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The Adventures of Charles Montrose - A Story by Me

 
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No_Idea_What_I'm_Doing
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Joined: 14 Dec 2005
Posts: 136
Location: PR, La isla del encanto y de las calles malas

PostPosted: Mon Aug 14, 2006 4:20 pm    Post subject: The Adventures of Charles Montrose - A Story by Me Reply with quote

Doubtless my most well thought-out and interesting story ever, this story covers 27 pages and contains over 13,000 words at the current point, only one-fourth into the planned story line. I've decided to post it here to see if I can get some feedback.

The Adventures of Charles Montrose

by No Idea

Introduction


Calradia is a lovely land located on a mythical isthmus. It's plains are full of fruit trees, it's soil is fertile in almost every place, it's rivers ciss-cross the meadows giving them the serene atmosphere that Calradia is famous for. However, instead of having people from all lands come to see it, people are leaving in all haste for new lands, for Calradia is also a war-torn land, full of bandits and pirates and tribal raiders, as well as the Dark Knights, a collection of rogues that fight for no one but themselves. Then there are the two main factions of Calradia. The Vaegirs are former serfs who have thrown off their bonds, instead taking up sword and bow to fight their heavy-handed oppressors, the Swadians. The Swadians, however, are heavily armoured men with steel shields, and their training gives them the obvious edge. Vaegir would have been crushed, surely, were it not for the heroes who have appeared on both sides. They act as counterbalances, struggling against each other, neither giving any ground. One of these is young Charles Montrose. A Vaegir, he has thrown his all into the war, however, his rash and sometimes foolish decisions have caused him incalculable losses, and doubtless many of his victories would have gone the other way, if it had not been for his prowess. He is a man torn by his emotions, however, as he is torn between his duty to country, and his love fpr his father and brother, who have disappeared somewhere over the seas. Though battle-hardened in most ways, Charles' worst fault is his emotions. We enter his story after a bad loss to a group of Black Khergits, a group of nomads who have been terrorizing Claradia for years. Now, enraged, sorrowful, and fearful, young Montrose is about to face his most deadly challenge yet, defeating himself.

Chapter 1
The Rise of a Hero

A young knight stood on the summit of the cliff, staring down into the valley below. His scarred face,. bent features, and suntanned face were twisted, showing the grief that he felt. "Gone. All gone. Not even one survivor. I shouldn't have ordered that charge. My enemies were too strong, and I knew it! Why?" He then cried out in his native tongue, cursing the day of the battle and the khergits that had beset him and his party in the desert. He walked down the hill, stopping to shove a javelin deeper into the khergit leader. "You deserve this, but you deserved torture more," said the knight. He stood there gritting his teeth as if he expected the man to sit up and respond. He stooped over and pulled the javelin out of his enemy's body. "Still straight, no cracks... It will see battle again," he said, and put it in his quiver. He walked about, collecting weapons from the people on the battle field. All the while he thought about the hard fought victory, and he chastised himself for not helping his men when they needed it. There was nothing to do now but start over.
______________________________________________________________________________

"Welcome back Charles! What today? A job? Men?" The tavern keeper had been Charles' only friend aside from his army, though the strong drink that the man sold never appealed to him.

"Nothing like that today," said Charles. "Just a room for the night.

"Oh. Well for you, Charles, a room is free. Preferred customer discount!" said the tavern keeper. Charles looked at him, and then back at the other people in the tavern, each looking about ready to jump up and demand a free room.

"I feel better paying," said Charles, and he dropped five denars on the counter. The tavern keeper gave him the key and Charles walked up the stairs to his room. That entire night he thought of his failure to help his friends, and made up his mind never to put hired men in danger again. He would fight alone, and he would die alone if necessary. It didn't matter any more.
______________________________________________________________________________

Charles awoke the next morning with a sensation that he had had a new beginning. He looked through the armor that he had gathered from the enemy, and suddenly realized that there was a note in the pocket of one of the suits that he had taken. He read quietly to himself.

'To the king of Vaegir: Compliments from the Khergit Raiders. If you want your son back you must give us 100,000 denars, or he will be killed at dawn on the third day of this coming month. A messenger will be visiting you over the course of the next few days, and when you get the money give it to him. If at any time he fails to return your son will taste our steel. Remember, the Khergits are everywhere.'

Charles stared at the note, stunned that a disorganized band of raiders such as the Khergit would attempt such a thing. He also noticed that a part of the note, right near the middle had been scratched out. After some thinking he decided to visit the capitol, even though he suspected that this was just a joke, being as he had killed the band of raiders that had had it.
______________________________________________________________________________

Charles was in the stables making his horse ready for his long journey. Suddenly he heard the Constable talking to someone.

"Yes, it's true! The king's son has been kidnapped, and he has found a ransom note from the Khergits demanding 100,000 denars or his son's life! It happened two days ago."

This was all Charles needed to hear. Quickly collecting his baggage, he set off towards the capitol of Vaegir.

______________________________________________________________________________

Charles rode up to the castle, sweating profusely in the midday sun. He jumped off his horse and took a small pack off of his horse. "Stable boy! Take care of my horse, will you?" The boy ran up and took his horse to the stable, while Charles walked towards the front entrance. "I have heard about the king's son, and I am here to help," said Charles. The guards, though seemingly surprised, let Charles enter. He walked down the cold stone corridor, stopping at the doors to the throne room. He talked to the guards. One of them entered the throne room, and shortly afterwards returned. "The king wishes to speak with you sir," said the guard. Charles entered the room. There on his throne sat the king, obviously saddened by what had happened to his son. Charles wasted no time in opening the subject of the king's son.

"Sir, I have heard that your son was kidnapped, and I am here to help in any way I can," said Charles.

The king sighed. "Yes, it is true, but there is not much that you can do to help us."

"Was there not a ransom note?" asked Charles

The king looked surprised. "Yes, there was a note, but I instructed my knights and nobles not to tell anyone about it. What else do you know?"

Charles pulled the note out of the small pack that he had brought. "I found this in the possession of a Khergit horseman. I thought at first that it was a joke with no real significance, but then I heard two people talking about your son's capture. I came here straight away."

The king took a glance over at a table beside his throne. The real ransom note was still there. "But why would there be more than one copy?" asked the king.

"I don't know. Maybe it had something to do with this part in my copy that is crossed out."

"Let me see that," said the king. He took the note and after a while said, "Yes, it is almost an exact replica of the note I have. Only the crossed out sentence is different. Let's see if I can make it out... Bring the ..MM.. Bring the ransom money to ..to.. Bring the ransom money to the four ways inn."

"I wonder what significance that has," said Charles.

"I don't know. The only guess I could make is that they are camping somewhere near there, and didn't want to run the risk of being caught," said the king.

"Yes... I think you could be right, my lord, it seems very logical to me," responded Charles.

"Good! I think I'll send a group of men down that way..."

"I think that that would not be the best plan of attack. I think that, on the sight of a war party, they would use your son as their shield, and they might kill them while they were at it," interrupted Charles.

"Ah, yes, you are right. But what am I to do Charles?" asked the king.

"If I may suggest, sir. Though a group of men may cause that effect, I think that if a single man got into their camp and released you son, it might just work."

"Yes, you are right. But who to send?"

"I am ready and willing, sir. Just send me, and I will do my best to release your son."

"Yes, but is your best good enough? If you make so much as one mistake, it would destroy the entire purpose of the mission."

"Yes sir, I will not make so much as one mistake. I know I could do it. Just give me a chance."

The king stood, looking at Charles, sizing him up, trying to decide if he would be enough. "All right Charles. You leave tomorrow. I will provide you with supplies to get you there."

"Thank you sir."

"And one more thing. Luke," he motioned to a servant, "Prepare a room for our visitor."

"Yes sir," said the servant, and he left to complete the king's wishes.
______________________________________________________________________________

Charles rode at a swift trot, a few Vaegir Knights flanking him on either side. Although he had tried to be as firm as possible about not bringing anyone with him, the king would hear nothing of it. He sent for his ten strongest knights and had them join with Charles in his expedition. Charles saw them as just a waste ofd time, just the same as he saw the five saddle horses loaded with supplies that brought up the rear.

As he reached the top of the next hill, Charles spied the Four Ways Inn below them. It was a convenient position for an Inn, to be sure, right in the middle of nowhere, but the facilities were somewhat lacking. Charles "was slightly opposed to centering the search here, but it would go on the same way with or without his approval.

As they approached the inn, one of the guards separated himself from the group to go and reserve rooms for the lot of them. It had been a long day of riding, what with the occasional stops to rest the horses, and they were all exhausted and well ready for a good night's sleep, something Charles was nearly sure wouldn't be happening tonight. They had already had to rid this countryside from a few steppe bandits during their journey, and Charles found it not unlikely that the Khergits would be nearby as well.

Charles left his horse with one of the guards and entered the inn. The innkeeper was conversing with the captain of the guards, and a few travelers sat at the tables, some drowning themselves in the ale that the innkeeper provided, some speaking quietly among themselves, and some sitting by themselves. Charles sat across from a man at one of the tables. He was dressed in Khergit garb, with leather boots on his feet, and a somewhat battered skullcap on his head. His hair was black, and stuck out under the front of his helmet. The prominent feature of his face was the mustache that seemed to grow out from the nose guard of his helmet. He didn't seem to have been drinking, then again, it didn't seem that he had enough in his purse to buy anything anyway. He played pensively with the end of his mustache, and gave a short word of greeting as Charles sat down.

"Good day, stranger," he coughed out.

"And a good day to you too," returned Charles, removing his helmet.

"My name is Borcha. I'm waiting for a friend of mine to arrive," the stranger continued. "You wouldn't have run into a Vaegir captain lately, have you? He had a pretty good sized party with him last I saw, and he was on his way to deliver some supplies to Rivacheg. We were running low on food, so the captain had me go get some food at a nearby village. He told me to meet him here at the Four Ways Inn."

"I'm sorry, sir," responded Charles, "But I have seen no such man. The only ones I encountered on my way here were a few bands of steppe bandits."

