View Full Version : The Fall Of Van Hildegard (Solo)
The Fall of Van Hildegard (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wp1rL7DI_D4)
Part Two of the Story Arc 'Legacy', set shortly after the events of The Sound Of Silence (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=20578&page=2) and directly references the events therein. Set prior to Wainwright's Delusion. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=20672)
1923
Blank moved through the dark streets of Scara Brae like a lynx through a jungle canopy. Without much thought he placed a hand on the edge of a long abandoned crate and peered excruciatingly slowly over the edge into the shadows beyond. Tonight, on these streets, there would be a murder. Here in the city of nightmares and dreams part of the underbelly of the noble houses would be gutted from its perch and toppled into the long scope of obscurity for his enemies had spoken. Whilst an assassination was far beneath Blank’s menagerie of talents, it was not beyond his reach when the needs of the troupe grew greater than those of the Scourge. There were mouths to feed and goods to purchase for the marriage of Lilith and Wisconsin, but in the twilight between normality and death bringing he forgot all about the trivial things and keened his eyes on the movement across the square.
Lord Van Hildegard was a tall and stout man of one hundred and fifty pounds and six foot, without a doubt an opponent worthy of such a notorious assailant. The first observation Blank had made was the audacity his target displayed walking through the city streets at night without a bodyguard. Whilst the silent swordsman remained silent, he never went alone except when he required the cover and secrecy he personified. Magic was the only natural conclusion and Blank loathed the use of the arts and all those who revelled in its sycophantic caress. He leapt over the box with a handspring and sassily cleared the distance between the end of the avenue and the familiar comfort of Market Square’s gothic fountain. Hildegard disappeared into the distant Lumpy Road, the long cobble stone lattice that connected most of the market district with a thoroughfare all around the outer edge of Scara Brae.
There are only two destinations along that road… Blank raised an eyebrow as he stooped to drink from the cold waters. There is the gate to the plains North of the city or the scrutiny of the Scourge’s secretive daggers. At first he assumed the latter, but in the double dealings of the previous week’s escapades with the thieves’ guild, anything was possible. Friends and enemies had become synonymous ideals of late, and Arden Janelle was ever cautious, ever paranoid that he might fall foul of one of many back handed exchanges. He moved across the square with silence following him faithfully. He travelled this night without his familiar red sash or the various chains to which he attached the tools of his many trades, so as to move without detection.
All across the city the owls and larks swapped their roles and the life of the under dark went on without a care. Blank followed his target until he reached a crossroad and stopped to test the air with a skeletal digit. The silent swordsman took to the roof and scurried along the drains and rickety red tiles like a monkey; there was nowhere to hide in the street, its smooth walls devoid of alcoves or doorways. Each contortion of his body was a testament to the peak physical condition he thrived to maintain. Each livid tug of muscle and fold of skin rippling like the lynx’s might was a testament to the might of the Scourge, the patience of the assassin, and the fall of Van Hildegard the Third.
Van Hildegard stepped to the left then hesitated, as if deciding against his intended course of action. He veered away down the road to his right and Blank watched keenly as his swagger and gait turned into a more cautious advance through the mist and the misery of the dark. Was he suspected? Had he been seen? He approached the edge of the roof top, annoyed that his perfect vantage point was now useless.
Best laid plans, he mused, dropping from the ledge and landing on the cobbles with a delicate, almost silent fop. He turned into a statue, right leg to one side and left tucked beneath his body like an assassin or an Amazon cowed beneath a ferocious beast’s weight. Certain that he was undetected he stood and skipped along the road. As he approached his quarry he slipped into the darkness offered by Primrose Road’s wide shop front awnings and doorways, darting in and out of each at an appropriate moment with professional speed and finesse.
The chase is on, he smiled.
The contract had come two days prior via the usual method. The Scourge employed non-descript runners to deliver sealed, signed envelopes that mimicked regal love letters or casual business dealings. Their runners wore a mimicked uniform that looked, at least at first glance like the Mail Guilds-man attire, and had gone unchallenged so far for nearly a year. It was the perfect disguise, even if it meant Blank occasionally roughed up a legitimate mail boy over a disagreement instead of a more scrupulous individual.
It was encrypted all the same and made to look like an actual letter; he recalled the words and smiled as he tip toed around a corner into a narrower alleyway and continued his pursuit.
Dear Lord Janelle,
Lord Van Hildegard requests your urgent attendance for a feast of meat and light carnal entertainment in the night time arenas of Scara Brae.
