[A long story, possibly might become a series or something. Read it if you have the time. EDIT: If you find simple spelling or grammar mistakes, feel free to PM me. I hate having random hidden errors on my work.]
Glancing cautiously around, he lifted a up a sheet of stone, and crawled inside. His small frame and scrawny limbs had few benefits regarding physical strength, but only he and the few other slave workers could crawl into the tiny burrow. Aged only 14, yet covered in the grime of years in the pit, he set up the sheet of rock and covered the entrance.
The low thud of machinery and squealing picks on stone were dulled as the stone lifted into place. It was only then he could ever remember not listening to the cranks and grinds of the coal saws, or the cracking of whips in the deep mines. Stretching his legs, the withered boy took his first rest of the day. Not that it was day anymore: day was just whenever he was awake, as ash and steam blocked the skies. In the darkness, he rummaged around the tiny, metre wide burrow, searching for his candle. Picking up the simple wax-wick, the boy took hold of a black, shiny stone from around his neck. He put them together, and focused his mind.
"Fire"
A small *piff* emitted from the stone, along with some sparks. One hit the wax-wick, and the candle began to burn bright, sucking in coal dust and air. Placing the candle next to the entrance, beside his curled up body, the boy looked across at his small collection of junk.
Little trinkets the boy had found around the old mine's and pit's were sprawled across the little space left in the nest. A few feathers, various rocks with interesting purple to red veins on them, and a diary filled with pretty pictures were just some of the objects. With the practised ease of tradition, the boy picked up a blackened, round stone, with crude letters on one side. The boy could not read, but he knew what was engraved on it. Clearing his throat, he spoke to himself.
"Schist. My name is Schist."
A little tear grew in his right eye. He had been named this by his master after giving him a rock of burnt schist instead of coal. This earned him a smack on the face, and a proud name to bear with it. One of the other slaves knew how to write, and kindly engraved the word onto the rock for him. Many slaves forgot their names, which doesn't go too well when they are called up to head 'home' after months in the mines.
Clutching the rock affectionately, Schist pulled his day supply pack off from around his waist, and pulled out the new trinket he found today. A small glass vial, with a thin layer of dirt and dried mud on it, and a old cork shoved in the end was brought out into the light of the flickering candle. Taking his only water canteen out of the day pack, with less than enough for himself to live on, Schist started to wipe the vial, clearing a label on the side.
Moderately fascinated by his little discovery, he decided to check around the old mines again after sleep. He found the book-diary thing there as well, so it could be a hotspot for treasures. Cleaning the vial with his tattered shorts, wiping all the combined gunk of years exposure to acid rains and mud-slips, Schist saw a familiar pattern on the label. It was just another mess of lines, confusing the youth while he tried to comprehend it. Suddenly, it clicked!
With a rush of excitement, Schist grabbed and opened the book, flipping around the pages. Every now and then, a symbol or picture would pop up out of the text. After a minutes worth of frustration, he found what he was looking for.
The same picture from the vial was inside the book. Grinning at his discovery, Schist gave a proud look before realising the lack of other pictures on the page. Flicking about, no more pictures or patterns could be found. A sour taste took over his mouth; there was nothing new in the book.
With a deep sigh, Schist took another look at the vial. A sudden curiosity flickered in his mind. "What could be in this canteen?"
Looking at the top, Schist noted it had not been open in a long time. Perhaps generations. Thoughts of oppression clouded his mind. "What would master think if he saw me with more water than normal?"
Sitting back, he nervously fingered the vial, as if it might suddenly yell at him. Only then in less depth of thought did he notice that he could no longer hear the movement of rolling carts, nor the echo's of children being punished from the deep pit.
Quickly putting the vial into his day pack, he scurried off towards the cabins. It was officially night, even though the moon probably rose long ago. One did not want to waste time that can be spent sleeping under a linen blanket.
--
Tired from the trek up multiple mining ramps, and from the previous day's work, Schist diligently walked on towards his slave house. It was only a small shack, but can hold up to 40 other people, more so if you don't mind sleeping on your side. Stopping a good 12 metres away, he looked over the building. Occasionally there was a guard to stop slaves from causing riots. The guards never wore any armour, just thick padded cloth, but they always sported a glistening sharp short sword. Time lost sleeping is time lost mining, as they say, so being awake after midnight is forbidden.
