Volya
08-26-2012, 10:11 AM
Merl yawned. He’d been standing guard on the wall for a few hours now, crossbow aiming into the darkness. It was a cold night, and the flaming torch mounted on the wall beside him did little to warm him up. The next sentry should be along to relieve him any minute now, then he could finally return to the sweet embrace of his warm bed. As usual, he’d seen nothing suspicious. Nobody ever tried to break into the castle, any thief or assassin would have to cross through 4 perimeter lines, each of them manned by the Queens finest.
If he had known how boring life in the Royal Guard really was then he would never have joined. At the time he had been a young lad, just turned 17, and the prospect of becoming a soldier, dedicated to defending the realm had seemed exciting and bold. He laughed bitterly at how naive he’d been back then. But he’d taken the life-long oath, now the only thing that could relieve him of his duties would be death. There was always the option of trying to leave secretly, but traitors and deserters weren’t liked here in Barcia, and the distinctive tattoo on each guard’s forehead would make them easy to find. If you were caught, you would be executed. Or if you were unlucky, the other members of the guard would find you first, and their punishment would be far more severe.
He looked up at the sky, and saw the large moon glowing in the heavens. Judging by its position, it was probably a few hours past midnight. The other sentry should’ve gotten here by now. He could probably guess what had happened, the man who was supposed to be guarding the wall after him was probably out somewhere in the city; either whoring, or meeting a secret lover. There wasn’t much Merl could do about it, if he left his post, he could be punished. He would just have to wait until morning, before lodging a complaint with the captain. It wasn’t likely that the other man would even get punished. Nobody ever listened to him. Merl the Moron they called him, just because of the one time he had forgotten to tie up the laces on his boots, and had almost tripped and fell of the wall. It was a long drop down, he would’ve died if the captain hadn’t pulled him back up. But eventually he heard footsteps coming from along the wall, and saw the flickering glow of another man’s torch. ‘Took your time to get here you lazy bastard’ he told the other sentry as he approached.
‘Sorry’ the man replied. ‘I was – Azgroth’s teeth! Did you see that? Look, down at the bottom of the wall!’ the man cried out urgently. Merl leaned forwards to get a better look at what the sentry was pointing at. ‘I can’t see anything’ he said, as he turned back to face the man. That was the last thing Merl ever said before he felt something shove him in the back, and he tumbled over the edge.
The man left standing on the wall looked down to make sure Merl had died, then walked on.
=============================================
Down in the palace dungeons, a man was singing.
'Oh if I was a sailor I would sail to Kotu
And find a lovely wench to take back to my room
But if she wasn’t pretty and fair, you know what I would do?
I’d chuck her down in the cargo hold to share among my crew'
This particular man had been singing that song for the past five hours, although the lyrics did vary from time to time. He was an extraordinarily large man, he towered over even the tallest man in the Royal Guard, and he had more muscles than a great frost giant from the North. His face was framed with a shaggy red beard, and a long mane of hair ran down from his head past his shoulders. He was garbed in nothing but a pair of tattered brown breeches, so you could see that not only was he hairy on his head, but his chest too was covered in a matt of fiery red. It was easy to think of reasons why this man might be in the dungeon, and it is true that this wasn’t the first time he had been locked in the cells.
However on this occasion he had been falsely accused. The man – Jorgan was his name – had been caught in the bed of the Queens daughter Talia. Tales of the sexual prowess of the man were spread far throughout the land, and as much as the royal family tried to hide and deny it, it was no great secret that Talia frequented the beds of many men, so it probably came as no surprise to Jorgan when she invited him into her bed. It would’ve been treason to refuse a royal command, so he came willingly. However when Talias guards came in to find the two of them engaged in rather explicit acts, Talia, in an attempt to save herself (for the Queen had told her that if she was caught doing such things again, she would lose her inheritance), claimed that the man had raped her. No matter what Jorgan said, it was obvious this was not going to end well.
