The Black Rose (Solo)

[redford]

Light. The sound of trees in the wind. A birdsong.

John’s eyes opened slowly, his head tilting to the side. The other end of the bed was empty, as it always was. Sometimes it felt like she was still there, still with him. Like she’d just...gone to the bathroom or something. John lazily sat up, pulling his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the ground with a thud. The motes of dust in the house danced in sunbeams that came through his window, swaying almost to the rhythm of the songbird outside. He stared at them for a few minutes before standing, pulling a shirt over his head slowly, with an almost purposeless nature.

She was, after all, still gone, and no matter what he did, said, or thought, she would still be gone. Every morning the realization came, and every morning he struggled to remain standing under the weight of it. John squeezed his eyes shut and his breath hitched as he shook his head, banishing her image from his mind. No, John needed to work, and her memory only served to distract him now. He pulled open a drawer on his nightstand, pulling a thick cigar from it. one armored finger grew a long blade and he cut the end off, placing it in his mouth as he tossed the cut end away.

A moment later the cigar was lit and John set about his chores for the morning. He dressed himself, donning patchwork pants to match his shirt. It had been difficult to find clothes large enough to fit him, so he had begun to make his own clothes. They were not pretty, but they were functional, and held up reasonably well to the heat of his forge. He’d paid a pretty penny for his boots, which were custom made to his size, and he had no desire to know how much a shirt and pants would cost him. As soon as the boots were snugly laced up, John opened the door to his workshop, converted from a large open porch.

He turned to the massive heap of brick that served as his furnace, giving the bellows a few pushes. Luckily, the coals had survived the night, and sprung to life amidst a cloud of ash. He made sure to change the water in his trough, keeping his mind focused on the task at hand. Considering where his mind wandered when it was idle, he thought it best to keep busy. He finished his preparations, then set about gathering the wares he would be bringing to market that day. He went on the first day of each week. A small pack held horseshoes, nails, and a few knives, as well as one sword. He’d been trying his hand at forging weapons lately, and was now confident enough in his skill to take his wares to the streets.

As John began the walk into town, he tried to keep his mind occupied with his next project. Perhaps he would attempt axes next? He’d been learning quickly, but the price of iron was high around Radasanth, and he had to consider his next move carefully. He briefly longed for his homeland in northern Salvar, where the iron was more plentiful, before his aimless thoughts conjured an image of a woman to his mind. She was beautiful, and her red hair fell around bright green eyes and a mouth that had one side upturned into a playful smirk. John’s hard gaze softened for a moment before the image widened to show her whole body, and the blood that covered it. His mind quickly turned to other diversions.

[redford]

Dawn had passed into morning by the time he arrived at market, and the bustle of seller and vendor was in full swing. John waded through the crowd. He wondered silently how the world looked to a normally-sized person before finding a small booth. His bag clanked to the counter and he walked behind it, taking pieces out and spreading them along the counter. The knives found their points buried in the wooden top of the counter, and the sword leaned up against the inside. There was a wooden chair that was up against the building that bordered the market street. It felt small, but it held him, and John settled in for the day.

John looked about at the throng of people that had gathered by midday, most glancing at his wares, then staring at John himself. People without the age or sense to avert their eyes when they met John’s gaze stared blankly at him. All in all, he wished they didn’t stare, but it made no difference if he did or said anything. People would stare at the giant in gauntlets, likely even more so if he showed any irritation at it. At least he’d sold some horseshoes today and was getting some shade from the awning above him. The crowd continued to bustle around the stalls lined up cries of shopkeepers overlapping with the complaints and praise of the customers.

By early evening, John had sold a few more horseshoes and one of his daggers. The few gold coins he’d traded them for clinked in his pocket as he began to put his wares back into the bag. In a week he’d be back, enduring the stares of others once more. He picked the bag up wearily and slid it over his shoulder, walking back toward his home. The sun, now out of sight, still painted watercolor reds and pinks across the clouds as night began to follow. People were just beginning to light candles and torches as his trudging steps brought him further through the city.

