Viewing Single Post From: Final Flame

Viewing Single Post From: Final Flame
Sentrovasi	Jun 15 2007, 04:39 AM
White Night Posts: 278 Group: Dimension Warriors Member #1 Joined: June 3, 2007	A/N: For the sake of your eyes, I'll post the first eight chapters in two sets. I would post it in eight (otherwise you'll have a huge screen...) but I won't, simply because it's a very bad reason to repeatedly post ._. ... On a side note, I'll post the first four chapters and see what you guys think =/ The First Four Chapters He leant against the wall, his foot tapping a pattern into the ground. It's almost time. The rays of the sun shone relentlessly; the heat was almost unbearable. Why do I ever take these jobs? He looked around him. Everything was grey, faded away. The sun had seen to that. If not for his hat, his hair could well have gone the same way. And we can't have that, can we? Reaching behind his head, he gently stroked the long blue ponytail. His blue hair with a streak of white had been his blessing and his namesake since birth. Andreas Moonlock Absentmindedly he dusted the long brown trenchcoat he wore. He watched the dark brown flecks on it with disdain. He would have to buy a new one after this. Sometimes he thought that he'd consider a change in line. Maybe a job that was less... dirty. But the joy of the hunt... It's perfect for me. Footsteps. Instinctively he reached for the gun which lay beside him. In a heartbeat it was in his hand. His movements were languid, as if he moved in a dream, yet there was a certain sureness; one that was almost frightening. Then the figure came into view, and he laid his gun down. "You came." The man he was speaking to looked around him furtively, his eyes weary; as if he carried half the world's troubles on his shoulders. "You have what I asked for?" Andreas nodded, reaching into his coat and removing a dull bronze idol. A faint shadow flitted over the man's features as he watched him hold it. A flicker that he noticed. But then his face was impassive again. "Good." Andreas reached forward, offering the idol to -- "Don't touch me!" The man leapt back as if he had been burned. Calmly, Andreas put the idol on the ground and backed away. The man watched him with fearful eyes, and only dared approach when he was a good ten feet away. Not just fear... Disgust. "My money?" Muttering to himself, the man reluctantly withdrew a purse from his pocket, throwing it onto the ground a few feet from Andreas. Before he could even pick it up, the man had walked off with his prize. Scooping up the purse, Andreas weighed it in his hands. "And not even a word of thanks..." He shrugged; he was used to it. After all, That's what it means to be a NeoShade. *** It wasn't as though he liked being discriminated against; liked being stereotyped as a blood-drinking cannibal. Though actually that last part sounds quite cool. But he didn't exactly dislike that part either. Over the years, he had gotten quite used to it. In fact, it was almost possible to say I enjoy it. And he did. His job made him feel needed, allowed him to display his skills, and, most importantly, provided a good deal of cash. He could think of nothing else he wanted in a job. He knew the look of fear in his... clients' eyes, but it was a fear that at least had a certain amount of respect, however grudgingly given. Above and below a common thief or murderer, he was a NeoShade. After all, if he had to be considered the plague of modern society, at least he did it in style. *** The townsfolk of Pyzza knew of the existence of the NeoShades; nevertheless they treated them as though they didn't exist. If any of their citizens ever had recourse to visit one of them, still any connection between the two would be dissolved as soon as the deal was over. Such was their shame; their disgust at being connected with such base beings. Hypocritical fools that they are. But this suited Andreas fine. The pay was good, and despite everything, he was still basically a solitary being. Despite the acknowledged inexistence of the Shades, he knew his skills were well sought after. The fact that his clients accepted his prices was proof enough of that. He studied his gun from the chair in which he sat. It was wooden and very uncomfortable, but it was the only chair he had in his present... accommodation. Its barrel was inlaid with intricate carvings in adamantium; carvings he had never understood, but knew to be a ward of protection. Not that I need any. The gun itself was a sleek brown affair. It was as long as his arm, but light; so light that it seemed almost unbalanced. Its