The Guardian Knave

The Guardian Knave (Full Version)

All Forums >> [Gaming Community] >> [Legends and Lore] >> Writers of Lore >> [The Bookshelves] >> Other Creative Prose

Message

stromy -> The Guardian Knave (6/27/2008 17:39:47)
*The Guardian Knave* Chapter 1 “Spare a coin, Your Nobleness?” The young man asked, at the same time rattling his tin cup with a few copper pieces in it. He looked up at the finely dress nobleman. The man who he was asking looked down at him with contempt. He was affronted that a lowly, bedraggled beggar would dare to ask him for money. He scoffed at the nerve of the boy dressed in filthy, lice ridden rags. Every piece of his clothing had taken on the tint of earth. The boy’s dirty-blond hair didn’t look like it had been washed for over a month. The stench coming from the boy confirmed that he hadn’t washed his body either. His filthy boots looked to be years old. They left more of his feet exposed than they covered. Turning up his nose in disdain, the nobleman strode away. “Please, I beg of you, let me have just one coin!” The audacious young man exclaimed as he stood up, grabbing the nobleman’s waist from behind. When the nobleman turned back to strike the young man for touching him, he found the boy kneeling in supplication. The nobleman just scoffed, kicking the boy away in disdain. Turning away down the crookedly paved, misshapen street, he quickly walked through the rotten section of town. A few blocks later, crying in outrage, the man turned around, sprinting back towards the beggar-thief. The boy had somehow managed to cut his purse strings when he’d grabbed him from behind. When he reached the storefront where he’d seen the boy, he cursed, seeing that the boy had been shrewd enough to run off with his ill-gotten gains. The man stomped off in anger, knowing that he could only get in more trouble if he, a rich man, created a scene in this part of the city. A man who had seen and known everything that happened smiled from the shadows with approval. The boy had potential. Walking back towards the inn where he stayed, Slater grinned in relief. For a second back there, he’d thought the nobleman would notice that he’d stolen his purse. With how heavy it was, Slater couldn’t figure out how the man managed not to notice that it was gone. He whistled a happy tune as he skirted the other beggars and the filth that lined the cobblestone streets. This part of town wasn’t a friendly place, so it hardly got any visitors of worth–they tended to stick to the main, cleaner parts of the city. Because of this, no one bothered to clean the streets. In confirmation of this, Slater nimbly leapt over the rotting corpse of a dead dog. It was a cycle of filth that Slater felt disgusted to be a part of. Smiling as he shook his loot, he hoped that the money from the nobleman would help alleviate some of his disgust. Along with paying off some of his debts, he hoped to be able to buy some new clothes. With those, Slater might be able to go into the nicer parts of the city and get more money doing his trade. * “Sir, what should we do about the boy?” One of the men asked the leader who sat at the head of the long, rectangular table. A few of the other ten men sitting at the table voiced their concern also. “For now, leave him be. I want to see how well he can do things on his own,” the leader responded, looking at each of his men in turn, making sure that they understood his words. “What if he–,” one of the men began to argue in response. Bordering on anger, the leader cut him of, saying, “No harm is to befall the boy! Do I make myself clear?” The man who had voiced his opinion gulped and nodded in submission. * He went inside the Jeranga Inn and Tavern, where he lived and at times worked. As he passed through the always crowded and rowdy tavern area, he heard a bawdy female voice shouting his name over the loud ruckus. For once, he had a smile on his face when he went to meet Franca. Franca was the owner of the inn and tavern. Most women would have trouble with men around these parts, but Franca had no such problems. Walking up to the large woman with brown hair knotted tightly in a bun, Slater laughed in remembrance of the last time someone tried to take advantage of her. The man had thought to get a free meal and room out of her. But by the time she was finished with him, the man left without more than just his money. Though he’d been a regular customer, after that incident two months ago, the man had never come back. Slater wouldn’t if he was him either. “What’re yoo laughin at, Slater?” Franca asked him, her lack of education coming out in her speech. She was busy whipping a glass that one of the barmaids had just brought back from a table. “Just laughing at what you did to Bill,” Slater responded. Franca guffawed, she too remembered the incident. “I showed him, didn I?” She asked as she poured a pint of ale and slid it down to one of the barmaids waiting to take it out to a group waiting to be served. “Ya got my money?” She looked at him threateningly, “I told ye, Slater, if ye wanna live here, ya gotta pay me rent.” Franca went back to her work assuming that, as usual, Slater didn’t have the money. “Sure, Franca, it’s right here. Oh, I added a bit more to pay next month’s rent also,” Slater replied, bemused as Franca eyed the silver piece he’d set on the bar counter. Giving him a crooked eyed stare as she inspected the silver piece, she asked him, “Tis real innit it?” Giving Frana a look of mock affront, Slater replied, as if ashamed at her for accusing him, “Franca, would I ever cheat you?” Slipping the coin into her pocket, Franca eyed him dangerously, “Not if ye know what’s good for ya.” She looked at him in reflection, “Ye gotta stop stealin stuff, Slater. Or ye’ll end up getin yerself in trouble with the Crimson Sleeves.” The Crimson Sleeves to the underbelly of the city as the DeFallow’s were to the good side of the city. Rumor had it that the Crimson Lord, the leader of the Crimson