Post by Valalerin on Jun 5, 2008 13:41:41 GMT
Archidet
The Book of Villain
“So as I sit amongst these frozen flowers, wondering who controls these powers, I know myself and who I am, I am his victim, I am, I am.” [The Book of Villain, Chapter 1, Page 12, Line 27.]
“Now, Emmanuel was a brave King to act so quickly on his rule, but Valdemar… He was a horrendous King. Two years after being crowned he started trade with a race most people saw as disgusting hive monsters. Why? They promised him riches.”
-The Beauty, Hope, The Shattered Sword Diner-
-1348, Tuesday the 17th of the Month of Blossoms-
It was a peaceful afternoon in Hope… The clouds had prevented the harsh sun from beating down too hard on the city, and the breeze had brought a refreshing cool wave across the city. The streets were alive all day with merriment, and there are still several people strolling about outside discussing the recent market crash. Fruit recently dropped in price so dramatically a riot broke out, and fruit hasn’t been sold for over a week now.
The Shattered Sword Diner was full today; many rich men and women were enjoying a meal cooked to perfection in this old wooden building.
Not everyone was here just for the food, though. On the ground floor, beneath the stairs, sat a curious looking fellow eyeing his surroundings carefully. Before him sat a plate of thinly sliced meat, it was a curious orange colour and looked almost raw. The man himself was fairly average, in contrast to his food… He had fairly muscular arms and was well tanned… But being tanned was not average in Hope, the city of the rich and powerful. It was the sign of being a worker, a lower-class individual, it was the sign of a man who didn’t have the money or influence to make it big… But if that was so, why was he eating in such a fancy restaurant?
The diner was a large and majestic one, made of oak in its entirety it was a grandeur building made for equally grandeur tastes, even the King dined here… Albeit rarely. But the man in the corner was definitely not the king… His clothing was far too common; a brown leather fedora and jacket, a green linen undershirt, thick brown cotton trousers and tall brown boots made from what appeared to be a rough leather. All of his clothing looked reasonably worn, the elbows of his jacket were considerably paled, his trousers had a multitude of scratches and holes at the base and the knees were more beige than brown.
His commoner appearance had garnered him a fine collection of disapproving glances and glares from the rest of the diner, the waiters in particular who appeared to be refusing to take his meal, which he was evidently done with. The man did not appear to be too concerned with his surroundings though, he was lost in though… Analyzing the knot holes and various scratches and flaws in the table, running a callous finger over the dark wood his eyes suddenly caught sight of the vile looking meat.
“Hm… I never noticed that…” he muttered to himself quietly, casting a slow look about the room. Stood opposite him was a waiter dressed in a suit finer than those of the people dining, as was usual… Waiters were well known for being ridiculously self-important in this particular restaurant, talking down to customers and doing whatever they can to look better.
“Oi, waiter” he called out, leaning back in his chair… His mistake was to use the word ‘Oi’ in the fanciest restaurant in Archidet. The waiter turned a condescending eye toward the interloping ruffian and made a few short steps toward him, almost cringing as though he was approaching the brim of a cesspit.
“Oi, sir? Just what kind of a word is ‘oi’?” the waiter asked, his voice was as slick as his perfectly groomed black hair and handlebar moustache. The waiter made an equal mistake mocking the gentleman it seemed, as a gentleman is not always gentle.
“Oh, I’m sorry pouter-puff, I didn’t realize that the language this land grew up with, the language of the working man, was so offensive to you! Now then, lollygagger, perhaps you’d like to take my order, eh?” the dark man retorted, his voice was deep and rough, as expected, and the virility of his response threw the waiter off balance somewhat as he stood with a hand about his chest.
“Well then, commoner… Is your meal not up to your tiny standards?” the waiter muttered bitterly, making doubly sure to look down his nose at the working man.
“My meal? This ain’t my meal you fool; this was here before me… I’d like to order some turtle bisque if you don’ mind. You do have that, right? Does eating your rich food make me classy?” the man snapped, leaning onto the table and clenching a tanned, rough fist. The waiter didn’t even respond, he simply narrowed his eyes, turned on his heel and disappeared behind a swinging door into the kitchen.
The dark man cast a bitter look about the restaurant, whose entire population was now looking at him in a state of mild shock, and let out a single sharp laugh before turning his attention to a small roll of sealed parchment on the table.
