Post by Seth on May 15, 2005 19:40:13 GMT -8
I was taken from my home at the age of sixteen and put into labor for Lord Vincent. Vincent is a very powerful dark mage that uses his magic for evil purposes. Not many have stood against him for fear of something even greater than death. In due time I would learn the true power of this dark figure…
It all started in my hometown of Alushia at the dinner table of my home. My mother had given me a miniature flute. It was made from pure silver and played an unusually pure and flowing music if played correctly. While she hummed a soft tune, I attempted to copy it with my newly acquired gift, but to little avail.
Her long black hair flowed from side to side as she worked with preparing a delicious rack of lamb dish. She turned her soft blue eyes toward me and gave me a wide smile when I finally got the tune correct. A long and broad sword hung on the wall above the fireplace. The firelight glinting off of it’s metallic surface struck my eyes softly as I stared at it. The sword upon which lied my eyes once belonged to my father. He had passed away in a rebellion against the dark lord. That rebellion took more lives in our town than I could even count.
We continued our music playing faster then softer, then faster again. Then the unthinkable happened. We heard yells and screams outside. My mother walked over to me in a hurry and grabbed my hand to take me into hiding. All of a sudden there was a loud crash as men in black uniforms jumped into he house through the windows. They rushed toward us and forcefully tried to pull me from my mother’s tight grasp. She frantically begged for them to let me go, and then spray hit my face. I looked at her, her face in shock. Then her face relaxed and went blank, as they slung m over their back, I could see my mom lying on the floor with a sword protruding from her heart. I gave up resisting and began to cry as they took me where they would.
The blazing red contrasted greatly against the vibrant green nearby as we went away from the burning town. We traveled through a forest for several hours before emerging before a sprawling black city. Many dots of light blinked around the city as ants on a hill. In the center of the city stood a large tower that had many protruding spikes; looking more like an evil spear than a building. As we entered through the gates of the town, my lungs filled with a distasteful air that threatened death to anyone who breathed in too deeply. Lining the walls of the eroding and crumbled buildings were gaunt figures that looked more like skeletons than people. One of the shorter figures walked out of an alleyway. It turned out these were people and that the figure who came out of the alley was a young boy with deep eyes and a mess of tumbleweed for hair. His expression sent chills up my spine as if someone had poured ice through my veins. We continued past the haunting boy to a small hut ahead. “Get in. Don’t come out unless we tell you to” One of the guards said coldly.
There were two beds with battered mattresses and torn blankets. A single table was in the room and a fairly small hole was dug in the corner from which the small rush of water could be heard. The room smelled musty and stale. A boy around my age sat on his bed. He was covered in a layer of black dirt from head to toe, which gave the look of foreign ancestry. However, the gaps where white skin could be seen gave his racial orientation away. He had deep black pupils and unclean teeth. His hair was a tangle of cowlicks and curls. He gave a slight smile as I walked in. “Hello.” He said in a raspy voice, which sounded more like hot air escaping from an air balloon.
For the entire night we inquired about each other and soon became great friends before the morning sun rose over it’s first peak. “Where exactly are we?” I asked the boy. He looked at me stonily and replied, “We are in Vincent’s city, Yukora. We are forced to work in the coalmines to gather fuel for his stupid machines.” After that the boy, Jerry, told me that we should get at least a little sleep before it came our time to work. The next day I was given a set of ragged tan clothing marked with patches of black coal dust over its surface. I also received another “gift” as one of the guards called it. It was a very dull and worn pickaxe. They left on their way out as one of them turned around and said, “You better hurry to the mines boys or it’ll be a good beating from me to you both.” He then disappeared behind the curtain that served as our door.
Over the course of the year my partner and I worked twelve hours each day. We stuck together and helped the other out when one of us began to lag. During the peak of summer, the heat became too much for Jerry and he collapsed in the middle of a swing, dropping his pickaxe on a nearby guard’s foot. The sharp tip penetrated the soft cloth and the guard yelped aloud as he fell to the ground holding his foot. He removed the pickaxe and stood up on one leg, using another guard’s shoulder for support. Before I could reach him, the guards began to beat the unconscious body before them. The guard with the bloody foot saw using his free hand to whip him with sharp cracks as his support kicked the boy with the tip of his boot. As I approached, I raised my pickaxe as it glinted sunlight off its deadly surface and brought it down upon the uninjured guards exposed neck. This caused the other guard to tip over and fall. A split second after he hit the ground, he too ended up with the tool turned weapon within his flesh.