"Like I figured," muttered Borcha, "He deserted me."

"Now, why would a captain of the Vaegir cause do that, pray tell?" queried Charles.

The man looked Charles in the face for a second, and continued, "I don't have the best of reputations, sir, and I don't think that the good captain trusted me. I think that his sending me for food was as good as paying me to leave."

Charles nodded. "I've heard of similar things. I've heard stories of men rescuing dark hunters from their enemies, and then abandoning them when they started to stir up trouble among the camp. I certainly don't see you as the type to stir up trouble."

Borcha snorted. "If you don't see me as a troublemaker, you don't see much past your nose. Everywhere I go there seems to be another outbreak of some sort of disturbance. I wish I could get a turn in my fortunes."

"Well, I think I could use a man like you," said Charles. The man looked at him in surprise. "I lost my traveling companions in a battle a while back, and I'll be needing to start another one soon."

Borcha looked at the knight at the counter. "What about those guys?" he asked.

"They're just with me until we accomplish a mission," explained Charles. "Speaking of the mission, it's one that could use a few hired blades," he added after a moment's pause.

The man looked at him intently, then smiled. "Well, you've got yourself a blade," he said, reaching out his hand.

Charles shook it. "Now, I'll need you to be up at daybreak tomorrow. That's when we start the mission."

Borcha saluted. "Aye, sir. I'll be sure to be there waiting for you when you get ready."

Charles nodded. "I hope so. Well, then," he said, standing up, "I'd love to sit and chat some more, but I have a few things to attend to."

Borcha nodded. "Then I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow at first light," confirmed Charles, and he turned and left the inn towards the stables. Borcha smiled. 'This job might get interesting,' he thought. Leaning back in his oak chair, he fell asleep, helmet still perched on his brow.
______________________________________________________________________________

Charles had been up all night. He had no use for sleep at a time like this, all it would do was slow him down. He was not the type to use it much anyway, usually resting only in 30 minute spells before returning to his work. He didn't let even having dealt so convincingly with the steppe bandits on the way let him feel prepared. His excuse was one that he had used many a time in the past. 'I had partners,' he reminded himself for the hundredth time. 'They probably did most of the work for me.' He was mistaken , of course, having been the first to reach the enemies, and having dispatched with all but 6 of the villainous lot before the knights had even reached the battleground. Still he practiced with his sword throughout the entire night, striking deft blows at an imaginary enemy that he fought with.

This was the way he always practiced, saying as an excuse, "What better man to devise an enemy for me but myself? Who else knows all my thoughts, all my strengths, all my weaknesses, and all my mistakes? Who else can foresee my every move, skillfully deflecting them at his whim? And what better way to train than by giving myself an enemy who I can't defeat?" It was a convincing excuse, to be sure, and besides, he liked his little times alone. It gave him opportunity to think through the happenings of the day, to calm himself, and to set himself at peace. That was what he sought now, peace. He could not stop himself from seeing the shocked faces of his friends and partners as they were struck down one by one, with him powerless to stop it. He continually relived the heart-sickening moments, seeing his partners dispensed with in such a horrifying way. How he longed for a second chance, a chance with which he had fled from the combat that had taken so many of his partners! The more he thought on them, the more agitated he became until he finally broke. Yelling at the top of his lungs, he lunged at the opponent in his mind, seeing in his mind's eye as he tore through sword, shield, and armor of the shocked man in front of him. He saw as the man dropped to his knees, crying out in anguish as the sword tore through his flesh. Still seeking to appease the piercing anger he felt, he sliced once, then twice, then thrice upon his fancied opponent, sending him crashing to the floor. Then, with a mighty heft of his sword, he brought it scything down through the man's neck, killing him most assuredly. As his anger faded, however, the image of the dead man did not. Could he have really killed a real person while fighting a fancied opponent? Had he mercilessly hacked down a life in a fit of anger than sent him into an unstoppable fit? Shaking as he stooped closer, he touched the blood on the face before him. Lifting his glove, he saw the blood sticking to it. "NO!!" he yelled, throwing himself away from the body in haste. Still the image had not wavered, and neither had the blood on his glove. He began to weep bitterly, letting his body shake uncontrollably with his sobs. Why had he done it? He had no reason, and he knew it. Guilt overtaking him, he reached his hand to his sword, which he held against his neck. He pressed it harder, harder, and harder still until he could feel his blood soaking his practice jerkin. "It is here I die," he said, and passed on to the great beyond...

______________________________________________________________________________

And he awoke, and behold, it was a dream.

"Charles! Charles, wake up man! You'll miss patrol!" It was one of the knights that had come with him. Charles' eyes snapped open, expecting to find himself in the infernal flames of hell, but instead, he saw the familiar face of Sir Edwin, the captain who had followed him down to the Four Ways Inn.

"Edwin?" He choked on the word, no surprise as he had thought that he had severed his neck the night before. "Where am I?"

"You're in the drilling room under the Four Ways Inn, sir. It seems that you exhausted yourself from practicing so much and passed out. No surprise either, your clothes are still drenched in sweat."

Charles glanced at his jerkin, and, for a moment, could see the dried blood that had been there in his dream. It disappeared promptly, revealing his jerkin to be a sweaty mess. Relieved to find himself alive and whole, he sunk back to the floor and sighed. "Anger is not the thing you need, Charles," he mumbled softly to himself. "Your anger will be your undoing."

"What was that, sir?" Edwin asked. He had been halfway up the stairs when Charles had spoken, but could still here his commander's voice.

"Nothing, Sir Edwin, merely speaking to myself. Continue on ahead, I'll catch up." The older knight left Charles alone. As soon as he had, Charles righted himself and walked over to pick up his sword. For a moment, the terrible sight of the body of a dead man could be seen and then was gone. Taking his sword and slipping it into his sheath, Charles left. From that day forward, Charles always swore that he had already died once, and thus was unafraid to do so again.

______________________________________________________________________________

Charles sat in his room at the inn, still trying to recover from his scare in the training room the night before. He pulled on his pair of greves, adjusting his coat of plates as he did. Both had been gifts from the palace to aid him in his mission. He had insisted on using his own gloves, however, as they had been passed on to him by his father, William Montrose. His father was now on the other side of the Great Sea, doing battle with his own set of enemies, as was his brother, Richard. His father was a historian who had read nearly all of the early chronicles of Vaegir and had left to pursue the challenge of finding out more about the lands across the Sea. It would be a challenge, to be sure, as those lands spoke another language than Vaegir and Swadia did, but Charles' father had never been one to run from a challenge. Charles had heard that it took his father only about 1 year to adjust to the new language, a feat unduplicated in the history of the world up to that point, and had rapidly delved into all of the history books he could find. Fate, however, did not mean for him to accomplish his goal of learning the history of both of the two sides of the Sea, however, as his eyesight deteriorated rapidly, nearly halting his efforts. When Charles was old enough to take care of himself, his brother left to aid in his father's struggle, and the work continued, though very slowly. Charles had heard naught from them in the last two years however, and had begun to worry for their safety. He promised himself that, someday, after the war had ended, he would go and check up on them. 'That, however, is a thing for another time,' Charles reminded himself, and pulling on his pair of gauntlets, he trudged out the door to meet his men

He had met with Borcha that morning, though belated the meeting was, and had told him to meet the rest of them at the top of the neighboring hillock at noon. At the current rate, Charles was not even sure that he would make it there in time. Shaking his head to clear the clutter of returning memories, he marched down the stairs from his room and left towards the stables. There he saddled his horse quickly and mounted it. Riding quickly, he reached the low summit in just under five minutes. As he had expected, his men were there waiting for him, Borcha included. Charles felt stupid. He was in command of this party, and yet could not seem to be on time for anything. Grinning to himself over his misfortunes, he called to Sir Edwin. "Have you started the patrols yet, Edwin?" he asked quickly. Though Charles was the official commander of this group, Edwin was in charge of patrol duty, having been the king's personal bodyguard for much of his career.

"No, sir, I was just handing out assignments now," Edwin responded, and then returned to the subject at hand. "Anyway, Jonathan, you and Lucius head north and west. Julius, you and Henry head south. And Charles and..." He paused a moment, suddenly realizing that he had forgotten to ask the newcomer's name.

"My name is Borcha, sir," Borcha quickly interjected.

"I hired him last night," explained Charles. "I thought we might cover ground more quickly if we had more people."

"Very good then, you head west," Edwin finished. With all of the assignments set, he rode with his partner to the southeast.

As they left to the west, Charles decided to take the time to get to know his new recruit. "So," he started, trying to think of the best way to start a conversation at the present moment, "Do you have any experience in tracking?"

Borcha laughed a loud, booming laugh. "Aye, sir, that I do. I used to be on the Vaegir hunting parties until they tried to convict me of being a horse thief."

"Are you a horse thief?" Charles asked. He regretted it immediately, feeling stupid at the very prospect of asking anyone that question.

"No, sir. My partners were a little bit angry at me. They thought I was getting in too good with the chief. So, they decided to do something about it. I don't know how, but one night a few horses went missing, and they managed to pin it on me, filthy pigs. Probably for the better, though, as I won't have to see their sorry faces no more. I guess it's true, for every cloud there is a silver lining."

They rode together in silence for the rest of the afternoon. Not only did they find no signs of the Khergits, but they didn't see anybody for our entire trip. The only signs that there was life anywhere nearby were the hoof and boot prints in the muddy soil. About three hours later they returned to the hill to see if any of the others had found anything. As they arrived, Charles could hear Julius talking in a frantic tone to the others.

"Hundreds, I tell you, hundreds of them! Enough to take Reyvadin four times over! We must call for reinforcements now, before they find us!" Charles could hear him saying. Picking up the pace a little, we arrived at the summit quickly.

"Have you found the Khergits?" came Charles' quick question to him.

"Aye, sir. There are dozens of them, and to make matters worse, there are at least thirty dark knights with them as well. We stand no chance against a troop of that magnitude!" The others nodded.