Cautious, Schist looked carefully for a guard. He couldn't see any of the bright red or blue uniforms guards normally wear, so it appeared safe. Crawling close to the ground, Schist quickly navigated towards the shack. He held his breath, as waves of toxins being sucked towards the pit can be just as deadly as any guard. Reaching the door, he began to unlock it to try and sneak in. Calmly, the tip of a sword rested onto his arm.
Confused, Schist looked at the sword. It was shining silver like an enchanted diamond, with a glowing purple aura around it. With a start, Schist looked at it's wielder, as a deer in headlights. Standing a good distance away was a mechanical Steam Knight, characterised by it's menacing midnight black armour, made blacker by smog and coal dust. The occasional *hiss* of steam escaped the suit, leaving the heavy plate furnace it was wearing on it's back, fouling the dirty air more so.
It's 2 metre Great Blade was more than enough to scare Schist into halting still. Waiting for the knight to talk, or punish, or do anything, the boy lowered his head. With fluent movement the sword lifted off his arm, and with a *crack* and a *pisshh*, halved it's length by compacting internally. Looking up into the gaze of it's medieval styled helmet, Schist waited for it to speak.
"Why are you late to bed?"
Surprised by both the male voice, and it's lack of anger, Schist couldn't help but be dumbfounded. The stories of Steam Knights spoken in exercise time revolved around their gruelling tempers and lack of humanity.
The Knight moved a step closer to Schist, with a thud accompanied by whirling mechanics.
"Speak up child. I did not hear you talk."
Staring up into the slits of the helmet, trying to picture a human, Schist began to fib out a story.
"I'm sorry. I got lost on the way to the cabin... I didn't..."
In a flurry, the man in the Steam Suit lunged forward a step, grabbing the boy's middle and removing him from the ground. Steam flew from the limbs of the beast with the sudden movement, flying up past Schist's face.
"Child, you are lying. Your master won't be pleased with you. Not at all."
Winded by the physical grasp of the arm, further influenced by the aspect of punishment from his master, Schist couldn't even bother struggling. He was captured, just like a rabbit in the hand.
"You are guilty of stealing owed labour from the King of Almaria, and are hereby sentenced a criminal of the king and court. The appropriate Lords or Owners will be contacted to show his or her viewpoint on the matter. Until then, you are to be detained in Karkun Civil jail. Enjoy your ride."
Before Schist could respond, the Knight hoisted him over his shoulder, and began a slow jog towards the main road, used to transport coal out to the major cities. Karkun was where his Master lived, so it was only a matter of time before his life will be in the hands of a twisted man.
Settling down onto the bulky metal, Schist began to fall asleep. The arm of the mechanism was still clamped over his back, so he couldn't slither, let alone escape. The clockwork gears clinked and clanked, accompanied by the rumbling of the Knights internal furnace in his backpack. A soothing effect flowed over the child, used to living in a world of machinery. Taking one last look out behind the knight into the darkness, Schist judged they would take a few hours to get to Karkun.
The few rogue tears that leaked their way out had dried now, and he started slipping off into a awkward slumber. Schist felt an urge inside him, an urge to talk. This must have been the first person ever to ask him a question that didn't involve anger or rage, even if he still got yelled at. Uneasily, he formed a question in his head. Turning his head towards the thick helmet of his captor, he asked his question lightly:
"...What's your name?"
...for a minute, the knight carried on through the darkness, the only sound the recurring mechanics of the suit. Above the noise, Schist heard a deep breath come from inside the suit.
"You can call me Steve Garand; Steam Soldier, 2nd rank of the 17th band."
"Schist. My name is Schist."
They continued on into the darkness, with only the dim aura of the sword providing any light. Schist, content with the Knights reply, fell into a deep sleep. The soldier wondered awkwardly what would happen to the boy. He had already sent a word of his arrival via his sword to a messenger in Karkun, so there was no turning back.
Soon it began to rain, thin spurts of misty acid that irritated the skin. He looked over at the boy, thin and deprived. Again, he took a deep breath and muttered to himself. He lifted the sword up in his spare hand and placed the flat on the boy's back. Feeling the sword's presence in his mind's eye, he focused the energy of the blade.
"Warmth..."