Provost Pimpernoff.
The envelope was scented with a hedonistic mix of cloves and thyme from what Blank's philistine nose could surmise. It was the perfume of the Hildegard Household's matron and chief housekeeper, and part time lover to the Lord and Master himself. Such was it's authenticity he reminded himself to give praise to the enigmatic Saenz for acquiring the prop piece from right under Pimpernoff's nose.
Blank's teeth glinted in the moonlight as he drew his sword as silently as possible and tensed every muscle in his body. As Van Hildegard turned another corner into a darker alleyway with only the company of lavatory windows and harlots to keep him, the silent swordsman felt his heart beat and his blood boil. He tip toed to the end of the alley and delved into the start of darkness and madness and slaughter.
The alleyway was barely three men wide shoulder to shoulder, which Blank mentally clocked as an excellent location to take out his target. Hildegard was halfway along the alleyway and making ample pace; he was most likely afraid of the dank and foetid environment. The rich, Arden mused, were most afraid of one thing - the poor.
He broke into a wide run, legs arced outwards slightly to propel him forwards with every pounding footstep. Long weeks and months of training overcame the sharp rubble and debris that dug into his feet and in seconds he was within spitting distance of his target. He swung his sword up over his head and leapt. He bore down on Hildegard, preferring a quick downward strike to cleave the neck from the shoulder than any clichéd thrust to the back.
Blank did not expect the cold swing of another blade to spiral about and block his attempt.
“Not today!” Hildegard roared, his youthful accent casting away the image of weakness and opportunity. He leapt backwards with deft feet and rested his free hand on his hip, the cloak swayed backwards naturally to rest out of the way of his rapier.
A duellist, Blank groaned. He connected with the floor and flinched as the Rheilhand crashed into the rock and sparked. His instincts drove him to pounce backwards with cat like buoyancy, out of harms reach and counter attack’s way.
“Brigand! You would accost a man in darkness; fight him without the whites of his eyes glaring at you in his death throes?” His accent pointed to Corone and suddenly Blank placed several pieces of a very awkward jigsaw together.
He hesitated and remained half-crouched as if ready to pounce but weary of doing so. Now that his quarry was armed and seemingly well versed in a foil style of duelling he was not so cocksure of himself. The silent swordsman wearily remained silent and moved only slightly, so as not to provoke a reaction.
“My…word,” with his free hand Hildegard pulled back the fold of his cloak’s hood. Even in the gloom Blank could work out a familiar face, a head of light mouse brown hair and a freckled smile that beguiled women with a surprise intelligence despite the youthful visage.
Johnny? Both men lifted an eyebrow questioningly before lunging forwards in a split-second decision. Blank's blade swung from the left and Hildegard's from the right and they clashed with a judder to both arms and a shock to the silence of the cold evening air. With lightning speed they recoiled, brought their swords to their hips and lunged upwards as if to gut and lift their trophy for the entire world to see. Their blades slide harmlessly along one another's edge.
“Not today Arden, you will have no revenge here!” The cloak took the strike from the heavier and slower Rheilhand, which cut through the fine cloth with ease. Blank flailed it free only to find the cloak fall to the ground and his target running for his life. The dim lights of street lamps in the far street cast a silhouette of Hildegard's back and Blank’s heart beat in time with his old friend's clumsy boots.
As he gave chase all the pain of Celia’s betrayal and Blank’s own stupidity returned. She had left him for a more ample and secure and dashing man.
He would kill Van Hildegard as soullessly as he had killed Blank's one chance at happiness.
As he gave chase the events of the previous month spiralled before his eyes in a confusing collage of moments. His trailing of various Thieves Guild members had lead to one thing after another and ultimately it had cost him greatly. The corruption he had uncovered even amongst the ranks of the Scourge was deeply set into the rigid and tyrannical power structure, in the proceeds; he had added another mysterious enemy to the Silent Swordsman’s list of many.
Magnarion.
Picking up the pace to ensure his quarry did not escape so easily Blank poured out into the street like a tsunami of rage. The cobble stones returned underfoot and the light of the street lamps cast a fiery glow across his tanned features. Sweat dripped slowly down his muscles and along the ridge of his nose, and adrenaline purged his body clean of any desire to stop.
“Not today or any other day!” Hildegard walked slowly into the light, his hiding place a place to catch his breath. The legacy of the Silent Swordsman did it's work, and told Hildegard that there would be no respite until one of the men lay dead in the street.