"We must send a messenger to the king at once, telling him that we need men and arms to finish this mission," put in Edwin, who seemed quite a good deal whiter than he had that morning.

"No, a full-scale assault would give them time to dispose with the prince before we were able to reach them. It would be foolish to put His Highness to risk like that," Charles responded. "The way to finish this mission is for one man to infiltrate the enemy's camp and take them by surprise."

The others agreed momentarily, but Edwin brought something up that the others had forgotten. "If the man who we send is discovered, he will be followed. Even if he was the best runner among us, he would be caught in a manner of seconds. The dark knights' horses are too fast to evade. And even if the man did escape them, he would be followed back to us, and we would have to fight anyway."

"I agree for the most part" said Charles, "However, it is still our best bet. We have only two days to complete this mission anyway. To send any substantial amount of men would take at least four days."

The others agreed. "All right, commander," said Edwin. "When do we move?"

"Tonight," Charles answered. "We draw straws at the Inn to choose the man for the mission. Let's get back to the Inn and rest. We'll all need energy if we are to pull this off"

As they made their way down the hill, Charles wondered silently to himself as to whether this was the best way to do it. 'If it is not,' he decided finally, 'May God provide it to us before we make a terrible mistake.'
______________________________________________________________________________
Charles sat at the table inside the Four Ways Inn, studying the faces of his men. They obviously had not gotten the rest he had suggested that afternoon. They were all jumping at the slightest noise, all, that is, except for Edwin, whose cool calm made him seem very out of place with the rest of the men.

"Well," started Charles, "I've given the matter a lot of thought since this afternoon, and I've decided that it would be best if we sent two men, so that if one is captured there will still be another chance for the mission." Murmerings were heard from around the room, and then all fell silent again, waiting for their commander to speak again. Charles took the hand full of straws that he had prepared and held them out at arm's length. "Everyone take a straw," he ordered. "The one who picks the shortest one will go with me into the camp." The murmerings were louder this time. Charles was sure that he heard more than one man question his sanity, but he held his arm still, waiting for the first of the men to follow his orders. Edwin, who had still to comment on the plan, was first. The other soldiers gasped as they saw that his straw was only, at most, two inches long. Edwin set it upon the table top, and waited for the next to take a chance. Julius was next, followed by Borcha, and then the rest of the soldiers took their straws in turn. In the end it was clear that Sir Edwin would be the second of the infiltrators. "Very well," said Charles, "Saddle your horses men. We ride to the camp."
______________________________________________________________________________

The men rode in silence towards the camp that had been sighted earlier in the day. Not a word was spoken throughout the entire journey, as it was obvious that all of them were aware of the gravity of the situation. Should they fail and not be killed by the Dark Hunters, they would most surely be beheaded by the King himself for their failure to save his son. The whole kingdom might dissolve while their ruler's judgment was clouded by grief. They hated to think of such a thing, but they knew that the chances of this were high. No one in the history of either Vaegir or Swadia had ever faced a group of Dark Hunters so large and lived to tell the tale. As the bonfires came into sight, they followed their commander around to a group of trees and hid, waiting for the right time to come. Finally Charles started giving out last second instructions.

"While we are gone," he said in a quiet whisper, "Stay together. Failure to do this has been the undoing of many parties in this same situation. If you allow yourselves to become separated, the Dark Knights' horses will easily catch you, allowing their riders the perfect opportunity to end your lives." He stared into the eyes of each of them. "If the time should come that we must fight these savages, so be it. We will fight for our friends, for our families, for the King, and, most importantly, for Vaegir." His last orders given, the young commander slid off of his horse, as did Sir Edwin, and edged toward the camp in front of them. They stayed hidden in the trees for as long as they could, but the cover disappeared about 500 yards from the edge of camp. It had been organized by an expert, that much was sure. Charles prayed silently that they would not have to face these men, whose reputations were enough to make grown men cower in fear. Creeping silently on all fours, the two fighters cautiously made their way across the open ground. every second seemed to take forever, and they both were drenched in sweat, not form the heat, but from the bone-chilling fear that they felt. As they came up behind one of the tents, they could here drunken singing from inside. At least this provided some advantage. Sliding silently around the outskirts of camp, Charles and Edwin made their way closer to the command tent. Suddenly, as they neared one of the many patrols in the area, Edwin accidentally stepped on a stick. A guard that was nearby stopped suddenly, hearing the noise. At first the two thought that he was going to continue on his rounds, but this proved not to be the case. Instead he walked silently to where the stick was. As he stepped into view of his two enemies, Charles dove out and severed the man's neck with his broadsword, allowing him not so much as a second to sound the alarm.

"We shall have to be more careful," Edwin said in a hoarse whisper.

"Aye, that we shall," responded Charles. He pulled the body behind a tent and continued on, though faster now, as he knew the missing patrolman would be noted soon. On their winding way towards the commander's tent, Charles stopped to tie a piece of red cloth onto on of the tent stakes.

"That's to let us know where the horses are," said Charles, pointing to the shadows of the horses inside. "Should we be discovered, that would be our way out." Edwin nodded, and the two men continued on. Charles stopped Edwin at a trail that had been left between the tents. Finding it to be empty, the two rushed to the other side and waited to see if they had been sighted. No alarm came, so they continued. They were at the command tent in another five minutes, and Charles took out his dagger and shoved it into the fabric. Forming a small hole with a flick of his wrist, he peeked inside the tent. Just as he had suspected, the young captive was there, as the Hunters were quite fond of keeping their prisoners in the most secure place they could find. Opening the hole a little wider, Charles squeezed himself through. He motioned for Edwin to stay and watch for guards, and then approached the motionless captive. He reached his hand around and clapped it firmly on the lad's mouth, making sure that he wouldn't be able to scream.

"Stay calm now," he said. "We're here to help. Your father sent us." He watched as the boy nodded, and proceeded to cut through the Prince's bonds with his dagger. It was slow work, but he had it done in a relatively quick time, as his adrenaline had already kicked in, giving him a surge of energy. After he finished his work they both exited the tent through the hole. Before the Prince was halfway out, however, a shout was heard from the other side of the camp.

The Hunters had found the body.
______________________________________________________________________________
The camp was suddenly alive with the shouts of the combined force of Khergits and Hunters. They were soon rampaging through the camp, literally tearing it apart to find out where the invaders were. Charles knew that it would not be long before they decided to check on the Prince, so, abandoning all hope for secrecy, he darted with the others towards the horse pavilion. It wasn't long before they were confronted, but they didn't even break stride. Charles dispatched with the first with his bastard sword, while Edwin took the second with his saber. The Prince faltered a bit at the sight of their would-be attackers, but seeing his companions deal so convincingly with them, he continued on as fast as he could. The two knights made sure to stay close to their liege, and this fact slowed them substantially, as the Prince had never been trained in fitness. They made it to the tent in less than a minute, and had soon loosed and mounted three of the war horses.

"I don't know how to ride a horse like this!" cried the Prince to his rescuers.

"Get on with me," said Edwin without a moment's hesitation. "I used to be the Master of Cavalry, so riding double should be no problem," he continued as soon as he saw Charles preparing to argue.

"Very well," said the commander. "Follow me."

They charged from the tent at full speed, leaving a group of trampled Hunters in their wake. Charles led them in the most direct route through the camp, which just happened to be the most active part. The Hunters slashed wildly at them as they passed, but the two men dodged them deftly. They soon became aware that most of their pursuers had gone back to get their horses. Charles gave a silent prayer that they would be able to outrun the experienced riders who were their adversaries. It became apparent, however, that their opponents were much more accustomed to riding on this kind of terrain, and they were closing fast. Charles unsheathed his sword in preparation for the attack that he now thought inevitable. Seeing his commander, Edwin did the same, holding his saber close to his side so as not to injure the Prince. His next move was unexpected, however, as he threw himself off of the horse backwards, letting out a loud battle cry as he did.

"For Vaegir!!!" he cried, drawing himself to his feet. Charles stared back in horror as the knight was overwhelmed by a group of Dark Hunters.

"EDWIN!" he cried desperately. The Hunters then continued their charge, revealing the unmoving body of Charles' companion. Charles was suddenly overcome with a horrific rage, and in his anger he seemed to lose all control of his own will. Instinct took over, and before he could even think, he had turned his horse about, aiming it straight into the heart of the group of Hunters. In his fit of rage he barely even saw Julius leading the rest of the knights out of the forest in a disorganized and desperate charge. Charles raised his voice in a bloody battle cry, and his voice was soon joined by those of his companions. He ignored it, steeling himself against the pain he knew that he would be feeling as soon as he clashed with the Hunters. This pain never came, however, as the Hunters were broken by his desperate charge. With a few mighty swings of his blade, he tore five of them off of their horses and onto the ground, from which they would move no more. They were soon joined by three more of their partners, as well as one of the brave souls who had made his mind up to give up anything necessary for King and Country. The men clashed again, and more men died for their cause, four Hunters and two Vaegirs. Again and again they clashed. Finally, there were none left of the combatants except for three of the loyal Vaegirs.

And then they saw the second wave...
______________________________________________________________________________
Charles' eyes snapped open. He had begun to suspect that he had been dreaming again when he became aware of the signs of the great battle around him. He threw himself to his feet, a move which he regretted immediately, as his injuries had made him lightheaded. He didn't give it a second thought, however, as he saw the bodies of the brave men who had fought with him strewn about the battlefield. He ran to one of them, recognizing it as Julius, the man who had led the last futile charge from the Vaegirs. He laid his hand on the face of the man and, finding it lifeless, let out a cry which expressed his deep grief. He buried his head in his arms, sobbing for the men who had made the ultimate sacrifice, the kind of men that make a nation great. He could only hope that they had not died in vain.

"Charles?" Charles jumped at the sound of a voice from behind him. Turning quickly, he was shocked to see the face of Edwin.

"E-Edwin? But... It can't be... I saw you die..."