“Oh aye?” he said under his breath, turning to face the roll, a red wax seal binding it closed. He cast a look at the meat and pressed a finger into it to check the temperature… It was stone cold… Coming to the conclusion that whoever had been here was now long gone he took it upon himself to satisfy his curiosity. Taking the parchment in one hand he used the knife on the table to cut the seal, unraveling the parchment he was disappointed with what he read…
“If this book should reach your hands, my life has been taken from these lands, do not mourn me, take my place, the future I see, do not embrace…” he read the poem aloud, but he rushed through it, ruining any poetic appeal… The man appeared almost confused by the nature of the message…
“Book? It’s a single page… Eh? The Book of Villain, chapter one, page four, lines eighteen to twenty-one… So it was a book, but why make note of just this? Sounds like a decent little rhyme…” but unraveling the parchment more revealed that this wasn’t the only noted paragraph.
“Huh… Valalerin is the-” he cut his words short, reading on in silence. It was utter blasphemy.
Valalerin is the one true God, not this Dark Lord foolish sod! [The Book of Villain, Chapter 1, Page 6, Line 25.]
“Who wrote this? Turning them in could earn me some…” he rubbed his poor shaven chin thinking gleefully about turning in a blasphemer to the king… It would be out of the hired guard business and into the high life.
“Oi, waiter” he called out again, wrapping the parchment back up and pocketing it.
“Sir! If you please, you are detracting from this glorious establishment’s integrity! If you must call for me, please do it properly!” the waiter snapped, storming over to his new enemy.
“Yeah, yeah… Who was here last?” he asked, dismissing the waiter’s comments as trivial.
“And why exactly should I tell you, sir?” the waiter frowned, looking down at him as though he was trash.
“Because if you do, I’ll leave” he grinned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.
“It was the librarian, he left quite some time ago” the waiter responded quickly and immediately left for the kitchen, happy for the communications to be over. Without a moment’s hesitation to gloat, the dark man rose from his seat and left the diner.
It was still a delightfully cool day outside, dancing shadows cast by the clouds covering the old stone buildings of the capitol city of Hope. A trio of women in large dresses stood outside the library just down the cobblestone path were having a lighthearted chat. The path was a particularly strange one; the city is set out as though it started as a large plot of cobblestones and had buildings placed wherever convenient. The city had a unique flavour about it, it was the first city ever made and it clearly looked like it, some parts of town were so worn that the cobblestones were flat and level…
The library was a newer building though, it was made of bricks as opposed to wood or stones and had a door rather than an arch doorway. Unfortunately, it also had very few books due to the lack of authors… Or at least, lack of pre-revolution authors. All books that didn’t conform to the new religion were burned six years ago by order of the King.
As the dark man approached the door, however, he was startled to find the door closed. Commercial buildings with doors were supposed to have them open during opening hours, it is against the law to open the door to a building you do not own or work in. Turning to the women, he asked them a simple question;
“Excuse me, miss, do you know where the librarian is?”
Unfortunately, his only response was a bitter glare. Thankfully, one of the trio looked to be feeling sorry for the outlander,
“He didn’t reopen the library after lunch, he is likely either at the infirmary or his home” she told him, a brief smile shown before clearing her throat and resuming the conversation with her friends, not even waiting for a thank you. Disgruntled, he gave a light bow in silent thanks and turned to face the problem that he didn’t know where the librarian lived… He wasn’t likely at the infirmary, he hadn’t even eaten his meal, but he didn’t want to ask anyone where the librarian lived for fear of any consequences that might come about… Blasphemy as dire as that which he held in his pocket was punishable by a torturous death, or life imprisonment.
Ever since the revolution, the humans have been turned into what was once a group of free individuals, happy to worship their God Aeiseth whenever they pleased, to an enslaved population who either paid tribute to the Dark Lord Razgriz daily, and never spoke ill of him, or died. Religion, in a single night, became the biggest threat to the lives of Shrenk’s people.
But then, a stroke of luck, a short man with messy hair and a finely groomed beard, dressed in a suit as fine as the waiter’s, came waddling toward the library with expensive shoes clacking across the cobbles. He looked exceptionally flustered, sweating profusely and red in the face, marching in a fixed path toward the library’s door with a key gripped firmly in his hand. He was avoiding the sight of everyone around him, ducking slightly as he charged directly into the dark man’s chest.
