Varha
Troubador
Posts: 61
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Post by Varha on Aug 24, 2011 19:55:49 GMT -7
Chapter One: Rare Mail
A man was sprinting through the deep flora of the Blackwood Forest, in the middle of Kaido. The night was dark and the Blackwood Forest was being devoured by an unseen monsoon. The man was around twenty-two years old, and even for him, in top physical condition, this was a hard journey to be making in this type of ruthless storm. The wind and freezing rain whistled through the trees as he unsheathed his sword to protect himself from the Nepharrì. He could see their faces occasionally – nostrils that were but mere slits, sunk back into their deformed bony faces; pure black glistening eyes that sucked light out of the world – they glared at him, waiting for him to collapse due to exhaustion. He increased his pace, his eyes glancing about as he slipped on a patch of mud. He yelled out, his scream scattering birds in the trees and echoing through the woods. He regained his footing quickly, and picked up his pace. He started up a small but very steep hill. Then he heard the battle cry of the Nepharrì. (The Nepharrì battle cry is a high, shrill shriek that would break glass – they have been known to rupture eardrums). The man fell to the ground covering his ears and screaming in pain, then – complete silence. He stood up as he searched for his sword. His hand closed upon the hilt. A Nepharrì slammed into him, biting for his neck with its deformed mouth and teeth. He yelled and shoved his sword through the beast’s abdomen, but it wouldn’t falter. He continued hacking at it, as it screamed in pain, then with a final blow, he severed its head. A death rattle sounded from the cavity of its esophagus, ordering the others to avenge its untimely death. Three more Nepharrì attacked, all biting for the man’s body. He slammed into the ground, kicking one off of him, listening as it fell off of the nearby cliff and splattered across the landscape. He began slamming another with his sword. He also severed its head, only this time the head fell down onto his body and bit his hand; he shrieked in pain. He kicked the last Nepharrì of the second attack off of him, sending it to the same painful end as one of its other brethren. He then grabbed the head of the other Nepharrì and pulled at it, his tendons and ligaments snapping – he yelled in relief as the head gave way. The effect of the Nepharrì’s poisonous bite was setting in; his vision began to fade as he quickly pulled out a piece of parchment and summoned his wand. “Indite'a’mentè,” he gasped, and then he continued, “help – captured by Nepharrì; Brentzìè Monsonage,” he muttered one last word as he began to slip out of consciousness – “Expedita’vè Corzo Collisto!” The parcel disappeared in a flash of brilliant scarlet light, and as the parcel disappeared, so did the light from Brentzìè’s world as he fell into a dreamless, fitful slumber.
***
Corzo Collisto ran through the street. He was a bit large for his age; he had sapphire eyes, ochre hair, and he was about six feet and three inches tall. He weighed about one-hundred and eighty pounds, and he was even a bit muscular. He had the ability to grow a scruffy beard, and that it what he kept his facial hair at. It gave him a little pride, even though the thought of it seems pathetic. He was sixteen years of age, reaching seventeen, and the love of his life was May Aresope. This was who he was chasing through the streets of Mapleville. She knew that he liked her. May also liked Corzo, but she never let him know that. May had hazelnut eyes, mahogany hair, and well, I’m not going to reveal her weight, but I’ll just say the she was skinny and her muscles were toned. She, too, was about seventeen. She was about six feet, and very athletic, like Corzo. She sprinted through the streets laughing, running through poultry markets, screaming joyfully as chickens clucked and flew through the air, scattering their white and red and brown feathers. Corzo averted the chicken catastrophe as he strained to catch up to May, but she had distanced herself over time. He hopped onto some crates and catapulted himself onto a roof that was covered in tile. The owner shook his fist and shouted some rude words at Corzo. “Hey, take it easy,” Corzo called, “don’t worry about it; your roof will be fine!” He leapt from the tile roof and landed on another one, losing his balance. He slipped and managed to regain his footing. He sprinted down part of it and jumped aiming for a cart full of hay. He missed. Corzo slammed into the ground and rolled, he heard a crack come from his leg as an angry fire of pain ran up the left side of his body. He lay there, afraid to look at the carnage of his leg. But, he did anyway. His leg was beginning to get soaked in blood, and he grimaced as he pulled up his soft, thin deerskin pants. There was a rod of wood sticking out of his leg, going completely through his calf, augmenting the skin around his wound. He screamed, though no sound came out of his mouth. He pulled himself into a small alleyway and put his hand around rod and – he yanked it out of his body. There was a sickening sucking sound as it came out, and he yelled. The pain was grievous; he gritted his teeth and screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel hot tears coming, but he kept them at bay, not wanting anyone to see. “Corzo?” He heard – it was May, “Corzo, where are you?” She rounded the corner and Corzo saw her out of his peripheral vision. “I won the race,” she said cockily, and then she noticed his leg. “Oh, my – Corzo, are you alright? – You need to see a doctor! – What happened? – “ Corzo was hammered with a million questions at once. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said, trying to not show his pain. “Corzo,” May countered, sounding worried, “you have a hole going through your leg! You can’t be fine!” “Don’t worry about it!” He chastised, “I’m fine! I just need a band-aid!” “Corzo,” May said, exasperated, “I have no idea what a band-aid is –” (reader, please remember that this book takes place on Atoyot, not Earth) “—besides, you can’t go to your house like that! You’ll bleed to death!” Corzo lived alone. He had lived alone ever since he was about six or seven. For the first years of his life, he had lived in the village orphanage, and when he became “too old”, the owner kicked him out. He lived on the street until he was about twelve, begging for food and rationing what he could. When he turned thirteen he built a shabby hut which he had improved over the years. “No—“he started. “No is not an option, young man!” She glared at him. “You are going to let me help you get your leg sewn up!” She had said “young man”. Corzo knew she was serious, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind. “Fine,” he said, sounding more grateful than he had originally planned. She grabbed his hand and helped him up. He put his arm around her shoulder and smiled slightly. Not everything about this is too bad, he thought. She took him into her house, and helped him up onto her table. She walked off to light a lantern, because dusk was falling outside, and the house was getting dark. It wasn’t really a house. It was a lot like Corzo’s shack. He had stuck together with May when she was also kicked out of the orphanage. Her parents had also abandoned her, only they cared enough to leave the owner a note telling the owner her first name. He groaned, and she came back, carrying a small bowl of water, a needle and thread, and freshly bought bandages. “I need to cut up your pants a little bit so that I can see how far up the wound goes.” Corzo smiled to himself, secretly. May ripped his pants into pieces, and said after a brief pause, “Okay, hold still. This is only going to sting a little.” (Reader, hello again; when somebody says this, they are lying to you! Saying, “this is only going to sting a little”, is another way of saying, “your life is going to really suck in about three, two, one….” It isn’t good.) May poured the water into his wound. He grimaced, as she said, “This will only take a moment. Hold really still,” she closed her eyes as she began to stitch his leg up. “Ouch! What are you doing?! Look at where you’re sewing!” Corzo interjected, pain seeping through his voice. “Sorry! Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry,” May said, sounding a little bit panicked, “I have just a bit more to go!” After about ten minutes of pain and blood, Corzo lay on the table, as May elevated and began to bandage his leg. “May,” Corzo began. “Mmm-hmm?” She hummed, still wrapping up his leg gingerly. “Thank you,” he paused, “for fixing my leg and stuff –” he thought for a moment, “—I really do appreciate it.” She nodded silently, as she finished bandaging his leg up. “Okay, let me go get some splints to help your leg, ok? You broke your bone, and I just set it.” She walked over to a darkened area of the room and came back holding two planks of wood. As she bound it against his left leg, he said, “Well, thank you, a lot, I really appreciate it. I think I should get going home.” He began to sit up. “No,” May said sternly. “Wait – what?” “No, you aren’t going home,” May ordered him. “But, I have to eat and –“ “Corzo Collisto, you are going to eat dinner here, and you will sleep here,” she informed him promptly. “But you only have one bed,” he said, trying not to sound hopeful. “I can make do,” she said. They ate a small dinner of cheese, bread, and wine. He heard May say, “Turn away,” and Corzo did as she said. When she said that he could look, he glanced at her and saw that she was in a nightdress. “Take off your shirt – I need to see if you have bruises on your back,” she said. Corzo took off his shirt and she walked up to him, and inspected his torso and back. She said that he had a few bruises and she rubbed some type of ointment on them. She gingerly laid her hand upon his muscular chest, feeling one of the “bruises”, and she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Time for bed,” she said softly. Corzo tenderly pulled on his shirt and what was left of his pants, and then he followed her to a small bed in the corner of the room. She let him get in first, and as she bent over to get in, she kissed him softly and lightly upon the lips. She lay down and pulled the covers over her. “Goodnight, Corzo,” she said, as Corzo put his arm around her abdomen, smiling to himself. “Goodnight, May,” he whispered, and he kissed her tenderly on the back of her head. He drifted off into a comfortable slumber….
