Andre
2012-12-10, 01:05 PM
Hai! I'm Andre, the asshat who lives down the street, and this thread is about trying to see a tale about power and ingenuity to his completion.
Why a thread here? Well, many here are probably still reeling from the NaNoWriMo, which I also attempted, and typing just for the sake of seeing that word count going up without knowing where the story was going sadly didn't work out for me (competing against someone could have helped, but hey :smalltongue:) so I will try and proceed with small installments here and with some huge luck I may get some comments or advice from eventual readers. The finished work in the end could actually be considered a novel, but at the moment I'm not overly concerned with that.
Second, the story I have in mind is taking place in a custom world, so I am also sketching cultures here and there as I go. Y'know, the fine line between giving enough details to the readers so that they may know what the hell is going on and (gasp) care about the characters, and not giving too many so that they may pinpoint loopholes just about everywhere. :smallbiggrin:
In fact, it may considered as some sort of writing a narrative/ establishing an homebrew setting hybrid. We'll see.
Third, to break the monotony of typing to sweeten the deal with visual arts and personal comments on what is going on and why. I'm not much of an artsie person, but every now and then I feel the need to create a panel or a stickatar, or screw around with a certain exe. In fact, first thing I'm gonna do is likely to post a (so far unfinished) map I made with AutoREALM and throw in a few general comments on the world, and then follow with the prologue, which is also almost complete.
I'm not a native speaker, so grammar and lexis verification are very welcome as well as more general tips.
See you soon!
Andre
2012-12-11, 08:49 AM
Hello again! First things first, let me introduce you to the story. The outline of the plot we will be loosely following was conceived several years ago, and a small part of it first converted into a Neverwinter Nights module. Despite some 'funny' english and the lack of a DSL connection which didn't allow me to use and upload sizable .hak files, it had some positive response and won a bronze medal at the yearly NWVault Contest. I had planned to release a series of modules but it was never completed. Since I only wanted to tell a story anyway, it is refreshing to start over from scratch without having to worry about sidequests or scripting or balancing encounters, eheh.
Size warning below!
http://i.imgur.com/IgBYm.jpg
A provisional, unfinished mapping of the setting, only outlining major landmarks and the places where the narration will linger most of the time.
Nations, nobles, and soldier will act in this playground where the technological level is roughly around that of our late middle ages, and in particular the story will focus on Athanaus, the noble scion of the ruling house of Viira. Likely the most wondrous place built by men of the known world, it is a city-state who has been long governed by a line of Lords, among the few who are still independent in the east, and the only one of some relevance.
The Kingdom of Aerth, centered around the homonymous city, has slowly subjugated most of the free cities beyond the great river to the east, who have been consistently unable to mount up any form of resistance, divided as they were. On the west coast, the few independent monarchs are generally not threatened by the Aerthians, whose attention is divided between making a push to the far east 'till they reach the mountain range of the Galdaari Tethers to occupy all the fertile lands in between, and controlling their southern frontier to fight off the persistent raids of the nomadic and savage badlanders - and by the way, I wasn't envisioning this to be desertic badlands... more like ones with vegetation, albeit sparse.
The populations on the land beyond the strait to the north and the archipelago to the south-west are generally more concerned with their own set of issues to intervene on the mainland, not that they would actually have any real power to do so.
Welp, that's just a basic outline, because I wasn't really sure what to start with. :smalltongue: As for my next move, I believe I will finish polishing the prologue (turned out to be longer than I envisioned) and post it before going a little more in depth about basic notions such as cultures, religion, actual lack of magic and mythical creatures (sadly, people are superstitious and gullible) and horses. Yes, horses. :smalltongue:
If you'd like any earlier clarification, I'll be around. See ya next time!
Andre
2012-12-23, 12:52 PM
Apologies for the delay. I ended up partitioning the prologue to avoid walls of text, and as according to Mr. Word Count part II is even lenghtier, it makes me wonder if this is a prelude at all.