Sleeves, was actually in contact with the DeFallow’s; keeping them informed about what was going on in the black market. Also, the Crimson Sleeves were invaluable in providing them all manner of rouges to send over to spy on neighboring territories. Slater had never seen one himself, or so he thought. Crimson Sleeves didn’t actually wear ‘crimson sleeves,’ that would draw too much attention from both the law and from their quarry. Instead, as Slater heard it told, they had a crimson band tattooed on their upper forearm. To some, this tattoo was a sign of utmost honor, to others; it was the vilest thing that could be seen on a human being. As an aspiring thief, Slater would give almost anything to be able to be a Crimson Sleeve. He had little hope of becoming one though. Slater had heard that you needed to be asked first, and, as he knew virtually no one, he knew that he’d never be asked. More ominously, he’d also heard that many died in their training and work for the Crimson Sleeves. Franca, as if she knew what he was thinking, shook a finger at him admonishingly, “Don’t ye be getin any grand ideas, Slater. The Crimson Sleeves aren’t people ye want to be dealing with.” Slater heard a woman’s scream from in the tavern behind him. Franca and Slater both looked to the source of the scream in alarm. One of the barmaids was being accosted by a drunken sailor. Apparently, the sailor had mistaken how willing that the girl been towards his advances. Franca gave Slater a hard shove as he stood watching the laughing sailor grope the horrified barmaid. This kind of thing wasn’t uncommon in the Jeranga Inn and Tavern. Men would become drunk and want some entertainment. Most of the time, for the right price, they could get it out of the barmaids. This time, Slater saw, the man didn’t pay the price. This is where he came in. Striding past the drunk and half drunken groups of men who littered the tavern, Slater grabbed the drunken sailor’s arm, pulling him away from the girl. Rather than doing what he should have, the sailor took a drunken swing at Slater. Slater easily dodged the drunken man’s swing. Stepping back from the man, Slater attempted to reason with the man, “Come on, man, clearly this girl isn’t for you, just leave her alone.” Giving the man a friendly grin and added incentive, Slater told him, “Sit down, relax, and have a drink on the house.” The man, clearly in a drunken rage, just took another swing at Slater. Slater pulled a hidden knife from his sleeve, knocked the man’s arm away, and held it to the man’s throat. The man took pause, even in his drunken stupor able to understand what the blade meant. “I suggest, Friend,” Slater told him, clearly not saying it in a friendly fashion, “that you leave now.” The man finally seemed to come to his senses and turned away, beginning to walk towards the door. Slater felt his heart beating wildly as he turned away, thankful that he was able to stop what could have been a very bad situation. Just when he began to take a step away, he heard a drunken bellow of rage from the sailor. Quick as a blink, Slater whirled around, bringing the knife up as he did so. Before the sailor could take a step towards him, Slater buried his knife in the man’s throat. As Slater walked over to the fallen sailor, he gave the man a look of disgust. As Slater was retrieving his knife, the man from the shadows out on the street, now sitting at a table off to the side, let out a murmur of admiration and pleasure at what had just transpired. Everyone else, drunk or no, just sat stunned. Besides Franca that is, she had seen Slater do things like this more than a few times. Franca just continued to polish glasses and send them back out full of liquor.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (6/27/2008 17:40:49)
Chapter 2 “I suppose ye earned yerself dinner t’night,” Franca told Slater as they watched a couple of men drag the sailor’s body out the front door and into a dark side alley. In the few seconds that it had taken for the men to drag the body out, everyone in the tavern had completely lost interest in the spectacle that had just occurred. Slater walked back through the crowded, loud tavern to an empty barstool. It was getting later so there were very few left open now. He ended up having to bump into a rough looking man as he got onto a stool. The heavily bearded man grunted in anger, looking over at Slater as if he wanted to pick a fight. When he saw who it was, though, he hurriedly moved aside to give Slater some room. Slater heard the kitchen door bang against the wall from behind the bar as Franca brought him out a steaming plate of food. Giving him a rare smile, Franca set down his plate and filled up a glass with mead for him. Looking at the plate of food, Slater was happy to see that it was a pork roast. The Jeranga Inn and Tavern was known for its pork roast. Franca wouldn’t dare serve bad food to the rough crowd that frequented her establishment. The prior tavern owner had once thought to serve old meat; the next day he was found dead in an alley. Slater cut a large piece of it off and placed it in his mouth. It tasted as good as it smelled. The savory roast somehow melted in his mouth. Slater picked up his pint of mead and washed the pork down, filling his mouth with the cinnamon and honey flavored mead. Slater was grateful whenever a confrontation happened. Each time he had to help settle a conflict, he got to eat a delicious meal for free. Setting his fork and knife down and draining the last of his mead, Slater thanked Franca for the meal. He then got up and began to make his way towards the stairs to the inn above. A few times he had to dodge around a few overly zealous partiers. Finally, he managed to reach the stairs. He quickly walked up the wooden stairs, his feet, due to years of practice, were effortlessly silent with each step. From the top of the stairs, he could just make out the handle of the door to his permanent room. His room was at the far end of the long hallway of rooms. The reason that Franca allowed him to live in it was because of its size. Because it was so small, Franca had never been able to get anyone to use it for the night. Slater didn’t mind though. His possessions were meager and he only ever used it for sleeping. It suited his purposes just fine. He was unsurprised by the lack of sound coming from any of the rooms. It was early yet, therefore, the people were still down below drinking and eating. Slater could easily make out the sound of the continued merriment from below. It wouldn’t be until much later that things finally settled down. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for Slater to find people still partying from the night before on the days that he woke up early. Slater entered his undecorated, tiny closet of a room that he called home. Ever since Franca had seen him on the street those many years ago, Slater had become a permanent fixture at the Jeranga. She’d found Slater, cold and hungry, wandering the streets those ten years ago. At the time, Slater had been fourteen. Before that day, Slater couldn’t recall ever not having lived on the streets. He couldn’t remember his parents or a home that they must have lived in. Slater recalled many a night when he’d been forced to lay in a pile of trash in order to stay warm for the night. It wasn’t often cold, so Slater didn’t have to do it to often. Once in a while, strangers had seen him and had given him a place to stay for a few days. But because he was too young to be of any help to them, they always ended up putting him back out on the street. Slater was grateful for the comfort that they’d given him but didn’t expect it. Being thrown out didn’t really anger him that much. He was used to living on the streets. Slater had taken to thievery to get by. He vividly recalled the first time that he’d tried to steal something. He’d been trying to steal a loaf of bread because he hadn’t eaten for three days. With his years of his experience that he had now, he realized what his largest mistake was. He’d looked the shopkeeper in the eye. That drew the shopkeeper’s attention to him. When he’d tried to swipe loaf of wheat bread when a crowd came up, the shopkeeper had been watching him with suspicion. The man had taken him out to the back of the shop and severely whipped him. Slater still had scars on his back from the experience. It hadn’t taken him long to learn though. Within the month, Slater could steal almost anything he wanted without being caught. He never tried to steal anything to big nor did he try to steal a sum too large. To steal a lot of money, Slater would have had to steal from the wealthy citizens. If he was caught doing that, the penalty would’ve been much more severe. In front of the Grand Palace where the DeFallows lived, there was a large gallows. Every once and a while, Slater would see that a thief had been put to death and left to hang from them. If you weren’t a Crimson Sleeve and you were caught stealing from the rich, death was almost a certainty. The only reason that Slater had been bold enough to steal from the man earlier in the day was because the man had been foolish enough to walk through the bad part of town. Even if the man would have caught him, Slater knew that he could escape before the city guard could come to take him away. Like most people, the city guard tended to stay out of the worst part of town. Besides,the Crimson Sleeves took care of anyone that they deemed too bold. Slater was not only educated in the way of the streets though. He had an education in the ways of polite society as well. A few nights a week, with each time for the next having been specified at the previous gathering, young gentlemen, mostly nobles but some just wealthy, gathered to have an intellectual discussion on a topic of choice. These were how Slater had learned all that he knew about intellectual topics. For the past three years, he had covertly attended most of the gatherings that took place. The topics that he’d learned about included, but were not limited to, the art of horsemanship, chemistry, biology, mathematics, astronomy, proper court behavior, physiognomy teachings, and morality.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (1/8/2010 15:46:51)
Chapter 3 Slater was excited for tonight's meeting. He could hardly contain his excitement as he walked along the side of the decreasingly decrepit roads. Through the years, he'd saved up enough money so that he could buy a fashionable set of clothes that he wore solely to the meetings. Looking down at his tan pants, he sighed, realizing that they were beginning to fade slightly. This meant that he would have to buy more dye so that he could keep up the facade of being wealthy. As it stood, he always kept his opinions to himself at the meetings and made sure to stand near the back of the group. Even with his disguise, he was always fearful of being caught. The men and women back at the bar were okay with being ignorant, but Slater could not, would not allow himself to be. The tall, powerful buildings that loomed in the best parts of the city were magnificent to look upon. Looking towards them, even at a distance, Slater could almost feel their powerful shadows pressing down upon him. The shadows were his home, they were his prison. The Inn was the first inn in town. Years ago, when the city was still young, it was the only place for travelers to stay. As he neared its red signpost, he marveled at how much the little inn had changed over the years. No part of the original structure still remained. It felt more like entering a castle than an inn, Slater thought, as he looked upon the marble building. Some nobleman had payed an unspeakable sum of money to have it converted into a mansion for him to live in. When he died, his son sold it to the DeFallows because he had lost a good deal of money gambling. It was then converted to the gathering place for officials that it was today. He'd been