"Nay, Charles, I am not dead. I was just knocked unconscious by a horse. Come, Charles, do not weep for them. They died, yes, but they died defending what they knew was right. Their deaths should not be cause for weeping, they have moved to a better place, and they have set an example for us. We must not weep for them. If we do, they will weep for us above, for if we weep for them instead of learning from them, we will have missed the entire meaning of their death. Come, my friend, let us honor these men by providing them with a proper burial." Charles let a faint smile reach his lips. He determined in his heart from that moment on to follow their example, and to be willing to give his life for his country. He also smiled for the thoughtfulness of his friend. Not many warriors who died on the battlefield were provided with proper burials. To do this for them would be as good a reward as any for the fallen heroes.
______________________________________________________________________________
Charles and Edwin rode silently towards the royal city of Reyvadin. Both were exhausted, but Charles especially. He could barely keep his head up as they rode. The only thing that kept him going was his desire to see if their efforts had been enough to save the young Prince. As they rode through the gates, they looked for signs as to what had happened. When they saw that the villagers seemed to be at ease, they took heart and rode at a quick trot towards the castle. They both dismounted in haste and walked up to the guards, leaving their horses to wander.

"We wish an audience with the King," Charles said quickly.

"I'm sorry, sirs, but the King will see no one right now," the guard started, "You see, his son just returned last night, and he is holding a celebration tonight. You may attend, if you wish. Perhaps he will speak to you then, seeing as you of considerable rank," he added, seeing Edwin's distinguishing clothes.

"Very well, then," said Edwin. "Come, Charles," he said, walking away towards the horses. Charles hurried after him.

"What are you doing, Edwin? Could you not gain access to the castle by using your name? The King would undoubtedly want to see us."

"Aye, that is true, but come now," Edwin said, mounting his horse, "Look at us. Do you truly believe that any self-respecting noble would be seen with two men as unsightly as us?" He grinned at his own joke, and turned towards the tavern. "We shall make ourselves ready here. A bowl of water and a new set of clothes, and we should be ready."

"Um, Edwin?" Charles started as he watched his partner dismount.

"Yes?" his companion said.

"I don't have any spare clothing. I lost everything except for my own armour in a Khergit attack a while back."

"Charles, you must learn to find ways around problems. Stopping at them does no good. I shall simply have you wear my own spare clothing."

"Your amour?" Charles repeated in disbelief. "But your clothing is of a fine noble, and I am nothing more than a mere peasant. Surely you can not expect me to do such a thing."

"Come on, Charles. I insist. And besides, if you worry that my clothing is only for knights, worry not. If I know anything of the King's dealings in these matters, he will offer you the position of knight before the day is out. What you have done by saving his son is quite a noble feat indeed. If he doesn't do this or something more, I shall truly wonder what our ruler has come to."

"You are a true and good friend, Edwin. I hope that we may work together again," said Charles, smiling at his friend.

"As do I, Charles, as do I."

And so they entered the tavern to begin preparations for the night that awaited them.
______________________________________________________________________________
Charles stood in front of the one cracked mirror that stood against the wall of the tavern, admiring how he looked in the fine clothes that Edwin had provided. 'Be careful, Charles, or you may grow too used to this,' he thought to himself. He chuckled slightly, contemplating how in the world Edwin had come to the conclusion that Charles should use his clothes.

"Ah, Charles, there you are. My, that suit certainly does look good on you. Perhaps I should give it to you, you may actually use it a little bit," Edwin said pensively from across the room.

"Now, Edwin, let's not get carried away. It's bad enough that you insisted that I wear this tonight. I will accept nothing more from you," Charles responded firmly.

Edwin shrugged. "Whatever pleases you," he said. "Now, we must be going. I asked around, and the feast will be in no less than one hour from now. I suggest we head that way. Maybe we will be able to reach the King before the festivities start." Charles complied, and the two men were soon on their way to the castle, where the banquet was to be held in the western courtyard. They arrived soon enough, pushing their way slowly through the crowd to see if they might reach the King. He would, of course, be somewhere around the fine pavilions that had been set up for the nobility, and they decided their best bet would be the large one directly in the center of the rest. The problem, of course, was getting there. Guards were stationed everywhere, making sure that no one got into the tents. Charles was sure that it would be impossible to reach the great tent. Edwin, however, seemed much more confident. With a nod to Charles, a signal that he should follow, he walked briskly towards the nearest guard post. Edwin just nodded to the guard that stood there, and the guard let him enter. The same was done for Charles, who had suddenly started to understand a few things.

"So that's why you had me wear your clothes," he said. Edwin chuckled.

"That was one of the reasons. I also had no desire for you to dishonor the King by your clothes. As they say, a ruler is only as good as those around him." Charles nodded, smiling.

"You're a rascal, Edwin, do you know that?" Charles asked.

"I've known that for a long time, Charles," he said, turning down another path beside the pavilions. His pace was still quite brisk, and Charles was beginning to have some problems keeping up.

"Why are you going so fast?" he asked.

"The feast starts in about fifteen minutes. He usually starts towards the tables ten minutes before the feast starts. I want to catch him before they begin the banquet." Charles nodded, and started to jog so that he could keep up. He noticed that Edwin had done the same, at the same time, however, being very careful not to collide with anybody. They reached the royal pavilion in a minute, and Edwin signaled that they should stay put.

"They should be leaving the pavilion soon. We will just have to wait here," he explained. As he indicated, they saw the King and his son leave the pavilion after a brief wait. Edwin started after him quickly, but was stopped by one of the King's personal body guards. The guard had just started to ask what Edwin was in such a hurry to do when the King intervened.

"Let him come," he said. His eyes were wide, apparently from shock, and rightly so, as the commander would have been considered dead after an encounter of such a magnitude as the one he had just survived. "Edwin..."

"Your highness," Edwin interrupted, giving a deep bow. Charles did the same, and then returned to his standing position.

"But... We thought you were dead."

"I can understand why, your highness, but I made it through with only a few minor bumps and bruises. They knocked me unconscious and left me for dead, as they did for Charles here, but they did not kill us. I'm afraid to say, however, that all the rest of the party was killed in the battle. They have been provided with a good burial, as I'm sure you would have had for them."

The King was about to speak when one of his advisors spoke up. "I am sorry to interrupt, sir, but don't we have a banquet to attend?"

"Oh, yes. We must go about that immediately," said the King. "You two must come with us. I wish to present you before the people as our heroes." Charles wished to resist, but he knew it would be hopeless. Once nobles made up their minds, they didn't change them for anyone.

They soon found themselves standing beside the King, who was seated at the head of the table. The King whispered to his advisor, who gave a prompt shout, signaling for the people to quite, as they did. The Kings following speech was long and elaborate, as most royal speeches are, and so I have not taken the trouble upon myself to write it all down. After his speech, he turned to Charles, and said in a quite voice, "I thank you for your efforts. You will most surely be repaid for your efforts. If you wish, you may take the rank of knight, maybe even serve under Sir Edwin here." The Kings advisor tried to convince the King otherwise, but the King would hear nothing of it, giving as an excuse that anyone who could survive an encounter with a group of Hunters so large was definitely deserving of the title of knight.

"I thank you, your highness. It would be a great pleasure to serve in your army, and an even greater pleasure to serve under a friend like Sir Edwin. I accept."

I would write a summary of the following events, but that would spoil the next parts of the story. So I leave you, friends, until my pen touches paper once again, to chronicle the life of Charles Montrose.

__________________________________________________________

Please Note:
Calradia and its factions, and Marnid and Borcha created by Ikisoft (Taleworlds)
All other characters were created by me.
This is just chapter one. Most of chapter two is available at the forums at http://s15.invisionfree.com/Writing_Paradise/index.php?act=idx



If a mod should find this a bit too long, remove it. But that is only if you must... Rolling Eyes Rolling Eyes

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Last edited by No_Idea_What_I'm_Doing on Wed Sep 20, 2006 9:52 am; edited 1 time in total
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Syrius
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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2006 2:52 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I like it. You had me from the moment when Charles was training. Somehow I had visions of Record of Lodoss War.
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PostPosted: Thu Sep 14, 2006 2:36 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

First I would like to say thank you. Thank you for having a plotline. It takes a little extra time, but it's so helpful. At any rate, I did enjoy the story. It had a strong story telling vibe about it, both in tone and in pace. I went to summer camp years back. There was a boy there who was really skilled at weaving fanciful stories and telling them. This piece was of that sort. That kind of story telling tone doesn't always work well in written form, but it can. I used it a bit more when I was less experienced, and even use it now for some short stories.

Overall the story was enjoyable. There were problems with spelling and grammar (quite instead of quiet, misplaced commas, etc.) I don't think that those are the main issue. For me, the characters are too flat. You used some pretty heavy archetypes here: the noble knight, the good/naive king, the lilting prince, the rogue. Several characters seemed to have weak (or no) motivation and everything they did was expected.

That is not always bad.

The stories we know and love and last for centuries are of that sort... They are the sort that classical storytelling is made of. If your intent is to write a classical-style story, it can be played off to a degree. But at least some of your characters should be very well rounded, and the rest should be at least cylindrical.

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No_Idea_What_I'm_Doing
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PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2006 11:12 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Part 2 (Available for the most part on my writing forums), Fighting with Shadows, gives the characters a lot more life. Charles loses control of his emotions in the newest parts (I'm not sure if they are posted on the forums) and marches off to find his father and brother acroos the sea. Part 2 is also somewhat of a combined effort with Leprechaun from my forums and the Taleworlds forums. He doesn't do much, but his character (Padua Verona, not sure if she's in the posted section), if I get permission, will play a pivital role in the developement of the story.

Thanks for the comments, I'm about to update it on my forums. A few days at the most.

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PostPosted: Wed Sep 20, 2006 6:50 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Chapter 2
Fighting with Shadows


It was dusk one summer afternoon. On a hill in Calradia, a dark shadow falls. As the dark figure possessing the shadow moves up the side of the cliff, the shadow extends farther into the valley below. The horseman's shadow is followed closely by a second, which, in turn, is followed by a third. The trio dismounts at the top of the cliff and looks down on the land below them. The first man, obviously the leader, is clad in a long, dark robe with a hood that is pulled up over his head, obscuring his eyes from view. He glances over at the second man, who pulls a quiver of arrows from where it hangs on his horses side.