He tried to batter his way out, and he even managed to make it down to the bottom floor before he was eventually subdued, and thrown in chains. Which is how he came to find himself in the dungeon, awaiting what he guessed would be his execution. After what he thought had been two days, although it was hard to track the progress of time when he was in perpertual darkness, a pair of guards came for him. By this point he had resigned himself to his fate. Even if he managed to escape now, he would never make it out the country - the people of Barcia were renowned for their dedication to the justice system.
Jorgan followed the guards out of the cell, and up the winding spiral staircase. As he was marched through the subterranean passages in the castle, he caught sight of a man dressed all in black scurrying into another room. He would’ve said something, if it weren’t for the fact that the guards had tied his hands behind his back and gagged him. Eventually they reached a large stone archway, that lead into a small courtyard. He could see the executioners block in the centre, and the crowds lining seats around the edges. The crowd today didn’t seem particularly blood-thirsty, probably because they also knew that he had been wrongly imprisoned. But none of them were prepared to go against the Queens orders, so he had no hope of escape.
He could see her sitting on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, with her treacherous whore of a daughter seated beside her. No hope of a fair trial today.
Jorgan paid no attention as the Queens herald read out the charges. ‘You, Jorgan Redmane of the Southern Provinces, are accused of raping her Royal Highness Princess Talia, assualting sixteen members of the Royal Guard, and killing eight of them’, the herald paused to let everyone take in and acknowledge the charges. ‘Do you plead guilty to these offences?’ the herald asked.
‘I plead not guilty!’ Jorgan yelled out angrily. 'That whore took me into her bed, I attacked those men in self-defence'
The judge didn’t care. ‘You are found guilty, and sentenced to death’. The drums began to began to beat as Jorgan walked forward and knelt down by the blood-stained rock, placing his head on top of it. The executioner walked forwards, holding his axe by his side. Jorgan closed his eyes and began praying. ‘Our Father the Warrior, I pray that you take me to the Ark of Kings, where I may forever feast and live among the gods and my fallen comrades’. The executioner raised the axe. ‘Forgive me for dying the way of the coward, and for not avenging the misjustice done to me here today’.
He heard a loud thunk, then nothing.
Jorgan opened one eye. He wasn’t dead. The executioner was still standing there, but he had dropped the axe, and was looking at something behind Jorgan. He heard a piercing scream come from the balcony, and suddenly hundreds of voices yelling and screaming as the crowds looked up at the balcony and saw what had happened.
The Queen was standing there, a black-feathered shaft protruding from her chest. She looked down at the arrow sticking out of her chest, and weakly tried to pull it out, when suddenly, another arrow hit her again, this time in her throat. Blood gushed out of the wound, spraying Talia in the face and drenching her in the blood of her mothers.
Jorgan was paying no attention to this, when he had seen the first arrow in the her chest he had turned, looking for the man who had shot it. And he had seen him. It was the man in black again, standing on top of a roof high above the courtyard. The man turned, and vanished over the edge of the roof. Jorgan ran, pushing his way through the crowds to try and get to a ladder leading up to one of the roof-tops. He knew that although he still wouldn’t be able to escape, if he caught the Queens murderer, he would be redeemed in the eyes of the law. The ladder creaked under the weight of the huge man, as he scaled the ladder with an agile speed that you wouldn’t expect from a man of his stature. He reached the roof in seconds, but he still wasn’t on the same one as the assassin. He leapt from the building and grabbed onto a jutting out brick in the stonework, then hauled himself up onto the platform where the deadly arrows had been fired.
Looking around, he could see only one direction the killer would’ve gone. Across the palace rooftops, then down into the river, where he could either have a boat waiting, or a horse on the other side. Jorgan sprinted across the roof, then dived off the edge, taking a second to spot where the killer had gone before he plunged into the icy cold water. When he surfaced, he saw a small rowing boat heading downstream with two men in it. He swam to the shore, gasping for breath as he climbed out of the river. There were no other boats anywhere nearby, but there was a horse grazing in a field next to the river. It was fully saddled still, which meant that its owner was probably nearby. There was no time to stop and ask if he could borrow it, he vaulted on to the house, then send it galloping down alongside the river, following in the wake of the boat. Although there was no way he would be able to swim out and reach the boat, he knew where he was going, and how he would capture the man.