***
Corzo woke up with a start in a cold sweat. He had had a dream that best friend, Brentzìè Monsonage, had been attacked by a pack of Nepharrì. That was complete insanity. There was no way that Brentzìè could have crossed the ocean reaching Kaido that fast. It just wasn’t possible. He’d only been gone for a month. No matter, he thought to himself, it wasn’t real; it was only a dream. Corzo looked around and realized that he was in May’s hut. So that wasn’t a dream! It really happened! He thought, as he sat up. His back and left leg was incredibly sore. He looked at his bandages, only to see that they were gone; his leg was perfectly fine! Maybe I only thought I hurt my leg last night. He stood up and stretched; his bones and joints popping. He walked quickly over to the table because the floor was extremely cold. But, it hadn’t been a dream. There in the corner facing Corzo was the two foot pole that had gone through his leg. It was caked with dried blood. He looked down at both of his legs. There was nothing new. Nothing; not even a scratch, much less a scar! He wondered where May might have gone to. He pulled on some shoes that were next to the door, with a small piece of parchment that was inside of them, which read:
Corzo, I went to the marketplace to run a few errands. These are you shoes. If you can walk alright, you can leave the house. Don’t try anything too strenuous. -May
Corzo folded up the paper and put it into his pocket. He pulled on his shoes and stepped outside. It was much warmer outside – scorching, even. He walked at a brisk pace, and spotted the market quickly. He searched for May, but to no avail. He walked up to the blacksmith and said, “Hi, Mant, how are you doing?” “Oh, me? Oh, I’s reckons I’s was jus’ fine; wha’ ter ya up to?” He asked. Mant was a large man. He had a big burly beard, and large bushy eyebrows, with a mane of messy hair sprouting from his scalp. He was muscular and slightly tanned, and he was about fifty or plus years old. “I’m fine, Mant. Hey, listen, I am wondering when you might have – you know –“ “Times whe’ I mights be able ter do yer a quick fav’r fer yerself, youngin’?” He took the words right out of Corzo’s mouth. “Um, well yeah, that’s what I was planning on asking you. I need you to make me a shield. Can you do that?” Corzo inquired. “Why, sure thin’; jus’ make sure that it ain’t too much to be costin’ ya, now. Take care, li’l feller!” “Okay, I will,” Corzo called back, walking away. He walked up and down both sides of the street, searching for May. He admired everything that was on display; fine clothes of vibrant shades of colors, jewelry of all kinds, fine cheeses, soft bread, fresh meat, shiny swords and an array of battle apparel, and last but not least, his favorite drink: Mead. Mead is, basically, an alcoholic beverage. On a night out on the village, or when celebrating a recent battle, Corzo and his comrades would drink the night away; but it cost too much for Corzo to buy just out of the blue. Soldiers of Orthanck’s Imperial Army drank free after victory. “Corzo! What are you doing out here without crutches?” Corzo heard May’s voice and he whipped around, seeing her stomp up the worn road. “And your bandages!—where are your bandages!? Do you realize how dangerous this is!? You can get infected –“ “Honestly, May, I’m fi– “Corzo began. “You can get killed --!” “May, calm down,” Corzo said loudly. “I swear if I EVER see you like this again, I will smack you so hard, that blood will be coming out of your --!” “MAY!!!” Corzo screamed; the street went silent as everybody stared at them fighting. It started bustling again after an awkward pause of a few seconds. “I’m fine, see!” He showed her his leg. “There’s no scars, no marks, nothing! I’m fine.” “Oh,” May said quietly. “It’s okay, you just need –” he took a breath, “anger management,” he finished very quickly. “What?” May asked. “Nothing,” he said quickly, laughing to himself. “What?” May pressed. “Nothing; don’t worry about it,” he chuckled. May rolled her eyes. “Lance wanted to talk to you,” she said after a moment. “He