Revenge… Blank reminded himself where there ‘conversation’ had left off. In better light he could see Johnny for what he was. His limbs were wiry and his hair was a mess, but his world all about him, or so he presumed the noble believed, was perfect. He was the son of a wealthy merchant, bright, intelligent and resourceful.
“How did you know it was me Arden, how did you know I would be here?” He whipped his rapier through the air and traced a z into the night. He rested his free hand on his hip and adjusted his lapel. Without his cloak he was less defended but he was also unhindered and free.
With his head pounding from the sprint Blank turned the corner of his mouth and re-established an old link between the two of them. It had been the third time in recent months he had reprised his puppeteer role and each time it proved more poignant an end to unwanted baggage.
He spoke with a slight accent that was not his own and as he stepped forwards once, Johannes Van Hildegard recalled a time not so long ago that he had pledged a bond to the Blank.
“I…I forgot, I’m sorry!” As Blank spoke true, Johnny mouthed the words as he thought them.
“You could not have known, but…how?”
With his eyes still set firmly on his prey Blank reached into the folds of his waist line and procured a small talisman from a hidden pocket. He wrapped the leather tie around his hand and placed the pendant in the flat of his palm before holding it up in the light. It was a star set on a star, with a small lion's head at it's centre.
“The Scourge…” They spoke together and Blank cut the bond. It was all that Blank needed; a confession was something he had no time for nor cares to hear. There was no respite or reconciliation for Hildegard’s deeds.
I swore I would never become like them…the vagabonds, the murderers, the villains. But I will enjoy this, too much… He curled his lip once more and brought the Rheilhand firmly to his front. He clasped its hilt with two firm hands and bent at the knee, entering a more nimble variant of the Akashima stance he had encountered in the drug fuelled camps north of Corone. The Silent Swordsman’s Bushido was an infinitely simpler affair to that of the samurai or the vengeful ronin; he had only two tenets.
Never forgive.
Never forget.
“I guess that there is no other choice but to battle your daemons.”
Blank stepped closer, closing the gap between them to thirty yards. The width of the street would soon prove no sanctuary for Hildegard. Goosebumps rose on both men’s necks and the rapier flashed in the light of the torches once again.
“I would chide a victory to the best man, but since Celia is married and you will never have the luxury…” The low blow rose Blank’s aggression, luring in the fiery fighter to the duellist’s riposte. Hildegard smiled wildly as Blank charged recklessly and brought his blade up over his head.
“So easily brought to arms, never would you be worthy of a true woman!” Hildegard stepped to once side without blinking as the sword cleaved a slab and sent sparks flying into the air once more. Blank winced as the rapier clashed against the wedged blade and sliced through his upper right arm. He pulled on the Rheilhand and drew it from the ground. With a might swing to his right he deflected the rapier as Hildegard spiralled around to skewer him.
“Oh, he lives! Bloodied and bruised, with no direction.” The wiry youth leapt back and bounced further still. Blank dropped his sword loosely into one hand and let it hang by his side on his uninjured arm.
A trickle of blood ran down his flesh and pulsated as he flexed his muscles to test for any lasting injury. First blood…last regret, he brought his blade up and drove it into a crack between two paving stones. With a calm cleansing thought the silent swordsman sat behind the blade in the lotus position and peered at his opponent. One eye saw past either edge of his blade, the whole world obscured by the sharpest of instruments.
“Praying are we?” Hildegard advanced slowly and sashayed along the street. The violet doublet and light steel plates that covered his torso glinted in the moonlight and fire, and he flicked his hair from his fringe at the perfect time to add to his noble, pretentious image. “You will have to do better than that, what sort of assassin are you?”
Deft footwork brought the rapier’s edge swiftly towards the Rheilhand, nimble twists and turns clashed the lightweight foil with the cross-guard, and with a flamboyant thrust, Hildegard slid the blade past the defensive post towards Blank’s forehead.
Equally as quickly Blank knocked his sword to one side with a deft kick so that it caught the thrust and deflected it harmlessly to the air to his left. He retracted his right foot nimbly and hopped onto his haunches. He grinned, mimed a cackle and grabbed the hilt of the Rheilhand as it clattered to the ground.
“What in the-” Hildegard stumbled to one side and recovered with a confused look on his face. He stepped back.
