View Full Version : Isn't It Fairly Contrite?
The air was warm, but his body was frigid with a cold sweat that slicked every inch of flesh. It was a chill oil brought on by ill omens and the fear of impending danger that could be as subtle as a sound or as obvious as a death sentence. Unfortunately for Lucien, it was the latter.
The boy paced back and forth in his four by four cell like a junkie looking to score, his hands grabbing at objects only he could see and his quivering lips mouthing intangible words to songs his throat was too dry to hum. His pale feet slid across a slimly, gritty gray stone floor; a corner of which had been improvised into a make-shift bathroom complete with a two-inch hole chipped into the ground. From its black depths came a smell indescribable to those who could not experience it in person, and those that had would rather change the subject to more pleasant conversation. Two or three shafts of moonlight were shining brightly on the teen's pink shirt, revealing a layer of grim and soot that marred so completely the hot pink underneath.
Moonlight. No warmth, no comfort; just a bleak white that pointed out the obvious as if to taunt the condemned.
Condemned. The very idea was so shocking to Lucien that he fell backwards, catching himself in a half-assed fetal position as he sat with arms wrapped around his knees. He rocked himself gently, calmly; trying his best to keep his body oblivious to the upcoming onslaught that would befall him come dawn.
Warm pools of tears gathered at his eyes, rolling down his face in a seemingly serene stream that ended at the corner of his mouth. And all the while there was only a soft silence, disturbed by nothing.
Time was an uncertainty to the boy; a precious commodity he had no way to keep track of. For all he knew, the ax was already sharpened and shined in preparation for a morning that could appear at any time. His tense body grew tenser as shivers tightened every existing muscle to their straining point.
"It's funny," he mused grimly, "how time is never around when you want it, and always around when you don't need it." How often had he spent aimless hours watching minutes stagger by at a snail's pace at work? And now he sat in a cell, wishing every second he rightfully dammed would find it in their twisted hearts to forgive his transgressions and grant him a reprieve from the maddening, rapid approach of morn.
Lucien had always heard rumors of Salvar; terrible gossip of a frigid climate topped off by layers of governmental and religious oppression. When he first received word from a rather intoxicated, if not friendly, ship's captain that Knife's Edge had a number of job opportunities for the literate, he met the challenge with his usual vigor; a mix of eager anticipation and edgy, nervous agitation. The voyage over had been trying and vexing for all, save Lucien, who had spent the time in the ship's hold, where he ate his fill and barely left a constantly swinging padded hammock. Though resentful glares were shot at him by first mate and cabin boy alike, not a soul tried to toughen the teen up for the rigor's seamanship required. It was suspicious that he wasn't expected to lift a finger for his passage, but he chocked it up to the crew earning some type of commission on skilled workers they brought to the city. It was a delusion that would cost him dearly.
"A trap. A fucking trap."
He had gotten use to the smell of stale urine and violently splattered shit; so use to it in fact, that the intrusion of a new and fresh fragrance caught him completely off guard. It began like firewood, and ended in a rich and sweet bouquet of thick, ripe strawberries that he desperately clung to.
"Incense. They burn them for the dammed." A chuckle came from the wall. "Like they do the dammed."
The voice, though calm and relaxed, jarred the boy to his very core as he starred wide-eyed at the wall where the sound came from. He was reluctant to answer, sliding a bit further from the talking wall. "Is it real? What if he's a psycho? I don't want an awkward conversation to be my last." Petty thoughts filled his head to replace stillness.
"It's alright. There aren't any guards. Hell, there aren't any doors." It was a cynical voice, and unfortunately, rather astute. There were no bars, no iron clad door that creaked and bellowed down carved halls. Just four gray walls, unadorned save the illegible markings of former prisoners; carved so obviously by nail and tooth that they were painted over by bloody streaks. "No one here can remember how we got it. Some magic words, a little memory loss, and we're in a place with no entrance."
"And no exit," said Lucien meekly, gathering a bit of courage. The wall only snickered.