so caught up in his musings that he had almost forgotten why he was so excited for the meeting tonight. Lord Pessan Roatsam was speaking tonight. Lord Roatsam was the top adviser to the DeFallows family. His word was considered second only to Lord DeFallows himself. Having known of the man only by word of mouth, Slater was extremely excited to see him and hear him speak for the first time. The murmuring of the others died away as Slater entered the meeting room. He smiled inwardly as the curtain moved for Lord Roatsam to enter. His timing had been good once again. Slater knew that coming early to mingle would only increase his chances of being caught, so he resigned himself to arriving right as the main event began. Slater strained his neck from his location at the back of the room, but, sadly, his position did not give him the opportunity to get a good look at Lord Roatsam. All he could make out was the deep purple of the man's robes as he stepped towards the podium to speak. And what a speaker the man was. The power of his words was equally matched by the power of his deep voice. His choice of subject was morality and good will towards others. Slater listened in a state of rapture as the man spoke of treating each man as you would like to be treated yourself. A few things that Lord Roatsam said caused a lot of people in the room to gasp in both shock and appreciation. One thing in particular really got to Slater. "Who is to say that we are any better than those poor wretches that we see in the lower parts of the city? None can guess what hardships they have gone through in their lives that would put them in such a situation. Being born to a noble family does not inherently make us better than them. In fact, such a suggestion is absurd. It boils down to sheer luck that we were born wealthy and noble and that they were not. As such, how can we assume that we are better than any of those people?" Lord Roatsam explained. He paused, Slater strained to see that he was glancing about the room, waiting to deliver the most powerful point in his line of thought. "We need to aid them in any way we can. Their potential is unimaginable! Who knows what they could do if they were given a chance?" Throughout the night, Slater had felt the nearly overwhelming urge to reveal to Lord Roatsam, and the others, who he was. Everything that Lord Roatsam had said seemed to be directed at Slater. So, when Lord Roatsam finished, Slater burst forwards to get to the front. It was not uncommon for people to do that. In fact, people were encouraged to participate in the events. Speakers greatly enjoyed it when the young men came forwards to express their thoughts on the subjects of discussion. This time, though, it was a little different. Slater heard snatches of whispered conversations as people noticed him going forwards. Slater heard people wondering about who he was. People pointed at his clothes and whispered. In his excitement, Slater had forgotten about his fears. His only focus was on getting up to the front to reveal that he was exactly such a person that Lord Roatsam was speaking of. Revealing himself did not go at all as he hoped. His excited words of how he had scrounged and begged for a living, doing anything he could to make money, fell on deaf ears. He began to notice some of the glares directed his way and he began to stumble over his words. Glancing towards Lord Roatsam for support, Slater's gaze was met by one of anger and outrage from Lord Roatsam. At that moment, Slater realized just what he had done. His words failed him completely as his gaze swept over the crowd. All he saw were waves of angry faces and shaking fists. "OUT!" Came the outraged cry from none other than Lord Roatsam himself. His face red with fury, Lord Roatsam pointed towards the door, his whole arm shaking with anger. Hanging his head, Slater made his way through the hostile crowd to the exit. Slater heard snatches of condescending laughter mixed with jeers and taunts as left. Slater collapsed in confusion outside of The Inn as the doors slammed behind him. He felt a fool for acting like he did. Why would he be so stupid? How could Lord Roatsam be so two-faced? What would he do now? Slater felt a tear trickle between his fingers and he held his head in his hands, unable adequately deal with the confusion and sadness that enveloped him.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (7/27/2010 15:47:52)
Chapter 4 No more would Slater be able to go to the gatherings that he so enjoyed. He had ruined that for himself. No, he thought, Lord Roatsam had ruined that for him. His idol had turned out to be no better than any of the other nobles that looked at Slater disdainfully as they walked by him on the street. Slater aimlessly wandered the streets, lost in thought. His winding path led him through the upper class portion of town. Even if he had been paying attention to where he was going, he would not have cared at this point. His hopes and dreams of a better life had basically been dashed tonight. Had he been more alert, Slater might have noticed the stealthy figures creeping through the shadows. They slipped unnoticed by him, moving towards some different destination. Most nights, Slater would have followed them intently. It would not have been the first time that Slater had stopped a late night crime. Slater was never one to resort to violence in his thievery, unlike these stalkers of the night that he currently took no notice of. Even in the upper districts, there were the hidden alleyways that were unsafe at night. While the patrolling guards did come rather regularly, the alert thief could easily hide in the shadows of the side doors and carts and lie in wait for suitable prey. These alleys were a byproduct of the city's past. It had not always been as rich and prosperous as it was now. Much like the inn changing over the years, the city had changed too. So, rather than many magnificent palaces, there were redesigned and rebuilt shops