Slowly, heat seeped into the boys skin. Time passed, and darkness persisted. Satisfied, he watched over the child for the rest of the night. It was hard being the bad guy, and guilt sizzled across his thoughts. Law might stop him from helping the boy, but nothing prevented him from 'forgetting' to confiscate the youth's rations. He set his suit to auto, and looked over the boy on his shoulder one last time.
"Schist... what a funny name."
Drowsy, he noticed the fire stone hanging around his neck, contemplating whether his master gave him it. Shrugging it off, he closed his eyes for a sleep in the suit. There was nothing more he could do for the slave without endangering his own loyalty to the King.
Something was different about this boy. He wanted to see what it was.
Squatting under the scattered shadows of a tree dead long ago, a rugged, dirty figure wrapped his linen blanket back up into it's carrying position. By no means was he homeless nor poor, in fact, he carried himself with a proud vanity. Long, glistening blonde hair, now stained to a pale grey, flowed down his back as it would on a pampered princess. His eyes were that of a judge: no flaw would go undetected by these emeralds of brilliant cut.
Standing back up, he glared at the dirt and grime of days running through the mucky wastelands in this forsaken area. This was no place for a Child of the Tree, and a prince at that.
Scouting the wasted forest around, it was plain that no one else was there to intervene. With that, he concentrated on the energy he felt pulling him, the one that took him out to this cursed place.
Despite how small the trace was, it had definitely grown in power, doubled even. The lack of life around made it all the more simple to isolate the sense in his mind. It was this strange energy that the Arch Mage of the Alliance picked up on, and requested, no, demanded that he investigate.
Spitting on the ground, the figure further cursed the land. It wasn't worth the glory of even his forced presence. He could even remember the blackmail imposed against him. "If you don't leave now with a band of men to search for what is causing that energy, I'll tell the township of your 'great deeds' in the War for lake Rygnar!"
"You stupid Mage! You can't command me! I, Jharak, master of bows, won't ever do as you ask. I'll just go without any men!"
Looking back on his choice, it probably wasn't a good idea. There would still be a fair way to go, so extra supplies would have helped, and by the looks of it, he would be searching around Karkun City. No one ever goes to Karkun City without a military, unless they're insane. Shrugging, he hefted the linen bag over his shoulder. More reward for him if this turns out to be a true discovery.
Having finished packing up, and with the smog as hellish and oppressive as before, Jharak held out his hand and pretended to wield his chosen weapon.. He closed his eyes and felt the presence of an elder bow, engraved and curved to perfection. He felt the smoothed out burls in the wood, and could almost smell the fragrant resin's of the weapon.
Slowly, a pale blue aura outlined the figure of the exotic longbow, pulled up from the soul of the barren land's bracken and branches. It's power was weak, but it was the best he could do without taking out of his own life.
Fully equipped, he set off towards the mysterious entity. The longer he took, the longer it would take for him to relax in the mineral baths, and to receive a full body massage from the Maidens of the Spring.
---An hour later---
Easing his head up, the Knight in black armour awoke. Opening an eye, red from the lack of sleep in the jarring suit, he grumbled about sleeping on the job. The steam engine was still chugging on, strong as ever. Doing a few basic checks, Steve looked at the few gauges below his nose, making sure that pressure was still up in all limbs.
After confirming total control, he began to wonder why his arm was up beside his head. It took a second for him to remember that the boy was still there, locked securely under his gauntlet, against his steel plating. Surprisingly, the boy was still asleep, deprived from months on end in the mines.
Hardly wishing to disturb the lowly slave, he kept his arm up in the awkward position to keep the child safe. The road was empty this early in the morning, as even the sun had not come up. Hydraulic pistons rhythmically pushed the suit forward, the only sound out in the barren land the *hissss* of steam escaping out the plates of armour as they readjusted.
Observing the world around him, the knight saw the approaching woods, with dry leaves that offer little cover from rain or wind. The cruel fog across the brush was receding as dawn wore on, a sight one would never see in the perpetual toxins of the cities. He was one of the few knights that was given patrols between towns: a permission often only given for Dragoons or Master Guards.
