OFic Time, Yay!
Title: Sarda's Story
Word Count: 1493
Rating: PG (for people getting chopped to bits)
Summary: How Sarda finds herself fighting for a cause she doesn't much care for.
Not that anyone'll read this, but it'll give you some idea of how I write. And even though I am absolutely horrible to poor Sarda, she still winds up being funny in the last part. Darn her.
Suggestions are of course welcome. And I know I terribly violated the "show, don't tell" rule. And none of the characters wanted to do dialog. *Hangs head in shame* I shall write something showy with lots of dialog to make up for it.
*~*~*~*
Sarda loved her brothers very much. Namos, the eldest, had been a pillar of strength ever since a plague had carried off their parents. Firmly grounded in reality, he gave his every effort to uphold the honor of House Greenwood. Fios, her dear little brother, was much different. With his head forever in the clouds, he was a vibrant and enthusiastic counterweight to solemn, serious Namos.
When famine struck Mardros, Fios insisted they open their doors to the poor of the city. Namos grumbled about what their parents would think about “rabble in the family house,” and Sarda didn’t really see the point of trying to feed so many. But it made Fios happy, and that was all that mattered.
They thought it would be just another one of his fancies, soon forgotten. How wrong they were. When the storehouses ran out, Fios asked the people where they might find more. They told him of the full granaries of the royal garrison. He went straight away to the commanding officers to negotiate the sale and distribution of grain, and came back dejected and empty-handed.
It should’ve died there. But it didn’t. When Fios was really passionate about a cause, there was no stopping him. But they should have tried, anyway. It was too late for that now.
He started speaking. To small groups at first, but the numbers quickly grew. Vast throngs gathered to hear him decry the King’s handling of the mounting crisis. When the speeches took on a more inflammatory note, suggesting that the people take the matter into their own hands, the garrison commanders sent soldiers to dispel the crowd. A bloody scuffle left tensions high.
Soon, there was no food to be had in the markets of Mardros. The royal governor had halted all trade to the city, citing “unrest”. A deceptively mild term-the governor did not dare set foot on the streets of his own city.
Fios grew bolder, as did his followers. The matter reached a head when he rallied the people to storm the military compound and lay hold of its grain stores. Half the garrison, the Mardrosi soldiers, deserted to join the mob. The other half broke and ran-what were the governor’s orders next to their own skins?
Next, Fios shepherded the seething masses to the governor’s palace. Spluttering indignantly, the governor was dragged to the Plaza of Justice, where he was given an impromptu trial. The man blubbered and pleaded, but they would have executed him then and there if Fios had not intervened on his behalf. Her little brother was entirely too soft and sentimental for his own good.
The people would have found a crown for Fios-they loved him so much-but he implored them to instead set up the government of councils and elections he had enthusiastically described in his speeches. Sarda thought the whole notion preposterous-she was sure that that lot didn’t even understand the intent and implications-but when Fios spoke, even stern Namos was swept away.
And so, the Republic of Mardros was established. It was a precarious thing; Fios’ charisma was all that saved it from disintegration. But he tirelessly led, and the people followed. Irrigation channels brought relief from the drought that plagued Mardros province. The king in Thaldros extended emissaries to offer pardons if Fios would cease his dissent. But Fios would have none of it. The king’s agents were angrily dismissed.
It struck Sarda that Fios had changed. His once-innocent blue eyes were sunken and they burned with fanaticism; his unkempt blond hair was tangled and matted. He had taken to wearing the garb of a common laborer; “expressing solidarity,” he called it. Sarda called it ridiculous, but she would never truly understand Fios.
His plans grew ever more grandiose. He talked of spreading revolution throughout the kingdom. To this end, he and Namos journeyed to the bordering Kaitos Province, which also suffered from famine and drought. The nobility of Kaitos greeted them happily; they had their own quarrels with the king. With prestigious positions for themselves secured, they declared union with the Republic of Mardros.
The king may have been content to humor a lone madman before, but this he would not stand for. Rumor had it that he had dispatched an elite army out of Thaldros to quash the rebellion. But Fios spoke and allayed the people’s fears-their cause was righteous, he reasoned, and so they would triumph.
Why had she let them leave the city walls? She should have spoken up, stopped them, begged them to stay, done something. But Fios insisted that they inspect the irrigation canals, to show that he was not cowed by royal threats. Namos followed, as he had assumed the role of Fios’s protector. Sarda was left behind to worry and fret.
Her worst fears came true. Perhaps a disgruntled Mardrosi noble had gotten word to the royal army. Or maybe there had been paid spies. She didn’t know, but for whatever reason, soldiers were waiting to ambush them the moment they set foot outside the city.
When they adorned the city gates with the impaled heads of her brothers, it seemed to Sarda as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. The world dissolved into a roaring darkness; she heard a shriek of despair that might have come from her. Slowly, the flood of agony receded, leaving her a hollow shell, empty save for a burning resentment.
The people of Mardros came to her in her grief. The soldiers, they told her, were pillaging the city. She could have laughed. Why should she care? All she loved had been taken from her already. Let Mardros burn.