did?” Corzo asked, trying not to sound excited. “Did he say about what?” May shook her head. Lance was Corzo’s closest friend besides May. “Where is he?” Corzo inquired. “He’s sick. He’s in the infirmary, at the military camp,” she said. “By the way, Corzo, about last night–”; she turned around to talk to him, but he was already gone. “Never mind,” she muttered to herself. Corzo was sprinting down the street, and he turned down a small worn path. He evaded large tree roots and rocks in the trail as he twisted and turned through the woods. He came to the edge of a cliff. It was breathtaking. There was a glistening cerulean waterfall, cascading down about one-hundred and fifty feet, ending in a shower of mist. The lake that the waterfall emptied into was deep azure. The flora was emerald all around, and the sky was baby blue, with puffs of marble clouds floated through it, forming unidentifiable shapes. He grinned, and took about fifteen steps back. “Geronimo!” He yelled running towards the edge of the cliff, (even though Geronimo didn’t ever live in his world), and he threw himself off of the edge of the cliff. He yelled joyfully as he twisted through the air, doing multiple flips and stunts. He straightened out near the end of the waterfall, his stomach dropping faster than he was. He slammed into the water and floated underneath it, stunned for a moment. He opened his eyes and looked at the beautiful schools of innumerable fish, and glowing coral, encompassed by swaying sea anemones. He swam powerfully towards the sun, and broke the surface of the water, sucking cool air into his lungs. He swam with a powerful breaststroke towards the shore, and climbed out of the water, sopping wet. He walked onto the dewy grass and shook the water from is hair. He began a light jog, headed now in the direction for the military infirmary. He saw it after about ten minutes, at which time he was dry. Deer and rabbits scattered as he walked towards it, bounding through the aspen trees and budding rosebushes. He walked up to the door, or flap, and lifted it open. Everybody was dead. There were no cute nurses or scurrying doctors to be seen. There were blood covered metal instruments laid upon a metal tray. Everybody was deformed. It looked as if it was a hospital full of patients that were on the brink of fourth degree burns; past death. He walked in, as a hoard of flies erupted from a man’s abdomen, his body deflating as the flies evacuated, soon becoming an empty, deteriorating sack of skin and liquidized organs. He sniffed and dry-heaved. The emanation was inadmissible. He walked around, inspecting the bodies. Some of their eyes were still opened. The eyes were bloodshot and inflamed, with puss and yellow goop abdicating the bulging eyes. One of the eyes popped with a wheezing sound, discharging mounds of puss and blood. The smell was insane. He looked at the withered bodies, their skin bronzed and constricted. Their weak tendons lay stretched against their skin – their lips were cracked and chaffed, filled with old blood. Their necks were bulbous and tumescent, leading up to a shriveled head and the eyes – oh, the eyes – the corpses lay there, mouths agape. “Lance –“, Corzo’s voice cracked. “Lance?” One of the corpses groaned. Corzo screamed and looked at the one that had groaned. It was Lance, but then again – it wasn’t. Lance held in his withered hand a scroll of parchment. “Do you want me to take this?” Corzo asked. Lance’s head faltered. Corzo took that as a “yes”. He pulled out the scroll. The scroll read:
Ameiod jkleo rmpsh condona a’ndont smeoinx ruiot Nowapt epwpnt pountionps whaentien sonexyz! Adfjo