Looking at the leaves struggling to hold onto their positions in the light breeze, Steve grew anxious about his own position of power. He was a leading soldier in the war efforts - it was him who was to command a band into battle, and force the opposition to crunch underfoot. Yet here he was, hauling a child to jail. According to the law, he was just in his actions, but this felt worse than simply putting the child out of it's misery.
He didn't actually have a band yet. Part of the reason he was at the mine was to ask a former warrior now working as a guard to give insight on death. No one would ever join a Knight that hasn't first killed someone before.
Gazing around the broken trees, he caught the pale glow of a bow, glistening in the crown of a dying Oak.
Flinging the child to the ground, he wielded his sword in both hands, the blade extending with a *psh* just in time to block an aura arrow, deflecting it off onto the ground.
Attacking the Military is an offence punishable by death.
---
Schist felt the suit stop, and was about to yawn before being rudely flung off into mid-air. His scream was interrupted by a high pitch squealing sound accompanied by various sparks emitting from the knight. Before Schist could think about what he just saw, his face crunched onto the dry dirt, the impact blacking out his sight momentarily.
Rolling over onto his back, Schist watched as a thin, grubby man jumped out from a tree, hair flowing behind like he was in gale force winds. The Knight turned into a fighting stance, holding his massive blade sideways to block the little man's aura rapier, which seemingly appeared from nowhere.
Before the Knight or man could do anything, blue glowing Rapier hit shining Great Sword, and both cracked.
Schist gaped in amazement as the Great Blade shattered in half, and the aura both weapons contained exploded into a symphony of electricity. The invader landed on the Knights steam suit, who had been knocked over from the electrical explosion.
From out of nowhere, a glowing aura dagger appeared in the hand of the Aggressor, positioned under the helm of once powerful Knight in black.
Schist couldn't hold himself back anymore. "Stop! Don't hurt him!"
The invader looked up at the little boy, a look of astonishment on at the boys words. Quickly, his expression soured, and his aggression returned.
"Who are you to talk to me? Tell me! Or scamper off you little runt!"
Looking around, put on the spotlight, Schist did the only thing he could think of.
"Schist. My name is Schist."
Standing up off of the Knight in armour, leaving him on the ground, the Invader purposefully walked up to Schist with an air of arrogance and anger. He looked down at Schist, noting the slave's day pack around his waist, and the fire stone around his neck.
"So...'Schist'. Where did you get this?"
The intruder crouched down and lifted the black stone up to Schist's face. Schist could feel a radiance coming from the man, which both felt uplifting, and inspiring. Before he could enjoy the relaxing sensations, the red hot pain from a slap to the face wiped out the good feelings.
"Don't keep me waiting. Where did you get this, slave?"
"I... found it."
Rolling his eyes, he yanked the stone off the string round Schist's neck. Before Schist could react, the dagger made it's way under his chin.
"So, you just 'found' it then? I guess you'll just have to 'find' another, hmm?"
The man sneered at Schist's face, pathetic with lack of control. lying among mud and dirt on the ground, Schist watched as the man pocketed the rock into a small cash-bag, before standing up again. Looking past the thief, Schist noticed a shadow encompassing both him and the man.
"I can't believe how much time I wasted with you two. If this little rock was the whole reason I came out here, I swear I'll kill that bloody,Woah!"
Startled, the thieve's feet left the ground, held up painfully by his own gracefully long hair in the steel hands of the Black Knight. Despite the lack of a weapon, the Black Knight still donned a steam suit capable of crushing stones with it's own weight. From this height, Steve and the little man locked eyes, both reeking with anger and sweat.
"And what is your name, he who lives in a tree?"
The menacing statement was spoken with a calm voice, but with a raging tone. Schist viewed the scene from below, the Knight holding up the squirming man who so recently stole his stone. Despite the situation, the man Raised his chin and looked back into the helm with disgust.
"I am, Jharak, master of bows, and you have no authority over me! Now unclench your fist from my hair, foul demon of the King!"
And with that, Jharak spat onto the helmet, covering a few mouth slits with a curdled mess of phlem.
Breathing heavy from the mixed emotions of people fighting, Schist contemplated the stalemate. Without his sword, Steve would not be able to act fast enough in crushing Jharak, and Jharak was in no position to hit Steve with the strange glowing dagger in his hand.
It's like when two slaves manage to headlock each other, but neither can become unstuck. Schist had seen many fights like this, and it always took someone else to break it up.