A group of guards further away finally reached the commotion and surrounded me. I took out a third guard before they tackled me to the ground and wrestled the weapon from my hand. Fiery blood ran through my veins as my face burned in rage. They bound my hands and feet then carried me away. As I got closer to the central tower, my hatred and anger was replaced with fear and foreboding. From a distance, the tower was large, up close it looked like an elevator to the gods themselves. I was carried through a maze of staircases and corridors until they reached their destination. The new room that lay before me was caked with dry blood over nearly every surface. A pair of cuffs hung from chains that reached down from the ceiling. As I was placed into these rusty claws from hell, I knew I was in for a tidal wave of pain as I have never felt before.
I stood there with my hands raised above my head, held tight by the shackles. Two guards stood on each side of the door, as still as statues. Neither would move unless necessary either. Finally there was movement as the door between the guards opened. Goose bumps ran up my arms and back as a man wearing all black robes entered the room. His hood cast a multitude of shadows, which engulfed his face. Only a small pale edge of his chin showed. A slight twinkle from the light reflected off of his eyes, but not enough to see what color they were. His voice was strong, yet cold as he said, “Why do you call me here for something so petty? You cannot tell me you could not have handled this matter yourselves… is it not but a boy? If I am not satisfied in the excuse I hear, you both will be punished.” While he spoke, he never took his eyes off of me, although he was clearly speaking to the guards.
One of the men stepped forward and presented him with the events that have transcribed. He had fear in his voice, not only because of what I had done to his comrades, but also because of Vincent’s presence. Vincent remained silent for a few moments after the guard was finished speaking, thinking resolutely over what he had just been told. Then in a slightly raised voice he began to speak again, “Three fully armed guards got taken down by a sixteen year old slave boy with a pick-axe?”
The guard trembled slightly, and then muttered, “Y… Yes, my lord…” Vincent scowled and replied “What do I pay you, house you, and train you for?”
Vincent walked closer to me, piercing me with his withering gaze, which I could now see clearly. His eyes were a ruby and emerald color… the most unnatural eyes I have ever seen; his skin was pale and his bangs hung down to below his eyebrows. He walked around me in a circle as though examining cattle at a market. “Let him down. I want to see what he does.” He said in an amused voice. The guards hesitated a second, then silently carried out their order.
As the shackles released their pressured grip on my wrists, I sprung forward and attempted to hit Vincent in his face. However some unseen force stopped my blow just millimeters away from his nose. As I stared in shock, he bent his elbow so his palm was faced toward my chest, of which was only two inches away, then smiled. In a solid voice he said “Yaweta.” As if in some protest against the laws of physics, the atoms in the air blew into my chest unseen with the force of a brick being thrown by a body builder. My body flew back like a rag doll with a hard landing on my side below the shackles. Despite being severely sore and bruised, I managed to pick myself up out of sheer determination.
I grabbed a shackle next to me and ran up to the nearest guard, running around him while keeping the chain to his exposed neck. I held him in a strangle hold until I saw the other guard draw his sword and advance. I held my hands tight on the chain above the strangled soldiers head and swung myself around, legs outstretched in front of me, then drove my feet into the second guards face mask. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, grabbing at his face. I dropped to the ground, grabbed the sword, and charged Vincent a second time. The split second before I reached him, he pulled out a hip dagger and blocked my blow. Our weapons locked for a second, then Vincent pushed forward with unnatural strength, which sent my sword flying into the air. Before I could react, Vincent muttered, “Avolia.” I tried to move, but my body was paralyzed from head to toe.
Vincent sheathed his dagger, stood over me, and spoke again. “You showed a lot of gull… and natural skill with any weapon as well. Not very many people can use ordinary tools or objects and kill groups of people with them. You impress me.” This type of compliment did not amuse me, so I retorted with saying, “What do I care? They deserved their deaths every bit as you do now!” images of my mother covered in blood, my village burning in the distance, and Jerry being beat flowed into my mind.
Vincent laughed sharply. “I have decided to take you in as my apprentice. I will personally teach you how to master the powers of dark magic.” I was held speechless. Killing a mans guards, attempting to attack that same man, then being offered apprenticeship by the same guy would f**k anyone’s mind. “What if I decline?” I asked him carefully. Vincent smiled as he replied, “Then you will return to the mines… and your friend will die.” I was shocked. I did not want any harm to come to the only one I had left… I would learn his magic and proper use of the sword, then strike him when he least expects it…
In the following moment I sealed my fate with two words that would bring grief and death throughout the rest of my life, my future friends, and the entire world. “I accept…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
(Go to I3ladeDragon.proboards26.com to look more into this developing story!)