John’s pace halted though, as he began to pass one of the older buildings in eastern Radasanth. The building was three stories, and bore the elegance of the older architecture in the city. It was a simple building with several windows dotting the front of it, most lit from within by candles. It was a mundane sort of elegance, the building didn’t seem all that nice at first, but the more one observed it, the more one noticed the finer things about it. It was made of dark, hard wood, and had fine carpentry and craftsmanship everywhere. A large ebony plank stood above the door, hanging by an ornate iron post so that it could be seen from the street, and lit by a nearby torch. On it was carved a large rose, the deep notches visible as shadows in the torchlight. A faun stood at the door, her tawny skin and fur exaggerated by the orange torchlight.

John would have moved on, but the faun looked back in his direction, holding his gaze for a minute. He wondered if she would care if he told her what troubled him. Though there was no way to know whether a concern for his issues was simply a manufactured emotion, or something she genuinely felt. Though both were preferable to how he felt currently. HIs hand, still in his pocket, fondled a couple of his coins. It would be possible to make someone care, at least for the evening. He felt a sort of disgust for the notion, but at the same time, it appeared that it would offer the relief he was seeking.

[redford]

He squeezed the coin in his pocket and took a few steps forward. As he approached the girl, she spoke fluidly.

“Hey big guy, are you looking for something in particular?”

John maintained his permanent scowl, even though he felt like he was being turned inside out. “Yes.”

She dismissed his crassness with a beckoning hand. She opened the door with the other, spilling golden light from within across the street around her. “Well, tell you what. Come inside, take a load off, and I’ll see if we can’t get you some refreshment while you decide, eh?” She followed her words with a playful wink, and hopped inside the building. John stood outside for a second, briefly reconsidering.

He’d come this far, he had to know now.

He stepped through into a massive, lavish room. The place was clearly designed for comfort, and boasted couches and padded chairs of all kinds. John found a sofa he could sit in comfortably, and the girl faun, who now appeared very attractive to John, walked around the couch. There were perhaps a dozen women in the room, each arrayed in a different style of dress. a few noticed him as he entered, and began to look and point. John instantly regretted his decision to enter, as he was being treated as some kind of oddity again, but was determined to finish his transaction. The faun leaned over the edge of the couch, over John’s shoulder. He felt a horn brush his head.

“Just relax, I’ll see if any of the girls are interested,” She stood, and rubbed his shoulders. It felt quite nice, but did little to alleviate his concerns. Her finger traced his jawline. “Though,” she continued, “With the way you look, I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding a few girls.”

John grabbed a cigar from his pocket and tried not to look around too much as the faun approached a group of women. He placed it next to a candle and soon the end smoldered. It helped calm his nerves a little. John puffed the cigar while trying to appear nonchalant. His armor formed a little bowl on the back of his hand, and John tapped the ash into it as the faun returned, five girls in tow.

She smiled at John, sliding down on the couch next to him.

“Well, let me introduce you to the girls. Pick who you like, maybe even two that you like, they all play nice together,” she said, nudging him with an elbow. There were three humans of the five ladies, and the other two were a drow, and surprisingly enough, a halfling. The faun spoke again, almost snuggling up next to him.

“Okay, first we have the wonderfully talented Daisy, sure to make you feel anything you want to feel,” Daisy took a shallow curtsy, her curly blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. Her form was tall and lithe, and a form-fitting white dress showed it off.

“Next, there’s Baltana, don’t worry, she already knows what you want, and will give it to you till morn,” the drow girl had a smile that bordered on evil, and a wardrobe to suit. A comely black leather dress and corset accentuated her curves, and her sharp features accentuated the smile. She stood, confident, arrogant even, her white hair bound tightly in a braid, a white streak against the ashen color of her skin. In her hands, she fondled a riding crop. John fought the urge to shudder.

“This,” she continued, gesturing at the second human, “Is Ivana,” She had wavy red hair and her face was pockmarked with freckles. She wore a loose red tunic and a pair of black pants. Her face had round features, and she bit her lip as John looked her up and down. He felt himself begin to sweat. She nudged him and leaned up to his ear, whispering. “Careful, she can be a little rough. Aw who cares you look like you could take her.”