Of course, Schist didn't have any power in this situation. A little slave boy watching two grown ups give each other dirty looks with anger on each side.
It was tiring watching people fight. Thirsty, Schist opened the day pack around his waist, and searched around for his canteen. Pulling out the vial by mistake, he was about to put it back when Jharak let out a loud gasp.
"You! slave! What is that in your hand?"
Schist looked over the canteen thing in his hand. What was it? It looked like it held water the whole time, not that special.
"umm...I found it as well."
"Oh give it here you imbecile!"
Looking at the bottle again, it didn't seem like something for an adult to get fussed about. Neither Jharak or Steve could move to do anything, so he was out of harm's way.
A funny thought crept into Schist's head. Grinning atrociously, he raised the bottle closer to his face, and popped the cork on top. A few wisps of smoke rose out, mingling with the dusty air, before dissipating into the smoggy abyss above.
Watching the display, it didn't take Steve all that long to feel the magic coming from the bottle. He wasn't exactly refined at fire magic's, but he could sense it coming from the vial, thin and vaporous. Already it was charging the air with it's power.
Before either Black Knight or Master Bowmen could react, the Coal Slave played his trump card, and downed the elixir. Both adults were at a loss, as the scrawny child drunk an unknown amount of charged fluids, until the vial was all but empty.
Having finally finished the potion, Schist lowered the bottle, Waiting. He looked at Jharak with a childlike glare, as if there was nothing he could do. Having drunk the elixir, Schist didn't feel any different, although he certainly quenched his thirst.
Glancing at each other, Steve and Jharak exchanged looks.
The Black Knight was supposed to be handing the boy into prison.
The Master Bowman was supposed to be reporting on all magical entities.
The Slave Child didn't know what he was doing.
It didn't take Schist to long to click. Wide eyed, he backed a few steps off the road, and dropped the vial, before fleeing into the brush.
Dumbfounded by Schist's actions, both Jharak and Steve untangled themselves. forgetting their feud, they paused momentarily to confirm their disbelief before ploughing into the woods after him.
Wow, this was very entertaining. I like the story so far, and I do hope you continue to write on it.
Apart from a few scattered spelling errors, I didn't see any faults either but then again english isn't my first language. :smile.gif:
It would be nice of you to PM them to me. There's nothing worse than having an imperfect story!
I am, from New Zealand, and I've noticed there are a few variations in spelling between NZ and USA. These sorts of mistakes can't really be sorted out, but it's nice to know anyway.
And thanks for reading. I hope you will come back and read the next few parts if I write 'em up :biggrin.gif:
Wow, this was very entertaining. I like the story so far, and I do hope you continue to write on it.
Apart from a few scattered spelling errors, I didn't see any faults either but then again english isn't my first language. :smile.gif:
It would be nice of you to PM them to me. There's nothing worse than having an imperfect story!
I am, from New Zealand, and I've noticed there are a few variations in spelling between NZ and USA. These sorts of mistakes can't really be sorted out, but it's nice to know anyway.
And thanks for reading. I hope you will come back and read the next few parts if I write 'em up :biggrin.gif:
and your translating into american spellings, why? why not canadian? or the english variation of great britain? seriously...in canadian english there are some words that look like spelling errors but turn out to be words, the end in bre instead of ber....its awesome in spelling tests when you accidently put the letters wrong unintentionaly and get the word right
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
" a statement (video, forum post or anything of the like) should be like a skirt, long enough to cover the subject material but short enough to keep things interesting"
I like to work out whatever errors there are in my stories, but colloquial usage of words and translation errors between American English and New Zealand English can't be helped. What I really want to know about are things like missing conjunctions, lack of punctuation and those types of errors.
I wouldn't change my work into American English, but I know some people will describe an error like "The word woollen has too many L's!", and it will be easier for me to dismiss if I already know there is a variation between languages.
Running out into the cloudy forest, cinnamon bark rushing past, Schist gunned himself forward. He had no idea where he would end up, but picking a direction was a start.
Despite his advantage, he heard the pounding of steel on dirt to his right, the mechanical beast and it's user pumping after him. A loud rustling in the trees left of him alerted Schist to the woodland invader, jumping from tree to tree like a leopard.