that now functioned as apartments and living quarters. Often times, the exteriors of the buildings hid the wondrous furnishings inside. There were glimpses here and there of individuals trying to beautify the exterior of their apartments, but, this was generally frowned upon because, rather than make the buildings more elegant, it just led to a jarring, gaudy spectacle since each owner had his own ideas of style. As Slater walked by a particularly gaudy apartment, still trying to come to terms with what had happened to him this evening, something dimly registered as out of place in the back of Slater's mind. Slater's steps moved him in the direction of the disturbance that his subconscious noted. Slater was not aware of this occurring until he came upon the actual disturbance. It was a scene that Slater had come upon quite a few times before. The shadowy figures that he had taken no notice of before had found their victim. Two of the three masked figures held their blindfolded target. The target, clearly an upper class female by her attire, struggled vainly, but valiantly, to escape. This surprised Slater, even in his current state. He knew, both from observation of similar scenes and from what he had been told, that a woman in this position would not struggle to escape, but rather go limp and let the thieves take what they wanted. This was to prevent the thieves from getting more violent. Her chest was heaving and her face was red with the effort of trying to escape. The third thief stepped menacingly towards Slater, brandishing a knife. "You'd best be leaving." Slater looked at the man hesitantly, normally he would have taken action without such hesitation, but his mind was in a state of confusion currently. One part of him knew that he should not let these men do what they would with this woman, but, then again, he was still reeling from the events that occurred earlier in the night. What had her kind ever done for him? Perhaps she deserved to be robbed from. It’s not like she would willingly help those less off than her. That much was clearly apparent to Slater. The upper class would continue to just walk all over the lower class, so these men really had no other way to get what they needed. Slater shrugged, hardly noting that the woman had tired to the point that the men could paw at her clothing without fear of reprisal from her. His experiences this night had changed him. He took a few steps away; mind clear enough to begin slowly making his way towards the inn. His thoughts were clouded with doubt. Before, he never would have let those men get away with what they were doing. He was not sure if he was right to let them blatantly steal from the woman. What he knew was that the upper class was a group of morally corrupt people who cared for no one but themselves. That was all he was doing when he let those men rob her, he reasoned; he was looking out for his fellow man. When the woman screamed, he jolted back to his senses. Those men were not just robbing her; they were going to have their way with her too. Slater wheeled about silently as he drew the two daggers that he kept at his sides. He did not care who the lady was, no woman deserved to have done what those men were doing to her. The two men who had been holding her had started pawing at her clothes from the sides. The man who had threatened Slater had positioned himself in front of the woman. All three were focused on the woman, so none of them noticed Slater sneaking up on them. He brought the pommels of his daggers down on the top of the two men at her sides. They fell swiftly to the ground, clearly unconscious. The third man quickly realized that the tables had turned. He swung the woman around, pushing her at Slater, and then fled the scene. The woman, astute to her surroundings, quickly struggled free from Slater's grasp. As she ripped the blindfold off, Slater caught a flash of hatred glinting in her eyes. The violence of her actions sent her now unrestrained hair whipping into Slater's face. Slater could not help but note that the smell of fresh flowers that came from her hair was quite out of place in the dark alley. After she quickly surveyed the scene around her, the woman's gaze returned to Slater's, the hatred still lingered strongly in her glare. He felt the harsh sting of a slap across his face. Typical, Slater thought, letting the anger of everything that had occurred this night enter his gaze. The woman clearly felt the power in his gaze, nearly falling backwards in a mix of fear and shock. With a last condescending look, Slater turned away from the shocked woman and headed towards the inn. It had been a long night.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (8/3/2010 17:47:17)
Chapter 5 The room was so dark that he could not see the man standing across the table from him. "I am glad that you did as we asked, Lord Roatsam," the shadowy figure said, "You played your part splendidly." Lord Roatsam sighed in relief, "I thought he would be able to see through the deception. I really did not have anything against that boy. The more power to him for upsetting the status quo. It is people like him that I want to help. I really cannot understand why I had to do it. Why would Lord DeFallow want me to work with you to do this? It goes against everything I preach." The shadowy figure waved a hand dismissively towards Lord Roatsam, "It is not your concern why he wanted you to work with me," his voice lowered a notch, becoming more threatening, "And I would suggest that you leave it at that." Lord Roatsam sighed, he knew that there was nothing he could do for the boy. He was sad that he had been forced to shatter that boy's dreams. He saw true potential in the boy's eyes. The man across the table from him seemed intent on destroying that potential. He could only assume that he planned on using the boy for his own ill-gotten gains. Lord Roatsam wanted to go out and find the boy and help him. He knew that if he tried that, though, no good would come of it. He would just wind up dead on a street corner. He just could not figure out why Lord DeFallow continued to work with the man. That too, he knew, even before the thinly veiled threat, was something he could not look into. As Lord Roatsam left the room, the man chuckled to himself. He knew that everything was coming together exactly like he had planned it. His plan was years in the making. He had watched Slater for years before he put his plan into action. He had to know that Slater was the right one. He did not have much longer to wait. Soon he would contact Slater himself. He was not quite ready yet though.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (8/3/2010 21:42:02)