"How many?" asks the first in a voice that seems to emerge from nowhere. It has a strange growling sort of quality to it that only serves to deepen the mystery about the figure that possessed it.

The second man, slinging the quiver over his shoulder, kneels down to examine the tracks on the ground in front of them. "Twenty to twenty-five, milord. Nothing we can't handle." He stands up straight and gives his commander a crooked smile. "The dark knights shall pay for their treachery, and the time is soon."

The commander turns to the third man. "What do you think, Marnid?" he asks.

The third smiles, causing the long scar on his cheek to stretch. "It will be as easy as taking candy from a baby," he hisses. The three remount, and with a loud battle cry, ride after their quarry.
______________________________________________________________________________
Charles walked briskly towards the command tent in the center of the camp. The Vaegir war band was camped outside Reyvadin, hoping to intercept the all-too-common Swadian parties that had been attacking with increasing regularity. It seemed that for every man they managed to hunt down, ten more replaced him. Only the determination and bravery of the Vaegir knights kept the kingdom of Vaegir alive.

Charles arrived at the command tent now and nodded to the guard who let him enter without a word. As Charles entered, he spotted the form of his commander, Sir Edwin of Wercheg, stooped over a war map. "You sent for me, sir?" said Charles as he entered.

"Ah, yes. Please come in. I believe that I may have some work for you," the older commander said, motioning Charles to the map.

"What is it that you want, sir? Are the Swadians troubling Zendar again?" questioned the young captain.

"No, it's nothing like that. Rather, a group of some twenty-eight dark knights has been terrorizing the townspeople in this region, and the king wishes to stop their savage crusade across our lands. I want you to take a detachment of troops to end this attack. You should find them around here." Saying this, he pointed to a hilly area in the area of Curaw.

"Aye, sir," responded Charles. "How many men should I take?"

"A detachment of fifteen should be sufficient. Oh, and hurry. The king wants them gone before the sun sets tomorrow."

"Understood, sir. It will be done." Charles left, walking briskly across the camp to recruit a group of men suitable to the task at hand. He had soon assembled a group of horsemen at the west side of the camp, ready to travel to Curaw in search of the dark knights. Little did they know that they were not the only ones hunting their prey.
______________________________________________________________________

The trio of horsemen had found their prey, and now formed up around them for the attack. The leader of the group sat waiting on a hill to one side of the enemy encampment, while his men each sat on a different hill overlooking the valley. At their commander's mark the three moved rapidly down on their unsuspecting prey. The guard who was sitting at watch for the dark knights ran quickly to sound the alarm, but was stopped by an arrow to the back of the head. With an evil grin, the archer continued to lace arrows and then let them fly at different targets inside the camp. When the others arrived, they made quick work of the unprepared hunters they found playing dice around a small campfire, and continued their rampage through the camp, slaughtering all in sight. By the time the alarm was sounded, there were only about ten Knights to answer the call. As they were run down one by one, they offered up horrific death cries, each one of which seemed to fuel their attackers' fury. As the last four doomed Knights formed into a tight circle, one of them, in sheer desperation, loosed an arrow to the heavens. By some miracle it found its way to the one called Marnid's chest. He toppled from his horse with a scream, and landed hard on his back. The other two finished their grisly business and moved over to check on their partner.

"What should we do, sir? He is still breathing, should we take him with us?" the subordinate asked.

"No, he would only slow us down, and we have company." Saying this, the commander pointed to the hills, where a group of men were moving through the shadows. His second nodded and mounted his horse. Together, the two rode off to find a hiding place, leaving their friend at the mercy of the coming force.
_____________________________________________________________________

Charles and his company of knights moved silently down the hill. They could see the bodies strewn over the ground in the camp, but each made sure to keep a hand resting on their weapon. As they arrived at the camp, it became clear that there were no survivors. All the Knights had been killed.

"Who did this?" asked one of the men under Charles' command.

"I don't know," said Charles, "But it seems that they lost one." He pointed to a figure that wore clothes much different from the rest, and was obviously not one of the Knights' ilk.

"Sir, he still breathes!" exclaimed an excited medical officer. "I think we may be able to save him, and maybe find out who did this."

"Good," said Charles. "Make all the arrangements, I want to see him awake by dawn." His men followed his orders without question, leaving their commander to ponder the happenings of the day.
______________________________________________________________________________

Charles sat on a crate that he used as a chair, thinking about the growing dangers that Vaegir was facing. Even the so-called neutral town of Zendar had been attacked several times, nearly destroying it both times. Scouts reported that only because of the effort of a group of valiant men and women came to the rescue had the city even evaded capture. The hero's names were said to be Padua, Nathaniel, Llew, and one Jerky. 'Odd names,' thought Montrose. 'I sure hope they can hold the northern frontier...' His thoughts were interrupted, however by a call from outside his tent.

"Sir, an ally scout has arrived with an urgent message!" the man yelled.

"Send him in," said commander Montrose. He sat back and waited for the new arrival. Soon a tall man entered the tent. Perspiration rolled down his face, and it was obvious that he was exhausted. "What is the news, my friend?" asked Charles.

"Sir, I have an urgent task for you and your men! A large Swadian force is headed to Wercheg. My commander has sent me to seek help for his attack on this group. Their size is great, and my commander does not think he can hold them alone."

Charles sized the man up and asked, "How long have you ridden to give me this news?"

"Two hours... Or maybe three. We won't have much time. When I left, we were a mere five hours from the town, and my commander told me that we were going to intercept them before they got there. I rode at full speed..."

"What is your commander's name?" asked Montrose.

"General Nathaniel Specific of the First People's Brigade of Calradia." Charles perked up at this.

"You rode how long?" he asked.

"No more than three hours..."

"Good." Charles shot from his tent and ran to the campfire where most of the men sat. "Get up men! We must answer an urgent call by fellow Vaegirs. Wercheg needs assistance!"

The men were quickly ready, but one man stood by his commander. "You do know that this would be suicide for your career, don't you, sir?"

Charles nodded. "I don't care if they take me from the army of Vaegir. If Vaegir needs help, I will by no means let them down."

They were all soon mounted and ready. "Fernando," Charles called to one of his subordinates. The man responded quickly. "I want you to stay here and keep an eye on that one," he said, pointing at the unconscious form by the fire. The man nodded, and the others charged from the camp.

"Why are we going so fast?" asked Charles' second.

"If what he told me is true, we'll have to ride full out all the way. We need to be in Wercheg in two hours," responded the commander.

"Wercheg! You cannot be serious, sir! That's over thirty miles away!"

"I know, but we have to make it for the sake of Vaegir," said Charles. The men rode in silence from that point on.
______________________________________________________________________________

As General Specific gathered his men back into formation so that they could be counted, he noticed something he hadn't before. A group of men was standing in the middle of the battlefield. They weren't surgeons, that much he knew, and they each had a horse with them, none of which looked like any of the horses that Specific or Padua's men had been using. Motioning to a couple men, he walked down to where the men were. They were checking the bodies of the fallen on the Vaegir side, and a few were helping the men with wounds they had suffered.

"Excuse me," said General Specific. "Who are you?"

The men turned to regard him for a moment, then one stepped forward. Specific was surprised to see that it was the scout he had sent for reinforcements.

"This is Charles Montrose. He is in command of a group of soldiers so I sought his help. He was with the charge that Padua lead against those enemy troops," the scout said.

A new member walked forward. "General Nathaniel Specific?" he asked.

"Yes, that would be me," the General said with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"It is an honor to meet you," the man said.

"Am I right in assuming that you are the Charles Montrose that commands this group?" asked Nathaniel.

"Yes, and I'm actually just a temporary commander. We were sent to find a group of Dark Knights near Curaw.."

"Curaw!" Nathaniel said in a shocked voice. "That's..."

"Over thirty miles away, I know. We had to ride all out to reach you in time. I must say that it seems that Swadia is becoming stronger," interrupted Montrose.

"You don't know the half of it," commented Specific. "You are welcome to our provisions for the night, well, for whatever is left of it. You deserve it."

Charles thanked him, and Nathaniel motioned to his scout. "You did well," he said.

"Thank you, sir," said the scout.

"I see a promotion in your future," said Nathaniel. "You've earned it."
______________________________________________________________________________

Padua turned to the two men, and stated her intentions.

"What say we head back to Zendar to rest and resupply? I think it's in our bet interests, seeing as those damn convicts will still be in the area, and my scouts will be wondering where we've got t-"

Padua was cut off by one of said scouts galloping up on a fast horse, breathless.

"Marm", he gasped, "The convicts have raised an army of river pirates and sea raiders and march on Zendar, with the intention of razing it to the ground. We must make haste at once to Zendar if we are to stop them!"

Padua at once began shouting orders, and the two men were surprised at the command in her voice.

"All men to break formations! Stow all your unnecessary gear on the wagons, then board them yourselves. Cavalry, saddle up! We ride for Zendar!"

At once the divisions dissolved into organized chaos, men running to put their spare equipment aboard the fast wagons drawn by the finest Mongolian horses, and officers shouting orders. However, in minutes the whole army was racing towards Zendar, churning the grass of the Calradian plains into mud and dust. They arrived in just three hours, so great was the speed set by the fine Continental horses, but arrived to see Zendar burning.