On the horizon he could see a bridge spanning the river. He spurred the horse to go faster, knowing that he had to reach it before the boat did. The horse collapsed before he got there, luckily Jorgan managed to leap of before his legs were crushed beneath it. He ran onwards, and reached the bridge just as the boat was drawing closer. He crouched down, hidden from the boat by the bridge walls. He waited til he was sure the boat was underneath, then he leapt out from his hiding place, and jumped off the bridge.
He had judged correctly, and he landed with in the boat with a thud. Before the two men had time to react, he grabbed the one rowing, dashed his head against the side of the boat then threw him out into the river. The man did not surface again. Now it was just Jorgan and the assassin. The assassin stepped back, balance precariously at the far end of the boat. ‘If you surrender now, I promise no harm will come to you until you are judged’ Jorgan told the man.
The man gave a short laugh.
‘What good is a promise, from a man who has killed hundreds of men, and raped many women? No,’ the assassin said, ‘I will die before I return to that accursed castle. If I am to be judged, let me be judged in the eyes of the gods, here in combat with you’.
Jorgan gave a grunt of acceptance. Although he had no weapon and the assassin was armed with a dagger, he knew that he would not lose. The assassin lunged forwards and slashed at Jorgan with his dagger. Jorgan made no move to block it, instead letting the dagger cut open the skin on his chest, before reaching out and pulling the man close to him. The man was stuck now, the dagger fell out of his hand as Jorgan began to squeeze tighter and tighter. He felt the man’s bones begin to crack and crunch beneath the iron strength of Jorgans grip. With one last flex of his arms, the assassin’s ribs caved in, and he was dead.
He felt the blood trickling down his chest from the dagger wound, but it didn’t concern him. It had caused no real damage, it wouldn’t even leave a scar. He sat down between the oars of the boat, and began rowing back towards the palace…
=====Part 1 Finished==============
Part 1 of The Whore of Barcia, the first in a series of short stories I'm going to hopefully be writing :)
My opinion of what I've written so far is that it started off alright, but towards the end I think I lost the flow of the story.
Can I have some critical analysis please? :)
Volya
If he had known how boring life in the Royal Guard really was then he would never have joined. At the time he had been a young lad, just turned 17, and the prospect of becoming a soldier, dedicated to defending the realm had seemed exciting and bold. He laughed bitterly at how naive he’d been back then. But he’d taken the life-long oath, now the only thing that could relieve him of his duties would be death. There was always the option of trying to leave secretly, but traitors and deserters weren’t liked here in Barcia, and the distinctive tattoo on each guard’s forehead would make them easy to find. If you were caught, you would be executed. Or if you were unlucky, the other members of the guard would find you first, and their punishment would be far more severe.
He looked up at the sky, and saw the large moon glowing in the heavens. Judging by its position, it was probably a few hours past midnight. The other sentry should’ve gotten here by now. He could probably guess what had happened, the man who was supposed to be guarding the wall after him was probably out somewhere in the city; either whoring, or meeting a secret lover. There wasn’t much Merl could do about it, if he left his post, he could be punished. He would just have to wait until morning, before lodging a complaint with the captain. It wasn’t likely that the other man would even get punished. Nobody ever listened to him. Merl the Moron they called him, just because of the one time he had forgotten to tie up the laces on his boots, and had almost tripped and fell of the wall. It was a long drop down, he would’ve died if the captain hadn’t pulled him back up. But eventually he heard footsteps coming from along the wall, and saw the flickering glow of another man’s torch. ‘Took your time to get here you lazy bastard’ he told the other sentry as he approached.
‘Sorry’ the man replied. ‘I was – Azgroth’s teeth! Did you see that? Look, down at the bottom of the wall!’ the man cried out urgently. Merl leaned forwards to get a better look at what the sentry was pointing at. ‘I can’t see anything’ he said, as he turned back to face the man. That was the last thing Merl ever said before he felt something shove him in the back, and he tumbled over the edge.