I could pass it off as chapter one, and write a short prologue afterwards with events that appear to be completely unrelated, but turn out to be related towards the end. (Yeah, like we haven't seen that a thousand times before, ain't it? I guess it works, tho.)
Your thoughts on the matter?
WINDS THAT DISPERSE - Part I
Perhaps it had been a good day to be alive and well, provided you didn’t suffer the heat too much.
Wavelengths of various shades of yellow, red, and orange painted the terse azure sky; a particularly harsh sun had gradually ceased to torment the land below with his rays, slowly arching his way over the nearby mountain peaks, much to the gratitude of the roaming multitude tending to their day-to-day business.
One such individual, a rather plump fellow attempting to cover swiftly the distance between the marketplace and his abode with a bulky package, took a moment to catch his breath, welcoming some long awaited relief. His tunic was literally soaked. A discordant chorus of insults hit the man like a sudden storm as his abrupt stop caused a momentary congestion in the winding street; the persistent dry and muggy climate of the hot season did not prevent the stubborn citizens from conducting their affairs, and the city was as lively as ever.
The slinging of epithets subsided as quickly as it started, but the man, embarrassed, remained uneasy. He moved sideways, attempting to estrange himself from his surroundings.
It occurred to him in this moment that the background noise he was used to seemed slightly off. The familiar bustle typical of any crowd appeared to come mixed with the perceivable echo of a gruff rallying cry, some unmentionable curse, or the sound of heavy boots stomping the cobblestone with a rhythmic sequence…
Throughout the city, groups of sweaty men clad in disparate assortments of armor and with their weapons unsheathed were swiftly clearing away the paths in front of them by sweeping away civilians, ruffians and stalls with equal ease; somewhere, a single man encased in padded jack and complete with a well-worn surcoat sporting the blazon of a thistle pearl, alarmed at the approach of one such group, drew a short sword and motioned as if to halt their passage, but was promptly shoved aside and violently collided against the thick wall of red bricks on his left. Not long after the passage of the clamoring men a faint rivulet of blood was seeping through the cobbles.
In stark contrast, the isolated palace district located beyond the south-eastern part of Viira had not been plagued by the commotion perturbing much of the city proper; immaculate guards were patrolling lazily the inner courtyard and the outlying ramparts carved in solid stone centuries and centuries ago, naught an inch of wariness in them as another uneventful day was unfolding.
The construction of the Old Bastion predated even the growth of Viira, having been built as a fortress at the outer foot of the Galdaari Tethers. It certainly retained the crude and stern outlook of one, both on the inside as well as outside, and several noble manors far surpassed it in comfort and luxury; the ancient palace, however, was an imposing structure which commanded respect.
Athanaus, First Lord of Viira, unwillingly added another few lines to an half empty sheet, his desire to throw out of the narrow window… more like an arrow slit, actually… the scant few papers he was filling up growing ever stronger. The room was decorated soberly, and just spacious enough to house a double bed, a solid oaken table and a likewise hardy armchair, as well as a small weapon rack. It wasn’t well ventilated, either, but his garment bore no visible stain nor it looked moist.
Athanaus turned around, his stare directed towards the bed. A magnificent cloak was draped over the bed sheets, an emblazoned ornate white pearl over finely woven thistle fabric.
He couldn’t quite place the finger on what exactly was stimulating unrest in him, but he had narrowed it down to something regarding his father; his gaze had been drawn to the mantle time and again, for the scenery he had recreated was indeed one of the few memories he retained of the good Lord Iulius. The features of his father were blurry and outright non-descript, but the sense of awe he felt admiring the majestic garment and the idle, pensive man taking a seat by it still lingered fairly powerful in the back of his mind, lurking.
Awe accompanied by an inevitable sense of loss. Not that this was actually related to Viira itself; he couldn’t claim the city was no longer how he remembered it, for the simple reason that he hadn’t had the occasion to actually experience it. The eviction from his home, the treachery that interrupted the idyll of his infancy, being denied his rightful birthright were more like it.
