and simple carvings. On his back, however, strapped onto him by a leather belt, was a giant hammer.
Oooohhh… I think I see where this is going. Thor’s Hammer, I take it?
205 – Looks like it. I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything to write.
Terenika and Caelan stared in shock…
205: Pretty much. I’m thinking Sigmund connected with the gods through an ancient Runic incantation.
Terenika, having seen plenty of magical artifacts in her time (though, admittedly, none as powerful as this runic tablet), was the first to recover. She walked briskly down one of the aisles and selected a curved, single-edged knife. A small owl carved from polished red stone was attached to the pommel.
“That looks like a Porian totem stone,” Sigmund said. “I haven’t seen one of those in years. Save that knife for last. While you have it on your person, no knife you throw will miss. Caelan, I think there’s something over here that would suit you…”
He picked up a long, thin-bladed sword with an elegantly curved hilt. Nine angular characters were engraved on the blade.
“Skarjandrian steel,” he said appraisingly. “Whoever made this must have been a great craftsman, and if not a runemaster, at least someone skilled in runelore. Here.”
He slid it into its scabbard and handed it to the awestruck young Watchman.
Terenika’s voice sounded from farther into the warehouse. “Look at this!”
She emerged from behind the racks with a large canister. It was filled with irregular orange pebbles.
“Firestones,” she said. “Last used in the Uberhieddin War.”
“I’ve encountered those before,” Sigmund said. “It was only these boots that kept me from losing a foot. Is everyone well equipped?”
Caelan nodded. Terenika went over to the back wall and opened a small door that none of the others had noticed.
“The Organization has used the Catacombs as a way to get about ever since they found the entrance. There are exits all over town, including one near the Flame Townhouse.”
“The catacombs?” Caelan inquired, with a hint of a quiver in his voice. “Where all the bodies were buried during the time of the White Scourge?”
“Of course,” Terenika said. “But that was more than fifty years ago- one of the factors that led to the downfall of the Three Kingdoms. Any traces of the Scourge will no longer be contagious. Let’s go.”
Caelan apprehensively followed her. Sigmund brought up the rear, ducking under the low lintel. He noticed that a white whip had been crudely painted over the door, just below a skull carved out of the stone wall.
The party walked along the dark catacombs, way guided by the light from the firestones. They walked in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts. Sigmund was still recovering from the intense experience with the tablet. The magic of the runes had connected him with the consciousness of the gods, it had created a direct link to their beings. And they had spoken. Each of them, in turn, had spoken to him… And he had answered back. They had told him what to do, that the Dragonheads would bring destruction upon the world if they were allowed to free Fafnir’s spirit… For the dragon god was no longer himself. This the Allfather had explained to Sigmund. Fafnir had been corrupted and corroded from the inside. For there has always been a battle of gods, the old gods fighting against their underlings, who gain worship among primitive cultures (such as the shamanists of Pori) by appearing physically before them using their powers to bend reality. This has led to a degeneration of worship of the true old gods, who are fighting desperately to regain control over a world that is slipping from their grasp.
But while most of these renegade minor gods are easily subdued, one has gained power… Little is known about him, but his cult is becoming evermore popular throughout the Kingdoms. His was the influence that destroyed the magic in the central world, whilst the shamans of Pori gain their magic from another, smaller renegade god, and the runemasters of Skarjandr are the only ones to remain linked with the Old Gods, therefore runic magic is the most effective in the Kingdoms now. But even the runes are deteriorating as the Old Gods’ influence over the world vanishes slowly, drifting away because of this new cosmological evil…
All this the Allfather explained to Sigmund in an instant’s time of intuition and mental communication, that seemed to last for hours to Sigmund. Then he learned why it was imperative for him to keep the Last Grimoire from Fafnir. The Dragon God had gone mad once, and the Allfather had to imprison him. But he escaped, not himself anymore. The Allfather suspects that Fafnir has been corrupted by this unknown evil, and that he is using him to influence one of the strongest warrior cults in the world, the Dragonheads, to do his bidding. The Allfather also suggested that there may be other gods gone mad elsewhere.
Then the gods gave him gifts, to aid him on his quest.