It all started in my hometown of Alushia at the dinner table of my home. My mother had given me a miniature flute. It was made from pure silver and played an unusually pure and flowing music if played correctly. While she hummed a soft tune, I attempted to copy it with my newly acquired gift, but to little avail.
Her long black hair flowed from side to side as she worked with preparing a delicious rack of lamb dish. She turned her soft blue eyes toward me and gave me a wide smile when I finally got the tune correct. A long and broad sword hung on the wall above the fireplace. The firelight glinting off of it’s metallic surface struck my eyes softly as I stared at it. The sword upon which lied my eyes once belonged to my father. He had passed away in a rebellion against the dark lord. That rebellion took more lives in our town than I could even count.
We continued our music playing faster then softer, then faster again. Then the unthinkable happened. We heard yells and screams outside. My mother walked over to me in a hurry and grabbed my hand to take me into hiding. All of a sudden there was a loud crash as men in black uniforms jumped into he house through the windows. They rushed toward us and forcefully tried to pull me from my mother’s tight grasp. She frantically begged for them to let me go, and then spray hit my face. I looked at her, her face in shock. Then her face relaxed and went blank, as they slung m over their back, I could see my mom lying on the floor with a sword protruding from her heart. I gave up resisting and began to cry as they took me where they would.
The blazing red contrasted greatly against the vibrant green nearby as we went away from the burning town. We traveled through a forest for several hours before emerging before a sprawling black city. Many dots of light blinked around the city as ants on a hill. In the center of the city stood a large tower that had many protruding spikes; looking more like an evil spear than a building. As we entered through the gates of the town, my lungs filled with a distasteful air that threatened death to anyone who breathed in too deeply. Lining the walls of the eroding and crumbled buildings were gaunt figures that looked more like skeletons than people. One of the shorter figures walked out of an alleyway. It turned out these were people and that the figure who came out of the alley was a young boy with deep eyes and a mess of tumbleweed for hair. His expression sent chills up my spine as if someone had poured ice through my veins. We continued past the haunting boy to a small hut ahead. “Get in. Don’t come out unless we tell you to” One of the guards said coldly.
There were two beds with battered mattresses and torn blankets. A single table was in the room and a fairly small hole was dug in the corner from which the small rush of water could be heard. The room smelled musty and stale. A boy around my age sat on his bed. He was covered in a layer of black dirt from head to toe, which gave the look of foreign ancestry. However, the gaps where white skin could be seen gave his racial orientation away. He had deep black pupils and unclean teeth. His hair was a tangle of cowlicks and curls. He gave a slight smile as I walked in. “Hello.” He said in a raspy voice, which sounded more like hot air escaping from an air balloon.
For the entire night we inquired about each other and soon became great friends before the morning sun rose over it’s first peak. “Where exactly are we?” I asked the boy. He looked at me stonily and replied, “We are in Vincent’s city, Yukora. We are forced to work in the coalmines to gather fuel for his stupid machines.” After that the boy, Jerry, told me that we should get at least a little sleep before it came our time to work. The next day I was given a set of ragged tan clothing marked with patches of black coal dust over its surface. I also received another “gift” as one of the guards called it. It was a very dull and worn pickaxe. They left on their way out as one of them turned around and said, “You better hurry to the mines boys or it’ll be a good beating from me to you both.” He then disappeared behind the curtain that served as our door.
Over the course of the year my partner and I worked twelve hours each day. We stuck together and helped the other out when one of us began to lag. During the peak of summer, the heat became too much for Jerry and he collapsed in the middle of a swing, dropping his pickaxe on a nearby guard’s foot. The sharp tip penetrated the soft cloth and the guard yelped aloud as he fell to the ground holding his foot. He removed the pickaxe and stood up on one leg, using another guard’s shoulder for support. Before I could reach him, the guards began to beat the unconscious body before them. The guard with the bloody foot saw using his free hand to whip him with sharp cracks as his support kicked the boy with the tip of his boot. As I approached, I raised my pickaxe as it glinted sunlight off its deadly surface and brought it down upon the uninjured guards exposed neck. This caused the other guard to tip over and fall. A split second after he hit the ground, he too ended up with the tool turned weapon within his flesh.