But then she thought of the soldiers, jeering as they beheaded her dearest brothers. She thought of Fios’s cheerful smile, Namos’s comforting presence. She felt bitter hatred well up within her, a poison that filled her soul. How dare they laugh? She would make them pay dearly.
“Kill them,” she whispered. “Kill them all. For Fios. For Namos. And for me.”
She was not a skilled speaker, like Fios had been. She was not adept at politics, as Namos had been. But they followed her, though she still did not know why. Wielding a sword taken from the Greenwood armory, she led them to the Plaza of Justice, where a few mercenaries yet lingered.
They thought that because she was a woman, she was weak. They thought that she could be brushed aside. When she was done convincing them otherwise, their bodies littered the square, their blood darkening the cobbles. Subtle words and actions were her brothers’ domain. She much preferred a more direct approach to matters.
Fios led with fiery speeches. Sarda led with battle cries. By the time the army realized that this was more than a woman driven mad by grief, her motley forces had pushed them back to the gates of the city.
“For Fios!” She severed an arm. “Namos!” She shattered a skull. She fought as if possessed, a whirlwind of vengeance and death.
When the last of them were dead or fled, her bloodlust faded, and the reality of what she had done came crashing down on her. She was standing, exhausted, in a veritable sea of bodies, caked in blood and grime. A ragged cheer went up from the people of Mardros. She swatted irritably at her mind as it began to size up on its own how best to turn them into a respectable fighting force. Citizen-militia, Fios would have said. Whatever. Right now, she wanted a hot bath, and then some time alone to mourn properly.
The next day, she oversaw the execution of the former royal governor of Mardros Province. Then she had the Mardrosi nobles dragged before her in chains. They were made to kneel before her in their torn and faded finery while she interrogated them.
“Which of you was it that opened the city gates to the enemy? Which of you sent my brothers to their deaths?”
They nearly fell over themselves in their haste to accuse each other. When she could no longer stand the sight of them, she had the lot imprisoned for crimes against the Republic.
When they were gone, Sarda stared pensively out the window, where newly-formed battalions drilled on the Plaza of Justice. Her fist tightened on the arm of her high-backed chair as she thought of the revenge she would enact upon the king in Thaldros.
*~*~*~*
And the king in Thaldros did receive news of the defeat at Mardros, and he was wroth. He smote his messenger a mighty blow, and his servants did tremble, for great and terrible indeed was his anger. And he vowed that he would not rest until the rebels’ strength had been broken and their leader knelt at his feet to plead for mercy.
--fin
That last section was me indulging myself. I've always wanted to write something like that.
Word Count: 1493
Rating: PG (for people getting chopped to bits)
Summary: How Sarda finds herself fighting for a cause she doesn't much care for.
Not that anyone'll read this, but it'll give you some idea of how I write. And even though I am absolutely horrible to poor Sarda, she still winds up being funny in the last part. Darn her.
Suggestions are of course welcome. And I know I terribly violated the "show, don't tell" rule. And none of the characters wanted to do dialog. *Hangs head in shame* I shall write something showy with lots of dialog to make up for it.
*~*~*~*
Sarda loved her brothers very much. Namos, the eldest, had been a pillar of strength ever since a plague had carried off their parents. Firmly grounded in reality, he gave his every effort to uphold the honor of House Greenwood. Fios, her dear little brother, was much different. With his head forever in the clouds, he was a vibrant and enthusiastic counterweight to solemn, serious Namos.
When famine struck Mardros, Fios insisted they open their doors to the poor of the city. Namos grumbled about what their parents would think about “rabble in the family house,” and Sarda didn’t really see the point of trying to feed so many. But it made Fios happy, and that was all that mattered.
They thought it would be just another one of his fancies, soon forgotten. How wrong they were. When the storehouses ran out, Fios asked the people where they might find more. They told him of the full granaries of the royal garrison. He went straight away to the commanding officers to negotiate the sale and distribution of grain, and came back dejected and empty-handed.
It should’ve died there. But it didn’t. When Fios was really passionate about a cause, there was no stopping him. But they should have tried, anyway. It was too late for that now.
He started speaking. To small groups at first, but the numbers quickly grew. Vast throngs gathered to hear him decry the King’s handling of the mounting crisis. When the speeches took on a more inflammatory note, suggesting that the people take the matter into their own hands, the garrison commanders sent soldiers to dispel the crowd. A bloody scuffle left tensions high.
Soon, there was no food to be had in the markets of Mardros. The royal governor had halted all trade to the city, citing “unrest”. A deceptively mild term-the governor did not dare set foot on the streets of his own city.
Fios grew bolder, as did his followers. The matter reached a head when he rallied the people to storm the military compound and lay hold of its grain stores. Half the garrison, the Mardrosi soldiers, deserted to join the mob. The other half broke and ran-what were the governor’s orders next to their own skins?
Next, Fios shepherded the seething masses to the governor’s palace. Spluttering indignantly, the governor was dragged to the Plaza of Justice, where he was given an impromptu trial. The man blubbered and pleaded, but they would have executed him then and there if Fios had not intervened on his behalf. Her little brother was entirely too soft and sentimental for his own good.