The Thunder God gave him a hammer, to destroy that which stands in his path.
The Trickster God gave him a horn, with which he can make himself heard over long distances.
The Sky God gave him an arrow which has the power to overcome his greatest foe, and only his greatest foe.
And the Allfather, God of Wisdom and of War, gave him the gift of insight, intuition and foresight.
The latter of which, Sigmund reflected sardonically, was warning him of danger like crazy.
Hee hee… I like how that was all poetic at first, but ended up with a bit of comic relief.
I take it the “smaller, renegade god” is the Mamba.
211: If that’s the god who gives the shamans in pori their power, yeah.
212- I think so. But the Mamba that Rana was referring to was a shaman who had taken on his power, I think.
Or the physical appearance of the god himself. Hmm… Whatever, it’s still cool. Now what happens in the catacombs?
“Darth Yoda is looking for four or five dedicated writers to help start a new story. Any takers?”
What does this mean?
It means Darth Yoda was looking for various people to do a multi-authored story, although Darth Yoda hasn’t been around at all lately, and it seems like it’s only me and Prarilius Canix. I’d appreciate it if you could add something too. Just don’t kill off Sigmund.
So where is the multi-authored story? Is this it…?
217- It’s one of them. Kiara, purplefinch, FrigidSymphony and I have been working on it for a while.
So I’m guessing an intruder would not be welcome… maybe I’ll wait for a new story to start, if one ever does… ^^;
Sure you’re welcome, but if you want to start a new story, I’m sure the Gapas will oblige with version 2007.3. I might intrude on that one, though.
I’d intrude but I’m just lazy enough to not want to read any further than I’ve already tried… thanks for saying it’s okay though…..
…I made a RP a long time ago that might make a nice round-robin… maybe… doubtful… but it’d be fun. ^^;
221- Hey, why not? I’ll let you have dibs on the first paragraph, if some ruthless PoPoEr doesn’t get it first.
Gapas, may we please have an RRR V. 2007.3?
Pretty please Oh Wonderful and Almighty GAPAs?
222
^^ You are an awesometastic person. What’a PoPoEr?
What do you think a new good RRR would be about?
223- I have been the lucky (and in some cases undeserving) recipient of some Muserly praise, but never any as high as Awesometastic. Thanks. :oops::grin::oops:
PoPoEr- pointless poster. A person who pointlessly posts. A pointless post and a random post are not the same thing.
Random- “So what do you think of these new socks made from llama wool?”
Pointless- “OMGSQUEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(! x ∞)
Random is acceptable. Pointless is not.
A good new RRR? I would personally like fantasy or science fiction. Preferably with a well developed, complex setting, so I can make a map of it.
Since the GAPAs show no sign of making the new thread, we’ll have to figure out the basics here. (Sorry, purplefinch, FS, and Kiara, but there’s nowhere else to do it. I’ll try to contribute to the existing story as soon as I have an idea.)
First question: Fantasy, science fiction, or other genre?
Hey, you have a new thread, but don’t leave me here alone!!! I can only handle Sigmund!!
I’m still here. It’ll be a challenge to juggle three RRRs, but I’m up to it!
Right now, though, I’m out of ideas. But I’ll be back, I promise.
Sigmund spun around. “Terenika! Caelan! I don’t want to alarm you, but something very bad is about to happen.” He stared into the darkness behind them, every sense stretched to its limit.
“But none of our enemies know about the catacombs,” Terenika said. “That is, none except Rana…”
“And he’s in league with the Mamba, who has shamans on his side. Shamans work with spirits. Every living thing has a spirit, including…”
“The White Scourge?” Caelan gasped.
Sigmund didn’t need to reply. The skeletons bursting out of the walls were an eloquent enough answer.
The room became filled with a thick smell of illness and death, and one by one candles began to flicker and die out. Caelan started to cough and gasp for breath, as did Terenika.
“We must get out!” Roared Sigmund, seconds after the thick, stiff door began to swing shut.
Hang on, wasn’t Sigmund in the rear? Whatever…
Sigmund quickly evaluated the situation. Trapped in a tunnel with skeletons swarming and toxic gasses all over. Brilliant.