The man left standing on the wall looked down to make sure Merl had died, then walked on.
=============================================
Down in the palace dungeons, a man was singing.
'Oh if I was a sailor I would sail to Kotu
And find a lovely wench to take back to my room
But if she wasn’t pretty and fair, you know what I would do?
I’d chuck her down in the cargo hold to share among my crew'
This particular man had been singing that song for the past five hours, although the lyrics did vary from time to time. He was an extraordinarily large man, he towered over even the tallest man in the Royal Guard, and he had more muscles than a great frost giant from the North. His face was framed with a shaggy red beard, and a long mane of hair ran down from his head past his shoulders. He was garbed in nothing but a pair of tattered brown breeches, so you could see that not only was he hairy on his head, but his chest too was covered in a matt of fiery red. It was easy to think of reasons why this man might be in the dungeon, and it is true that this wasn’t the first time he had been locked in the cells.
However on this occasion he had been falsely accused. The man – Jorgan was his name – had been caught in the bed of the Queens daughter Talia. Tales of the sexual prowess of the man were spread far throughout the land, and as much as the royal family tried to hide and deny it, it was no great secret that Talia frequented the beds of many men, so it probably came as no surprise to Jorgan when she invited him into her bed. It would’ve been treason to refuse a royal command, so he came willingly. However when Talias guards came in to find the two of them engaged in rather explicit acts, Talia, in an attempt to save herself (for the Queen had told her that if she was caught doing such things again, she would lose her inheritance), claimed that the man had raped her. No matter what Jorgan said, it was obvious this was not going to end well.
He tried to batter his way out, and he even managed to make it down to the bottom floor before he was eventually subdued, and thrown in chains. Which is how he came to find himself in the dungeon, awaiting what he guessed would be his execution. After what he thought had been two days, although it was hard to track the progress of time when he was in perpertual darkness, a pair of guards came for him. By this point he had resigned himself to his fate. Even if he managed to escape now, he would never make it out the country - the people of Barcia were renowned for their dedication to the justice system.
Jorgan followed the guards out of the cell, and up the winding spiral staircase. As he was marched through the subterranean passages in the castle, he caught sight of a man dressed all in black scurrying into another room. He would’ve said something, if it weren’t for the fact that the guards had tied his hands behind his back and gagged him. Eventually they reached a large stone archway, that lead into a small courtyard. He could see the executioners block in the centre, and the crowds lining seats around the edges. The crowd today didn’t seem particularly blood-thirsty, probably because they also knew that he had been wrongly imprisoned. But none of them were prepared to go against the Queens orders, so he had no hope of escape.
He could see her sitting on a balcony overlooking the courtyard, with her treacherous whore of a daughter seated beside her. No hope of a fair trial today.
Jorgan paid no attention as the Queens herald read out the charges. ‘You, Jorgan Redmane of the Southern Provinces, are accused of raping her Royal Highness Princess Talia, assualting sixteen members of the Royal Guard, and killing eight of them’, the herald paused to let everyone take in and acknowledge the charges. ‘Do you plead guilty to these offences?’ the herald asked.
‘I plead not guilty!’ Jorgan yelled out angrily. 'That whore took me into her bed, I attacked those men in self-defence'
The judge didn’t care. ‘You are found guilty, and sentenced to death’. The drums began to began to beat as Jorgan walked forward and knelt down by the blood-stained rock, placing his head on top of it. The executioner walked forwards, holding his axe by his side. Jorgan closed his eyes and began praying. ‘Our Father the Warrior, I pray that you take me to the Ark of Kings, where I may forever feast and live among the gods and my fallen comrades’. The executioner raised the axe. ‘Forgive me for dying the way of the coward, and for not avenging the misjustice done to me here today’.
He heard a loud thunk, then nothing.
Jorgan opened one eye. He wasn’t dead. The executioner was still standing there, but he had dropped the axe, and was looking at something behind Jorgan. He heard a piercing scream come from the balcony, and suddenly hundreds of voices yelling and screaming as the crowds looked up at the balcony and saw what had happened.