[redford]

“And, here we have the incredibly talented, exceedingly brave Sapphire. She’s always been up for a challenge, and that means you tonight,” she said, giggling. The halfling hopped up on the low table in front of the couch, eyeing John hungrily. Her brown hair fell around her in a heap, and her gaze didn’t seem to be directed at his eyes, per se.

“And last, but certainly not least, there’s Jamie, one of our most fun ladies. She’s down for whatever you want, and she loves every bit of it,” Jamie smiled softly, her sharp features framed by thick black hair. There was an exceeding beauty in her simplicity. She wore a simple green dress. The faun leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“Listen, these girls are whores, but they’re MY whores, and I’ll not have you hurting them, not unless they ask for another, you hear?”

John gave a curt nod. He wasn’t a fan of pain either.

“Excellent, then I’ll let you choose your companion for the evening, though don’t hesitate too much, some of the ladies here grow impatient at times,” she chuckled.

John looked at them all again. His face remained unmoved, but the despair he’d been feeling today, and these past years, was catching up to him. All of them looked at him the same way. As an odd specimen that they wanted to test, to poke and prod. He leaned back in the couch, placing his arms on the back of it before looking at them once more.

Except perhaps Jamie. He looked a little more closely at her, and she met his gaze. She was definitely pleasant to look at, but John couldn’t quite put his finger on why she caught and held his gaze as she did. Perhaps because of all the girls that were staring at him, she was the only one actually looking at his face and not his nethers. John’s mouth went dry as he realized he was actually picking a girl in a place like this. He croaked.

“Jamie,” he cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, Jamie.”

Jamie smiled a little, and looked away for a second.

“Excellent, let me know if you need anything, we keep various...toys...stocked for our clients,” the faun said excitedly, popping out of the couch, offering John a hand up, which would have amused him had the situation not been so ridiculous.

John stood and stared at Jamie. Now that he was standing, he saw that she was tall, perhaps six feet even. He wondered how she got to be so tall briefly before the faun interrupted, swatting John on his behind.

“Come now, don’t waste your time now, friend!” She said, hurrying both of them up a nice flight of stairs and into a candlelit room.

John entered, seeing a large four-posted bed sitting in the middle of the room, as well as two chairs and a small table on one side. Though sparsely furnished, it had elegance where it counted. The pillows looked soft, and there was a small liquor cabinet mounted on the wall of the room that harbored the chairs and table. It was lit by several candles set in holders in the walls, and one on the table at the wall. John heard the click of a lock and spun round instinctively, seeing Jamie with her back to him. she turned, smirking playfully, and dropped the key down the bosom of her dress. She spoke smoothly, sensually as she approached. John took a step back, his apprehension rising.

“Now, let me show you exactly why you made the right choice.” she trailed a finger down his tunic, placing her thigh between his own, which caused him to step back again, his foot catching on the edge of the bed. She looked down and smirked, pushing on his chest as he fell backward, hitting his head on the railing above the four post bed.

She was suddenly atop him, burying her lips into his neck, nibbling on the spot just above his collarbone.

“Wait,” John gasped as her hand reached for the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know about this,” he tried to raise a hand, but the sensations he hadn’t felt since his wife died were proving difficult to overcome.

Her hot breath lanced his ear. “Well, you seemed sure you wanted me, I’m just returning the favor,” she whispered, and her teeth latched on to his earlobe. John shuddered. It all felt so wrong though, so different than real love and care. There was a difference, and it took him a second to sift through his thoughts to find that knowledge. It was so much different when he was with his wife, so real, and though this was a passable forgery, it was definitely not comparable.

Quick as a flash, she was pinned underneath him.

“I don’t want you, I want my wife.” he said forcefully, trying to regain control over his runaway emotions. “I want my Katherine back, Jamie.”

Jamie looked back at him, puzzled expression on her face.