The Silent Swordsman ran along the floor like a four-legged beast, a bull-charge or lion’s pride careening towards the midday feast. Hildegard brought his rapier up with a twist of his wrist and levelled it with his body; a simple maneuavour that left him able to parry incoming blows or dodge by shifting his body weight. Blank was well versed in it to think nothing of it and as he approached his opponent he leapt.
As he reached the half-way distance in his arc he looked into Hildegard’s eyes and felt sorry for him; sorry for what he had become since they had been been friends.
Hildegard leant backwards, levelled the rapier forwards so that it was at right angles to his body and prepared to spiral to the right and lunge to his side as his opponent landed and clashed with thin air.
Then Blank disappeared.
The Aria was as peaceful as it ever was. The silver sea beneath the jetty calmed Blank as he appeared and landed with an echo onto the fossilised wood. He longed very much to see Johnny’s face the moment he had vanished but he guessed he would in time. Blink, and you’ll miss me… he had often joked with Hildegard over a game of poker in a seedy wine cellar somewhere in Scara Brae.
Vengeance would be his, of that he was certain. He had prevailed against graver threats and survived in an underworld that longed for his soul every waking moment and every minute of his nightmares, what difference would one harlot of a man make?
Longingly he stared out at a point on the horizon, where the mercury sea met the cobalt sky and sighed. He felt whole here, his injuries and his sweat had been left behind between the realms. In the Aria, he was as he was eternally; perfect, flawed, graceful and silent. The weight of the world was left at the gateway, and he had all the time in the multiverses to contemplate the errors of his ways and the simplest of gestures he could make to correct them.
Every time, he realised that he did not want to.
Mistakes are there to be learnt from, he smiled. Mistakes remind us that we are human, that we are alive.
Blank considered his words for what seemed like hours. Mistakes made him angry, mistakes made him regret, certainly, the only thing he had ever learnt from making a mistake was to try to never repeat it again. He had let this man slip away from him once before, he would not let him steal his life as well as his love.
The nausea returned and Blank wavered. He fell to his knees and felt the burning pain rise from his toes to his hair in a wave of agony. As he was disseminated and scattered to the winds of the ether one last lingering thought filled his mind. It combined both tenets of his style and drive in life.
I must not remain silent whilst such men walk the earth…
The Aria was empty once more.
Hildegard listened to the snippet of song as it floated hauntingly through the air. He snarled as he realised what was about to happen and he felt powerless to prevent it. He tensed nervously and waited for the swordsman to re-appear from his hell hole.
The blue light erupted before his eyes and like a comet Blank crashed into Hildegard with the force of a hurricane. Johnny fell backwards, powerless to deflect or stall the naked and ireful Arden. The rapier scattered to one side out of harm’s reach and with a sickening thud, Blank landed on top of Hildegard’s chest.
His skull cracked against the cobblestones and his wind left him entirely, but he managed to utter ‘pathetic’ through his bloodied teeth. Blank smiled and grabbed the youth’s hair. He pulled him forwards and leant in to stare deadpan into his eyes.
Flirtatiously, he landed a kiss on the noble’s lips and caressed his cheek before letting him go.
Goodbye.
The fire In the street lights flickered suddenly as Blank stood upright and held the Rheilhand downwards. He waited for a moment to ensure there was no chance of failure, and lunged downwards with the conviction of a cultist offering a sacrifice to the altar of regret.
Vamplate and leather offered no protection from the piercing strike and Blank felt a satisfying rush of pleasure as the blade connected with the stone of the street. Hildegard juddered and hissed air as his lung deflated, before flopping still with his head to one side. It was a simple, brutal and unromantic scene, but he was dead all the same.
Alone once more, the dark and cold night peeled away the adrenaline and left Blank scared and afraid. The strain of leaping and conjuring the dominance of the Aria had widened the cut on his body into a deep wound and the blood was flowing freely down his arm and caressed his fingertips. He held his crimson hand up to the flames overhead and turned it slowly, as if he were seeing blood for the first time.
His head span and bile sloshed in his stomach, but at the same time he felt sorely relieved. He had never been a complicated individual, preferring simple statements or pleasures to get him through life, but this array of emotion, pain and pleasure was disturbing. He was a virginal prince atop the temple of life once more, discovering the joys of killing in cold blood, veiled by an authority’s mandate.
Suddenly away that being discovered would not be the best ending to an evening; he dropped the Scourge icon onto Hildegard’s chest as a calling card and stepped away from the body. He sighed with relief and felt humbled that there would be no repercussions, at least physical, for this occurrence. The guards would find the symbol on his body, contact the liaison of the Scourge for the paperwork concerning the assassination transaction and be done away with the corpse to the flames of time.