It was just gibberish. A waste of part of a life; then – Corzo heard the scream. It was like the scream of many Nepharrì. But it was different; lower, and more demonic. It sounded as if the scream came from five different people, all hitting different pitches, but a ton louder. Then he realized…. The screams were coming from the people. Their skin began to boil as their eyes all popped, squirting blood and puss onto Corzo. He began to walk backwards. One of them sat up, its new eyes growing in, darkening into black, glistening slits. “Oh, no,” Corzo muttered awestruck. “They’re Nepharrì!” They’re teeth were beginning to twist and elongate, form long sharp sickles, they moaned all unanimously, and their noses shrunk into slits, and receded into their skulls. A Nepharrì grabbed him from behind, snapping its jaw at the base of his neck. He pulled away, and looked in awe as sharp tails, (a new feature to these “Nepharrì”), lined with spikes curled about the Nepharrìs’ heads’. They stood up, still bubbling as Corzo glanced at Lance. He was becoming deformed. “No!” Corzo yelled. A Nepharrì grabbed him and threw him into the wall of the tent. It didn’t hurt too much, but it still wasn’t fun. Lance stood up and glared at Corzo. “Lance, it’s me! Corzo Collisto!” He yelled, but the beast bellowed and raced toward Corzo. Its neck elongated, and struck at Corzo, its poisonous jaws narrowly missing his left shoulder. He ran toward the bloodied surgical instruments, and grabbed the sharpest one, that looked quite a bit like a scalpel. Lance struck again, and Corzo seized the chance. He plunged the scalpel into Lance’s neck, and ran as the beast screamed in pain and horror. The other Nepharrì were upon him know, all of them trying to lacerate major blood vessels. He ran faster, more out of fear than bravery. He sprinted up a hill and charged for the village that was in the distance. It grew bigger and bigger, as did the new species of Nepharrì. He ran inside the village gate and ran to the strongest man in town; Mant. Mant was busy stoking his furnace when Corzo ran up, breathless. “G’day, Corzo, wha’s got yer all in a fre’?” Corzo talked as well he could, “Nepharrì!” He muscled out, gasping. Mant’s usually cherry colored face drained all color. “We’s gots to warn the ci’y!” He ran to a nearby bell and rang it yelling, “Nepharrì; Nepharrì!” The town erupted into chaos. “’Ake this, boy,” Mant ordered Corzo. He threw him a sword and a new shield. “Le’s see if tha’ new shiel’ is okay or not, eh?” He handed Corzo a large shield with two arm straps. As Corzo put it on, Mant grabbed his armor, and a double-sided battle ax. The rest of the village was preparing for battle. May ran up to Corzo and said frantically, “Corzo, what’s going on?” “Nepharrì; a new breed,” Corzo breathed. “A new….” May began, but she was interrupted by Corzo. “May; get behind me now!” Corzo yelled. A Nepharrì charged at them and Corzo threw himself into the way. He sliced his sword through the Nepharrì’s neck, severing its head. “Yeah,” he yelled; the people cheered. The body of the Nepharrì sank to the ground; its neck started to bubble and a new head grew out of its shoulders, covered in a sinewy sack until the tension ripped it. “Oh, no, that’s new,” Corzo whispered as the beast reared up again, baring its deformed bloody teeth and bellowing its battle cry. “Kill ‘em all, Corzo, kill ‘em all!” Corzo heard Mant’s muted shouts. The Nepharrì closed in, ripping the people of the village to shreds. Corzo closed his eyes, raised his sword and yelled a word from an unknown language, “Fusillad’amactimè!” Corzo roared. He thrust the blade into the ground and opened his eyes. May glanced over and saw his eyes; they were glowing golden. Not just the irises, but his entire eye; both of them. The whites of his eyes were now, well, the “golds” of his eyes. A shockwave of golden dust ruptured throughout the city, as the Nepharrì were thrown back. They screamed in vain as the golden light broke the sound barrier, creating a sonic boom. The Nepharrì raged and then – silence. They had imploded. All around the warriors, golden dust descended, and then vanished. There was silence. The roar of victory was deafening. They all cheered and a soldier yelled out, “Mead tonight, men!” They all cheered louder. They hugged each other and bragged about their victories. “I beheaded a single Nepharrì three times! It just kept coming back for more!” – And – “My parents will finally accept me as their son!” – And – “You only beheaded two? I beheaded eight”. People came up to Corzo and patted him on the back, saying, “You deserve a promotion for that!” May ran up and said breathlessly, “I didn’t know that you could use magic!” “Neither did I,” Corzo replied, astounded. “Neither did I.” ***
