Eck-serpt !?!
Hey all. I haven't updated in awhle, so I figured I'd post what I was working on last night. I typed 19 pages in 3 hours, and this is most of an entire chapter. Comments and criticism are welcome, as are people pointing out typos, since I haven't proofread this.
And no, I'm not bothering to put in the html for italics. It doesn't tranfer from word and I make it obvious when Nieman is thinking.
Before long, Nieman at last stood before the Mana Pylon. Separated from the tent city by a tall wrought-iron gate, it loomed over the shantytown, its soft blue glow bathing the nearby area in ethereal brilliance. The crystal itself was fifteen feet tall, and it hovered over a large gold tripod supported by legs of steel. Below the Pylon sat the portal itself, a wavering rip in reality itself. Inside the portal Nieman could see only a blue void, and the energy pouring off of the spatial anomaly made his hair stand on end, but in a good way.
Before the Mana Pylon stood a long line of people waiting to use the portal, and on the far side of the pylon a steady trickle of people exited another, smaller portal. Men of all races and jobs waited to leave Silvermore Province, but none were as eager as the young feral who got into the rear of the line. He was so nervous that he was literally bouncing from foot to foot, causing a great amount of annoyance to the pair of warriors in front of him, as well as the cleric behind him. They all sent him dirty looks, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes on the pylon. Finally he drew close enough to clearly see the four guards standing before the portal. Clad in black plate armor and armed with sword, shield, and bow, the guards were supplied from the ranks of the Silvermore army, and the stewardship of the Mana Pylon was their solemn task.
Nieman grew more anxious the closer he got to the portal, but his growing excitement and nervousness drained away the instant he saw a guard demand money of the person in the front of the line. A young wizard handed the largest guard a sack of coins, which were rapidly counted before giving the wizard passage to the portal.
By the gods, they charge for passage. Jericho never mentioned this! Nieman thought frantically. He didn’t even have any food left, much less the sizeable amount of coin he would need to reach the portal. He began to panic, and didn’t care leave the line, lest he attract undue attention. Instead, frozen by fear, the young feral continued to shuffle forward as the line shrank, its members entering the azure rift one by one.
Before long, Nieman was only ten feet away from the looming black-armored guards. They scanned the line for troublemakers from behind their slitted visors as their leader counted coin. Nieman briefly considered rushing the portal, or perhaps climbing the gate, leaping to the tripod, and then diving through the rift, but his common sense told him that such a move would be suicide. Even if he got to the portal unharmed, he had no way of knowing how to make the portal take him where he wanted to go, and he was sure that no matter where he ended up, he wouldn’t be welcome for long.
However, it was at this point that fate intervened on behalf of the young feral - unfortunately, not in a way that Nieman would ever have prayed for. Only a few people separated him from the guards when something sharp poked him in the back.
“Well ‘ello there, kitty. Might you step out so we can have us a chat?” a voice asked from his left. The voice was rough and thick with the brogue of the western sailors, and the owner’s breath reeked of liquor and woman. Thoughts raced through Nieman’s head as he sidestepped left, leaving the line. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and turned his around, bringing him face to face with a stout, muscular man covered in tattoos and piercings. He smiled a gap-toothed smile and motioned to his large companion to lead Nieman away. The larger man, another, less decorated westerner who was seemingly made of fat, muscle, and body hair, grabbed Nieman by the other shoulder and pulled him away from the Pylon. Nieman wasn’t sure whether to be worried or grateful as the large man’s fingers crushed future bruises into his shoulders. He finally settled on worried as the smaller man’s knife returned to his back. Bounty hunters, Nieman said internally. This is just what I need.
Laughing and joking the whole way, the two men, whom Nieman assumed to be either pirates, smugglers, or some roguish mixture of the two, led the feral back out of the shantytown, into the nighttime wilderness. “You’re quite lucky, kitty, to be nabbed by such an esteemed pair of mercenaries. I’m Vonot, and this here is me main mate, Donzer,” The smaller man said, pointing to his larger friend. Donzer merely smiled, exposing a smile that was mostly gums and rotten teeth. Curiously, the larger pirate’s tongue was gone, leading Nieman to wonder just what kind of bounty hunters these were. Certainly, they were not the dashing scoundrels he had read about in Jericho’s books.