Blank however, would have to live in with the last glimpse of fear in Hildegard’s eyes burnt into his retina.
Arden turned and walked back along the street to the alleyway entrance. The delicate shop fronts plying a variety of wares in red brick and bright colours blurred into one wall of nothingness, and he turned to look across his shoulder at the corpse in the fire light before disappearing into the shadows.
Why do I feel nothing? He mused, crossing the point where they had first struck blows and hurried on into the solitude of the darkness. Where is the relief?
He had thought that claiming revenge on the man who had taken so much from him and double-crossed him time and time again under the pretext of friendship would have relieved his mind of his troubles. Whilst he knew Lucian had hurt him far worse, and the troupe’s troubles were eternal, some brief respite or moment of clarity would surely be worth it – a calm before the storm?
Primrose Lane and Market Square passed him by without a mention as he moved subconsciously towards the Numarr Slums and the sanctuary of the Scourge’s hub of operations. He could trace most routes across Scara Brae with the back of his hand and do most of the journeys blindfolded, and usually drunk to measure. He met no-one, and heard nothing except his own sound. His footsteps on cold stone and his heartbeat breaking its cage were his only accompaniment.
Strange sensation being alone, even though he had become used to it. The sound of silence after all was louder than the greatest explosion or the most raucous of crowds, for too long he had heard the din of his solitude that it had deafened him. He felt numb.
He took out a letter from his pocket that still smelt of lavender and opened it with shaking hands.
It was rumpled and worn but he could still make out the handwriting by the light of a street lamp. He leant into it to read it.
To whom it may concern, provost, king or lowly thief,
The man you seek is named ‘Blank,’ although I have never heard him speak his true name. I tell you what I am to tell you out of love and perhaps, such love is tainted by revenge, I cannot tell.
He holds court in many kingdoms, I am sure you have heard of the Scourge – he works as a hired sword and assassin for whatever dark deeds they wish committed, and I need not speak of that more for I am certain you know this already.
He hurt me, in ways a lady will not, or cannot describe, so I tell you this in the hopes you will return the favour, disappear into the gin soaked night without a word to the wise leaving a dagger in his heart, like he did mine.
The Prima Vista, the stronghold and hideaway for the Tantalum Troupe and the one you know as the ‘Tantalum’, is on the street once named for it’s courtly dances and virginal rituals of debauchery, long before the Noble Houses audited their affairs and the building has a great glass dome atop it’s heights.
I ask for nothing in return,
Except perhaps for the return a tattered scarf that was once a cloak…
Celia
He smiled and held it at arms length.
He could never forgive Hildegard.
He would never forget Celia.
But he did not need constant reminders and trinkets of his turmoil. With a push of mental force and a bright rush of song from nowhere he waved his free hand over the writing and watched the letters shine with inner fire.
They burned away into nothing slowly as if erased with minute spells and cantrips. Happy with his work he dropped the empty sheet of parchment and walked on to the edge of Numarr. The air took on a heavy peaty scent and the elegant noble streets turned very quickly into long lines of wooden shacks and derelict ruins.
Home sweet home.
Blank strolled through Numarr finally content that he was at least bearing a lighter load, even if the image he was left with was a whole new tale. The silence soon dropped from earshot and was replaced with light tinkering, the clashing of tankards in a rowdy toast and the hushed sound of voices through a crowded doorway.
The front of the Nude Ladette appeared in all its seedy glory as he turned the last corner on his journey. It was, as far as criminal fronts went, the perfect disguise. Few officials ever ventured near it for its reputation was one of a brothel and a seedy place to satisfy more than just the drinking and smoking vice. Those with the correct knowledge could enter, slip into a secret room behind the bar and drop into the cellar.
From there, the long tunnel that separates one world with another. The Salashander awaited the members of the Scourge beyond that. Blank skipped over to the entrance and slipped in sideways between a large burly man with a beard that smelt of gin, and a thin wiry individual smoking a cigar. He nodded gruffly at a dagger armed man at a corner table and gave Saenz the usual nod in unison.
Must buy him a drink, Blank muttered as he made his way across the precariously dirty floor towards the bar. The chatter all around him drowned his thoughts and in-between every other word there was a punch or a kick or a small scuffle. The underworld of Scara Brae gathered in this pub and this pub alone when the lights of the sky and the city were out or focussed elsewhere. It, like much of the slums and the poor that lived there did not exist in the eyes of the Queen.