"Oh, there's an exit," the voice continued. "It happens at dawn in front of a large crowd. And we're scheduled to be the entertainment."
The boy tried not to cry, he tried his best to keep his head for as long as possible. He knew he would lose it either way at dawn. Thankfully, the voice on the other side of the wall could only hear him, and not see him bury his face between his legs and shudder.
"Where are you?" A question the boy already knew the answer to. "Who are you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" said the wall. "Just another dead body like you, or I will be tomorrow." There was a pause as silent as death. "These walls separating us are thin and cracked enough for us to talk through. I think it's a tactic. We can't plan anything, so they hope we'll talk about our lives and miss them all the more."
"You're not really helping the situation, are you?" Lucien's tongue seemed sharper than he had wished, but his point was clear.
"You are awfully cynical for a dead boy."
"I'm not dead!" whined the teen with a tactless and toothless tone that ended in a whimper. He glared at the wall, only to realize the man on the other side could not see him.
Silence sat in the air, replacing the pleasant incense with an unnatural stillness. The boy could only imagine death was so calm, so unmoving. A sudden tap on the wall broke the tense feeling.
"I wasn't trying to scare you. It's just, well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. We're going to die in a few hours, you and I." It was a curt reality that echoed back and forth in the stone walls. "What are you in here for?"
Lucien, desperate for any change in the subject, jumped on the chance to tell his story. He blushed slightly at the thought.
"I was framed." He paused, if only to delay the conversation from turning back into a morbid reality. "I was approached by a captain who lied about being impressed by my reading abilities. It was stupid, but I was so taken by the idea of a steady job and...it was just my stupid self liking the attention." The boy laid back as best he could, putting his feet up on the wall and adjusting his head so that it stayed far enough away from the cesspool. "And then," he continued reluctantly, "well, and then I met him."
"Him?" The voice seemed generally interested, despite the obvious detached circumstances. Lucien winced as he rubbed his stomach; eyes starring up into what seemed an endless ceiling.
"The weather was humid, like it is now, and the sun was shining. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and he had that slick to him, you know?" The teen's voice grew more distant; less in the moment as his mind traveled. "Christ, if I had known what the captain planned when he pointed that guy out to me at the docks."
He took a moment, drawing in as much air as he could. He knew he would need it for what came next.
"I starred at his ass the entire way to the nearest Church's office. The guy explained to me the Church was always looking for literate people, even if they can't read Salvic, the common tongue is used enough for correspondence. Well, I think that's what he said. I was lost in the idea of his bronzed arms wrapped tightly around me." He rested, hoping to God the voice would not judge him as harshly as Salvar had. "It was a trick; a stupid ploy I should've saw coming. My awkward words to the guy, my weak attempts to hit on him were all the courts needed to convict me of unnatural acts. The guards escorting me later mentioned that it was easier to convict a foreigner because people wouldn't identify with me. And that's when the pieces fit together, so fucking perfectly." He trailed off to the end, almost humming as his voice grew lower.
Without missing a beat, the voice chimed in. "A scapegoat."
"Exactly." Lucien was relieved there was no pause. He was ashamed to admit it, but he cared what the man on the other side of the wall thought of him. "Next thing I know, I'm being thrown into what looks like a pit, and I ended up here."
"It's one hell of a fall," laughed the voice.
"You're telling me," cracked Lucien, who again rubbed his sore stomach.
"That Earth sounds like an interesting place," said the voice in a gritty, hoarse tone that tried its best to appear capable. But hours of chatting had worn both party's voices to low hums as they went back and forth over every detail of everything. Time was running short for them both, but neither seemed to care. They went on like old chums meeting for a drink, complete with a smoky atmosphere. The incense had returned, stronger than before and less pleasant. Seeping through cracks and seams were wisps that floated towards the eyes and caused a tearful burning.
Lucien, who had decided to stand up out of boredom, leaned against the wall where the voice came from; he felt the soft vibrations on his back with every rumble. It was as soothing and calming as the voice itself.