The smile on Corzo’s face was one of inexpressible rapture and jubilance. The people in “Porker’s Pub” were all dancing and singing to a local folk song: “The Soldier’s Victory”. There was a man dancing in the back corner, near the stairs, playing and accordion, while three men inebriated with Mead danced on the wooden table in the middle of the room, kicking off a roasted pig and assortments of fruits and vegetables. The song ended after a moment and a man had the pub quieted down. “A (hic) toast (hic),” he proposed, obviously drunk, hiccupping every other word, “to Mr. (hic) Corzo Collist-(hic)-o, to whom (hic) we owe our (hic) vic-(hic)-tory!” He finished it off with one particularly loud hiccup. “(HIC) – cheers!” Everybody yelled, “Cheers”, and downed there drinks, as did Corzo. He felt so honored that he could barely swallow. (Hello, reader. Well, you may be wondering, what’s a good celebration without a fight in a local pub? Well, I’m going to tell you; if there isn’t a fight, it sucks. So, here you go reader.) Two men were arguing in the corner about who had beheaded the most Nepharrì. People in the room were beginning to take sides. The first man pushed the other, and the second man tackled him. At this notion, everybody in the room looked at each other, and a full-on riot commenced. Corzo felt somebody drill him in the mouth, and the man that punched him, with an “Irish” accent belted out, “Oh, I got you right in the kisser, didn’t I, little laddie!” “Yep,” Corzo replied, “and so did you!” He punched the “Irish” man right in the mouth, knocked loose a tooth or two. The man went completely cross-eyed, and crumpled into a heap of man, completely wasted. There were several “woo-hoos” coming from the pulsating mass of fighting men, who were all drenched in mead, and who punched each other stupidly. Corzo laughed as a couple of men tackled each other out into the road where it had begun to rain. The rain started slowly, and then evolved into a torrential downpour. At that point, everybody in the pub thought that it would be fun to fight in the rain. A man tackled Corzo through the door and into a mud puddle. The mud splashed up into the assailant’s eyes, and he screamed, putting his hands to his eyes. That’s what I thought, sucker, Corzo thought to himself, as he kicked the man “where it counts”. The man collapsed and his voice shot up three octaves, never to be deep again. Corzo nodded briskly. Another one of Corzo’s friends came near him and pulled him up. “Looks like it’s just me and you against the rest of the guys eh, Corzo?” Corzo nodded. “Let’s go.” The men threw themselves at Corzo and his friend, Schenal. Corzo threw a few uppercuts and the men fell unconscious at his feet. There were about six men fighting Corzo and Schenal. The rest were either blacked out, or vomiting in an alleyway due to all of the mead they had consumed. Corzo began to feel the effects of the mead fogging his brain already. He fought harder so that he wouldn’t collapse. There were three men left now; Corzo elbowed one in the nose and he grinned as he heard a satisfying crunch, assuring him that the man had just had his nose broken. The fight continued as they made their way back into the shelter of the pub, as the drunken accordion player was playing and singing, “The Soldier’s Victory” once again. Corzo picked up the second guy and threw him at the store of the bartender’s drinks. The man hit them and fell to the ground, shattering many. The bartender just wiped down the counters absentmindedly as if nothing had happened. Corzo and Schenal picked up the last man and threw him across the table of which the feast had been prepared. He hit multiple hard half-full mugs of mead, flew off of the end and eventually managed to get his head stuck through the middle of the accordion. Not bad, thought Corzo. He high-fived Schenal and Schenal grinned; he collapsed on the spot. Corzo stumbled home, trying to keep his balance. He slipped a few times in the mud, but pursued vigorously. He opened up his small hut door and threw himself onto his bed. He groaned as he pulled the covers over him. The last words that went through his groggy and fogged mind were these: I am going to have a horrible hangover in the morning. ***