“Blank!” A voice boomed. He stopped suddenly until he caught the gaze of the barkeep from the far end of the gallery bar and relaxed. He walked over as he waved horridly between drying tankards and serving people. Barren Stormhand was an unusually tall dwarf, but he was unmistakably one of the mountains folk. His beard was as thick as he was, and his muscular arms came about through endless pulling of pints and hauling barrels between the cellar and the great alcove behind the bar. If you ever made a comment about the wheeled platform he moved around on to give him the impression of being 'normal,' you would quite literally lose your head. The battle axe in question rested on a shelf behind the counter.
“The boss is wanting’ to see ya!” He reached over the bar and slapped the swordsman on the shoulder with a friendly tap and waved him through the gap between the ‘cocktail’ curved bar and the beer dispensary. Blank nodded politely and slipped through the door into the kitchen.
The smell told Blank and anyone in the bar for that matter that the word kitchen was used very lightly. A proper meal had not been cooked in there for many years. He passed the chopping block and its rusty cleaver and slipped hastily down the spiral staircase into the cellar. The darkness was a welcome reprieve from the hubbub above, and he made his way through the stacks of barrels to the rear of the cellar and stood silently before a blank section of the stone wall. It was damp and moss covered many of the heavy granite stones. It had once been the living room of a fine house, before the city had begun building upon itself many centuries ago.
He pressed the keystone and stepped back as the door slid with a heavy grinding to one side. With a long sigh the silent swordsmen stepped into the gilt corridor and the warmth of the entry hall to the Scourge’s headquarters.
If the boss wanted to see him it meant urgency and the leader of the Scourge was not a man to be kept waiting.
The oaken doors at the end of the long corridor were ornate and gilded with gold leaf. They were designed to intimidate any prospective robbers or lucky wannabes, but Blank pushed them open without a care. Beyond, the great cavernous hold of the Scourge loomed. It dropped down the equivalent of two floors and was as wide and long as a ballroom. Heavy duty steps lead down to the floor where crates and thieves and workmen swarmed left and right about their everyday tasks.
To the left and right there was a wide gallery balcony and on each wall there were two doors which lead off to various store rooms, war briefing chambers and offices. The Scourge, Blank had noted over the course of the last two years, were one of the most officious and well organised criminal organisations in Scara Brae. Gone were the tyrannical murders and the hands plastered onto walls in the dead of night, instead, there was paperwork, calculated beaurocracy and the horrors of co-ordination.
Several people caught his appearance and nodded before continuing with their duties. Assignments came paramount to socialisation and even Blank had not afforded the luxury of small talk or leisure time, despite all his efforts. Sickened by his own duality once more, he turned and walked along the rickety balcony to his left. The chamber was a golden palace amongst the thieves of the city, and every part of the walls was covered in spiralling ornate flowers and bright blood red wallpaper. Whatever building had dwelt beneath the slums here a decade ago had been slowly and lavishly restored to its former glory.
Much like the Scourge.
He passed the first door to the armoury and stopped momentarily before the second. He looked along the corridor and touched the cut on his arm. He would have to pay a visit to Doc Orken after his debriefing, which didn’t bare thinking about. He shook his head and strolled on, reaching the opposite door to the entrance and turning into the short corridor that lead to a lion headed pair of doors.
He lifted the iron ring in the larger lion’s mouth and dropped it, repeating the process in a pattern of two short and three long drops.
A minute passed.
“Come in!” A voice shouted, knocking the door aside with its authoritarian power.
Blank turned the handle and pulled the doors towards him, bowing in the process before his liege and master.
The Scourge had spoken and it’s time would come soon enough.
People would fear the dark once more.
“So the scattered son returns to his master’s side, an obedient hound. Come, do not linger on the door, close it and let us do away with the formalities.” The Master of the Scourge sat neatly behind a large oaken desk in a small chamber set back from the main hall. He had his hands crossed in front of him with a quill held loosely between forefinger and thumb. The parchment and inkwell were the only items on the desk but there were countless knives and pistols hanging unseen on the back of his chair.
Blank had noticed long ago that there was only one way into the office, and one way out. It stood behind him and he was all that remained between an assassin’s dagger and a shot fired earnestly. He cracked a smile and walked into the office proper. The master waved at the small chair in front of the desk and Blank obediently sat, legs crossed and hair pushed back behind his ears.