Vonot continued to jest and brag as they left the city, bathing Nieman’s nose in a putrid cloud that spoke of a full night of indulgences. How did such a lush even recognize me? He wondered silently.
Almost as if he could read the feral’s thoughts, Vonot answered the unasked question. “Donzer here has quite a nose for you fleabags. He served Silvermore in the Beast Purge, until the bastards discharged him from service for some paltry rape charges,” the pirate drawled. “He smelled you right quick, and your description matches the one sent out from Silvermore a few days back. I figure you’re worth a few more nights on the Pylon.”
Nieman grimaced, but saw no escape. One wrong move would mean a severed spine, and Nieman doubted that even his inner beast could give him the strength he’d need to break free of the massive Donzer.
Within minutes, Vonot had led his prize into a small thicket to the north of the city. Nieman could see the Mana Pylon glowing comfortingly off in the distance, but the trees made it so that the shantytown was almost completely obscured. “Now then, kitty, what should I slice to make sure ye don’t run off?” Vonot asked, a cruel edge creeping into his voice. “Maybe yer spine?” he continued, running his blade slowly up and down Nieman’s back. “Or per’aps your heel…”
Nieman’s body stiffened, and his mind raced. Dammit, no, I didn’t escape Silvermore to fail here. Screw this pirate scum! The shadowy thing inside Nieman was now awake and restless, making its presence known for the first time since the battle in town. Nieman wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or discouraged by this, but nonetheless he prepared to let the thing lose. He would most likely die here, but not without a fight.
However, fate was not done with the young feral. Just as Nieman tensed to raise the black gate, a voice called out from the edge of the thicket. “Hello, gentlemen! Is this a private party, or can I join in on the fun?”
Vonot jumped, visibly startled, and removed his knife from Nieman’s spine. He brandished it in front of him and responded to the unknown voice as Donzer wrapped his thick arms around Nieman’s chest in an inescapable bear hug. “Whattaya want, fool? This is a private party, get yer fool feet back to town! This is royal business we’re conducting here!” Vonot cried, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
“Oh, since when did the royal family of Silvermore start handing out badges to sea scum?” The unknown man retorted, laughter evident in his voice. “Regardless, I think I’m going to have to barge in on your fun.”
The next sound heard in the thicket was a loud twang, followed by the sharp sound of an arrow piercing the air. Before anyone could react, a feathered shaft appeared in Donzer’s right eye. He let go of Nieman and looked at his new decoration dumbly with his remaining eye, then flicked the wooden bolt in disbelief. The final thing he did was grunt in confusion as his life left him. Nieman scrambled away as the massive slab of man fell to the ground, dead.
Vonot shrieked in a tone that belied his stout body and backed away as the owner of the mysterious voice entered the thicket and drew a long, gleaming sword of elegant elvish design. He held out his knife in a pitiful display of defense as the swordsman advanced on him, but his life was cut short as Nieman, attacking from behind, tore open his throat with both hands. Vonot gurgled his final words in a fountain of blood and fell to the grass.
Growling and shaking, Nieman shook the blood from his hands in disbelief. Right when he saw the opening in Vonot’s guard, he had automatically moved to slay the man. He didn’t even remember moving from his position near the fallen Donzer, and here he was, another man’s blood on his hands.
“Hey!” came a cry, shaking him from his reverie. “You shouldn’t have done that! Now they’ll know for sure a feral is in the area!” It was his shadowy savior, a young man if his voice was any indication. “If I had killed them both, the Cionci guard would think it was just a squabble between humans. Now we have to run!”
Looking up in confusion, Nieman blurted out the first question that came to his mind. “Who are you?!” In the twins glows of the moon and the Mana Pylon, Nieman could see his rescuer was a young man, more than likely in his late twenties. He had long black hair and sharp features, and his green and white garb, along with the fine bow on his back, led Nieman to believe he was a hunter or ranger.