“…Excuse me…” the dark man responded in a deadpan manner, “You appear to have walked into me… But that’s good, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you” he continued. Almost instantly the short man turned bright white, his hair appearing to electrify as the leapt backwards away from him,
“I didn’t write it! It’s not mine!” he shrieked, turning and fleeing as fast as he could. Unfortunately, the tanned and muscular man is often employed as a thief catcher… Almost out of instinct he burst into sprint, but stopped immediately as a guard clad in full plate armour knocked the tiny librarian to the floor with a tremendous backhand that appeared to come out of nowhere.
The situation was grim…
“Didn’t write what, sir?” the guard asked from within his thick iron helm. It was the tanned man’s turn to go pale, if the librarian pointed at him, it would be the end. He cursed under his breath and took a step back, he looked almost ready to collapse, a single bead of sweat trailing down the rough, mottled skin of his cheek. Every second the librarian hesitated to answer felt like an eternity to the unfortunately placed outlander.
“The book! I didn’t write the book! I just collect them! No! I wasn’t collecting it, I was going to burn it! It’s not even the real thing! It’s just a note! I didn’t make the note, someone gave it to me! I didn’t ask for it! I have nothing to do with it!”
A tremendous speech of panicked denial was the only response the irritated guard received, thankfully giving the tanned man plenty of time to straighten himself out and casually walk away. He had escaped what would’ve been a horrible situation… But his curiosity piqued… What was this book? Sure, it contained what appeared to be a fair amount of blasphemy, but nobody would respond quite so violently to any old blasphemous book.
“What book? If you don’t answer me honestly, I’m sure the interrogator can squeeze the truth out of you” the guard growled, only just still within earshot. Beyond sight, the dark man decided to linger and find out just what the book was. He pressed himself to the wall of the closest building, a two-story house, and listened in for the tiny man’s response.
“Th-the… The…” he was actually crying at this point… “The Book of V-Villain…” he wheezed, and was immediately thrown to the ground with a sword pointed at his throat.
“Guards! Take this man to the tower! Interrogate him at once!” the guard bellowed.
Evidently this book was slightly more than just another blasphemous book from before the revolution…
The Book of Villain
“So as I sit amongst these frozen flowers, wondering who controls these powers, I know myself and who I am, I am his victim, I am, I am.” [The Book of Villain, Chapter 1, Page 12, Line 27.]
“Now, Emmanuel was a brave King to act so quickly on his rule, but Valdemar… He was a horrendous King. Two years after being crowned he started trade with a race most people saw as disgusting hive monsters. Why? They promised him riches.”
-The Beauty, Hope, The Shattered Sword Diner-
-1348, Tuesday the 17th of the Month of Blossoms-
It was a peaceful afternoon in Hope… The clouds had prevented the harsh sun from beating down too hard on the city, and the breeze had brought a refreshing cool wave across the city. The streets were alive all day with merriment, and there are still several people strolling about outside discussing the recent market crash. Fruit recently dropped in price so dramatically a riot broke out, and fruit hasn’t been sold for over a week now.
The Shattered Sword Diner was full today; many rich men and women were enjoying a meal cooked to perfection in this old wooden building.
Not everyone was here just for the food, though. On the ground floor, beneath the stairs, sat a curious looking fellow eyeing his surroundings carefully. Before him sat a plate of thinly sliced meat, it was a curious orange colour and looked almost raw. The man himself was fairly average, in contrast to his food… He had fairly muscular arms and was well tanned… But being tanned was not average in Hope, the city of the rich and powerful. It was the sign of being a worker, a lower-class individual, it was the sign of a man who didn’t have the money or influence to make it big… But if that was so, why was he eating in such a fancy restaurant?
The diner was a large and majestic one, made of oak in its entirety it was a grandeur building made for equally grandeur tastes, even the King dined here… Albeit rarely. But the man in the corner was definitely not the king… His clothing was far too common; a brown leather fedora and jacket, a green linen undershirt, thick brown cotton trousers and tall brown boots made from what appeared to be a rough leather. All of his clothing looked reasonably worn, the elbows of his jacket were considerably paled, his trousers had a multitude of scratches and holes at the base and the knees were more beige than brown.