“I trust the deed has been carried out?” The Master twiddled his moustache and glared over the rim of his glasses. He was much older than Blank, perhaps twenty years his senior but ever more youthful in enthusiasm and skill. “I would hate to send the carrion to do away with a half living corpse…”
Blank nodded.
“Good, then I believe,” he reached into a draw and pulled a small bag of coin, “your payment is due.”
Blank leant forwards and pocketed it. He did not count it, you never counted it.
“Were there any complications? The Scourge’s new direction is an officious one, you must report any untoward activity to ensure the process continues to…evolve.”
Blank shook his head and turned his attention to the three hefty bookcases that stood like monoliths on either side. Apart from the large collection of books and one or two small chests which rested on the shelves there was nothing else in the room. Two small rune lights hung over head magically, and there were no indents or obvious places for trap doors at all.
So how did he survive whilst never leaving via the main door? Blank strained to think, but gave up.
The Master scribbled something on a blank sheet of parchment and the sound of the quill in ink filled the awkward atmosphere with anticipation.
“The Thieves’ guild has recovered from your gambit against their betrayal. I should wager that a new master will be selected in short order. If we are to eradicate them and restore some provenance of power to the Scourge and our tenets, we must ensure that they are…permanently placed out of action. Here is a lead to one of the candidates, a thief by the name of Marcus Hammsonn, a butcher’s son I hear.” Blank took the paper as it was offered to him and sniffed it. It smelt of rose water and wine. He smiled, ticking off one of many culprits in his mind.
“When you are recovered find him. Get him to talk, and eradicate the potentials before order can be restored. Once you deliver this firm message to the Guilds-man, they will no doubt think twice about attempting to rise to power in our neighbourhood again. In our city.” The Master's voice was a heavy tone that told those who heard it to be weary. It had a gruff property that came perhaps with age, but most definitely through battle, hardship and strain. Blank may have been the Master's right hand in the war with the Thieves' Guild members, but he was not stupid enough to probe him for a glimpse of his history.
He had guessed military.
Blank smiled satisfactorily and shifted to the edge of his seat expectantly. The pieces of the puzzle which had started with the double dealings of his new nemesis were drawing together. He expected to continue that line of enquiry with as much vigilance as he could; he had to discover who this strange and enigmatic Magnarion was; who had so skilfully turned the two tides of war against the Silent Swordsman undetected.
The master waved him away and returned to his paperwork. Blank nodded and walked silently from the room, opening and closing the door like a servant; silent, unseen, unheard.
Blank stretched, yawned, and slothfully strolled into the apothecary's to fall asleep and forget his woes and pains.
Life in the city went on.
The cobblestones were red, stained with the blood of the fallen. The corpse was lifeless, except for a small hubris of power which formed in the skull and cast a blue gaze of infernal light from the sunken sockets.
“Erlai tithek num canndar,” a low voice growled from the shadows of a doorway.
Sparks flew from the stranger's mouth and swarmed around the rotting flesh. With a twitch and a shudder the body convulsed. Slowly but surely the corpse brought its hand up into the air and stared at it with inhuman eyes. Something in the world had given the unlucky soul a second chance, a new reign of power over the living.
With a smile on his face the man in the shadows turned and walked along the street into the mists of time. The sound of his cane clicking on the cold stone echoed in the corpse’s slow mind.
“I…live…” it hoarsely croaked, inspecting the cleaving wound on its chest and the cracked remnants of bone that marked the impact of the street to the back of his head.
The corpse crawled slowly upright and its bones clicked and muscles snapped. The necromantic powers which urged it upright were powerful and sickening, but held together for a purpose few could surmise.
Slowly the corpse shed its flesh and its clothes rotted to rags and tattered vestments before the eyes.
With a snap it’s back arched and reigns of shadow darted out from its wrists. To its left, the strands cleaved a chunk of the earth free of the ground with a ruckus and a crack of stone. The star shaped rubble was tightly wrapped to his arm as a twisted and ironic shield. His right darted through the night and returned moments later with a red hilted sword from the mists of time. The corpse swung it feebly left and right, trying to regain some modicum of it's living skill.
The strands pulled together and formed a cloak and cowed the necrotic skull from the cured moonlight. With a mighty roar, the corpse spread its blade and shield wide and looked up to the sky. It cursed the one who had struck him down. Inhuman decisions spiralled in its brain and mind. With a slow and awkward advance the skeletal warrior advanced along the street towards Numarr.
Hildegard would never die, not whilst Magnarion Janelle swore revenge against his only son.