The Queen was standing there, a black-feathered shaft protruding from her chest. She looked down at the arrow sticking out of her chest, and weakly tried to pull it out, when suddenly, another arrow hit her again, this time in her throat. Blood gushed out of the wound, spraying Talia in the face and drenching her in the blood of her mothers.
Jorgan was paying no attention to this, when he had seen the first arrow in the her chest he had turned, looking for the man who had shot it. And he had seen him. It was the man in black again, standing on top of a roof high above the courtyard. The man turned, and vanished over the edge of the roof. Jorgan ran, pushing his way through the crowds to try and get to a ladder leading up to one of the roof-tops. He knew that although he still wouldn’t be able to escape, if he caught the Queens murderer, he would be redeemed in the eyes of the law. The ladder creaked under the weight of the huge man, as he scaled the ladder with an agile speed that you wouldn’t expect from a man of his stature. He reached the roof in seconds, but he still wasn’t on the same one as the assassin. He leapt from the building and grabbed onto a jutting out brick in the stonework, then hauled himself up onto the platform where the deadly arrows had been fired.
Looking around, he could see only one direction the killer would’ve gone. Across the palace rooftops, then down into the river, where he could either have a boat waiting, or a horse on the other side. Jorgan sprinted across the roof, then dived off the edge, taking a second to spot where the killer had gone before he plunged into the icy cold water. When he surfaced, he saw a small rowing boat heading downstream with two men in it. He swam to the shore, gasping for breath as he climbed out of the river. There were no other boats anywhere nearby, but there was a horse grazing in a field next to the river. It was fully saddled still, which meant that its owner was probably nearby. There was no time to stop and ask if he could borrow it, he vaulted on to the house, then send it galloping down alongside the river, following in the wake of the boat. Although there was no way he would be able to swim out and reach the boat, he knew where he was going, and how he would capture the man.
On the horizon he could see a bridge spanning the river. He spurred the horse to go faster, knowing that he had to reach it before the boat did. The horse collapsed before he got there, luckily Jorgan managed to leap of before his legs were crushed beneath it. He ran onwards, and reached the bridge just as the boat was drawing closer. He crouched down, hidden from the boat by the bridge walls. He waited til he was sure the boat was underneath, then he leapt out from his hiding place, and jumped off the bridge.
He had judged correctly, and he landed with in the boat with a thud. Before the two men had time to react, he grabbed the one rowing, dashed his head against the side of the boat then threw him out into the river. The man did not surface again. Now it was just Jorgan and the assassin. The assassin stepped back, balance precariously at the far end of the boat. ‘If you surrender now, I promise no harm will come to you until you are judged’ Jorgan told the man.
The man gave a short laugh.
‘What good is a promise, from a man who has killed hundreds of men, and raped many women? No,’ the assassin said, ‘I will die before I return to that accursed castle. If I am to be judged, let me be judged in the eyes of the gods, here in combat with you’.
Jorgan gave a grunt of acceptance. Although he had no weapon and the assassin was armed with a dagger, he knew that he would not lose. The assassin lunged forwards and slashed at Jorgan with his dagger. Jorgan made no move to block it, instead letting the dagger cut open the skin on his chest, before reaching out and pulling the man close to him. The man was stuck now, the dagger fell out of his hand as Jorgan began to squeeze tighter and tighter. He felt the man’s bones begin to crack and crunch beneath the iron strength of Jorgans grip. With one last flex of his arms, the assassin’s ribs caved in, and he was dead.
He felt the blood trickling down his chest from the dagger wound, but it didn’t concern him. It had caused no real damage, it wouldn’t even leave a scar. He sat down between the oars of the boat, and began rowing back towards the palace…
=====Part 1 Finished==============
Part 1 of The Whore of Barcia, the first in a series of short stories I'm going to hopefully be writing :)
My opinion of what I've written so far is that it started off alright, but towards the end I think I lost the flow of the story.
Can I have some critical analysis please? :)
Volya