Corzo’s bloodshot eyes cracked open, and he groaned. “I’m not feeling too well,” he spoke to himself. His house was basically made out of stone and wood. His walls were made of stone, with wood posts making up the foundation and the trusses of the roof. His roof was a thatched roof, ornamented with sticks, hay, and mud. His floor was dirt, which was a letdown, because every time it rained, his leaky roof would turn his floor into a soupy mess. Although it had rained last night, the floor was mostly dry; it was only a little bit spongy. He blinked his eyes, shielding them against the strong sunlight that streamed through his open, wood, wind-worn door. There, in front of him, was a small table, about four feet by three feet. There was one small, wobbly chair that he sat on. There was one wooden bowl, one wooden plate, a knife for eating, and a wooden cup for drinking. There was something new; a letter upon the table. He stumbled over to it. It had his name on it:
Corzo Collisto Help – captured by Nepharrì -Brentzìè Monsonage
That was the only thing the letter held. That was it. “Help – captured by Nepharrì,” Corzo read, a demeanor of confusion shadowing his face. “Brentzìè; he’s been captured by the Nepharrì.” How could this be? Corzo thought, his eyebrows knitted together, I didn’t even know he had made it to Kaido yet! Then, another thought. Are they the new breed of Nepharrì? (He had decided to call the new breed of Nepharrì “Nepharrì-Omegas”, or “NOs” for short). That thought had reminded him of Lance. Lance. May. May! Corzo thought. He ran out into the bustling street – it must’ve been about noon. He sprinted for May’s shack, and reached it in what seemed record time. “May! May!” He ran into her home, calling her name. “What, Corzo?” She inquired, calling from a closed door in her house. “Where’s that letter that you got from –”, he shuddered as he thought of the beast that his friend had become, “where is the letter that you got from Lance?” “It’s on my bed,” she called, still in the closet. Corzo leapt over to her bed, and pulled the letter out from a worn envelope:
24/16/0930 Corzo, I need your help. I have been wounded in battle against King Vinslad of Kaido. A sword went through my back. It’s a miracle that I am still alive; some of the comrades aren’t doing too well. The doctors have killed some of them off, due to a new infection; there are rumors going around that the poison on some of the swords are creating a new breed of Nepharrì. I can’t be exposed to it for too long. If I am exposed to it for over three days, I will become one of them. The transformation that takes place is horrendous. They start by their eyes enlarging – their skin sizzles and they begin to burn alive; the smell of burning human flesh has become something that we have now become accustomed to. The doctors won’t let me leave Anyways, they begin to burn and after a while, they die. One of the men started to bubble, and his eyes popped. Black eyes grew in, and his nostrils turned into slits. His teeth changed into scythes – the doctors had to kill them right there. The doctors feared that using the poisoned swords would infect them further, so they killed the men using the medical instruments. Please, help me. Your best friend, -Lance Myst
“Corzo, I’m sorry,” May faltered. She had come out of the closet. She was dressed in her battle armor. Corzo looked at her and he looked away quickly. His eyes were burning with tears. “It’s okay,” she sympathized. He looked at her again. “Why are you in your armor, May?” “Corzo,” she took a deep breath. “There’s been a call.” “A call to what?” Corzo asked. “A call to war.”