polished wood and gleaming metal were the only things that seemed to be well cared for in his house. Fendred... His gun was his only companion, in more ways than one. While other NeoShades favored knives and swords, he preferred a more subtle approach. After all, close quarters never favored him. Absentmindedly he dusted at his coat again. Too dirty... He preferred the shudder of steel as the bullet cleared the barrel, the gentle swiftness of it penetrating its target... Death on Wings. *** He felt the sunlight beat down on the broadbrimmed hat he had placed over his face. Just a little longer... Not just yet... And then he was awake. Standing up, he threw the hat into the corner of the room, then winced. I can't believe I forgot to clean up that puddle. His shack was a mess, to say the least. He hardly ever lived in it, which explained its present state of untidiness. Looking up, he realized the skylight was open, which could mean only one thing. Zeles's got something for me. After staring ruefully at his ruined hat which still lay in the corner of the room, Andreas made his way from the main room to a slightly smaller, equally untidy room, where he saw her hunched over a bowl of cereal. His only bowl of cereal. As he watched in disbelief she finished the last few crumbs from the bottom of the bowl. "Got any more?" At that moment he would have strangled her. If she hadn't been a falcon with a message for him. He rolled his eyes. It's going to be one of those days again. *** "Exactly what business do you have for me, Zeles..." The falcon turned her face to him, the look of annoyance on it almost owlish. Punny, but not funny. Who is she to feel annoyed anyway? But then she flew off the cereal bowl and landed on the table in front of him. Any closer and she'd have been within easy reach of him. "I presume I'm an unwelcome guest then?" The falcon's baiting tone only served to further agitate him. My cereal... Through gritted teeth, he struggled to reply. "Guest, bird... is not the word... the word I'd have chosen." The falcon glanced at him disdainfully. "If I'm unwelcome then I guess I might as well..." She turned and flapped her wings as if to go. "Whaa---? Wait!" Zeles stopped and turned around again. Her eyes seemed almost human as they looked at him, but her mindvoice was more than human. "Oh? So now you need me?" He struggled to maintain his composure. Zeles was the only thing he actually maintained a relationship with, however hostile. But the bird had eaten his last bowl of cereal, for crying out loud. Sulkily he leant over the table. "After all the hospitality I've shown you, you'd better have something good. "Hospitality? Don't make me laugh. I've had better food in hospitals." But then she caught the look in his eyes and the gleam of his gun. "Talk, bird." She ruffled her feathers haughtily. "Fine." *** "This request comes from the city of Terres." Inwardly Andreas groaned. Terres was a city on the Western Continent, a place separated from the small township of Pyzza by more than four thousand miles of water, mountain and hellish desert. "I hope you don't expect me to be impressed by that. You are a bird. You have wings. I, on the other hand, am human and don't. How do you expect me to reach Terres?!" Zeles ruffled her feathers again and shrugged; a curious action for a bird. "Before you interrupt, would you mind listening to the mission? I'm the one who has to fly back to tell her you won't do it." "'Her'? Who's 'her'?" The falcon pecked at a bit of cereal left on the tabletop. "Just a Priestess of Lenval." Now he frowned. What would a noble Priestess have to do with him, a NeoShade? The Church of Lenval and its god-fearing devotees would hardly fit in his mind as the type of people who would hire a mercenary. But still... "Now you've got me interested. Just what's up Zeles?" The bird almost seemed to smirk. Not that she could. Falcon facial expressions are strangely limited. "On first-name terms now, are we?" He ignored the taunt, instead playing with his ponytail until she decided to continue. "As a matter of fact, it happens that the Theocracy of Terres is under siege from the Asronian rebels. They aren't too happy with the new laws they set up against them." The Asroni were a fierce breed of fighters; he recalled meeting two NeoShades once upon a time, both Asroni. One wielded a dagger and the other a ball and chain; but they were both equally adept at fighting. He had a good idea why the Church would see them gone; in the eyes of the world they were uncivilized; lawless. But I understand their law better than most will. "So let the Church reap the consequences of their actions. Why should I care?" Zeles would've rolled her eyes if it would have mattered. As it was she just shrugged again. "I don't know... maybe because she's offering you fifteen thousand gala?" At this last, two things happened. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Or at least, they could have, had his head been the size of a table. And he slipped and fell off the table he was leaning on. "Sometimes I wonder how you ever became a NeoShade..." "Luck and good looks. And... did you say fifteen thousand?" *** He dusted the trenchcoat again as he stepped out of the house. His hat, after vigorous drying in front of a fire, had finally begun to look a little less like a wet hedgehog. Stepping out smartly into the sun, his gun in his hand, he felt alive again. "Oh... and one more detail. She needs you to be there in three days." That stopped him. "Th... three days?" Zeles shrugged. "That's what she told me. She also told me to get you to visit Zaph, the Keeper of the Gates." "Who's that?" "I don't know. She just told me to get you to head to Vielos and find him." "What're you trying to pull? Vielos and Terre lie in completely separate directions..." She laughed, a sound strangely throaty and melodic. "I'm just telling it as she told me. It's your fault you can't fly." With that, she took off in the direction of Terre. With luck, she would be there to report his acceptance of the quest by the next evening. He stared wistfully as she flew into the sunset. Just finished with a mission and another comes tumbling right along... He shook his head, dipped his hat over his eyes and walked off towards Vielos. It was one of those days, after all. *** He stepped silently into the darkness of Vielos, illuminated only by the light of the two moons. The ground crumbled gently under his feet as he stepped through the gates which led up its thoroughfare. Cursing softly, he relaxed his hold over his power. The gift of Alchemagi had been one manipulated by humans for centuries. Across the face of Gaean, the Mother Planet, each culture had adapted a form of Alchemy to suit their livelihood. The Priesthood of Lenval, situated in Terres, for example, drew its power from the fabled Inner Tree, Sanctus. The power to heal, and to cleanse the soul: it was a gift many envied. The exclusivity of the class, though, meant that very few actually made the grade; a fact which caused most of the world to label them as snobs. There were five Wells within Gaean; five sources of power from which flowed the power of Alchemagi. Sanctus was one of the five. Tundra, the Crystal Pillar in the Northern Frost was another one. Then there was Fyrre, the Lava Pit, hidden within the Asronian Desert; Zephyr, the Howling Cave, on an island lost in the reaches of the Ebony Sea, and lastly… Nycta. The House of Shadows. Only the NeoShades knew of its whereabouts; only the NeoShades dared draw power from it. It was one of the reasons why they were loathed, and feared. Completing the Contract with the House of Shadows was like selling it your life. You would never be free; even in death. It was one of the reasons why he wasn’t sure about accepting the mission. The Wells worked together; they held the balance of the world; kept it from tipping over into chaos. But who was to say they didn’t have preferences? He’d never known a Priest or Priestess to ask help from a NeoShade. They belonged to two separate classes. Gently he let his power fade to rest. Calling upon the House had taken a lot of energy, but at least he had reached Vielos in record time. Slowly, almost painfully, he walked down the narrow thoroughfare, the streetlamps hardly bright enough to see by. The transition from ShadowWalk back to his normal pace had never been easy to get used to. The Keeper of the Gates… He’d never actually visited Zaph before. He knew of the Keeper’s existence from the few conversations with other Shades. He knew that the man was connected to the Church in some way; the connection, though, was never actually clear. The House, too, knew quite a bit about the Keeper; the impressions he’d gotten while using Alchemagi, though, had been too vague to paint a clear picture. He turned left at the junction where the thoroughfare broke off in the direction of Twilight Street. He walked faster now that the after-effect of ShadowWalk was beginning to wear off. Wearied, he turned another corner, stepping over a puddle of something that was definitely not water. “I wasn’t expecting this…” he thought aloud. The living quarters of the Keeper were more than he’d