With a certain degree of naivety that was rather unbecoming of this calculative specimen, he had flirted with the thought of turning back the wheel of time, to restore the peace of mind he was sure he had experienced back then.
A foolish thought, of course, but no mind has ever been rational or hermetic enough not to indulge in pleasantries. Those who had been happy times for Athanaus, had not been so for the city-state; with discretion, he had gathered enough intelligence to be aware of that much, no matter how biased such reports were at times. A bit of an appeaser and almost unanimously regarded as a kind, honorable and charitable man, Lord Iulius was also far quicker to concede rather than to quarrel. Athanaus felt guilty at harboring ill thoughts against his own father, but he had grown to regard it as a rather weak man, for too many times he appeared to have superseded in matters regarding his enemies.
His brother probably had the same thought, considered the young Lord, a fierce and harsh expression distorting his facial features at the mere mention of his uncle Leander.
He repressed the urge of spitting, highly disgusted. Less of a lunar cycle since his death, and already his treacherous uncle appeared to be less of the inhuman monster he had always portrayed to himself; his wanton cruelty and ambition, and how he got rid of it, had been comforting facts he’d rather not challenge or despoil.
To put it simply, he simply had to come to terms with the fact that each sibling had had to deal with similar issues, albeit with diametrically different approaches. The same ones that he now had to shoulder instead; and if anything, by his deeds one such danger had become more pressing than it had ever been.
Under threat of arms, the populace, the noble houses, and the military had recognized him as their rightful ruler. For whatever it was worth, the Cult had also anointed him with their sticky, stinky, sacred essences. Athanaus held reserves on the utility of each of these bonds.
« Reporting in. » a tall and stocky man-at-arms protected by a rusty scale vest and armed with a long spear approached a similarly equipped comrade scrutinizing the surroundings with inquisitive, penetrating eyes, being garrisoned by a circular tent of sizable diameter.
Beads of sweat were slowly crossing the newcomer’s face, his pale skin blotched by the exertion and the burning sun, only to disappear in some remote recess of his thick black beard.
« What are you standing there for? Join us already. » interjected a voice coming from inside the tent before the guard posted outside could even get an hold of an edge of it; without a word, he moved aside, leaving the passage to the other mercenary who hastened in.
The relatively fresh penumbra of the tent felt like a pleasant change of pace compared to the suffocating heat outside; small piles of cheap goods were scattered around with indifference, and three men centered their attention on him.
The mercenary blinked at the sight, but neither his curiosity nor his thirst were quenched as Captain Debonn immediately questioned him.
« Report, soldier. » His own equipment practical, lacking frills to the point of being frugal, very much akin to his subordinate’s; the assertive tone he used, on the other hand, proved him a person accustomed to lead men, one who expected his orders to be executed without any doubt nor delay. The chiseled facial traits, lacking either mar or scar, the haughty posture and the long hair flowing down to shoulder length marked him an aristocrat.
The messenger nodded and saluted, subsequently elaborating further. « We set up the barricades swiftly, captain, and so far a mere few stragglers attempted to cross it to warn the palace. The barracks are being seized as we speak, our companies are disarming every city watch patrol they encounter. » he paused, breathless. « We do not know how many operatives are missing from the count, but… »
He halted mid-sentence, interrupted by an abrupt hand gesture by his commander, and obediently complied as the captain turned towards his two companions.
« Were the children released yet? » asked one. His presence had been disconcerting to the messenger, who finally had a chance to study him further.
The two officers were, obviously, familiar to him; sturdy, experienced soldiers who knew their trade as well as he did. Crouched as he was in the fabric-induced dimness of the tent and garbed in black from head to toe, this unknown man looked very out of place in this military context.
Very little was peculiar about this person except for an equally black patch covering his right eye, and a slight Viirani accent.