"It's not too late!" Padua shouted. "The houses are only burning because of flaming arrows; the soldiers have yet to enter the town!"
The cavalry accelerated, moving into a fast gallop, and, unbidden, flowing seamlessly into a spearhead formation, so great was their discipline and training. The barely clothed or trained river pirates were the first to fall, sent ragdolling by the cavalry hammering into their flank, but even as they were swept aside by hoof and sword, the trained and well-equipped sea raiders turned to face the oncoming riders. Their thrown axes left great dents in the Spanish armour, but none could pierce flesh. Stunned by this, they were ordered by Miclee to draw together into a tight formation, to ensnare the cavalry and bring them down. Seeing this, Padua ordered the cavalry to split into two sections, flowing round the sides of the formation and away, while the cavalry archers rained arrows into the dense formation, killing any without shields. Then the wagons, held up by the extra weight of Nathaniel's men, arrived, crashing into the formation with their armoured bulk, smashing men aside. Foot soldiers poured out into the centre of the melee, and began routing the formation from the inside, while the wagons themselves continued through the formation, the archers inside pouring out arrows left and right, decimating the sea raiders.

Aware that their men were being killed by the hundred, Miclee and Blobb mounted their horses and, barging men aside, made a break for safety. However, they had reckoned without Charles Montrose's cavalry following on behind.

Charles saw the two enemy leaders speeding away, and, without so much as warning his men, took off towards them at a flying gallop. His horse, however was exhausted from the ride there, and slowed substantially. He was lucky, however, because the enemies still bore the heavy armor that came with being dark knights. Charles leaned down to his horse's ear, and whispered something to the exhausted stallion. Instantly, it perked up and ran at a speed that it never had seemed to match in its life. Charles was upon his enemies before the had even reached the wood. He drew his sword, and attacked the enemy nearest to him, who also had his sword drawn. The sparred for a moment, a complicated thing, as the were both at full speed, then, unexpectedly, the Knights disarmed Charles. Montrose was not one to give up, however, and he grabbed his enemy's wrist, holding the point of the sword away from his horse. During the struggle, the two slowed down to a swift trot, when Charles finally twisted his opponent out of the saddle. He leapt on top of him, pinning both arms to the ground, and held him there, waiting for his enemy to surrender. He never did, however, and as he removed the man's helmet, he saw why. A large bump was visible on the back of his head, where he had hit a rock. Charles slung the man over his own saddle, and turning to his horse, smiled. He then removed the saddle and bit. He watched as the stallion disappeared into the night. Charles then took his enemy with his horse back to Zendar.
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The next day, after the prisoners had been sealed in the dungeons, young captain Montrose sat in a high tower, meditating on all that had happened in the past few days. His eyes were aimed towards the west, but they saw nothing, for they were closed. For years this had been his noontime ritual, never changing. Ever since his father had left for greater things in a foreign land, Charles had been by himself. From the age of eighteen he traveled the lands of Calradia, picking up the skills that honed him into a warrior. He sometimes regretted those days, his recklessness, his willingness to let others die for whatever he felt was a just cause. This had ended, however, when the Black Khergits, back then just an evil reflection of a peaceful nomad tribe, teamed with a group of Dark Knights to kidnap the king's son. Charles had just suffered his greatest losses since becoming an independent leader in the war for Calradia. In a desperate attempt to atone for the lives of his men, he swore to do whatever necessary to stop them. He teamed with one General Edwin St. Vincent, a great commander and influential man in Vaegir. Charles learned his greatest lessons while fighting alongside this man. He now served in the Vaegir army with that same general, and had become nearly as worthy of repute as his commander. Though the general had become a father figure to him, he could never forget his father and brother on the other side of the sea. Someday, he thought, he would see a ship, and there he would see his father and brother at the docks waiting for him. Then there were the nightmares. It would seem nearly the same for a large amount of time, but just as he was about to reach them, he was cut off by a group of Swadians, and no matter how hard he fought, he could not reach them. His world had been steadily closing around him for the last few months, and now it seemed to be at the breaking point. He could not abandon the Vaegirs, but he longed to see his father again. His resolve had always inspired Charles when he was young, and to be without him for these last few years had cost him a terrible price. He now lived in inner anguish, unable to stop the flood of problems that surrounded him. His eyes snapped open, anger written throughout. He had almost lost it. His control was getting weaker. Standing up, he ran down the stairs, and coming to the wall at the bottom, pounded it with his fist. He didn't feel the pain, nor did he care. He needed an outlet, and war was not it. Cracks began to form, running the length of the wall. Being just an old partition, it was not made to take a beating. Charles finally pulled back, blinded by the tears that filled his eyes. A mixture of fear, hate, and sorrow were proving a lethal cocktail for him. He had to escape, had to get control...

"Captain, we are leaving!" Charles barked at his second. "I want this sorry rabble on the road ten minutes ago!"

"Sir, is something wrong?" the man questioned.

"No questions! You have your orders, do them!" His captain ran quickly to gather the men.

Five minutes later , the procession had started. Charles, on a horse salvaged from the battle, set a vigorous pace, nearly colliding with several things before he finally slowed. They continued at a swift trot until they reached their camp. Picking up Fernando and the still-unconscious man with him, they returned to the camp. Charles was nearly instantly in the command tent.

"Ah, Charles you are..." Edwin started.

"Edwin, I hoped it would never come to this. I can't take it any longer, it's driving me crazy!"

"Charles, what are you..."

"Take this!" Charles yelled at his commanding officer. The elder general took the slip of paper, and before he could say anything, Charles was gone. Edwin unwrapped the paper and read it. It was Charles' resignation.
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Coming out of the dungeons with Robin, Padua saw the commotion, and saw the young knight ride off. Sensing trouble, she ordered her men to start marching to Reyvadin and, after giving out proper orders, she rode after him. He set a grueling pace, especially considering the tired horses. He stopped first at a small camp, then continued to a large Vaegir command post. He was in the command tent in a blink of an eye and out again almost as quickly. The young knight then stormed from the tent, and rode off across the plains for whatever his business was. Turning back, she saw an elder knight standing in front of the command tent. His face was shocked and his features twisted with emotion. She ran across the dirt path that separated them, and asked what had happened.

"Charles is gone! He's gone. Gone..." The knight was overcome with emotion as he recalled the heroics they'd shared, the battles they'd fought side by side, all lost to memory now.

"Why did he go? What could have led him to leave at such a time of crisis?"

"He's gone to find his father on the continent. This is a truly sad day. I have lost one of my greatest friends, and Calradia has lost one of its greatest champions. What do I do now? My friend and ally is gone. We have fought together, battling through dangers uncountable, for years, and now I have no protégé. He was like a son to me, but no more."

"I'll tell you what you can do. You can honour his memory by completing the mission he would have departed upon. Follow Nathaniel and I and ride with us to relieve Reyvadin. He would be halfway their by now if he'd stayed, and you know it. Sitting here and reminiscing will not help you. You are one of the Vaegir kingdom's greatest champions, and if you do not fight to defend them then what do the kingdom's values stand for? Nothing? Come! Arm yourself, and ride with me!"
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Charles was oblivious to the concern of his former commander at this time, his only point of concentration was to find his father and brother, before his fear drove him mad. He was almost certain that even finding them dead would be better than the tension of not knowing how they were. With this in mind, he rode his already exhausted horse at near full speed to the nearest waterfront, a river that extended from a small fishing village to the sea. He dismounted and, taking only his weapons, marched quickly to the docks. There, he asked for the man in charge, and was pointed to a small shack almost on the dock itself. As Charles walked in, the ticket seller was just finishing up the details on a customer's pass for the voyage. As soon as he was finished with his customer, Charles began talking.

"When does the next ship leave for the continent?" he asked.

"It leaves in five minutes. I doubt you'll be able to make it, though..."

"I'll make it. I just need a pass," Charles interrupted.

"Don't you need time to gather your things?" the man questioned.

"No, I have all that I'm going to take already. Just draw me up a pass, I'll need it if I'm to have any chance to make it," Charles said. His manner, already impatient, was rapidly progressing in the wrong direction. The man didn't hesitate. The quill pen was instantly in his old fingers, and the pass drawn in less than two minutes. Charles paid the man and walked out the door.

At the docks, Charles was greeted by another man, this one in sailor's garb.

"Halt, stranger. This dock be only for men with passes in their hands, it is. You'll be needing..." He stopped as Charles snapped the paper up in front of his face. "Well, then, welcome aboard, mate. Have a nice voyage." He smiled, showing his rotting teeth. Charles just pushed past him. Arriving at the ship, he gave the pass to the captain and went to one of the rails to watch the sailors cast off. Though he had never been off of dry land before in his life, Charles' swagger almost instantly changed from an infantryman's quick, measured steps, to a seaman's swaying gait.

As they left, Charles watched the river widen and the land gradually disappear. As they reached the open sea and aimed the helm towards the continent that awaited them, Charles had still not moved. He was somewhere far away, thinking about all the memories, distant and near, that the land he had just left held for him. Some were sad, some happy, others bittersweet. Through all of it, Charles had tried to maintain what he thought to be the form of a soldier, never swaying, never stopping to reflect, never allowing himself to release all of his emotions. This failure to do the latter of the three had landed him in the spot that he was in now. His emotions had become to strong, and had overwhelmed him, sending him into spiraling depression. Unable to hold it off any longer, he had angrily left all that he had come to know, in hopes of finding two people who he had hardly gotten to know. He lowered his head to the ship's railing, letting some of the emotion pour over, until he was finally able to relax. He only moved when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, friend, 'tis nearly midnight. Get to your hammock, or you won't be able to get up for landfall tomorrow afternoon," came a gruff but slightly concerned voice from behind him. Charles turned around and looked at him. The man was about his height, had nearly the same stature, and had a manner similar to Charles' own, but his hair, instead of blond, was a dark black, and his beard, instead of neatly trimmed, was scruffy and reminded Charles of his battalion's hunters after they returned from a long hunt. "Did you hear me, mate? You need to get some sleep."

"I guess your right," murmured Charles. He stumbled towards the small hatch that led to the bedding area, suddenly realizing how tired he was, and fell from exhaustion about half way there. He now realized that he had been running on pure emotion for nearly the last day, and, now that the emotion had been drained, he was almost dead.

"Hold it there," said the man, seeing Charles struggle for the hatch. "My goodness, sir, what did you do to get into such a state?" He came over to help Charles. "Not a hint of alcohol on your breath. Lands, you must be exhausted!" He took Charles' arm, and with strength that seemed to come from a source other than his own body, he hefted Charles up and opened the hatch. He then plopped Charles onto the nearest hammock. "Can you tell me why you're like this? I haven't seen a man this tired since the siege of Tihr last summer."