His commoner appearance had garnered him a fine collection of disapproving glances and glares from the rest of the diner, the waiters in particular who appeared to be refusing to take his meal, which he was evidently done with. The man did not appear to be too concerned with his surroundings though, he was lost in though… Analyzing the knot holes and various scratches and flaws in the table, running a callous finger over the dark wood his eyes suddenly caught sight of the vile looking meat.
“Hm… I never noticed that…” he muttered to himself quietly, casting a slow look about the room. Stood opposite him was a waiter dressed in a suit finer than those of the people dining, as was usual… Waiters were well known for being ridiculously self-important in this particular restaurant, talking down to customers and doing whatever they can to look better.
“Oi, waiter” he called out, leaning back in his chair… His mistake was to use the word ‘Oi’ in the fanciest restaurant in Archidet. The waiter turned a condescending eye toward the interloping ruffian and made a few short steps toward him, almost cringing as though he was approaching the brim of a cesspit.
“Oi, sir? Just what kind of a word is ‘oi’?” the waiter asked, his voice was as slick as his perfectly groomed black hair and handlebar moustache. The waiter made an equal mistake mocking the gentleman it seemed, as a gentleman is not always gentle.
“Oh, I’m sorry pouter-puff, I didn’t realize that the language this land grew up with, the language of the working man, was so offensive to you! Now then, lollygagger, perhaps you’d like to take my order, eh?” the dark man retorted, his voice was deep and rough, as expected, and the virility of his response threw the waiter off balance somewhat as he stood with a hand about his chest.
“Well then, commoner… Is your meal not up to your tiny standards?” the waiter muttered bitterly, making doubly sure to look down his nose at the working man.
“My meal? This ain’t my meal you fool; this was here before me… I’d like to order some turtle bisque if you don’ mind. You do have that, right? Does eating your rich food make me classy?” the man snapped, leaning onto the table and clenching a tanned, rough fist. The waiter didn’t even respond, he simply narrowed his eyes, turned on his heel and disappeared behind a swinging door into the kitchen.
The dark man cast a bitter look about the restaurant, whose entire population was now looking at him in a state of mild shock, and let out a single sharp laugh before turning his attention to a small roll of sealed parchment on the table.
“Oh aye?” he said under his breath, turning to face the roll, a red wax seal binding it closed. He cast a look at the meat and pressed a finger into it to check the temperature… It was stone cold… Coming to the conclusion that whoever had been here was now long gone he took it upon himself to satisfy his curiosity. Taking the parchment in one hand he used the knife on the table to cut the seal, unraveling the parchment he was disappointed with what he read…
“If this book should reach your hands, my life has been taken from these lands, do not mourn me, take my place, the future I see, do not embrace…” he read the poem aloud, but he rushed through it, ruining any poetic appeal… The man appeared almost confused by the nature of the message…
“Book? It’s a single page… Eh? The Book of Villain, chapter one, page four, lines eighteen to twenty-one… So it was a book, but why make note of just this? Sounds like a decent little rhyme…” but unraveling the parchment more revealed that this wasn’t the only noted paragraph.
“Huh… Valalerin is the-” he cut his words short, reading on in silence. It was utter blasphemy.
Valalerin is the one true God, not this Dark Lord foolish sod! [The Book of Villain, Chapter 1, Page 6, Line 25.]
“Who wrote this? Turning them in could earn me some…” he rubbed his poor shaven chin thinking gleefully about turning in a blasphemer to the king… It would be out of the hired guard business and into the high life.
“Oi, waiter” he called out again, wrapping the parchment back up and pocketing it.
“Sir! If you please, you are detracting from this glorious establishment’s integrity! If you must call for me, please do it properly!” the waiter snapped, storming over to his new enemy.
“Yeah, yeah… Who was here last?” he asked, dismissing the waiter’s comments as trivial.
“And why exactly should I tell you, sir?” the waiter frowned, looking down at him as though he was trash.
“Because if you do, I’ll leave” he grinned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.
“It was the librarian, he left quite some time ago” the waiter responded quickly and immediately left for the kitchen, happy for the communications to be over. Without a moment’s hesitation to gloat, the dark man rose from his seat and left the diner.