Leaping over a knotted root, nearly costing Schist his freedom, he ran through his head ideas to losing the followers. Feeling a swipe of air behind him, Jharak had nearly grabbed his neck while swinging from the trees. Not wanting to risk it twice, Schist veered to the right, the Knights path now crossing his.
Quickly switching back, Schist changed direction nauseatingly fast back through the way he came. The Steam Suit now behind him couldn't take the turn, tipping over and sliding across the mucky earth and soil. Steve cursed loudly, trapped in his temporarily non-functional suit.
Having lost one follower, Schist felt a momentary glee before his foot caught on the knotted root he so gracefully leapt over earlier. His face hitting the ground for the second time of the day, a figure ran past him, grabbing onto his waist. Before Schist could shrug off the grasp, he was dragged up onto his feet, instantly running with his captor.
Registering that he was sprinting, Schist felt the arm on his back, pushing him forward. Jharak was running effortlessly beside him, observing the boy's straining legs and grazed face.
Bursting out of the forest in a flurry of leaves, Schist saw the startled face of a caravaneer flash past. Without stopping, he and Jharak plunged back into the forest over the other side of the road.
Focussed on avoiding the bushels of branches and leaves, Schist tried to forget why he was running with Jharak. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go, and the man was obviously able to outrun him. Even as Jharak navigated the trees and roots, his feet and hands seemed to land on the best possible spot, while his hair seemed to flow right around any source of tanglement.
Schist decided that running away was a hell of a lot more fun than working in the mines.
~~~
Steam wafted past the leaves, knocking the occasional one off with the slightest waft of smoke. Steve looked over the trail of foot prints left in the mud - One set small, but pronounced; the other larger, but faint.
No doubt it was Schist and Jharak. The bow master was obviously talented in tracking enough to cover most of his own footing, despite at sprinting speed.
Handling his new blade, he looked over it, noting the engravings on it's hilt. The stunned merchant on the road gladly handed it over to let the Knight send message to Karkun about the intruder 'Jharak'. Needing the weapon for later, Steve put the purchase on credit and followed the trail into the woods while it was fresh.
Looking over the new Great Blade, Steve noticed the style of carving. It was probably a dragoon grade blade, with a medium weight feel despite the length of the weapon. It was made of Black steel, and had a crimson aura to it. Although the blade did not have any steam inlets to allow compression of it's 2.2 metre length, it did contain it's own coal charge rune.
Steve's internal furnace was powered by magic'd coals, and this rune would extend his fuel usage from 4 days to 2 weeks.
Sheathing the blade onto his back, the shaft sticking out either side of the suit, Steve continued powering forward into the empty woods. He had a new mission to capture this boy and find out about this magic he consumed. He was also told to find out who this 'Jharak' person is, and to capture if possible.
Despite managing to lose someone like a slave boy, recapturing Schist with the bow master could push him right up into the rank of a dragoon. The only people who wielded bow's were those of the Free Alliance: Sworn enemy of the king. Judging by Jharak's agility and prowess with magic, it is almost certain he is high ranking in their military.
There was nothing he could do except track into the night. They might be faster, but his suit could run from dawn 'til dusk. The pair will need to sleep sometime.
~~~
Laying down on a chair, black leather with a high arched back, a forth player entered the game. With a thin, cruelly sharp scythe in hand, the man in a suede overcoat puffed on a hearth-wood pipe. Gazing over the various papers on his desk, he abandoned his work and began devising a fate for the slave 'Schist'.
He had only just heard of the boy's detention, and immediate escape.
The pathetic boy was a runt, didn't earn much pay at all. Of the six slaves in that mine, he always hauled the lowest amounts, always was the latest to bed.
Fingering the scythe, he ran his nail along the top of the handle. The fine grain of the hearth-wood, a rare breed of tree found only near the boarders of Almaria, was delicate and smooth to his fingers. The handle is also engraved with electrum, and it has platinum caps on both ends.
The blade itself was Draconic in origin. It was made of raw thellium, a super heavy metal found in caverns too deep for mortal beings to scavenge. The weapon itself had been forged as part of claw blade, but it broke off during the fatal fight of the dragon's demise.
Now it made an excellent scythe. Inspecting the curious blood-red veins across the silver surface, a grin crafted from evil intentions swept across his face. He knew exactly how to dispose of this slave.