Charles was tired, but he thought the man, for all of his help, deserved to know. "I've neither slept nor eaten for nearly a whole day."

The man's eyes widened. "Hold on there, I'll bring you some soup from the ship's kitchen. It's not much, but I hardly think you'll mind." He was gone and back again in a flash, carrying not one, but two bowls of soup. He handed one to Charles and watched him eat. Charles was surprised to see that the man didn't eat from the other bowl, but rather just watched as Charles wolfed down the portion he had been given.

After finishing the bowl, Charles asked, "Aren't you going to eat?"

The man shook his head. "I've already had my supper. I just thought you might want more." With this, he took the first bowl from Charles, and handed him the second one. When Charles had finished this, he took that bowl, and disappeared up the ladder to the deck. Charles closed his eyes for a moment, but opened them just as quickly when he heard footsteps. It was the man again. Sitting down, he asked, "So, may I be so bold as to inquire as to the reason that you have not slept or eaten in so long? You obviously have no lack of funds. Oh, yes, and my name is Julian. I'd be very interested to hear yours."

Charles smiled. He then told as much of his story as he thought the situation merited, starting with his name, and ending when he left his brigade's tent to seek his father and brother on the continent. The other listened intently, stopping Charles only when he had a question he thought worthy of the other's time. After Charles finished, Julian leaned back on his stool.

"Well, I can honestly say I've never heard anything quite like that before. You seem very dedicated to your family, and I admire you for that. Mayhap I could join you on your search for a few days. I'm a cook's assistant on this barge, and I have some free time before this ship sails again. We take at least a three day rest period to resupply before we head back out. I'm told also that this time it will be closer to a week. I might be of some aid in the territory you'll pass through. It's said to be home to some of the fiercest bandits on earth," Julian said.

"I'd be glad to have your help. One man can never have too many friends." Hearing this, Julian smiled.

"Sleep well, then, friend. I shall see you in the morning. Perhaps then I may recount my story to you." Charles nodded, and only a few moments later, had fallen into a deep slumber, his first sleep in many a day without a nightmare.
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Enjoy!

Special thanks to:

Leprechaun for the use of his character, Padua Verona, and for some portions of the story, including some of the battles.

Blobb for the use of his character

Miclee for the use of his character.

Aratek for the use of his characters.

All previously mentioned names are forum aliases on forums.taleworlds.com

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PostPosted: Tue Oct 31, 2006 9:02 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I finished Chapter 2. So, anyone up to giving me some feedback on this part?

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The next day, Charles woke up nearly at noon. Climbing on deck, he saw that the short voyage was coming to an end, and that the ship was just about to come into the docks. He watched as the ship slowly glided in and lowered anchor as the plank was set between the dock and the ship. Sailors rushed about, grabbing the ship's cargo and hauling it on shore as the passengers slowly filed off the ship onto the mainland. The people mainly consisted of refugees forced from Calradia by the war, so when Charles, who was at least a head taller than any of the others, stepped off the ship, he received a few rather questioning glances from the townsfolk. He was sure he heard several muttering that he had probably brought the war with him. He waited around for a while, then went to look for Julian. He didn't see him around the boat, so he went on his way, looking for Julian as he went, to try to find a merchant. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. He had forgotten that he did not speak the local language. 'Curse it all,' he thought, 'Why can't everyone use the same language?' As he was about to turn around, he heard a voice behind him.

"Getting ahead of the game, are we?" Whipping around, Charles saw Julian standing behind him, with a small bundle under one arm.

"The barge came in to the docks, so I got off," responded Charles.

"No harm done. I was watching you as you went. I knew you'd be heading for the stables, so I had a pretty good bearing on the direction you'd be headed in."

"Actually, I have no idea where anything is around here. You're right, however, that I'm looking for a horse merchant. No sense in exhausting myself before I got to where my father is. Also, I just remembered, I don't speak the local language," said Charles.

"Sounds like a distinct lack of planning on your part, but I'll be more than glad to translate for you. This is my homeland, anyway. I went to Calradia to fight in the war, because I felt that I owed it to my mother, who was a Calradian. That's how I know your language so well. My mother made it a point to teach it to me. Well, I might as well lead the way, I guess. The horse merchant isn't going to give you a horse for free, though," said Julian.

Charles shook the money bag that he had brought. "This contains enough gold* to buy me a warhorse back home. That is, of course assuming that you use gold," responded Charles with a sarcastic smile.

"In that case, you're in luck. Gold is used throughout the kingdoms in this region. You should have planned a little better, though. If you hadn't met me, you'd be in pretty deep at the moment."

"Planning was not the top priority when I left. Speed, on the other hand, was vital. I'll thank you not to mention this particular failure of mine again, if you'd be so kind." Charles' manner had changed quickly and subtly, from generally good humored to dangerously agitated. Even after hearing Charles' story, Julian could not think of why young Montrose was acting as he was, and why he had let that trivial comment agitate him so much. Not stopping around to think about it, he stepped quickly towards the horse merchant's place of business, which was at the edge of town. Charles followed closely, so as not to lose Julian, and they had reached the merchant's door in a relatively short amount of time. Julian walked quickly inside a small building and commenced a quick conversation with the merchant, several times motioning to his companion. Julian turned back to Charles.

"He wants to see how much money you have," he said.

"Can he be trusted?" asked Charles.

"If he could not be, I wouldn't have brought you to him," responded Julian.

Charles tossed the bag of coins to the merchant, who poured the contents of it into his wizened old hand. Nodding approvingly, he motioned for the two other to follow him. He stepped through a door behind the small counter where he made his sales, with Julian and Charles close in tow. The other side of the door opened abruptly into a well-kept stable in which dozens of horses were kept. The horse merchant walked past several stalls before stopping in front of one. Inside was a beautiful, strong-looking, pure black stallion, who seemed curious as to what the humans wanted. The merchant said something to Julian, who translated it to Charles.

"He says he'll give you this one for twenty of your gold pieces," Julian said.

"No good," said Charles. "We need two horses, and I only brought thirty denars. Tell him we want two horses."

Julian did so, and the merchant nodded and brought them to another stall. Inside it stood a reddish horse who seemed restless to get out of the stall.

"He says that you can have the two for the thirty gold pieces," said Julian.

Charles looked the horse over, grunting as he ran his hands over the fine steed. Turning back to the merchant, he said, "Twenty-five gold pieces." As it was translated, the merchant shook his head.

"He's being generous to offer you both of them for such a small sum," said Julian.

"Nonsense. I've been riding horses since I was born, and I know how to tell their worth. They aren't worth any more than twenty-five gold pieces as a pair." Julian sighed and translated.

"He has lowered it to twenty-eight, and I advise strongly that you take it. You don't know when he might call the offer back," Julian said after a brief talk with the merchant. Charles grinned.

"Twenty-seven," he said with determination. Again Julian had a brief talk with the merchant and turned back to Charles.

"He holds firm to twenty-eight," Julian said. "It would be foolish to ask for a lower price."

Charles took a step towards the merchant, not a threatening one, but one with an air of silent confidence in it. He held his hand out and said, "Tell him to give me my money. We'll take our business to someone more reasonable." As Julian translated, the smile on the merchant's face disappeared. He started reluctantly to give them back, then held out three of the gold pieces to Charles.

"He says that he'll give it to you for twenty-seven," said Julian with a very apparent touch of surprise. With a smile of triumph, Charles nodded and took the bag with the three gold pieces from the merchant, and told Julian to tell the merchant to bring the horse outside. He then left with Julian to wait for the horses outside.

"I must say, I've never seen anyone haggle so hard for the sake of three gold pieces. You've probably made an enemy, though. That is one merchant who takes haggling as an insult. It makes him feel that you lack respect for him, as you question his prices," commented Julian when they were outside.

"Well, first of all, you never know when you'll need a few gold pieces to get yourself out of a jam. For another, he won't resent my haggling. He got at least twice the value of the horses that he gave me. I wasn't going to waste my time protesting too long, though, so I settled for three gold than his original price. I knew that if I threatened to take my business elsewhere, he would quickly repent of trying to put one over on the stupid foreigner that he was trying to fool. Today, he got the wrong foreigner. Ah, here are our steeds. Come, Julian, let us off on our trek. We don't have much time until nightfall," Charles responded.

It was as Charles said, and the two horses were being led by some stable boys out to their new owners. Charles took hold of the black horse's mane and threw himself up onto the stallions back.

"Excuse me," said Julian, "But you don't actually intend to ride bareback all the way to Hulias, do you?"

"Why ever not?" asked Charles.

"Well, you see, I've never actually ridden bareback before. I'm used to having reins and a saddle," Julian answered. Charles rolled his eyes and, hopping down from his horse, grabbed Julians bundle and unrolled it. As he had expected, it contained a few pairs of clothing wrapped in Julian's cover. Charles draped it over the horses back, and turned to Julian.

"Well, there's a 'saddle' for you. I don't know if I can do anything about the lack of reigns, but I seriously think that you'll manage just fine. Just hold onto the horse's mane," he said.

"Well, that's good, but where will I put my clothes now?" said Julian.

"If you are willing to try to learn to ride bareback, you won't have that problem will you?" countered Charles. Grumbling, Julian wrapped up his bundle again and, with Charles' assistance, was on top of the horse rather quickly. He swayed unsteadily for a moment, then was able to stop himself from swaying.

"If you would hand me my bundle, I think we would be ready to travel," he said shakily.

"Not yet, Julian. I think that I'll hold onto your bundle until I'm sure you have the hang of bareback riding. Don't worry, your not the first to try and learn how to ride bareback. It'll take some time to get used to, but it isn't that hard. Come, let us off for Hulias." With that, he urged his horse forward, leaving Julian trotting unsteadily behind him.
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It was noon the next day when Charles and his guide, Julian arrived at Hulias, the capital city of the Revulans. Charles urged his horse into a trot at the moment at which he saw the first spire of the magnificent palace appear from behind the treetops. Julian struggled to keep up, but, as he was still unaccustomed to bareback riding, he fell back quickly. When they reached the gates, the guards inquired in their strange tongue as to their mission. Julian told them, and the guards allowed them passage.