"It is," he said quietly. "I miss it a lot." It occurred to the boy that most of the conversation had involved Lucien's life; his life on Earth, his fall to Althanas, and every freak on a leash he had met on the god-forsaken plain. "But, can you tell me who you are? I don't even know your name."
There was a long pause in the air. Several puffs of smoke lived and died in those unpleasant seconds, where all the boy could do was twiddle his toes and thumbs to pass the time.
"There's really not much to say about me," the voice mumbled finally. "My name is Raziel, but most people call me Razz." He chuckled softly. "I hate it."
"Oh." It wasn't interesting, but Lucien had to say something, no matter how disappointed he sounded. Had he opened his eyes a little wider, he would've seen the last few steaks of white become gray, and then nothing. In only an hour, they would become bright yellow.
"Hey, Razz?" chimed Lucien, whose blank stare and urchin tone had all the charm of a child.
The voice only laughed, finding a irritating irony in the boy's current question and what he had just said. Still, he humored the lad. "Yeah?"
"Why do we have die?" It was a question that could kill any mood and ruin any evening, sucking the life out of a conversation like some sort of parasite. If the two had been anywhere else, Raziel might have just gotten up and left right then. But luckily for Lucien, he was playing to a captive audience.
"Kid, you're a real downer." Lucien could have sworn he heard a sigh on the other side of the wall. "You want the truth and bare facts, or some fruity metaphor?"
"Which takes more time?" requested the boy.
"Fair enough. You know how a candle works, right? I mean they had them on Earth?"
"Yeah."
"Good." Raziel cleared his voice as best he could. "Candles burn the wax around them for a reason. The flame only has so much wick to it, and it can only live for as long as it has that wick. But it would die a lot sooner if the wax around it didn't melt, it'd suffocate. So it needs to destroy the stuff around it for self-preservation. You getting this?"
"So we're candles?"
"Well, if you want simplify the metaphor, than yes."
"Are we scented or unscented?"
It took a moment or two, but both of them started laughing out loud like fools. They had a laugh few people would dare in public, the kind accompanied by a deep chest heaving and a feeling of shame afterwards.
"Kid, you're -" the voice stopped when he was interrupted by a deep, thunderous rumble that shook both cells. The cold sweat that Lucien had long since forgotten about returned with a vengeance. There was a sound of heavy metal scrapping against stone in the cell next door, and so terrible was it that the boy had to cover his ears.
"It looks like I'm up," said a panicked voice that tried to present some semblance of dignity. "You've got about twenty minutes kid." The voice was growing fainter with each word. "See you then." And with that, the rumbling stopped. There was only silence, a void where joy and terror had shared space.
"Razz?" cried Lucien softly, at almost a whisper. "Razz?" His voice grew stronger and more terrified. "Raziel?" It grew hard to talk as the boy's pulse raced. "Raziel!" He was screaming at this point. Warm tears rolled down his face as he turned to slam his fists violently against the wall. "Raziel, please. Are you there?" It was futile, and he knew it.
"Please." Another whisper.
Time had stopped, or at least it felt that way to Lucien. Wishful thinking and the trauma of quiet had gotten to him as he knelt on the gritty stone ground. He was statuesque; a still and motionless figure whose only movement lay with his shadow as it bounced and flickered with the beam of the rising sun. There were no more tears, only an empty expression starring at nothing and thinking about everything.
The touch of rain, the smell of spices, the taste of candy; his senses were dead now but he could remember it all. Every life event that held any meaning, and even some that didn't were thrust center stage. The quiet's scream could not be heard over the memories; both the boy's eyes were focused dead center into the past as if he were watching a movie on his own life. He had no time to be a critic of the plot or the events, but only a member of the audience; a witness to it all.
And then the rumbling. He didn't feel a thing, didn't hear a thing, but he knew it was happening.
In those last few seconds, as the screeching began, a silent whisper was mouthed to a god he didn't believe in. The stones began to vanish brick by brick as an emptiness appeared, waiting to take Lucien within. He would be spit out back into a normal jail's hallway, where he would take his last few steps. Whether a noose or an ax, or even a raging fire awaited him, he could not know. But he accepted it, not with dignity and with much reservation, but as one excepts the inevitable passage of time.