“Terenika! Blow the door open!” he yelled, “Caelan, stand with me!”
Sigmund drew his hammer. “Time to put the power of the gods to test…” he thought grimly.
The hammer vibrated in his hands, eager for battle. The spirit of the gods of war wanted to be unleashed. Sigmund swung with both hands at the closest skeleton, smashing it to bits. He paused for a moment, then grinned. This would be fun.
Terenika pulled out a handful of firestones and hurled them at the door. Her aim was, of course, perfect.
The explosion was oddly quiet, a soft whoosh of air, accompanied by a blinding white pillar of flame that died down into a glowing orange cloud. The door had a deep crater in it. One more should do it, Terenika thought as she fumbled in the canister of firestones.
There were still firestones inside, but the neck of the canister was thin, and they were farther away than she could reach. In desperation, she turned the container over, and emptied the stones into her upturned palm.
“Whoops…” She quietly exclaimed as several rolled away, on the floor, and exploded, causing them all to jump.
“Hurry!” Mouthed Caelan, pointing to the door.
Terenika was having trouble breathing. The gases were dense now, and her mind was fuzzy. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. She fumbled for a firestone to hurl at the door… A skeleton who had managed to get past Caelan and Sigmunds defensive stand ran up to her, branding a rusty sword. MInd hazy, she tried to draw a knife to wield off the attack. Her hands fumbled, and she dropped the knife. Terenika fell to her knees, desperately searching for it, when Caelan noticed her. He dashed over.
For Terenika, time seemed to stop. She lifted her head and saw the rusty blade descending on her head, with Caelan a few steps away, sword raised. The sword came down. Caelan reached them. His sword cut through the bony neck, decapitating the skeleton. But the blade came down, momentum finishing the job that deadly intent had begun. The flat of the blade hit her on the head, and everything went black.
“Terenika’s out cold!” Caelan yelled. In desperation, he hacked at the damaged door. The etched runes on his blade shone brightly, turquoise and lavender like the Aurora Borealis that glowed over the northern reaches of Skarjandr on bitterly cold, clear nights. The door smashed open, and Caelan rushed through. Sigmund followed, scooping up Terenika with one massive arm and smashing the skeletons that tried to bar their way. Brutus howled and dashed out after him.
As soon as they exited into the warehouse, the gases began to dissipate. Sigmund slammed the door behind them, pulverizing one unlucky skeleton’s metacarpals. The bony hand wriggled on the floor until the Skarjandrian warrior crushed it with his boot.
“The catacombs are no longer an option,” Sigmund said. “We have to get to Flame Townhouse the long way.”
He strode out through the warehouse, past the dead idealists and unconscious rebels that were all that remained of the once-proud Organization. “Just as I suspected,” he remarked after inspecting the bodies. “Rana’s gone. Brutus will have to track down the Last Grimoire.”
The dragonhound was sniffing around curiously. Sigmund bent down and whispered something to him in an unfamiliar tongue. Brutus sat bolt upright, howled once, and then streaked off as though galvanized. Sigmund, still carrying the unconscious Terenika, followed. Caelan ran to catch up, but stopped when he heard a cry. “Help me!”
Caelan spun around and saw the barred door he had glanced at on his way in. Aodhan was still behind it, looking desperate.
Oh, what the heck, Caelan thought, and turned back. He ran into the area where the magical artifacts were stored, keeping away from the door to the Catacombs. He fancied he could hear scratching noises behind it. Grabbing the ring of keys that Terenika had dropped, as well as a jar of firestones and an ancient-looking spear, he rushed back to the imprisoned Watchman’s cell.
“Thank the gods you’re here!” Aodhan gasped. “What’s happen-”
“Shut up and let me work,” Caelan said irritably as he tried different keys. Was that a crack he heard from the depths of the warehouse, just like the sound of an ancient bolt breaking on a door that should have stayed locked?
Caelan found the correct key at last and pulled the door outward. “Take these,” he said, thrusting the spear and firestones at Aodhan. “We have to get to the Flame Townhouse.”
The two Watchmen rushed out, the clattering of their boots masking the creak of a door opening in the artifact storeroom and the stealthy clicking of bony feet.