A group of guards further away finally reached the commotion and surrounded me. I took out a third guard before they tackled me to the ground and wrestled the weapon from my hand. Fiery blood ran through my veins as my face burned in rage. They bound my hands and feet then carried me away. As I got closer to the central tower, my hatred and anger was replaced with fear and foreboding. From a distance, the tower was large, up close it looked like an elevator to the gods themselves. I was carried through a maze of staircases and corridors until they reached their destination. The new room that lay before me was caked with dry blood over nearly every surface. A pair of cuffs hung from chains that reached down from the ceiling. As I was placed into these rusty claws from hell, I knew I was in for a tidal wave of pain as I have never felt before.
I stood there with my hands raised above my head, held tight by the shackles. Two guards stood on each side of the door, as still as statues. Neither would move unless necessary either. Finally there was movement as the door between the guards opened. Goose bumps ran up my arms and back as a man wearing all black robes entered the room. His hood cast a multitude of shadows, which engulfed his face. Only a small pale edge of his chin showed. A slight twinkle from the light reflected off of his eyes, but not enough to see what color they were. His voice was strong, yet cold as he said, “Why do you call me here for something so petty? You cannot tell me you could not have handled this matter yourselves… is it not but a boy? If I am not satisfied in the excuse I hear, you both will be punished.” While he spoke, he never took his eyes off of me, although he was clearly speaking to the guards.
One of the men stepped forward and presented him with the events that have transcribed. He had fear in his voice, not only because of what I had done to his comrades, but also because of Vincent’s presence. Vincent remained silent for a few moments after the guard was finished speaking, thinking resolutely over what he had just been told. Then in a slightly raised voice he began to speak again, “Three fully armed guards got taken down by a sixteen year old slave boy with a pick-axe?”
The guard trembled slightly, and then muttered, “Y… Yes, my lord…” Vincent scowled and replied “What do I pay you, house you, and train you for?”
Vincent walked closer to me, piercing me with his withering gaze, which I could now see clearly. His eyes were a ruby and emerald color… the most unnatural eyes I have ever seen; his skin was pale and his bangs hung down to below his eyebrows. He walked around me in a circle as though examining cattle at a market. “Let him down. I want to see what he does.” He said in an amused voice. The guards hesitated a second, then silently carried out their order.
As the shackles released their pressured grip on my wrists, I sprung forward and attempted to hit Vincent in his face. However some unseen force stopped my blow just millimeters away from his nose. As I stared in shock, he bent his elbow so his palm was faced toward my chest, of which was only two inches away, then smiled. In a solid voice he said “Yaweta.” As if in some protest against the laws of physics, the atoms in the air blew into my chest unseen with the force of a brick being thrown by a body builder. My body flew back like a rag doll with a hard landing on my side below the shackles. Despite being severely sore and bruised, I managed to pick myself up out of sheer determination.
I grabbed a shackle next to me and ran up to the nearest guard, running around him while keeping the chain to his exposed neck. I held him in a strangle hold until I saw the other guard draw his sword and advance. I held my hands tight on the chain above the strangled soldiers head and swung myself around, legs outstretched in front of me, then drove my feet into the second guards face mask. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, grabbing at his face. I dropped to the ground, grabbed the sword, and charged Vincent a second time. The split second before I reached him, he pulled out a hip dagger and blocked my blow. Our weapons locked for a second, then Vincent pushed forward with unnatural strength, which sent my sword flying into the air. Before I could react, Vincent muttered, “Avolia.” I tried to move, but my body was paralyzed from head to toe.
Vincent sheathed his dagger, stood over me, and spoke again. “You showed a lot of gull… and natural skill with any weapon as well. Not very many people can use ordinary tools or objects and kill groups of people with them. You impress me.” This type of compliment did not amuse me, so I retorted with saying, “What do I care? They deserved their deaths every bit as you do now!” images of my mother covered in blood, my village burning in the distance, and Jerry being beat flowed into my mind.
Vincent laughed sharply. “I have decided to take you in as my apprentice. I will personally teach you how to master the powers of dark magic.” I was held speechless. Killing a mans guards, attempting to attack that same man, then being offered apprenticeship by the same guy would f**k anyone’s mind. “What if I decline?” I asked him carefully. Vincent smiled as he replied, “Then you will return to the mines… and your friend will die.” I was shocked. I did not want any harm to come to the only one I had left… I would learn his magic and proper use of the sword, then strike him when he least expects it…
In the following moment I sealed my fate with two words that would bring grief and death throughout the rest of my life, my future friends, and the entire world. “I accept…”
TO BE CONTINUED…
(Go to I3ladeDragon.proboards26.com to look more into this developing story!)
;D