Spoils:
Onwards & Upwards: Faction points for the Scourge as they return slowly to power under a new tenet and a new direction.
Loss & Indignity: Blank has thrown away the lavender letter from Celia.
The Hound Of Horror: A small purse of gold coins, payment for the completion of an assassination assignment from the noble houses in a bid to eliminate the competition. Thus, I'd like to mitigate the 10% reduction for the Prima Vista for this thread.
In the grande theatrical tradition of the theatre,
The End
Taskmienster
06-11-10, 08:29 AM
And So It Begins:: Full commentary, as requested. I’m going to be doing as much as possible, splitting it between the two writers if necessary. If either of you have questions, concerns, or would like further commentary feel free to PM or IM me and I will help as much as possible.
Continuity 6
Setting 6
Pacing 7
Dialogue 6.5
Action 6
:: In the forth post, the little bit about the puppeteer was confusing. Not sure what it really did, without an adequate description, and also not sure how it was used. Something about moving the other man’s mouth, but not sure if the words were yours or his, or even if they were just telepathic in nature.
Persona 6.5
Technique 7.5
Mechanics 7
Clarity 8
Wild Card 6
Score: 66.5
Rewards:
Blank :: 744 exp | 158 base gold + 250 for the job = 408 – 10% = 367 gold
((Spoils granted. Rewarding 3 points to the Scourge’s faction point total))
Thread Notations (post by post)
:: “ Here in the city of nightmares and dreams part of the underbelly of the noble houses would be gutted from its perch and toppled into the long scope of obscurity for his enemies had spoken.” :: There should be a comma after “of obscurity”, otherwise it tends to look and read like a run-on at the end.
:: “Whilst the silent swordsman remained silent,” :: Umm… a bit redundant. If you’re a silent swordsman, I’d assume you’d remain silent. A synonym for silent in this case would be preferable.
:: “Hildegard disappeared into the distant Lumpy Road,”:: If Lumpy Road is supposed to be a proper name for the road itself, then the entire thing should be in italics instead of just Lumpy.
:: “Each livid tug of muscle and fold of skin rippling like the lynx’s might was a testament to the might of the Scourge,” :: Use of “might” twice within a few words of each other. Synonyms.
:: “As he gave chase all the pain of Celia’s betrayal and Blank’s own stupidity returned.” :: “As he gave chase” should have a comma after it.
:: “He would kill Van Hildegard as soullessly as he had killed Blank's one chance at happiness.” :: When you write “killed Blank’s” it seems that you are either writing the narrative of the other guy and his thoughts of Blank – which if that’s the case it should be clarified – or you are referring to the character with a proper noun in almost a third person speech type thing. I’d suggest either the clarification, or writing a pronoun instead, such as his. If it’s Blank thinking of killing Van H, then it should be more “as he has killed his one chance” instead.
:: “Thieves Guild members had lead to one thing after another” :: led instead of lead.
:: “he had added another mysterious enemy to the Silent Swordsman’s list of many.” :: Who is ‘he’? Is it Blank, who I assume is also the Silent Swordsman? If so, then he implies someone else added an enemy to Blank’s list… not that he added one to his own. If it’s adding to his own: “another mysterious enemy [was added to] the Silent Swordsman’s list of man.” It makes much more sense, and you don’t have the mysterious pronoun.
:: “Picking up the pace to ensure his quarry did not escape so easily Blank poured out into the street like a tsunami of rage.” :: “escape so easily” should have a comma after it.
:: “Equally as quickly Blank knocked his sword to one side” :: “as quickly” needs a comma after it.
:: “Mistakes made him angry, mistakes made him regret, certainly, the only thing he had ever learnt from making a mistake was to try to never repeat it again.” :: A bit of a run on. You could have a period after certainly and start a new sentence. It would keep them a bit longer, without detracting from the staccato pace of the narrative itself.
:: “The fire In the street lights flickered suddenly as Blank stood upright” :: In shouldn’t be capitalized.
:: “Suddenly away that being discovered would not be the best ending to an evening;” :: away should be aware.
:: “Blank however, would have to live in with the last glimpse of fear in Hildegard’s eyes burnt into his retina.” :: “live in”, in doesn’t fit and probably was a mistake.
Taskmienster
06-11-10, 08:30 AM
Exp and Gp added.
Blank is now level 1! Congrats!
Powered by vBulletin® Version 4.2.5 Copyright © 2024 vBulletin Solutions Inc. All rights reserved.