Chapter 6 As Slater walked back to the inn, his inner turmoil continued. A part of him just wanted to leave. His hopes and dreams had been dashed, there was no reason for him to stay in this city anymore. He knew that was a bad idea though. There was no where else for him to go. He did not have any family that he knew of, nor did he have any friends outside of the city. Slater did not really have any friends in the city either. He had never really had any friends. It was hard to be friends if you were a thief. For one thing, a lot of people did not approve of his actions. Also, Slater would have to trust someone for him to become friends with them. He was not one to trust easily. He had made that mistake before. Slater had lost a lot of money when that "friend" learned where he kept it. Slater could not be friends with other thieves, so how could he expect people to be friends with him? Slater knew that he had to stay. He just did not know what to do with himself. He could easily continue thieving, but eventually he would get old, get caught, or both. He guessed that he would just have to try and find some honest work if he wanted to survive. Maybe he could try blacksmithing, that had always intrigued him. He entered the inn through the back so that he did not have do deal with any patrons. As he layed down in bed, he looked sadly towards the clothes he had just taken off. It was probably the last time that he would get to wear them. *** She could not take it anymore. The events of last night had been too much. She needed to find a way to defend herself so that she would not be mugged like those men had tried to do last night. Her brows lowered as she reflected back on her savior. How had he so easily taken out the three men? She had hit him out of instinct. She regretted that the second that she had done it, but the power of the look that he gave her had made her apology stick in her throat. The sheer hatred of the look confused her. She could understand him being mad at her for hitting him, but the look in his eyes was one of primal hatred. She shook her head in confusion. He was just some street ruffian anyway, she was surprised that he had even helped her. She walked towards the barracks, intent on learning how to defend herself. When she got there, the knights looked at her in confusion, what would a woman be doing here? When she told them that she wanted to learn swordplay, their looks turned horrified. They knew that they could not refuse her request, but they did not really want to teach her. She smirked, knowing that they could not refuse her. She would not let herself be bullied around by thugs anymore.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (8/4/2010 15:34:22)
Chapter 7 It was a struggle for Slater to get up the next day. The events of the night before were still fresh in his mind. Slater did not experience many days like this. But, when he did, he would take to wandering the city. There was always something interesting going on in a city this size, you just had to find it. He grabbed some coins from his bedside table as he left his room. He would probably get some food from one of the vendors on the street. He nodded to Fraca as he stepped outside, not letting any of the doubt that he had creep into his expression. Still, Franca looked at him suspiciously. For one thing, he had not come back through the front when he had returned last night. He always came back almost giddy with excitement when he went out at night. Slater was out the door so quickly that Franca did not even have the time to say anything to him. She shrugged helplessly as she looked back down at the table she was wiping in preparation for the night's business. Slater winced as he held up a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the early morning sun. With a sigh of resignation, he began making his way towards the commerce section of the city. It was late enough that most of the sellers would have arrived at their stands, but early enough that it would not be overly crowded yet. Sometimes, Slater would find something interesting at the shop of some of the more eccentric sellers. Even if he did not, Slater enjoyed browsing through the oddities that he could find. Slater could hear the people of the city waking up as he made his way to his destination. The jangling of the city guards' chainmail mixed with the shouts of families going about their morning routines. Slater passed by the occasional beggar at their favorite spot. Slater could recognise where he was simply by the beggars that he saw. Slater heard the clanging of metal on metal coming from the blacksmith's and he thought about stopping by. He was not feeling very motivated though, so he just walked by without pausing to even look. It was not like the blacksmith would not be there tomorrow. Slater heard the familiar clash of sword on sword coming from the training grounds in front of the city barracks and he decided to stop and watch the training for a little while. It was always beneficial to learn something new, and Slater could sometimes accomplish this simply by watching the training. Sadly, though, Slater knew there was not much skill to be found at these barracks. The men training there were mostly new recruits and city guardsmen. Slater knew that the trainers themselves were usually not much more experienced than the recruits they were training either. On a few rare occasions, there would be a fresh faced knight leading the training, but there was never a truly high calibur trainer sent to these barracks. The better trainers spent their time focusing on training the knights. Slater could hardly believe what he saw. Among the fresh faced recruits was none other than the woman he had rescued the night before. Slater did not know what to make of either her or the indignant look on her face.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (8/4/2010 16:08:09)
