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Lost Crusade; Just a boring English Essay.....
Topic Started: Nov 8 2007, 01:04 AM (373 Views)
Captain Kowle
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This is the first installement of a story I did for an English NAB (Test I needed to pass to carry on doing it) It is set during the Crusades and was about 2000 words long (I had to write it in under 2hrs, my hand went numb, but i did it!). It's alright, a bit rough (But hopefully still good enough to pass the test), i had a bit of fun writing it. see if you can guess my source of inspiration....

Lost Crusade
Chapter One - Taming Hermes
By Bentley Hunter

“Like a gazelle from the hand of the hunter,
Like a bird from the snare of the fowler,
Free yourself.”

Book of Proverbs, chapter six, verse four.


Are you free?

It is not important what my name is; just know that I am a storyteller. Well a scholar actually, but what is the point of knowledge if it is not to tell a good story. Do you want to hear a story? Well it doesn’t matter. Even though I am indeed well known for my tales, there is no tale that I could tell that could measure to the events that are about to happen. How do I know? Put it down to intuition if you will, but know this, no matter where you are reading this, know that what is about to happen will change history forever. It includes the King, the church and the Crusade itself. I have your attention now, don’t I? Well as I sit by this window, looking over the heart of this city, which I will never call home, I wait for the moment history changes. Quiet, it is almost time. Strange, my hands are trembling, and I feel anxious, excited, frightened; feelings I long thought to be lost to me. This city square, with its busy market stalls, guarded by Templars of stone, is home to an un-suspecting audience. The wooden platform with its crooked towers and flags of rope will not only claim innocent lives on this clear day. It is the stage and the actors are moving into position. Yes, I see him now; he has arrived as expected. The curtain rises. The play begins.

******

An eagle glided across the pure sky. The sun blessed its warmth upon the land below. The crowded streets were full of life. The market stalls full of activity as a city’s population practised the routines of the day. Altair was perched proudly on the church tower, in the shadow cast by the light of the sun. He observed the eagle, his hood, a silk imitation of the bird, hid his perceptive eyes. He turned his gaze from predator to prey. The city square was busy; everyone had turned up to see the hangings. Or as the Templars had put it “The delivery of retribution upon the sinful heretics by the holy church.” The church. The church did not approve of the hangings, the men accused were devout Christians, and their crime wasn’t exactly heretical. The three men, from a merchant group, had sold some bad meat. How could one man’s week of illness justify the death of three men? It didn’t seem right. That was why Altair was there, lurking in the shadows, eying up his prey, ready to strike. Altair was watching the crowd when something caught his attention. He had arrived.

Captain Richard was the most fanatical warrior to ever come to power. His name was an insult to the honourable King Richard III. The King had been appointed to reign by God and carried His blessing. Captain Richard had bullied and bribed his way to power, carrying nothing more than the Devil’s curse. That was why Altair had come here, that was why Richard had to die. Altair watched the man march through the crowd, his blowing cloak declaring his authority. This man had caused the deaths of so many innocent lives. It almost seemed he enjoyed killing his own people. There was one complication though, Altair’s brethren did not approve of Altair’s plans. They thought it was too risky, that the day’s bloody dawn was a bad omen. Altair had a difficult decision to make, but he had already decided.

He walked calmly to the end of the church beam he had been perched on. With skill that confirmed a lifetime of training, he stepped off and glided onto the roof of a neighbouring house. He mad no sound. He crouched, twisted round, his white uniform breathing life into a threatened environment. He quickly surveyed the area, and then he was off. Suddenly he was on the other side of the house; he leapt off and grabbed a wooden beam. He swung off it, soaring in the sky, and landed on a stone platform, jutting out the wall. Altair crouched, surveying the city’s heart alongside stone angels, whose weathered faces echoed the pain of a city. He saw his target, he took off, gliding invisibly in the air, then drew a veiled knife, using it to slice his way down a long banner, to the ground. He was in an alleyway; people passed him by, not paying any attention to the man who just moments ago had been watching them from the church on the other side of the square. He made his way towards the crowd that had begun to gather around the wooden platform. The crowd was thick and Altair was losing patience. He pushed a man in the back, his hidden strength sending the man hurtling into the group of plebs he had been talking to. The man flapped his baggy ropes as he scrambled to his feet. He spun round, his face showed a man desperate to avenge his humiliation.