“So go to her then, don’t come here,” she said as John let up on her, standing. He paced over to the whiskey cabinet, using the time to attempt to control himself. He could not. he opened the glass case, pulling a bottle into his hands. He turned it over feeling the smoothness of the glass, attempting to find something, anything to take his mind off of what was going on inside of his head. It swam with thoughts despite this, and he looked back at Jamie, a mist on his eyes.

“She’s dead, as well as anyone I ever thought deserved my care,” he said, looking at the whiskey bottle again. He couldn’t even drink the pain away, alcohol had little effect on one so large. “I want someone to care for me. I thought I could find that here, but it’s all different.”

The girl stared at him as if he were some form of strange animal. She took a cautious step forward and reached out, turning his oversized shoulders toward him. She spoke softly.

“But what can I do?”

John sank into the chair beside him, setting the bottle on the small table. Luckily it didn’t buckle under his weight.

“I don’t know, I just wish someone would talk to me, not about me or at me.”

The girl, though clearly not used to this kind of clientele, quickly sat down across from him, unstoppering the bottle and grabbing the overturned glasses at the center. She poured two shots, John’s larger than her own.

“So, let’s talk. What did you do today? Or tell me your name for starters,”

John looked up. “My name is John, and why does it matter what I did today. It is the same thing, I wake up, I work the forge, every seven days I go to market. I see her in my mind, you know,” John continued, more to himself than anyone else. “bloodied and burning. I destroyed all the pictures I have of her, they were too hard to look at; but now I wish I had kept them to keep me from seeing her in my head, dying, screami-”

The crinkle of glass broke off his speech, and he looked down to see his bare hand beginning to bleed all over the table. It didn’t hurt, at least not compared to what he was already feeling.

Jamie squeaked, but quickly grabbed a small dish towel from a drawer nearby and spread it out in front of his hand. She began to pull the glass shards from him. He began to speak again.

“I want a friend, Jamie; or a girlfriend, or a wife, I just want somebody to care enough to listen,”

Jamie looked at him once more, and began to wrap the rag around his hand, red splotches beginning to faintly show through it already.

[redford]

John stood, grabbing the bottle from the table, taking a swig of it. There was anger, still anger at the men who took his life from him, anger at himself for his own inability to regain his happiness, anger at everyone who now stared at him. Emotion welled up within him like a fountain, and he didn’t know what to do with it. There was great sorrow, and even embarrassment that the girl would see the parts of him that were broken.

“I want somebody to do that, without being paid to do so,” John said, motioning toward his bloody hand.

“John,” she said, touching his arm. This time he turned toward her unbeckoned, looking down at his hand. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss me,” she said, pulling at his arm back toward the table. They both sat, John staring at anything that wasn’t near Jamie. “Just start with the beginning, John. Tell me about what happened,”

John began his story, still looking at the label on the whiskey bottle.

“I was born Sir John Albert Cromwell of the Cromwell house of Salvar. I grew up well, but we are of the smaller noble houses, and thus a point of ridicule for a large part of the Salvarian government. I knew how to swing a sword, but I could tie a rope and work a field too. When work needed done in house Cromwell, it didn’t matter who you were, you got it done.

“I met a lady of the court, Katherine Loriol. We met at a banquet in the King’s honor, and quickly we became fast friends. She believed in the smaller noble houses, that they formed the backbone of the larger houses, the foundation on which they lie. She was a lot smarter than I am, knew so much. Her eyes used to light up in the most fantastic way when she was telling me things.”

John’s good hand came up to shift a tear from his eye, and this time he met her gaze.

“We soon became inseparable. But greater nobles heard of our romance, and one day I received a letter. It came from house Band, one of the four largest noble houses in Salvar. It threatened tariffs and taxes on our lands if I were to marry Katherine. Flint Band could not forbid a marriage between us, but he could make it uncomfortable, for his love for Katherine was jealous. Perhaps we should have discussed it with more people, perhaps shamed house Band for their dishonor, but we were young and we were in love. Much to the ire of House Band, one year later we were wed.

John smiled.