And then, the cell was returned back to normal, sans its occupant.
Call me J
01-15-08, 10:30 AM
“You say your name is Jame Kaosi?” the warden asked. He looked over the papers that Jame had brought with him, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for political prisoners to be pardoned, but kids that were arrested on sodomy rarely attracted any attention.
The warden blinked again and looked over the papers one more time, not as much because he believed they were forgeries, but because they were so strange. “You sure you’re not just sweet on the kid yourself?” he said dryly.
Under different circumstances, Jame would have punched the warden for that, or demanded immediately to see the warden’s daughter. However, he needed the warden’s cooperation now. This was going to be the last step in getting Lucien Aoenis released to him. It had been enough trouble to this point that Jame knew he had to keep his cool. “This kid just better be worth it…” Jame thought irritably.
“No,” Jame said. “The Duke of the Fifth Barony is quite concerned as to the fate of the boy, as am I. If you are going to be accusing me of a crime, you might as well be accusing him. Are you accusing a Duke of conspiracy to commit sodomy?”
The warden’s eyes went big. He knew that Jame could have easily turned a sense of indignation into a crime against him. Quickly, he began to get all the paperwork necessary in order for Jame .
Shotly afterwards, Jame was walking down a long corridor, trying his best to hold his nausea in his stomach as the smells of the jail hit him with full force. He found the place to be absolutely disgusting, which reinforced his belief that Lucien had to be a particularly impressive young man if he was able to survive it. Eventually, Jame wreached Lucien. He was told to wait as the wall melted away with a password, and then watched as a young blond boy emerged.
Jame looked the prisoner up and down. It had been a bit difficult getting to where he was, he had been required to use every last bit of influence he had, and even the occasional gold coin or two. If he hadn’t managed to convice the jail’s warden that the trouble he could make for them if he didn’t get his way would be far worse than the trouble for doing as he asked. Now, Jame stood before a rather slight, somewhat uninteresting boy. Now, Jame curious as to what this boy’s powers were, that The Light would have sent him all the way from Alerar to rescue him for.
“Are you Lucien Aeonis?”
The blond boy nodded frailly.
Jame shook his head. This was the Lucien Aoenis he’d been sent to rescue. This little kid who seemed to have nothing worthwhile about him. “Now this is bordering on the stupid…” he thought. “I know The Light is just a little crippled boy, but how many invalids does the group need. I bet I could have found fifteen mass murderers in here somewhere that could have done something useful for Sine Nomine…”
Since he was irritated at his assignment, Jame decided to take his irritation out on Lucien. “Wrong cell…” he said.
It was as close to reliving birth as one could; the sheer shock of being pulled away from a tight confined space and being laid bare to the open world was intense. As Lucien regained consciousness and a tingling feeling came upon his stiff limbs, he could only look on in astute wonder at the silver-haired man in front of him. The man mouthed some words that the boy knew had sound, and it took nearly a minute before he understood and nodded yes.
However, the teen's heart skipped a beat when the man played the cruelest of jokes. Nearby, the warden's eyes lit up with a fire that smoldered out quickly when he realized it was a joke. His wrinkled face sagged once more, the last ember of passion extinguished before he handed Jame a small handful of papers.
"I'm joking," said the man finally, reaffirm the warden's thoughts and putting Lucien's fears to rest.
The hall was far less dank, lit with flickering oil lamps that made shadows dance upon the three figures. The warden lead, with a frightened Lucien and a reluctant Jame following suit. They climbed a spiral staircase forged from iron until they reached the top office made up of only a little bigger than the boy's cell, and a small desk.
"Sign him out, and he's free to go," mumbled the warden.
Call me J
01-16-08, 12:57 AM
Jame signed quickly, eager to get out of the place. He noticed that Lucien and the warden were exchanging a few quick words and he chuckled to himself, pleased with how uncomfortable the whole situation had made the warden. Only then did Jame realize the benefit of his sarcastic comment, he had expected that the boy would have been a bit surprised, but he hadn’t expected the warden to fall for his sarcastic joke as well.