“Hey! You in the white! How dare you push me… I’ll have your head for this!” Altair continued walking, ignoring the man’s attempts to threaten him. “You’ll regret the day you messed with Fidel the Poorly!”

Next part coming very soon (seeing that i have already finished the story)...
comments welcome!
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Captain Kowle
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Well it seems no one likes this... :(
Anyway... Here's the next installement!!
Enjoy...

Altair made his way until he stood in the centre of the crowd. He saw the three men as they were dragged forward, their sacks hid their innocence from the watching crowd. Captain Richard, accompanied by two guards, led the march to the stage. There the men had their sacks removed. Rope, a fraction of the thickness it once was, was slung round their necks. The guards waited by a lever while Captain Richard prepared to start the show. He started to pace back and forth along the length of the stage. The crowd were cheering, they wanted blood, and with this knowledge, he raised his hands.

“Loyal people of Sidon, the day you have waited for has come. Today the holy church will deliver its retribution upon these sinful heretics.” He gestured to the three men as the crowd cheered, he continued. “We live in a time of hope and a time of fear. Our glorious King fights for us so we can worship the Lord in this, holy land. Yet against all this hope there are those who are afraid. Their fear makes them weak; their souls open to the Devil’s corruption. We cannot allow this to happen! We must be strong, while delivering the wrath of God to the weak. So let us punish these heretics, for they are weak and are in need of punishment!” The crowd became a writhing mass of limbs and its multitudinous voices roared with more hate than would be found in the pits of Hell.

Altair stood motionless. He watched as Richard walked to the lever, wrapping his cold, metallic gauntlet around it. Altair closed his eyes; he began to utter silent prayer to himself. He was still unmoving, even when Richard made his last gesture to the crowd. He continued uttering prayer, even as Richard pulled the lever. He ignored the roars of the crowd, even as the three men writhed in the air, eventually falling limp, gone from this earth forever. The moment the crowd drew breath Altair opened his eyes. He whispered one word.

“Amen.”

Before the crowd had time to reconsider, Altair made his move. He walked, quickening pace, towards the stage. The crowd suddenly became aware of the hooded figure amongst them. The guards began to make their way to intersect. They didn’t reach him. Altair drew two slender blades, not breaking pace; he threw them at the guards. The blades sliced through the air, piercing the guards’ chainmail, puncturing their windpipes. The guards collapsed to the ground like felled trees. Altair ignored them; he suddenly stopped at the foot of the stairs. His eyes locked onto Richard, who was still standing by the lever, his eyes fixed on his bodyguards, mouth wide open. He snapped back to life, seeing the stranger responsible. He spoke, his words reeking of fear.

“You will pay for that heretic…! I will…” He didn’t have time to finish. In blink of an eye Altair was in the air, Richard was paralysed in disbelief. Altair landed right up close to him, face to face. Altair feinted left, grabbing his pray with his left hand, pulling him sideways, off balance. A mechanism under the sleeve of his right arm sent a stiff, razor sharp blade out. Altair placed the palm of his hand upon it; he could feel the familiar cold, ruthless steel. He pulled Richard towards himself, embracing him, his right hand clenched round his shoulder. Altair fell down with the captain, crouching over him. He drew the blade from the fallen captain’s chest, his left hand brushing over the man’s eyes, closing them. Altair managed a quick prayer, before he sprung to his feet. His eyes fixed on the crowd, who were silent as ghosts by now. A noise off stage caught his attention, a mass of guards were thundering through the streets towards him.