It was still a delightfully cool day outside, dancing shadows cast by the clouds covering the old stone buildings of the capitol city of Hope. A trio of women in large dresses stood outside the library just down the cobblestone path were having a lighthearted chat. The path was a particularly strange one; the city is set out as though it started as a large plot of cobblestones and had buildings placed wherever convenient. The city had a unique flavour about it, it was the first city ever made and it clearly looked like it, some parts of town were so worn that the cobblestones were flat and level…
The library was a newer building though, it was made of bricks as opposed to wood or stones and had a door rather than an arch doorway. Unfortunately, it also had very few books due to the lack of authors… Or at least, lack of pre-revolution authors. All books that didn’t conform to the new religion were burned six years ago by order of the King.
As the dark man approached the door, however, he was startled to find the door closed. Commercial buildings with doors were supposed to have them open during opening hours, it is against the law to open the door to a building you do not own or work in. Turning to the women, he asked them a simple question;
“Excuse me, miss, do you know where the librarian is?”
Unfortunately, his only response was a bitter glare. Thankfully, one of the trio looked to be feeling sorry for the outlander,
“He didn’t reopen the library after lunch, he is likely either at the infirmary or his home” she told him, a brief smile shown before clearing her throat and resuming the conversation with her friends, not even waiting for a thank you. Disgruntled, he gave a light bow in silent thanks and turned to face the problem that he didn’t know where the librarian lived… He wasn’t likely at the infirmary, he hadn’t even eaten his meal, but he didn’t want to ask anyone where the librarian lived for fear of any consequences that might come about… Blasphemy as dire as that which he held in his pocket was punishable by a torturous death, or life imprisonment.
Ever since the revolution, the humans have been turned into what was once a group of free individuals, happy to worship their God Aeiseth whenever they pleased, to an enslaved population who either paid tribute to the Dark Lord Razgriz daily, and never spoke ill of him, or died. Religion, in a single night, became the biggest threat to the lives of Shrenk’s people.
But then, a stroke of luck, a short man with messy hair and a finely groomed beard, dressed in a suit as fine as the waiter’s, came waddling toward the library with expensive shoes clacking across the cobbles. He looked exceptionally flustered, sweating profusely and red in the face, marching in a fixed path toward the library’s door with a key gripped firmly in his hand. He was avoiding the sight of everyone around him, ducking slightly as he charged directly into the dark man’s chest.
“…Excuse me…” the dark man responded in a deadpan manner, “You appear to have walked into me… But that’s good, I have a few questions I’d like to ask you” he continued. Almost instantly the short man turned bright white, his hair appearing to electrify as the leapt backwards away from him,
“I didn’t write it! It’s not mine!” he shrieked, turning and fleeing as fast as he could. Unfortunately, the tanned and muscular man is often employed as a thief catcher… Almost out of instinct he burst into sprint, but stopped immediately as a guard clad in full plate armour knocked the tiny librarian to the floor with a tremendous backhand that appeared to come out of nowhere.
The situation was grim…
“Didn’t write what, sir?” the guard asked from within his thick iron helm. It was the tanned man’s turn to go pale, if the librarian pointed at him, it would be the end. He cursed under his breath and took a step back, he looked almost ready to collapse, a single bead of sweat trailing down the rough, mottled skin of his cheek. Every second the librarian hesitated to answer felt like an eternity to the unfortunately placed outlander.
“The book! I didn’t write the book! I just collect them! No! I wasn’t collecting it, I was going to burn it! It’s not even the real thing! It’s just a note! I didn’t make the note, someone gave it to me! I didn’t ask for it! I have nothing to do with it!”
A tremendous speech of panicked denial was the only response the irritated guard received, thankfully giving the tanned man plenty of time to straighten himself out and casually walk away. He had escaped what would’ve been a horrible situation… But his curiosity piqued… What was this book? Sure, it contained what appeared to be a fair amount of blasphemy, but nobody would respond quite so violently to any old blasphemous book.
“What book? If you don’t answer me honestly, I’m sure the interrogator can squeeze the truth out of you” the guard growled, only just still within earshot. Beyond sight, the dark man decided to linger and find out just what the book was. He pressed himself to the wall of the closest building, a two-story house, and listened in for the tiny man’s response.
“Th-the… The…” he was actually crying at this point… “The Book of V-Villain…” he wheezed, and was immediately thrown to the ground with a sword pointed at his throat.
“Guards! Take this man to the tower! Interrogate him at once!” the guard bellowed.
Evidently this book was slightly more than just another blasphemous book from before the revolution…