Chapter 8 Her breath came in short gasps. The wooden sword felt heavy in her hands. She struggled to bring the sword back into the proper position to deflect the blows the her opponent kept attacking her with. What was more, she gritted her teeth in frustration, her opponent was obviouly a novice. His attacks were crude at best. If it was not for her feminine figure, she easily could have trounced him. What she would not give to wipe that leering smirk off of his face. "Break!" She heard the trainer say. His young voice betrayed him as little more than a novice. This is not what I wanted, she thought to herself. She surveyed the young men with a contemptuous gaze. They were little more than boys. When the knights had agreed to train her, she had expected them to do it themselves. When she had protested about being trained by these men, they had explained to her that their training would be of little benefit if she did not have a grasp of the basics. She had therefore grudgingly agreed to their sending her to be trained with the new recruits. She realized now that it was a mistake. As the trainer told them to continue once more, she gritted her teeth angrily. How was she to receive proper training if she could not even hold the sword up properly. Even if the trainer would have had time to listen to her protests, he did not think that there was much he would have done about it. From what she had seen and heard, there was never any deviation from the standard training and equipment. This practice bout went much the same as those before it. She had little chance to mount an attack, and, when she did, she just ended up worse off. Her weak attacks were easily repelled which then forced her to retreat to keep from getting hit. So, she stuck with desperately trying to fend off her opponents powerful, but clumsy, blows. She prepared for another blow that never came. She looked toward her opponent in confusion, thinking that she might have missed hearing the command to break because of the loud crack of sword on sword. Instead, she saw that her partner, along with a growing number of other people, was looking towards the edge of the pratice area. She could hear the someone laughing loudly. From the whispers the drifted back towards her, she learned that some bystander had started laughing loudly when the trainer had been struck by the lucky blow of one of the youngest recruits. She could just barely see the angry red face of the trainer looking towards the laughing bystander. She smiled to herself, thinking that she would probably have laughed along with the man if she had seen it happen. She stepped forward with the other trainees as the man responded to the trainers challenge by entering the training area. As she wiped the sweat from her brow, she was thankful that, if nothing else, this would give her a chance to rest and recover.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (8/9/2010 14:58:05)
Chapter 9 She pushed her way towards the front of the crowd that formed a ring around the combatants. She could not have been more shocked to see that the man who had been laughing was none other than the ragged man who had saved her the night before. She realized that she might now be able to catch a glimpse of what the man had done to so easily take out her captors. She smirked to herself, realizing that the young trainer had no idea what he had gotten himself into. Then again, she thought as she inspected Slater, perhaps the night before was just a fluke. While he was by no means out of shape, he was definitely not a physically dominant man. The look that he gave her the night before said something else though. There had been an animalistic ferocity to his gaze. Unlike the novices, the trainer and some of the more advanced, if they could even be called that, pupils used metal swords to train. The trainer grabbed another one of these and threw it, end over end, towards Slater. It was an overt threat. She could not understand why Slater did not move out of the way. If he stood there much longer, the sword would skewer him. At the last second, he sidestepped, watching the sword fall to the ground just beyond where he had been. Unlike the impreessed, cheering men around her, she did not approve of his last second move. She disliked show offs. "Well... Come on then!" The trainer shouted angrily at Slater. Rather than grabbing the sword like she had expected, Slater instead drew a knife from his side. She was just as confused as everyone else. Why did he continue to make fun of the trainer? Surely he could not mean to actually try and fight the man with nothing but a small knife. The young trainer had been taunted enough. With a fierce shout, he charged Slater, his sword positioned for a cleaving blow. Once again, Slater made no attempt to move out of the way. She could not understand how the man could be so relaxed in such a situation. As the trainer began his powerful downward blow, Slater made no move to parry the strike. To her surprise, a nimble sidestep easily brought Slater out of harm's way. The trainer stumbled forward, the force of his swing coupled with the lack of expected impact threw him wildly off balance. Rather than take advantage of the situation, Slater backed off, waiting for the trainer to regain his balance. She could not figure out what he was trying to prove. As