A gentle knocking echoed across the room, bouncing off the wooden panelling and paintings of men in bowler hats.
With a flick of a finger, the door unlocked. A ring with a small black stone set inside allowed him to do simple tasks like that. It only took a little practice, but it was easy after trying for a few months.
Taking the hint, an outline opened the large doors into the relativity empty office space. The figure was cloaked, donning a darkened hood, and adept's garments. Walking straight up to the desk, the Adept was in silence, arms crossed.
The man in suede frowned. He never understood mages that well. They always managed to hold advantage in any situation.
"So, you obviously received my call."
The adept nodded slowly, although the man couldn't tell if it was confirmation or condescending. Shaking off the feeling, the man in suede continued.
"I need you to track down the slave 'Schist' and absorb whatever magic he has on him, as well as help capture the recently wanted criminal 'Jharak'. Are you all ready to go?"
Unfolding his arms, the Adept revealed an orb of glass, with an octahedron of shaped fire stone inside. It was large for a stone: it would probably fit snugly in the palm of a hand, without the glass.
"Ahh, good, so we are all ready then? I will come with you, to oversee the operation."
Standing up, the man in suede wielded his Scythe, and walked around the desk. Reaching the door, he realised the mage was not following. A scowl on his face, he looked over at the Adept, who was calmly taking out his wages pay from a money purse left on the desk.
Fuming, he waited until the Adept was satisfied. He watched coin, by coin, by coin, manage to make it's way into the Adepts own bag. About a minute later, he was starting to get irritated.
Right on time, the Adept closed his purse with a *click* and slowly lumbered out of the office. The man in suede swore the mage was stalling, but didn't say a thing.
"Stupid mage, capturing this "Jharak" better be worth the payments for recovering my slave."
~~~
Exhausted, Schist immediately collapsed over when Jharak stopped at a clearing. The forest's condition had improved greatly as they moved away from the city, with the tree's now alive, with at least half-crowns of leaves.
With the claws of thirst clinging to his throat, Schist drank down his canteen of sludgy brown water. Retching, the older man gave the slave a disgusted look.
"How could you even drink that!? I couldn't even fathom calling that water!"
Snatching the canteen off Schist, the man closed his eyes, and focused on the small bottle.
"Fill"
Almost lethargically, a copious amount of water vapour floated into the air off the grass and soil, channelling into the canteen. Mouth agape, Schist took the canteen back again, and drank the crystal clear dew-drops of nature.
Finishing what was possibly the cleanest drink of his life, he felt revived. The freshness shaved off miles of pain from the extended sprint, replenishing the soul.
"How did you do that?"
Turning, the man smiled arrogantly at the praise from such a worthless being. Flicking his hair behind him, he shone perfect teeth and looks all over the boy, smothering him in perfection.
"I am a prince, that is how I do it. As a prince, and child of the tree, I am very adept at summoning anything to do with water."
Leaning forward, he put his finger under Schist's chin, in an uncomfortable manner.
"Although, from the amount of magic contained in that wee potion you drank, I'm sure you can do something similar. Let's see what you can do."
"Heh, yesss... let's see how much magic he drank. I'm sure he has no control over it."
Now standing beside Schist, he bent down and whispered directly into his ear, frightening the boy.
"Cup your hands, and think "fill". Let's see if you can do a basic water summon, just like me."
Taking the position, a gentle breeze flowing through the meadow, Schist tried focusing his mind. Feeling around with his mind, he couldn't find his stone to get power from. Normally when he lit fire's from his stone, he needed a source.
Shrugging, he felt the world around him, the sensations and smells wafting around becoming his source of energy.
"Fill"
Immediately, the whole meadow began to decay, rot. A plume of fire erupted in Schist's hands, frightening both the slave and prince.
Jharak, now astounded himself, watched as the boy held an ever increasing tower of flame in his hand painlessly, while the land around him shrivelled to fuel the burn. Acting fast, he conjured a ball of water and doused the inferno, cutting the destruction.
Shocked, they both looked around at the devastation. The grass was brown and dry, while bark splintered and peeled on the trees.
"ahh, so... you do know how to control magic. Good work. I suppose."
Absolutely stunned, Jharak thought back on the situation. The boy is of fire nature - the magic of the King. Yet, he used nature to fuel the fire. Normally fire magic required a stone, or a human sacrifice.