Fully expected to get scolded for his prank both by The Light and Lucien, Jame called out the blond and told him to come with. “We’re heading out…” he said. He debated whether or not to warn Lucien about his ability to change forms, he knew it would be a bit unsettling for him to turn into a dragon right in front of the boy without notice.
Initially, his intuition was to go for a second joke, but Jame decided that he couldn’t be completely heartless. After all, the joke he had played on Lucien had seemed funnier at the time, and the half dragon had half expected that the boy would see through it. “If he was in fact Lucien Aeonis in there, how could I have been in the wrong place?” Jame reasoned.
A few minutes later, they were out of the prison and in to the cold Salvarian winter. Jame smiled politely. “Take a deep breath now,” he warned. “Enjoy the air before it chafes too much at your face…”
Jame didn’t bother to answer any more of an explanation, even though he had decided to a minute ago. Now that he was out in the cold air, he just wanted to change back into his dragon form as quickly as possible. At the very least, it was warmer. Soon, he fell down to all fours, scales covered his body and wings spread out from his back. He took a deep breath of the cold wintry air and breathed out his nostrils with slight sparks of flame appearing along with the exhale.
“Jump on…” he said. He let Lucien climb onto his back, waited until he was sure that the boy had managed a proper grip and then lifted himself up into the sky.
It was a different kind of silence high above the clouds, where the wind tore through Lucien's hair and brushed past his face as if to whisper sweet nothings into his ear. He would have none of it, however. Perched atop a newly morphed Jame, the boy could only stare blankly forward towards the horizon as the sun rose, bringing light and warmth to the land.
They rode towards a new day and a new chance at life. Brisk air was all the motivation they needed, and sunlight the compass to guide the way. Whatever lay ahead, the teen knew it would be a better life.
But still, he could not bring himself to speak, to even think of speaking.
It wasn't how close to death he had come that held his tongue, even if he escaped by the devil's luck. And even Jame's traumatic transformation wasn't enough to truly quiet the boy. He looked on in sorrowful solace because of the words exchanged between he and the warden.
"There was no one," he thought without even blinking. "No one was listed in the cell next to mine."
Cyrus the virus
01-26-08, 12:25 AM
Sorry for the wait, folks. As requested, I will provide merely numbers with some insight at the end.
Story
Continuity – 6/10
Setting – 7/10 Nice imagery and description, but only of the cell.
Pacing – 4/10
Character
Dialogue – 5/10
Action – 5/10
Persona – 6/10
Writing Style
Technique – 8/10
Mechanics – 6/10 Limit the semicolons, their overuse can be distracting. You also tend to use them in some places where there should instead be a comma. “Time was an uncertainty to the boy; a precious commodity he had no way to keep track of.”
Clarity - 7/10 For God’s sake, staring is with one r!
Miscellaneous
Wild Card - 4/10
Total: 58
Lucien receives 536 EXP and 200 gold.
Call me J receives 771 EXP and 50 gold.
Lucien, you have very solid writing when it comes to explaining what’s going on, and some great imagery, too. This thread really suffered from what I perceive to be an anxiousness to get it done with, especially when Jame appeared and the storyline sped up to a very, very brisk pace.
There are some things I don’t understand about the storyline. The Church is looking to execute Lucien as a scapegoat, but for what? I don’t quite get why he was framed, or how it was anticipated that he’d eye-rape a bronzed, sexy guy.
This is a personal preference, so I didn’t dock points for it anywhere, but I think this quest would have benefited from a bit more length. To really project the atmosphere of a prison, it might be necessary to make the sacrifice and write some purposely boring areas of the quest. Maybe describe a half hour of Lucien’s time in the cell in drab detail. Some people won’t enjoy reading it, but I imagine anyone interested in the storyline will see the value in it. Like I said, just a personal insight and there’s no way I’d deduct points for your approach being different from it.
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