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Varha
Troubador
Posts: 61
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Post by Varha on Aug 24, 2011 19:56:45 GMT -7
Chapter Two: The Sands of Sontia Corzo stared at May. He turned slowly, and then he sprinted out of her house. He ran down the now deserted street. Corzo barged into his house and saw something lying on his table. There, was his shield; and a wand. A real wand; it was black and glossy, entwined with delicate strips of silver metal. It was a curious object. There seemed to be a soft light emanating from it, distorting the other shafts of light around it. He picked it up and practically dropped it. It had vibrated in his hand! There was a curious leather pouch next to it, with a small note. Corzo, this is my wand. I managed to send it to you. I am with the Nepharrì. Please help me. The cloth that is in front of you is a wand-holder. Use it well; this wand is yours now. -Brentzìè Monsonage This was Brentzìè’s, Corzo thought in anguish. He tied the leather holder around his waist. It was strong and firm, a lot like a belt. Plus, it looked pretty cool. He gently coaxed the wand into the pouch; it fit in nicely. Corzo strapped on his cold armor, pulled on his new shield, (now embedded in the metal was an animal of some sort; a dragon), and hooked his sword above the leather holder. He wrestled on his helmet and chain mail, and said to himself, “It’s go time.” He wobbled out into the street and followed the throng of men in armor, their protection clanging and clinking as they marched single file, singing “A Soldier’s Victory”. (Believe me reader, if this was made nowadays, it would be number one on the top ten list of favorite songs of all time; plus, it’s a good morale booster). He flooded into the line next to May. She was one of the only women enlisted in the army. “Why are you doing this, May?” He asked, looking at her for any type of answer. “Because I want to serve the King; I have a debt to pay to society,” came her answer. She was obviously distressed. “May, are you listening? ‘Society’ threw us out into the streets to fend for ourselves!” Corzo countered. “Well, apparently, out views are different on this subject!” May altercated. “May,” Corzo said, lowering his voice, trying not to sound frustrated, “can we please not fight today?” “It’s okay with me,” May said. “We’ll be perfectly fine – come on, the worst that can happen is we die.” *** They had been marching for about forty-five minutes when the platoon decided to take up positions. The Sands of Sontia were in the distance. They all stood in a cluster, a groan of relief echoing throughout the squadron. Their general, the “right-hand man” to King Orthanck himself addressed the army. “Today,” be began, “today is the day that we fight for freedom and for peace! Today is the day that sadness and turmoil will end! We will not fall easily; we will lose dear friends, and we may lose our very lives, but nothing can take away the power of the King! Today, we will march into battle with the determination and the valor that has kept us together for so long! “Our very King will be fighting alongside us in this battle, helping us to rise to the victory! King Orthanck has ordered the troops to progress and to build each other up during these next few grueling days of war; to freedom, to liberty, to the King, and to power!” The crowd’s morale swooned as he finished his speech – he held his hands, soaking in the praise. The army was gathered into formation – the army consisted of about 90,000 men, and 10,000 women, making about 100,000 in all. A man ran up to the general, and told him something. He raised his right hand and yelled, “Prepare for battle!” The army cheered as the butterflies in Corzo’s stomach churned faster, making him feel flashes of heat. He looked across the battle field and saw King Vinslad’s army. They were all Nepharrì, mixed in with a few men. “This is going to be gruesome,” he told May. She just nodded. They both unsheathed their weapons. “Let’s go.” *** The army made their way to the top of a sandy hill and they looked out over the barren wasteland in awe. There were row upon row of Nepharrì and very few men. This was not going to be pretty. The army moved the catapults into positions, and precariously balanced large packed amounts of sentha-mertha into the pits of wood. Sentha-mertha is a highly explosive mineral, found in mines on the northeast side of Sontia, near the Noitiut peninsula. Workers have to be meticulously careful while carving out the stone. It will explode if exposed to a low amount of pressure. Therefore, it was perfect for warfare. It would explode on impact. Corzo heard a deafening roar, and he spun around to see a large crimson and black dragon being led up to the catapults. He had heard of dragons, but he had never actually seen one. It was enormous, and its scales were glistening in the hot sun, fading from a dark red to a jet black. It had blood-red irises with black pupils that surveyed the crowd of now-silent soldiers. Its teeth were sharp and curved, as were its red talons. The tail of the dragon was large and covered with long spines. ~FORTHCOMING~
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