Final installement coming soon :bing:
Comments more than welcome... in fact very very welcome...
hello.... anybody there...!
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Idiot
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Yes, we're here... honest :)
I like it a lot, although it sometimes gets a bit blockish which means it's more trouble to read. Try separating it out into paragraphs a bit. The concept's good as well, although I did wonder why he waited until after the merchants were dead before striking - he obviously didn't want them to die, and there didn't seem to be any particular strategic reason for waiting, so it felt a bit odd. Apart from that stuff, though, nice!
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Captain Kowle
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Well that's a relief :)

Well... he's an assassin. If he saved them then when he'd made his escape the men would have been killed anyway.. and he couldn't have taken them with him. It's all about the greater good, those men were the last men to die by the hand of the cruel Richard. that's why he was praying.. praying for their souls...

This is the final installement of what i wrote for my test. Enjoy!! :bing:

Lost Crusade

An abnormal wind blew, sweeping past the assassination, breathing life into his motionless form. He slowly turned his head towards the charging guards, and took in a single, deep breath. To all those witnessing it seemed that time slowed down at that moment. The assassin turned on the spot; the guards were pushing their way through the thick audience. The assassin delicately drew a long slender blade, its surface shimmering in the sunlight, while the guards raised their swords in fearsome unison.

Altair felt the weight of the blade in his hand, light as a summer breeze. He looked up; a guard had made it to the stairs. The guard roared like a lion, steel claw ready to strike. Altair made no sound, but at the cry of the eagle in the sky, he gracefully spun around, dodging the lion’s strike. Then he raised his light blade, and brought it down like a hurricane. The next foe came, and fell, as did the one after him, and the one after him. The spectators watched, half in terror, half in awe, as the assassin bested guard after guard.

Then, a hand rose, and all was silent. The guards stepped aside, bowing their heads. The authority of the hand, decorated with a large signet ring, parted the crowd, and a figure stepped forward to meet the wild eagle.

Altair felt unnerved by the man, his stance was composed as to be almost intimidating. The man wore a tight robe like dress, with a high collar and layered silks. This man was wealthy, but more importantly, this man was powerful. His hair was long, black as a crow and tied into a ponytail. His eyes were like emeralds, gleaming with a bizarre menace. The man smiled, Altair’s eyes narrowed.

“Nice day to stretch one’s wings, is it not?” The man’s tone made the hairs on the back of Altair’s neck stand on end.

“Who are you?” Altair demanded bluntly.

“I am a scholar… and my field of study is you Altair, or should I say Hermes?”

“I don’t understand? What purpose have you with me?” Altair readied his sword, feeling threatened

“It is not my purpose that is important, but yours…” He reached out his hand; it held an eagle. “The bird of Hermes is my name” He held the eagle close to himself, kissed its head, and plucked a feather. “Eating my wings to make me tame…” The crowd looked away as the sound of tearing flesh filled the air. The man discarded the remains of the eagle, locking eyes with Altair. “That is my dream for you…” He smiled. Altair leapt into the air, landing in front of the man, his sword against the man’s throat. The man was trembling a little, but it seemed more out of excitement than fear. “Ahh… you are indeed a fascinating subject, worthy of my attention!”

“What makes you think you can tame me?” Altair felt a strange feeling in his gut.

“I already have…” The man turned a walked off, dropping a poison tipped blade. Altair’s vision blurred, his sword felt heavy, his mind clouded. The assassin fell to the ground like an eagle falling from its perched branch. The man signalled guards to take the assassin away. He smiled.

******

The eagle has been tamed; everything is going according to plan. This was a good story, was it not? I told you this story included the King, the church and the Crusade. That is all true, but more importantly it is about freedom. I have tamed Hermes; he will have to eat his own wings to keep it that way, but he will. He will.

The King is weak; I shall be strong. The Church deceives the people; I will make them see. The Crusade is corrupted, fruitless in its faithfulness; I will water the tree of poverty and despair, with the blood of this land, and it will bring the ripe fruit of hope. I have tamed, caged, the Bird of Hermes, so that I can use him to set the world, entire, free….

Are you free? No, but fear not. Hermes will set you free. I will set you free.

Hope it made sense... <_< I passed anyway so.. that's what's important
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