“It’s funny. I wanted to have the ceremony at House Loriol, their glasswork was so good, their stained windows so beautiful, it was like standing in a rainbow itself, painting your very skin with color. I wanted her to have everything. But, she wanted to give her support to house Cromwell, show that she really meant it when she said that smaller houses were more important than larger houses.

“So we were married in a small cathedral, few windows, no stained glass, and I tell you even now that is the most sacred place in all of Althanas. Nowhere more beautiful or pure. It wasn’t long after that that she bore me a daughter, Emily. Blonde, just like her father, brown eyes that cared about everything and everyone, just like her mother.

John’s hands clenched into fists.

“But, as my love for my wife grew, a seed of hatred grew and blossomed in House Band, and when fully grown gave rise to death. He hired mercenaries, trained to be ruthless, and raided house Cromwell. I woke just in time to see my wife be dragged out the door of our bedroom, the screams of our six year old daughter echoing through the halls. Men tried to kill me to keep me from them, but I was young and large, strong and good with the longsword. I made it to our daughter’s room to find the men holding daggers to my wife and daughter. They made demands, said they would let Katherine and Emily live if I surrendered.

John’s eyes began to water.

“I knew there was no hope for them, they died at that moment for me. I - I charged them, and they-”

John’s breath hitched as he quaked. Jamie placed a hand on his shoulder. John spoke, hands over his face now.

“They killed them, slit their throats and set fire to the room. I barely made it out alive. I couldn’t even bury them. My Katherine, my Emily, gone!” he shouted, not noticing that Jamie had walked around to stand beside his chair. She wrapped her arms around him and John turned his head, sobbing softly on her shoulder.

[redford]

“Shhh….” she cooed to him, not really knowing what else to say. “What happened next?”

John’s breath suddenly stopped and he looked up at her, a scowl painting his face, a manner of scowl that hinted at a darkness within.

“I killed them,” John said flatly.

Jamie took a step back from John’s arms. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I killed them!” John yelled, the anger welling inside him. “Flint band, his father, his mother, their guards his son, I killed them ALL!” John’s fists clenched and his armor rippled. “I took my vengeance on House Band, I made them fear the name Cromwell. I’m a story they tell their young ones, I am the ghost that haunts the dreams of House Band.” John turned away.

“It was an eye for an eye, and for that I was banished.”

Jamie responded. “An eye for an eye and the whole world is blind.”

John shrugged, striding toward the door. “Only if you’re weak.”

[Logan]

redford - The Black Rose (Solo) - Judgement


Plot - 19/30


The introduction to the thread was rough. It became clear later on there was a very specific purpose to the thread, a reason for it to be told. Had the introduction, and the time it took to get to the dialogue between John and Jamie been a bit shorter, this score would most surely be higher. Still, though, once it got to those two, the thread picked up immediately. The reader becomes immersed into John’s character and backstory, and developing friendship between himself and Jamie. The origins of these two’s relationship is beautiful.


Specifics: The conclusion of the first post is powerful, and well done. The reader is almost lulled into this false sense of security, so to speak, with the description of the girl, and then bam, like a sack of bricks the reader is hit with the delicate melancholy of her covered in blood. Words cannot do justice to how well done this was. Bravo.




Character - 22/30


The development of character in John between the beginning and end of this thread is magnificent, especially as the thread nears its conclusion. The introduction of Jamie, explaining how the two’s relationship initially began, was solid. The only reason this isn’t nearly perfect is due to the general feeling of ho hum in respect to the other girls and the faun. There could certainly be more depth to those secondary characters, but it felt right to focus more on John and Jamie, as this is the origins of their story. There were some great moments using John, but there could have been a few more.


Specifics: While this isn’t a negative, it could improve your technique just a little bit. In the fifth post where John is describing Katherine and the whole of the events, he pauses for a moment to clench his fists. Considering he just shattered a glass in one hand, and Jamie just bandaged it up, it could be better technique to utilize the bandaged hand. Maybe he goes to clench his fists, but then he looks down at them and winces just slightly, or he could look down and rub the bandage for a moment before continuing. These are just suggestions, and by no means things that have to be utilized. Technique is just a fickle beast. This suggestion can also apply when John covers his face with his hands as the end of the post draws near.