Sigmund rushed through the streets, following the frantic dragonhound. The Last Grimoire was the most powerful artifact in the city, so Brutus would be drawn to it easily.
Terenika, Aodhan and Caelan raced frantically behind the man and the dog, trying to catch up. But the shock had taken its toll on them, and they stumbled frequently. They watched Brutus an Sigmund gradually move farther and farther away, but they kept running in a kind of hopeless attempt to catch up.
Sigmund had set down Terenika as soon as she began to regain consciousness. He wished he could make sure she was all right, but she would only have been a hindrance in the task ahead.
As they rounded a corner, Sigmund pulled Brutus back by the scruff of his neck. He knew that a frantic dragonhound would spoil his element of surprise somewhat. But even Sigmund stopped in his tracks when he saw what was ahead.
The Flame Townhouse was under siege. Apparently the Watch had been lured into it by a small party of Dragonheads, who had then turned the tables on them by attacking as soon as they were out the door. A massive battering ram had been set up outside the beleaguered hostel, with six brawny Skarjandrians swinging it at the gate. More Dragonheads, at least two score, had ringed the building. But it was the man standing by and observing the battle that chilled even Sigmund’s fearless heart.
“It’s worse than I thought,” he murmured. “The avatar of Fafnir is here. At last, the reckoning begins.”
Sigmund has to hide, he can’t confront the avatar of Fafnir, wouldn’t work…
239- I think he could manage it, with all those gifts from the Skarjandrian gods. But you know him better than I do, by all means continue.
240: Sorry, I’m not up to it right now, and if Fafnir is going to be a major villain, then I don’t think he should be able to do it right now. But I can’t write now, so I dunno, you continue…
Am I to assume that everyone has lost interes? I’m idealess right now. Maybe more writers would stimulate me.
Sigmund knew that, even though he was a match for any number of Dragonheads, he didn’t stand a chance against Fafnir himself. He would have to use more subtle means than just charging in like a berserk polar dragon. Admittedly, though, the berserk polar dragon strategy had served him well in the past.
Dropping to one knee, he traced a small circle on the ground, then a larger one around it. Finally, he scratched nine runes in the space between the circles with the point of his sword.
As he carved the last rune, the muted hum that appeared at the back of his mind whenever he was runeworking burst into a full, vibrant song. It was a song of winter snow and jagged ice, wild and fierce, like the noise of the howling blizzards that stalked the top of the world, the call of the hunting snowy owl, the soft hissing of the northern lights that was audible only to those skilled in runelore.
Sigmund sat back heavily. A runeworking of this magnitude had taken a lot out of him, and beads of sweat were trickling down his brow. But it was nothing to what it would do to the Dragonheads…
He just hoped that it would distract Fafnir for a few seconds, long enough for him to get into the townhouse.
He just hoped it would distract
Ooops. Delete the last “He just hoped… ” from my post.
Man, I respond to a desperate entreaty to return to this thread, only to find that everyone else, has deserted it?
*is too lazy to read the RRR and add more*
*says sorry*
Terenika was the fastest of the three, so she was the first to see the effects of Sigmund’s runeworking. It looked as though a nine-hour blizzard had been compressed into nine seconds. Sigmund and the top floor of the Flame Townhouse were the only things within a nine-foot radius that were not buried under nine feet of snow.
There was a snuffling noise, and Sigmund reached into the snow with a great, gloved hand. He pulled a rather bedraggled-looking Brutus out. The dragonhound hung limply for a few seconds, then ran, barking excitedly, towards one of the Townhouse’s top windows. A jet of golden flame shot from under the snow. Fafnir would be free in moments. Sigmund set off after Brutus, not looking back.
Caelan and Terenika began to plunge through the snow, after them, exhausted and in a mild state of shock. Still, they went onwards, knowing that whatever was going to happen in the end would be worse if if the did not try to fix the situation.
It is almost time for a new thread, aye? Then maybe more people will participate (but only if the read the whole story through beforehand…).
Can we have a new thread, please? I’m fresh out of ideas.
yah.
249- I would love to participate, and I would read the whole story, but I felt that since it was already in full swing I shouldn’t interrupt.