« I bear no news regarding that, sir. » The messenger hesitated, wondering what the slit was he talking about, but resolved to tentatively answer anyway.
Sensing his confusion, the Viirani smirked as he reformulated the question.
« We are handling that part as well. » captain Debonn came to the rescue, cutting his interrogation short. Within the compressed ambient his voice was as thundering as a storm whenever he felt like pressing his authority, and for a moment his target trailed off, resentment replacing his previous smugness. The Viirani recovered quickly, however, and insisted.
« Securing at least one of the children is of paramount importance, even more so than our other… efforts. »
Completely at a loss, the messenger feigned approval, but not very convincingly so. The two officers traded a meaningful look, then tactfully steered the conversation away from the topic.
« Have a drink, soldier. » quipped the captain in a more gentle tone, indicating the jug and a set of glasses arranged on a short table. « Then I want you to bring news to the barricades that we will send a company soon. Prepare, and hold your positions at all costs. Dismissed. »
Encouraged by the heavy silence following, the mercenary hastily gulped a glass of what turned out to be nothing but water, saluted formally, and darted off.
« He doesn’t know anything, does he. » remarked the Viirani as soon as the messenger departed.
« I’m aware, Latre. » replied the captain brusquely. « I have entrusted the Pike Guards with the liberation of Leander’s children. Their loyalty is not in question. » he concluded, a vague insinuation permeating the last sentence.
« Just see that they are safe. » Again, a fleeting flicker of hatred danced in Latre’s eyes.
« I will. Meanwhile, I have a task for you as well. »
« I don’t take orders from you. » readily reminded him the Viirani. « What did you have in mind? »
« You must deal with the young Lord… personally. Before we make our move. » the second officer spoke for the first time, with a surprisingly juvenile voice.
« That was not part of the plan. » Latre frowned. « And I mustn’t do anything. »
« We will follow as planned, indeed, with his premature demise being an additional safety measure. » added Debonn. « We could have an hard time with the palace guards otherwise. »
«Grasping at straws, are you not? » retorted an unimpressed Latre, his frown becoming more and more prominent. « I offered you the means to enter the palace without bloodshed. On the other hand, if I fail to deal with Lord Athanaus, we will lose our chance to settle this without lethal force, and I’ll be dead. » He was not particularly concerned about failing, but definitely had qualms about murdering his liege in cold blood. The off chance of failure, remote as it could have been, was not pleasant to consider either.
« By Jonan’s crown! » Debonn erupted, now as irritated as his counterpart. He scratched his chin nervously. « That shouldn’t be too hard for a man of your position at court! »
A prolonged visual confrontation occurred between the two quarrelers.
« It must be done, you know it. Detaining him may not be reason enough for his retinue to stand down. » insisted the captain. Further tense silence occurred, as he sought an argument capable of breaching Latre’s resolve. « You are the only one who can perform this neatly. Without trace. »
« …very well. » the Viirani reluctantly conceded, finally averting his gaze. « Let his blood fall on our hands, then. Do I have your permission? » he added, mockingly, in a last ditched effort to conceal his displeasure and bitterness at the unexpected turn of events.
« Certainly. » Debonn pretended not to pick it up, satisfied of having imposed his will upon him.
« A company will escort you to the barricade. »
Latre wordlessly left the tent; the two officers followed his controlled moves as he walked away.
« Blasted snake. » humorously commented Debonn for the benefit of his comrade, who solemnly nodded his agreement.
Both loathed to employ busybodies such as Latre to further the schemes of their King.
There was no glory to be gained, nor prowess to be displayed by playing a part in this coup; however, they were to bow their liege’s commands just as they undisputedly exacted discipline and blind obedience from their underlings.
Besides, if Latre were to succeed in assassinating the young Lord, it would have been all the more easy to appropriately reward him for his services…
Feeling a little nauseous and dizzy, sergeant Vardall attempted to focus despite the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. He cleared his throat, fastened his grip on the blade for the about the twelfth time and repeated to himself that this he what he had trained over and over.