“Rudolf LeMarque. Pleased to be of service. Now let’s go!”
And no, I'm not bothering to put in the html for italics. It doesn't tranfer from word and I make it obvious when Nieman is thinking.
Before long, Nieman at last stood before the Mana Pylon. Separated from the tent city by a tall wrought-iron gate, it loomed over the shantytown, its soft blue glow bathing the nearby area in ethereal brilliance. The crystal itself was fifteen feet tall, and it hovered over a large gold tripod supported by legs of steel. Below the Pylon sat the portal itself, a wavering rip in reality itself. Inside the portal Nieman could see only a blue void, and the energy pouring off of the spatial anomaly made his hair stand on end, but in a good way.
Before the Mana Pylon stood a long line of people waiting to use the portal, and on the far side of the pylon a steady trickle of people exited another, smaller portal. Men of all races and jobs waited to leave Silvermore Province, but none were as eager as the young feral who got into the rear of the line. He was so nervous that he was literally bouncing from foot to foot, causing a great amount of annoyance to the pair of warriors in front of him, as well as the cleric behind him. They all sent him dirty looks, but he ignored them, keeping his eyes on the pylon. Finally he drew close enough to clearly see the four guards standing before the portal. Clad in black plate armor and armed with sword, shield, and bow, the guards were supplied from the ranks of the Silvermore army, and the stewardship of the Mana Pylon was their solemn task.
Nieman grew more anxious the closer he got to the portal, but his growing excitement and nervousness drained away the instant he saw a guard demand money of the person in the front of the line. A young wizard handed the largest guard a sack of coins, which were rapidly counted before giving the wizard passage to the portal.
By the gods, they charge for passage. Jericho never mentioned this! Nieman thought frantically. He didn’t even have any food left, much less the sizeable amount of coin he would need to reach the portal. He began to panic, and didn’t care leave the line, lest he attract undue attention. Instead, frozen by fear, the young feral continued to shuffle forward as the line shrank, its members entering the azure rift one by one.
Before long, Nieman was only ten feet away from the looming black-armored guards. They scanned the line for troublemakers from behind their slitted visors as their leader counted coin. Nieman briefly considered rushing the portal, or perhaps climbing the gate, leaping to the tripod, and then diving through the rift, but his common sense told him that such a move would be suicide. Even if he got to the portal unharmed, he had no way of knowing how to make the portal take him where he wanted to go, and he was sure that no matter where he ended up, he wouldn’t be welcome for long.
However, it was at this point that fate intervened on behalf of the young feral - unfortunately, not in a way that Nieman would ever have prayed for. Only a few people separated him from the guards when something sharp poked him in the back.
“Well ‘ello there, kitty. Might you step out so we can have us a chat?” a voice asked from his left. The voice was rough and thick with the brogue of the western sailors, and the owner’s breath reeked of liquor and woman. Thoughts raced through Nieman’s head as he sidestepped left, leaving the line. A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and turned his around, bringing him face to face with a stout, muscular man covered in tattoos and piercings. He smiled a gap-toothed smile and motioned to his large companion to lead Nieman away. The larger man, another, less decorated westerner who was seemingly made of fat, muscle, and body hair, grabbed Nieman by the other shoulder and pulled him away from the Pylon. Nieman wasn’t sure whether to be worried or grateful as the large man’s fingers crushed future bruises into his shoulders. He finally settled on worried as the smaller man’s knife returned to his back. Bounty hunters, Nieman said internally. This is just what I need.
Laughing and joking the whole way, the two men, whom Nieman assumed to be either pirates, smugglers, or some roguish mixture of the two, led the feral back out of the shantytown, into the nighttime wilderness. “You’re quite lucky, kitty, to be nabbed by such an esteemed pair of mercenaries. I’m Vonot, and this here is me main mate, Donzer,” The smaller man said, pointing to his larger friend. Donzer merely smiled, exposing a smile that was mostly gums and rotten teeth. Curiously, the larger pirate’s tongue was gone, leading Nieman to wonder just what kind of bounty hunters these were. Certainly, they were not the dashing scoundrels he had read about in Jericho’s books.