expected. It was a sprawling complex, beautifully crafted in marble which seemed to glow in the moons’ light. Topiary decorated much of the outer grounds, with small water features and other details lending a touch of majesty to the already magnificent sight. What is this place…? He stepped up to the large, imposing gate, feeling the energy of Sanctus protecting it; Alchemagi wasn’t going to get anyone in. Casting his sight on any plausible way of entering, he caught sight of a bell, about the size of his head, hanging from the top of the gate, ten metres up in the air. Almost casually, he lifted his gun up from his waist; its polished barrel glinted in the light. Without a second thought, he fired off a single bullet. The resulting sound almost deafened him. Wha…? Unsure of what he had done, he looked up at the bell, which dangled innocently in the light. But he had no doubt that it had been the cause of the intense sound. Enchanted, I imagine… Looking around, he expected half of Vielos to be immediately wide awake. After waiting for a few minutes, he was surprised nothing had happened. He had just raised the gun to test a second time… The gates silently swung open. Shrugging, he let his arm drop to his side again, stepping through the gates. As he did, a gold aura seemed to wash over him. He knew what it was: a Judgement ward. It judged visitors based on intent, and either passed them or exterminated them. He shuddered at the thought, but at the same time, another nagging thought forced itself upon him. Why would this place have so many enchantments…? By the Wells… even the Vaults don’t have Judgement wards. The bell, too, was probably a Source ward. Any action provoked a reaction only tangible to the provoker and any other intended. Meaning the Keeper (presumably the intended audience) would be able to hear the bell no matter where he was in Gaean. Andreas scratched his head in confusion as he walked across the outer grounds toward the main entrance. Did I get the right address…? Cautiously he stepped up to the set of imposing double-doors. Inlaid in the gold gilding were symbols similar to that found on his gun; another ward of protection, presumably. “The power’s probably sourced from the Inner Tree itself…” he whispered, lifting a hand to examine the gild. And it was at that precise moment that the doors opened. Stunned, Andreas fell over in surprise. Though it might also have been because the doors opened outward. Dazed, he rubbed the sore on his head and got to his feet, feeling more trepidation by the second. His grip on Fendred tightened, as he took his first step into the entrance chamber. The lights came on, quick as thought. Startled by the bright glare, he shielded his eyes with an arm, vaguely noticing a figure approach him through the haze of discomfort. The figure stopped in front of him. Feeling his eyes grow accustomed to the light, he lowered his arm by degrees. It was only by the third lowering that he managed to see the exact stature of the man he faced. “You are…” he spoke, unsure of how the man would treat him. He was a NeoShade, after all. An intruder in his establishment. “Zaph, at your service,” the man spoke, looking up at him with an air of weary acceptance, “Riane sent you, didn’t she?” “If she’s the Priestess offering me fifteen thousand gala, then I guess she did.” He paused, unsure of whether the nagging thought at the back of his mind ought to be voiced. “You… you’re a—” “Halfling?” the Keeper interrupted, “yeah, I guess I am.” He didn’t know what to say; Halflings were a rare race of people in Gaean. With their natural dexterity and cunning, more than one of them had risen to the top as NeoShades. That and their longevity: a lifespan of over two hundred years; intrinsic abilities which had allowed them to survive for eons despite the fact that there were so few of them: the ineffectiveness of copulation between their own kind resulting in less than ideal replacement rates. The Keeper was no mean character easily overlooked, especially if he had the power of the Tree behind him. As though he’d noticed Andreas’s appraisal of him coming to an end, he spoke again. “I’d expect you’ll be wanting to head to Terres soon, then. I won’t keep you long,” he muttered, reaching under the mottled green coat he wore to remove a set of keys from his belt. “Follow me.” As they walked down the maze of corridors, Andreas appreciated for the first time how complex the immense structure really was. Echoes sounded from all directions with every step they took; even with his training. From the way they came back at him, he knew there were at least three False Fork wards in the vicinity. Talk about security… Neither of them spoke throughout the short walk. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. The silence was beginning to seem almost awkward when they were interrupted by a large door. This one wasn’t anywhere near as imposing as the other two, but it was still a sight with the sign of the Tree embossed across its mirror-smooth surface. “Here we are!” Zaph declared triumphantly. Rummaging in his coat, he removed a small key from his belt and held it up to the door. As though in response, the door shimmered and faded away, leaving a gaping hole of anti-light. Faintly, oh-so-faintly, Andreas could smell the odour of some kind of fruit. Must be a new door polish they’re using… “Here,” the Halfling said, proffering a golden pendant shaped in the image of Sanctus. “Once you go through this, you won’t be able to come back. Riane needed me to hand you this…” Confused by his words, Andreas accepted the amulet. “What… what do you mean?” All he remembered was a push in the small of his back, an undignified stumbling, and then darkness. … Darn that was undignified. *** The scent of unfamiliar fruits hung in the air as the dazed NeoShade regained consciousness. The feeling of fresh dirt under his prone body surprised him. The warm air, too, was something he hadn’t felt in months. The Arm of Fyrre had reached across most of the Eastern Reaches; he was surprised it could feel this chilly. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, instinctively shielding them with an arm from the sun which hung directly overhead. Fyoris, he reflected—Eye of Flame. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he pushed himself upright with an elbow, feeling the soft dirt crumble silently under his weight. Sitting up, he looked around in mild surprise. Whatever that Halfling did, I guess he was right. I probably won’t be going back in a while… He was sitting atop a large, flat hill. Around him, grass grew lush and green; nothing like the grey dehydration of the flora he was accustomed to. Unfamiliar plants grew all over the place; some he recognized by the general shape, but most were entirely different. A large mass of blue, a lake of massive proportions, sparkled in the clear light as, in the distance, spires of smoke rose lazily from a far-off town. The faint smell of fruit still hung in the air. The West Continent. This must be the Western Plains! He couldn’t believe it, but the facts tallied. Those from the West had confirmed the fact that while Fyrre took one continent, Tundra would claim the other. He knew, too, from his travels, that such plants could never exist in the Eastern Reaches. Those he recognized, even, did not grow in the east of their own accord. It had been in a greenhouse he’d seen them. A greenhouse with a broken roof; one with the stench of death spreading throughout its walls: the walls were shattered, and the plants were dead. He remembered it, even now. It had been fifteen years; and he still remembered. Shaking the thought from his head, he stood from the ground, the cool air invigorating him. Looking around, he found the pendant Zaph had given him lying at the base of a nearby tree. Picking it up, he began to put it around his neck. The image of Sanctus gleamed in the sunlight. Deciding against it, he stashed the pendant into a pocket within his coat instead. Brushing his coat down absentmindedly, he picked his hat up from the ground, setting it upon his head before setting his sights upon the nearby town. Information; that’s what I need. Information; and a good drink. *** He hesitated as he stepped through the gates, unsure of what to expect. The Mark of The House was unmistakeable; it was like a form of Alchemagi in itself; anyone around a NeoShade would be able to sense his power even before they’d see him. The question was: did they fear NeoShades here as they did back in the east? Andreas sighed. Undoubtedly. Fear of the unknown was the one fear every human possessed, no matter how small. He would just have to test his luck. He began to walk toward the tavern purposefully, ignoring the stares of those around him. To them, he was one who’d made a Contract. Such Contracts were not to be taken lightly, the reason why few people dared to become true Alchemists or Magicians. To them, he was a danger. He ignored the ornate water fountain which took up a large part of the square; ignored the enchanting melody of the Fia bird which sung its tune merrily from the trees; ignored the sudden silence which held the townsfolk around him, and the buzzing whispers which followed. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, he pushed through the tavern door. Immediately Fendred came up, a challenge which settled any complaint the other patrons might have. A few of the more timid ones stepped out without a word. The power of The House was never underestimated, and its renown stepped beyond its truths. Just like people to be afraid of a few wild stories… But he enjoyed the feeling of power. For the time being, he was a man with a mission again. A fifteen-thousand-gala mission, no less. Stepping up to the counter, he shot the frightened barkeep a look, and watched as he approached nervously. Frightened minds are far easier to pry open… Calmly he spoke to the man, his blue eyes glowing with an electric intensity. Almost instantly the man delivered his order, watching him fearfully as though afraid that he might destroy the place were the ale not to his taste. In fact, he probably is. He smiled, amused, at the thought, hiding the grin behind his glass as he downed it. With no small satisfaction, he slipped a hand down to his belt pocket and removed a single silver coin. “Take this, and keep the change,” he spoke, his voice betraying no sense of animosity; in fact, it sounded almost friendly. “But first,” he continued, his voice gaining a slight edge, “tell me about this place; this region. Spare me the details; I’m in a hurry.” He chose his words carefully; he didn’t want the townsfolk to think that he was entirely out of his league, in a land he scarcely knew. Which, of course, he was. The words that the barkeep spoke translated into images in his mind; an incomplete map which he filled in from time to time. This was the town of Ceyl, a hundred and fifty miles southeast, at best estimate, of the theocracy of Terres. Situated in the middle of a vast, bowl-shaped valley, a saying had come about that all rivers led to it. Indeed, a large lake known as Sanctus’s Basin, the Treistrom, was situated just to its west. Its ancient name came from the fact that the flow of the rivers churned up large whirlpools intermittently during the time, and while the rivers of today were placid, and a maelstrom had not been observed in decades, still the townsfolk here remembered the stories of old. The hundred and fifty miles which separated Ceyl was a long trek over forestland, going through Huntfall pass, a mountainous area surrounded by forests. Sure, there was a traveller’s path, but it was a detour that would take many days. Taking a route straight through the forest would be harsher, but following the river would cut the time down to maybe a day and a half. At times, the barkeep gave him the distinct impression that he would be happy if Andreas just happened to fall upon some mishap along the way. Andreas considered his options. He might just make time following the safe path, if he could call upon the House to grant him ShadowWalk all the way through. However, he would probably pass out before the next day if he’d tried; moreover, the Contract had been made in the Eastern Reaches: it was unlikely he would be able to channel that much energy through, anyway. Then there was the Mardukwood; the forest got its name from the large, imposing trees which pressed tightly against each other. Little light filtered through the canopy of Marduk leaves. The tree itself provided a lightweight timber ideal for fletching arrows and building seacraft. Creatures were said to rest within the wood. Creatures, not animals. He listened with ebbing patience as the barkeep spoke of roaming packs of Varos—fearsome wolves which prowled the lands at night, armed with fangs which dripped poison and the ability to regenerate most physical wounds. Humans weren’t the only ones who could manipulate Alchemagi. It was lucky they couldn’t do more with the gift. As much as he’s saying, you’d expect there to be Daemonwood or something. Groaning inwardly, he looked directly into the barkeep’s eyes, silencing him with a look of cold ice. Immediately, the barkeep seemed to grow conscious of his long-windedness, a look of fear coming into his eyes as he contemplated his imminent death at the hands of a man who reeked of death. Relishing the moment, he gave a reluctant sigh. Getting to his feet, he brought his gun down from the table and slung it over his shoulder. As he stepped out the door into the sunlight, he felt the gaze of every patron on his back. Hearing the collective sigh as he closed the door behind him, he smiled. Different worlds, sure… but It’s good to be back in business.


Final Flame · Original Fiction