Captain Debonn had put him under pressure despite his relative lack of field experience.
The mercenaries had been tasked with duties such as sweeping through and disarming patrols of town guards too spread out to mount any opposition and seizing the city barracks from their unready garrisons, which he figured to be not overly challenging.
He and his men were Pike Guards, however, the best of the best, cream of the Aerthian forces. No one else could have handled properly the crucial mission of storming the Blindgate dungeons with the absolute imperative of springing free the three children of the late Lord Leander and hold them in custody till further orders; he should have expected gaolers and prison guards to be more alert and vigilant, especially when housing prisoners of such caliber. Their captives were held in structures in structures that could pass as small fortresses, as needed, and the sergeant bitterly considered that his overconfidence had just caused the loss of two good soldiers.
Everything looked smooth at first. He had led his men through the front doors without a fight, accepting a few surrenders born out of intimidation. Unfortunately, it was all too clear that the rest of the garrison had preferred to man inner defenses rather than fleeing or contesting them the entrance. They had also taken the time to properly welcome the assailants with a surprise of their own; and possibly more were to come, pondered Vardall. No way of knowing without overcoming the current obstacle first.
The dungeons proper unraveled mainly underground. Narrow stairs acted as connector with the ground floor; the path led down to an equally narrow corridor excavated in a perpendicular direction, so that no field of vision would be given to the attackers.
The corridor had also turned out to be of considerable length, and it was there that an handful of Viirani had set up their little ambush. As soon as his men had reached the bottom of the stairs, many a dart had struck them. Two of them still lied there, lifeless, and a couple others had sustained minor wounds.
Sergeant Vardall had ordered to retreat. The Pike Guards were more than capable of dispatching such a foe easily, but not without cost. These were no common mercenaries to be expended at leisure; it was true that most of the privates came from families with minor holdings, still losses occurring to the cadets of the noble houses of Aerth were never taken too lightly.
He could only pray for the Viirani to fell for his ruse, he reasoned. It was an excellent opportunity to shelf his earlier negligence, as well as a chance to emerge among his peers vying for a promotion.
He casted an interrogative look to his second, a tough veteran who responded with an elaborate affirmative signal. The Pike Guards responded in unison by causing a loud commotion with their boots, fake prelude to a mass descent from the stairs; at the same time, two of them rolled several heavy barrels down the stairs.
Vardall anxiously followed their run and was rewarded by the sight of no less than four crossbow bolts puncturing the wall a moment after their impact. He grinned, pleased and relieved.
Vocal imprecations came somewhat muffled from downstairs. Vardall filled his lungs and yelled.
« For the King, onward! »
This time for real, the Pike Guards stormed down the stairs and swarmed the underlying corridor. One of them cried out in anger and pain as a bolt penetrated his mail injuring the sword arm, but did not slow down, pushed ahead by the soldiers following him; another shot went awry in the tension of the moment; no other followed as there was no time for the four who had previously loosed at the barrels to complete the lengthy reload process.
The Viirani dropped their crossbows and soon the clang of steel against steel resounded in the small passage. A fierce brawl sprayed its wall with blood, but the defenders had no chance to mount a prolonged resistance against the superior numbers fielded by their foes.
Sergeant Vardall surveyed the slaughter, approving with a throaty chuckle. They had suffered no further losses, although one of his men appeared to have been sort of seriously wounded. He wailed as one of his mates attempted to staunch the loss of blood. Again Vardall felt impatient.
A clean victory for him here, but Leander’s children weren’t in his hands just yet.
There we go. Good impressions? Bad impressions? Don't know what's going on? Characters brooding too much? Don't be afraid to belittle or point out shortcomings. :smallwink:
I'll see ya with Part II and some side-art. Like, a stick Athanaus or a signature banner.
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