The people would have found a crown for Fios-they loved him so much-but he implored them to instead set up the government of councils and elections he had enthusiastically described in his speeches. Sarda thought the whole notion preposterous-she was sure that that lot didn’t even understand the intent and implications-but when Fios spoke, even stern Namos was swept away.
And so, the Republic of Mardros was established. It was a precarious thing; Fios’ charisma was all that saved it from disintegration. But he tirelessly led, and the people followed. Irrigation channels brought relief from the drought that plagued Mardros province. The king in Thaldros extended emissaries to offer pardons if Fios would cease his dissent. But Fios would have none of it. The king’s agents were angrily dismissed.
It struck Sarda that Fios had changed. His once-innocent blue eyes were sunken and they burned with fanaticism; his unkempt blond hair was tangled and matted. He had taken to wearing the garb of a common laborer; “expressing solidarity,” he called it. Sarda called it ridiculous, but she would never truly understand Fios.
His plans grew ever more grandiose. He talked of spreading revolution throughout the kingdom. To this end, he and Namos journeyed to the bordering Kaitos Province, which also suffered from famine and drought. The nobility of Kaitos greeted them happily; they had their own quarrels with the king. With prestigious positions for themselves secured, they declared union with the Republic of Mardros.
The king may have been content to humor a lone madman before, but this he would not stand for. Rumor had it that he had dispatched an elite army out of Thaldros to quash the rebellion. But Fios spoke and allayed the people’s fears-their cause was righteous, he reasoned, and so they would triumph.
Why had she let them leave the city walls? She should have spoken up, stopped them, begged them to stay, done something. But Fios insisted that they inspect the irrigation canals, to show that he was not cowed by royal threats. Namos followed, as he had assumed the role of Fios’s protector. Sarda was left behind to worry and fret.
Her worst fears came true. Perhaps a disgruntled Mardrosi noble had gotten word to the royal army. Or maybe there had been paid spies. She didn’t know, but for whatever reason, soldiers were waiting to ambush them the moment they set foot outside the city.
When they adorned the city gates with the impaled heads of her brothers, it seemed to Sarda as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. The world dissolved into a roaring darkness; she heard a shriek of despair that might have come from her. Slowly, the flood of agony receded, leaving her a hollow shell, empty save for a burning resentment.
The people of Mardros came to her in her grief. The soldiers, they told her, were pillaging the city. She could have laughed. Why should she care? All she loved had been taken from her already. Let Mardros burn.
But then she thought of the soldiers, jeering as they beheaded her dearest brothers. She thought of Fios’s cheerful smile, Namos’s comforting presence. She felt bitter hatred well up within her, a poison that filled her soul. How dare they laugh? She would make them pay dearly.
“Kill them,” she whispered. “Kill them all. For Fios. For Namos. And for me.”
She was not a skilled speaker, like Fios had been. She was not adept at politics, as Namos had been. But they followed her, though she still did not know why. Wielding a sword taken from the Greenwood armory, she led them to the Plaza of Justice, where a few mercenaries yet lingered.
They thought that because she was a woman, she was weak. They thought that she could be brushed aside. When she was done convincing them otherwise, their bodies littered the square, their blood darkening the cobbles. Subtle words and actions were her brothers’ domain. She much preferred a more direct approach to matters.
Fios led with fiery speeches. Sarda led with battle cries. By the time the army realized that this was more than a woman driven mad by grief, her motley forces had pushed them back to the gates of the city.
“For Fios!” She severed an arm. “Namos!” She shattered a skull. She fought as if possessed, a whirlwind of vengeance and death.
When the last of them were dead or fled, her bloodlust faded, and the reality of what she had done came crashing down on her. She was standing, exhausted, in a veritable sea of bodies, caked in blood and grime. A ragged cheer went up from the people of Mardros. She swatted irritably at her mind as it began to size up on its own how best to turn them into a respectable fighting force. Citizen-militia, Fios would have said. Whatever. Right now, she wanted a hot bath, and then some time alone to mourn properly.
The next day, she oversaw the execution of the former royal governor of Mardros Province. Then she had the Mardrosi nobles dragged before her in chains. They were made to kneel before her in their torn and faded finery while she interrogated them.
“Which of you was it that opened the city gates to the enemy? Which of you sent my brothers to their deaths?”
They nearly fell over themselves in their haste to accuse each other. When she could no longer stand the sight of them, she had the lot imprisoned for crimes against the Republic.
When they were gone, Sarda stared pensively out the window, where newly-formed battalions drilled on the Plaza of Justice. Her fist tightened on the arm of her high-backed chair as she thought of the revenge she would enact upon the king in Thaldros.
*~*~*~*
And the king in Thaldros did receive news of the defeat at Mardros, and he was wroth. He smote his messenger a mighty blow, and his servants did tremble, for great and terrible indeed was his anger. And he vowed that he would not rest until the rebels’ strength had been broken and their leader knelt at his feet to plead for mercy.
--fin
That last section was me indulging myself. I've always wanted to write something like that.