the trainer regained his balance and wheeled back around to face Slater, his face a mask of rage. The trainer began to charge at Slater once again but suddenly seemed to recall his training and, getting his rage under control, he began to stalk slowly towards Slater. She watched Slater intently as the trainer took a winding path towards him. She did not know what Slater would do this time. He stood watching the trainer's slow advance, the small knife held in a relaxed hand at his side. His posture remained relaxed even as the trainer neared striking distance. In a sudden, startling burst, the man leapt forward and began a horizontal, chest high slash at Slater. This blow did not have the same sheer power of the last blow that the trainer attempted, but she could still hear the blade whistling through the air in its path towards the side of Slater's chest. She knew that the blow still had enough power to easily cut Slater down where he stood. Despite this, Slater's stance remained relaxed and the knife at his side. If it was not for the ring of metal on metal, she would not have believed that he could have parried the blow. His movement was so unexpectedly fast that she struggled to understand how he did it. What appeared to be a flick of his wrist had deflected the trainer's blade over his head. With another inhumanly fast move, Slater used the trainer's remaining momentum to send him sprawling on the ground. When her eyes returned to Slater, he stood in the same relaxed posture as before. The only indication of his actions moments before was the young trainer lying on the ground, trying to regain his composure. Without a word to anyone, Slater sheathed his knife and turned to leave. His single glance into her eyes before he left made her blood run cold. She was looking into the eyes of a graceful predator. What had just happened on the training grounds had not been a fight. She realized that he had not been showing off. He had been a cat toying with its meal before eating it. Something else in his eyes reminded her of the look he had given her the night before. With a start, she realized that, behind the ferociousness, he was hurting. He had been wounded deeply by something. Who was this dangerous man who wandered the streets in the clothes of a beggar? Something deep in her brain tugged at her. Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself over the wooden fence and following the mysterious man.

stromy -> RE: The Guardian Knave (1/15/2011 18:42:21)
Chapter 10 She trailed a ways behind him so as not to alert him. Even in the increasingly crowded streets of the city, she felt nervous that he would be alert to her presence. She tried to observe him as best she could as she followed him. Her first guess that he was an ex-knight from a different city or region, but she knew that was not correct, he was too young. The way he moved told her otherwise as well. She had observed the knights, the more skilled ones, doing their training before. The knights, even the best of them, did not move the way that this man did. Their moves were strong, but there was always a sort of strain in them. It was like they were too strong for their own bodies and had to take care not to break something each time they moved. This was not the case for Slater, she observed. He definitely controlled his movements, but it was a fluid sort of control. The knights were like a brittle piece of metal in a strong wind--fighting to keep vertical. He was like a blade of grass, flowing smoothly with it. So he was not a knight, but what was he? A thought crossed her mind that made her breath catch in her throat. She looked towards his arm, fearing that she would see a crimson mark. She sighed in relief when she could not find one, despite him wearing short sleeves. She felt silly that she even looked for it, no Crimson Sleeve would ever openly display their mark. But who could he be then? As they reached the central area of the merchant's district, she blended in with a group crowded around one of the more busy stalls, watching as Slater entered a rather non-descript shop. Her next guess was that he was a spy. That too did not make sense, because a spy would not be foolish enough to pull a stunt like he just did. It would alert too many people of his presence. Yet, no street thug could fight the way that he did. He must have had years of training to do it. From who, she did not know, but she knew that it was definitely no amateur that she saw fighting this morning. In hindsight, she probably should have alerted the knights of his presence. It would have been a much smarter thing to do than to follow him. But she had always been one to act impulsively. That is what had got her in trouble the night before. She knew better than to be wandering the streets late at night, yet she still did it. She did not know exactly why she did it, only that she reveled in the excitement of it. This man was too dangerous for his own good. He was bound to get in trouble with someone. Most likely, she knew, he would draw the attention of the Crimson Sleeves, and then he would vanish from the city completely. She moved forward in the line of people waiting to shop at the stall. She was slightly dismayed at this since she really had no interest in buying anything. The line continued to move forward as she strained to look through the shop window, trying to get some clue of what he could be doing there. "You know, you would be dead right now if I had felt like killing you," came the whisper in her ear. If he had not placed a gloved hand over he mouth, she probably would have screamed in fear. Straining her neck, she managed to catch a glimpse into Slater's eyes. A small shudder ran through her as she caught a brief glimpse of the animal ferocity in his gaze. There was something else though too. His amused smirk gave her enough comfort that she was able to slow her racing heart.

Page: [1]

Forum Software © ASPPlayground.NET Advanced Edition

0.1425781