Vonot continued to jest and brag as they left the city, bathing Nieman’s nose in a putrid cloud that spoke of a full night of indulgences. How did such a lush even recognize me? He wondered silently.
Almost as if he could read the feral’s thoughts, Vonot answered the unasked question. “Donzer here has quite a nose for you fleabags. He served Silvermore in the Beast Purge, until the bastards discharged him from service for some paltry rape charges,” the pirate drawled. “He smelled you right quick, and your description matches the one sent out from Silvermore a few days back. I figure you’re worth a few more nights on the Pylon.”
Nieman grimaced, but saw no escape. One wrong move would mean a severed spine, and Nieman doubted that even his inner beast could give him the strength he’d need to break free of the massive Donzer.
Within minutes, Vonot had led his prize into a small thicket to the north of the city. Nieman could see the Mana Pylon glowing comfortingly off in the distance, but the trees made it so that the shantytown was almost completely obscured. “Now then, kitty, what should I slice to make sure ye don’t run off?” Vonot asked, a cruel edge creeping into his voice. “Maybe yer spine?” he continued, running his blade slowly up and down Nieman’s back. “Or per’aps your heel…”
Nieman’s body stiffened, and his mind raced. Dammit, no, I didn’t escape Silvermore to fail here. Screw this pirate scum! The shadowy thing inside Nieman was now awake and restless, making its presence known for the first time since the battle in town. Nieman wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or discouraged by this, but nonetheless he prepared to let the thing lose. He would most likely die here, but not without a fight.
However, fate was not done with the young feral. Just as Nieman tensed to raise the black gate, a voice called out from the edge of the thicket. “Hello, gentlemen! Is this a private party, or can I join in on the fun?”
Vonot jumped, visibly startled, and removed his knife from Nieman’s spine. He brandished it in front of him and responded to the unknown voice as Donzer wrapped his thick arms around Nieman’s chest in an inescapable bear hug. “Whattaya want, fool? This is a private party, get yer fool feet back to town! This is royal business we’re conducting here!” Vonot cried, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
“Oh, since when did the royal family of Silvermore start handing out badges to sea scum?” The unknown man retorted, laughter evident in his voice. “Regardless, I think I’m going to have to barge in on your fun.”
The next sound heard in the thicket was a loud twang, followed by the sharp sound of an arrow piercing the air. Before anyone could react, a feathered shaft appeared in Donzer’s right eye. He let go of Nieman and looked at his new decoration dumbly with his remaining eye, then flicked the wooden bolt in disbelief. The final thing he did was grunt in confusion as his life left him. Nieman scrambled away as the massive slab of man fell to the ground, dead.
Vonot shrieked in a tone that belied his stout body and backed away as the owner of the mysterious voice entered the thicket and drew a long, gleaming sword of elegant elvish design. He held out his knife in a pitiful display of defense as the swordsman advanced on him, but his life was cut short as Nieman, attacking from behind, tore open his throat with both hands. Vonot gurgled his final words in a fountain of blood and fell to the grass.
Growling and shaking, Nieman shook the blood from his hands in disbelief. Right when he saw the opening in Vonot’s guard, he had automatically moved to slay the man. He didn’t even remember moving from his position near the fallen Donzer, and here he was, another man’s blood on his hands.
“Hey!” came a cry, shaking him from his reverie. “You shouldn’t have done that! Now they’ll know for sure a feral is in the area!” It was his shadowy savior, a young man if his voice was any indication. “If I had killed them both, the Cionci guard would think it was just a squabble between humans. Now we have to run!”
Looking up in confusion, Nieman blurted out the first question that came to his mind. “Who are you?!” In the twins glows of the moon and the Mana Pylon, Nieman could see his rescuer was a young man, more than likely in his late twenties. He had long black hair and sharp features, and his green and white garb, along with the fine bow on his back, led Nieman to believe he was a hunter or ranger.
“Rudolf LeMarque. Pleased to be of service. Now let’s go!”