Also see below for a general comment on this thread.



Prose - 12/30 - This thread suffers the most in mechanics and technique. There are countless capitalization errors, but zero spelling errors. Clarity is a struggle at times, and I will list a couple of specific examples for this below. I’m guessing being Althanas Day, you were rushed to just get this all written, and it showed. However, don’t let that deter you. It just means you have this area to work on, but if you can improve here and leave the other two as they are, you’ll be a much improved writer, for sure.


Specifics: At the end of John’s dialogues, there should be closing “s. While, yes, his dialogue goes onto the next section, closing “s are the proper form. It isn’t saying he is ending his dialogue, as much as it tells the reader to move onto the next line.


Right after John laments that everyone dies that he cares about, Jamie goes to turn his shoulders toward her, but your pronouns here are both his and his, so it reads like John is turning John’s shoulders towards John. A very small mistake that is both jarring to some small degree and can disrupt flow and clarity.


There are the questions about when to utilize page breaks (or jump to another post). While this thread was consistently decent at this, the post sequence where the faun begins to describe the girls, and then the story jumps to the next post and she continues describing them is not a natural or comfortable break for the reader. It would be better form to break more naturally while John was smoking the cigar, even though this leads to one shorter post and one longer. At least the flow wouldn’t be severed, which feels may be the case with this particular post jump between posts 3 and 4.


Another note pointing back to the prior comment on the choice of post breaks, when making a post break consider it the equivalent of a chapter break. While sometimes a writer might elect to break chapters even in the midst of dialogue, it is generally frowned upon. The main reason is because there’s no separation in the scene, and in this case it would be better form to break earlier or later, but not in the middle of the descriptions of the girls. Along the same lines, it is generally better form to not jump to a new post after describing a few actions or different characters, and then beginning the next post with a generic pronoun like ‘he’ or ‘she’. With John it is less of an issue because the narrator traditionally follows the protagonist - John. However, at this particular post break (posts 3 and 4) we jump from descriptions of Ivana and in the next post we have a dialogue about Sapphire, and the generic pronoun and action of ‘she said’. Typically, as stated earlier, this can mess with the clarity of a post and thread a bit because the natural reading process would point the she pronoun to Sapphire, not the faun. A simple fix would be to simply use “the faun said, giggling.” instead of “she said, giggling”, just to help reference the reader back to the originator of the specific pronoun.


In reading the different girls as they were introduced, the reader might feel a bit disconnected from the them. There isn’t much depth individually, and the descriptions were a bit shallow. There is an assumption to be made wherein the writer is probably trying to keep the flow of the thread moving, but a bit more description could help separate each girl from the prior, to give them individual depth. It isn’t that they didn’t have some individuality, but there could have been more. Especially in this instance, it would be good form to give each a few extra descriptions or more personality or...if you will...character.




General Comment: The ending is a bit rushed, but it may have something to do with trying to finish for Althanas Day. Considering how much I like this thread, and as a reader became invested in John and Jamie, their relationship/friendship, and their stories, I’m a bit upset. I want more, and that, my friend, is a damn good thing. Bravo. I just hate it became a bit rushed, because there feels like more to this story between the two of them, even in just this little bit of their history.


Wildcard - 6/10 - As a reader, I felt like you wrote to me. You clearly had an idea of the scene in your mind and wrote this out as it played out in your mind. This is very common for a writer of your style, and I know I am guilty of it as well. Just remember to take the few extra minutes to proofread, and to revise as needed. Your posts come off as rough drafts, but I can only imagine how superb a final draft would be compared to most writing I’ve judged. This is definitely one of my favorite threads I’ve read of yours, which is a big, BIG compliment.




Total - 59/100


redford receives 4165 EXP and 200 GP


Note: 3X EXP is applied for Althanas Day

[Logan]

EXP and GP Added.

redford gains level 3!!! Congrats!