252 – No, please do. I’m fresh out of ideas, even though I’ve posted in the past. We need new writers.,
Cool! I’ll start reading right away. At least this makes more sense than the afareet RRR. I should be able to post tomorrow.
254- This one is less confusing, it’s true. *apologizes to Penty, Axa, Phoenix, and all the other afareet writers* Partly because we have only three main characters.
Okay, I finished it. However, it took like 2 hours total. Unfortunately, even a new writer won’t help, because the aforesaid new writer has absolutely no ideas.
Hey, PC, can you come back to Freebooters of Sphaere? No one is posting there right now, and even my nice long summary inspired no one to join.
256- Sure. I’ll post something. Might not be the best story, tho.
257- As long as it gets it moving again (which my post failed to do) it can all be worked out in the edit.
Grrr. I hate writer’s block.
The last story-post was twelve posts before this one. This is dreadful. Dreadfully boring.
I know. It’s very very boring. How shall we spend this time whilst waiting for inspiration or a new thread?
We could:
a ) work on building the world.
b ) go write something else.
c ) talk about how we have writer’s block and how tedious this is.
I’m leaning towards a.
Sure, let’s work on building the world.
Okay, where shall we start?
Dammit I have no idea.
This sucks. It seems likely that we’ll use the next 35 posts just to post bored little comments about how we don’t know what to write. In an insane attempt to get this moving again, I will write an uninspired sentence or two, and see what you guys can do with it.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Suddenly Caelan gave a yell of surprise and pulunged through the crust of the snow.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s truly pathetic, but no more so than sitting here talking about writer’s block. Maybe one of you can even think of something to add on.
Terenika spun around just in time to see Caelan vanish. A throaty chuckle resounded from beneath her feet. Then the snow disappeared. It didn’t just melt, it evaporated.
The Avatar of Fafnir was there, looking bedraggled but fully in control of his powers. Caelan, however, was not present. Sigmund winced in a rather visible way, while Terenika glanced around frantically. He must have been… evaporated… with the snow… Sigmund realized. but we can get him back…
Wow. That was really bad. The “B” is not even capitalized. I vote to delete my last post. Or at least, ignore it. Shun it, banish it, you get the picture.
“but we can get him back…”
So… awfully awful.
All right, let’s ignore it, then.
Fafnir stood, glorious in his anger. The snow conjured up by Sigmund was gone, replaced by swirling colors, blinding in intensity. Sigmund and Terenika raised their arms to shield their eyes against the onslaught of rage emanating from the Avatar. The dragon god was channeling all his power to strike at those who dared attack him. The norseman would die, Fafnir would make sure of that.
The colors kept swirling around the Avatar, changing color, growing to a density that blocked Fafnir from sight. Terenika recognized the same quality of runic magic used by Sigmund in the wharehouse. When she looked at the norseman, though, she saw him chanting too.
Sigmund was sweating. The creature in front of him was insanely powerful, as it was no more than a vessel for a god’s magic. The only way to have any hope of challenging it was to call on the gods himself, and use their power as his own. But he would run the risk of taking in too much divine power for his body and mind to hold…
Ok, I’ve used up all my creativity.
Was it worth it? Sigmund wondered. But he already knew the answer…
(OK, I don’t know the answer, so I’m leaving it up to you guys. But, apparently, Sigmund does…)
Sorry, I’m finding it really hard to come up with a follow-up for that. Maybe I’ll go back to Caelan. He could have been transported somewhere… One thing, is the Flame Townhouse burned to a crisp, or not? I’m gonna say not, but it’s in the process of being burned to a crisp.
Now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Caelan found himself standing in the burning building. Outside- what of it he could see through the burning window- a blinding mist all colors of the rainbow swirled around an indiscernable figure. He could see Sigmund and Terenika standing in front of it.
Oh! Do ours work together?
Probablly they could manage somehow. We posted them within minutes of each other…
Oh dear. If you don’t mind, GAPAs, could we please have a new thread sometime this week? This is a very interesting RRR (and the only one I’ve ever stuck with, really), so it pains me greatly to see it die such a horrible death.
(All right. Too much melodrama, but you get my point…)