"So, Charles, where do we start? There is quite a lot of ground to cover," said Julian as they emerged into the busy city.

"Weapons merchants first. If my father and brother were ever in the city, they will have been to the weapons merchants at least once," Charles responded.

"Good then. Let's go and see about it." So they went and inquired at the weapons merchants as to whether they remembered any customers by the name of Montrose. None of them had, and so Charles, slightly less hopeful now then he had been before, walked back to the town square.

"Where to now?" asked Julian.

"I don't know. If they hadn't been to the weapons merchants, then I have no idea where they would have gone," said Charles.

"Don't you worry now, sir. I'm sure we'll find them. Was your father a learned man?" Charles stared at him for a second. "Of course he was a learned man," said Julian quickly. "How foolish of me. Well, why don't we try the library? They may have been there, and all the bookkeepers that I know keep a list of customers." Charles nodded quietly, and they set off to a gigantic building in the center of town. When they entered, they were greeted by the sight of row upon row of volumes.

"How old is this place?" asked Charles.

"Many hundreds of years," came a voice from beside him. Startled, Charles realized that it didn't belong to Julian. He turned to see a large burly man with grey hair looking at him.

"You speak Calradian," Charles said in surprise.

"Yes, a good friend of mine taught it to me. As a linguist, I am always ready to learn new languages. That's why I come to the library as often as I do. I serve as a translator for the king, though he graciously allows me quite a lot of time to myself," said the stranger.

"May I inquire as to the name of the man who taught you Calradian?" asked Charles.

"His name was William," the man said.

"And his last name?" Charles was obviously excited.

"Redstone, I believe," the man responded. Charles gave a loud cry of disappointment and smashed his fist against an oaken bookcase. "Why, sir, what in the name of heaven is the meaning of this?" the man added in astonishment.

"I'm sorry. I am searching for my father, William Montrose. I was hoping that he was perhaps the man who taught you Calradian."

The man's eyes widened. "Are you Charles Montrose?" he inquired quietly.

"Yes," Charles returned, the color that he had lost from exhaustion mostly returning.

"Young master Montrose! At last, you have come!" cried the man, as if welcoming a long lost relative. "William told me that you would come after him and Richard! Come, my friend, come to my house. I have been awaiting your coming for years." He whipped around with a speed that seemed to defy his obviously advanced years. He marched out the door with Charles and Julian at his heels. They tore through city streets with reckless abandon, narrowly avoiding merchants who stood by the road calling out their prices. Finally they came to a house in the center of the town. The man swiftly opened the door and stepped inside, allowing his two guests to enter. They came into a well-furnished living area, and obeyed as the man ordered them to sit. He had definitely lost some of his liveliness in the last few moments, and he seemed to be tiring out rather quickly.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Charles asked.

"Yes, I'm alright, but I think that all this excitement has tired me out." Charles could sense that there was something else, but out of fear he said nothing. "Master Montrose, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. To see the son of my best friend is the most fulfilling thing that has ever happened to me. I only wish I had better news of your father." The man stopped, looking for the right words. "Charles, your father died a year ago. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. He ordered me never to tell anyone his real name until you arrived."

Charles stood at the man's words, and then fell heavily against the wall with an anguished cry. He stood there looking as though he had aged fifty years in one second. He turned back to the man looking at him with eyes strangely devoid of emotion. They seemed hollow, as if Charles' very soul had left him. "And Richard?" he asked hoarsely.

"Richard as well. They died an honorable death, Charles. Let no one say anything different. Two years ago, the Swadians besieged our city. They wanted us to join the battle against the Vaegirs. We refused, and they started to intercept our supply trains and cut off our food. We have our field inside our walls, but we soon ran out of other supplies, and the crops dried up in the summer, leaving us without food. We realized that there was no hope of surviving unless the siege ended. It was around this time that your father rallied the army to himself. He proposed a charge, a last ditch effort to defeat our enemies. We knew we would die of starvation soon, so dying an honorable death in battle seemed like heaven to us. Your father led the charge, with Richard beside him, as a terrible fever had taken the king. The men fought bravely, and we broke the Swadian line. The men had soon repelled the invaders, but your father was not among the men standing at the end. I looked for him in vain, but all I found was this." The man pulled a heavy trunk from beside his chair, unlocked it, and opened it, revealing the armor that Charles' father had worn to his last battle. On top of it was a huge sword, a full five feet of well-polished steel, and a pair of daggers, twins in every respect and black from top to bottom. The armor consisted of a heavy suit of dark mail, covered by a coat of blue cloth bearing a silhouette of a hawk. The man rummaged about in the trunk for a moment, and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Charles. With a trembling hand, Charles took the paper an read it.

"My Dear Son,

Seeing as I have been wounded beyond hope of recovery, I have used my dying moments to write this note to you. I brought a charcoal pencil and a piece of paper with me to this battle, for I promised myself that, should anything happen to me, I would have the means by which to leave a note to you.

I don't want you to mourn my death, instead, I wish you to let it make you stronger. Always be ready to help those in need. Defend the rights of others with your life, and, above all, defend our great homeland of Calradia. I wish you well, my son.

Your Father."

Charles stared at the note. It was bloodstained and written in a badly shaking hand. There was hardly any doubt that it was written by a dying man. Casting his glance to the chest, Charles drew out the armor. It revealed the greaves, gloves, and helmet that completed the set of armor. Turning back to the man, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me his real name?"

"Your father had a reputation of being one of the greatest bandit hunters in the country. He had a price on his head so large that there were at least fifteen attempts on his life. He changed his name when he came here to protect himself," the man sadi.

"But that still doesn't answer my question. If he is now dead, why still refer to him by his changed name?"

"Many bandits would like to see anyone related to your father hung. If anyone had known you were related to him, you would be in extreme danger."

Charles had obviously been trying to change the subject, but had miserably failed. Falling back into the chair, he held the armor in his hands, looking over it as though he were reading an ancient scroll. It was bloodstained in many places, but was still very serviceable. Standing, he slid the mail over his own shoulders. It fit perfectly. "Hiw do you know that my brother is dead?" said he quietly, picking up the twin daggers from the chest. They had been his brother's weapons.

"Men testify that they saw your father fall, and your brother fighting furiously to reach him, then fighting for a long time over your father's fallen form before falling himself," responded the man.

"Neither of their bodies were ever recovered?" asked Charles.

"Neither. Many of the fighters in the battle were stripped of their armor, taken to the Swadian camp and burned after the defeat. My best guess is that this was what happened to your father, though I would also guess that it was he who removed his own armor so that I could keep it for you."

Charles nodded and stood silently, contemplating what had just happened. Then, taking his sword from his belt, strapping the great sword to his back, the daggers to his waist, and donning the helmet and greaves, he turned to Julian. "Come," he said coldly. "We leave now."

"But sir, it would be much too dangerous for you to go out in your father's armor. I've alkready told you that many men wanted your father dead. They may attack you."

"That is of little consequence at the moment. I have business to take care of." He stepped through thew door, Julian at his heels.

"What business could be of such great impotance now?" asked Julian.

Charles turned, sending Julian stumbling back after his first glimpse into the man's face. The Charles that was seemed completely gone, leaving his body to some monster. The face that stared at Julian was so warped with anger that it was hardly recognizable. The single word that he uttered was a simple one, but it carried with it such force that it could have stirred a heart of stone. "Revenge."
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Question, comments and critiques, plz. Not just wanted, either. Rolling Eyes

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Location: PR, La isla del encanto y de las calles malas

PostPosted: Fri Jan 19, 2007 5:56 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Well, I decided to update this. The reason that I haven't posted any updated parts of this story is that it would take a LOT of copying and pasting. You see, the parts I posted are mostly a solo effort. Near the end of chapter one, I collaborated with a few other aspiring authors, but chapter two was almost all me. Chapter three, however, though underway, is a complete combined effort. This story, if I forgot to say, is based off of a computer game that I play. The game is called Mount&Blade. Really cool, I highly recommend it.

Anyway, this started as a solo effort, then it occurred to one of the members of the forums (located @ http://forums.taleworlds.com ) to make a role play occurring in the game world. This role play now has more than 600 posts and is as long as a novel. Ouch. I am one of the more common posters in this role play. I wrote the eighth post, and have been a mainstay ever since. Anyway, a friend of mine and member of my long-dead writing forums decided to tie his story (I wasn't the only one, nor the best one to write a solo effort story in the game world) into the role play. He asked me to do the same. In short, I did, and I am pleased with how it worked out. There are some parts of the role play that don't strike my fancy, but it's pretty good. My character is now fully involved in the role play storyline, with no intention of pulling him out any time soon.

For those who aren't interested in reading through the entire role play, here's what happens to Montrose: Upon his return to Calradia, he finds that the Vaegirs, the side he had represented, have declared peace with the Swadians, who he thinks killed his father and his brother. In reality, it was a dark knight that was disguised as a Swadian. In Montrose's absence, the man had led his dark knights in an attack on the Swadians and Vaegirs, who had recently declared peace.

When Montrose returned and found that peace had been declared, he saw the Vaegirs as being traitors for declaring peace with Swadia. He attempts to assassinate the Swadian leader, but fails as the queen was in hiding elsewhere. He then joins Geroia, a nation bent on conquering the weakened forces of the formerly great Vaegirs and Swadians. In recent events, Montrose was found out in his treachery by a young commander named Nathaniel Specific (my member name is General Specific, and I named my second role play character after my member name). After finding out, Specific informs the other commanders.

Well, that's about it. If you want to read a really interesting story, try the role play: http://forums.taleworlds.net/index.php/topic,14509.0.html Don't worry about the first few pages, we were getting warmed up.

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