There is a lot of explaining to do, and the Arch Mage better know the answer.
Yeah, I think it fits Schist's character- quiet acquiescence when having no alternatives (his slave background), but doing whatever he wants behind authority figures' backs or if he feels he can get away with it (look at his drinking of the potion and subsequent flight).
I'm also enjoying this story. I'm enjoying the pace- being thrown into an interesting world with a real sense of immediacy (the characters think and speak as if the readers have prior knowledge) and just having to run with it. It probably wouldn't work for an entire novel, but it's perfect for the media of a few forum posts.
“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe.” — Albert Einstein
"Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig." — Robert Heinlein
Do you enjoy yourselves these days?
Lovely Halloween, fun Halloween, I am still feel excited and happy until now;
Wish all my friends have a good time! Thank you!
this is really good, i can't believe you actually wrote this. It is a lot better than my writing that i do for school. It could easily become a book, i don't read that many books but this one i would read.
(1), (2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18)
[A long story, possibly might become a series or something. Read it if you have the time. EDIT: If you find simple spelling or grammar mistakes, feel free to PM me. I hate having random hidden errors on my work.]
Glancing cautiously around, he lifted a up a sheet of stone, and crawled inside. His small frame and scrawny limbs had few benefits regarding physical strength, but only he and the few other slave workers could crawl into the tiny burrow. Aged only 14, yet covered in the grime of years in the pit, he set up the sheet of rock and covered the entrance.
The low thud of machinery and squealing picks on stone were dulled as the stone lifted into place. It was only then he could ever remember not listening to the cranks and grinds of the coal saws, or the cracking of whips in the deep mines. Stretching his legs, the withered boy took his first rest of the day. Not that it was day anymore: day was just whenever he was awake, as ash and steam blocked the skies. In the darkness, he rummaged around the tiny, metre wide burrow, searching for his candle. Picking up the simple wax-wick, the boy took hold of a black, shiny stone from around his neck. He put them together, and focused his mind.
"Fire"
A small *piff* emitted from the stone, along with some sparks. One hit the wax-wick, and the candle began to burn bright, sucking in coal dust and air. Placing the candle next to the entrance, beside his curled up body, the boy looked across at his small collection of junk.
Little trinkets the boy had found around the old mine's and pit's were sprawled across the little space left in the nest. A few feathers, various rocks with interesting purple to red veins on them, and a diary filled with pretty pictures were just some of the objects. With the practised ease of tradition, the boy picked up a blackened, round stone, with crude letters on one side. The boy could not read, but he knew what was engraved on it. Clearing his throat, he spoke to himself.
"Schist. My name is Schist."
A little tear grew in his right eye. He had been named this by his master after giving him a rock of burnt schist instead of coal. This earned him a smack on the face, and a proud name to bear with it. One of the other slaves knew how to write, and kindly engraved the word onto the rock for him. Many slaves forgot their names, which doesn't go too well when they are called up to head 'home' after months in the mines.
Clutching the rock affectionately, Schist pulled his day supply pack off from around his waist, and pulled out the new trinket he found today. A small glass vial, with a thin layer of dirt and dried mud on it, and a old cork shoved in the end was brought out into the light of the flickering candle. Taking his only water canteen out of the day pack, with less than enough for himself to live on, Schist started to wipe the vial, clearing a label on the side.
Moderately fascinated by his little discovery, he decided to check around the old mines again after sleep. He found the book-diary thing there as well, so it could be a hotspot for treasures. Cleaning the vial with his tattered shorts, wiping all the combined gunk of years exposure to acid rains and mud-slips, Schist saw a familiar pattern on the label. It was just another mess of lines, confusing the youth while he tried to comprehend it. Suddenly, it clicked!
With a rush of excitement, Schist grabbed and opened the book, flipping around the pages. Every now and then, a symbol or picture would pop up out of the text. After a minutes worth of frustration, he found what he was looking for.
The same picture from the vial was inside the book. Grinning at his discovery, Schist gave a proud look before realising the lack of other pictures on the page. Flicking about, no more pictures or patterns could be found. A sour taste took over his mouth; there was nothing new in the book.
With a deep sigh, Schist took another look at the vial. A sudden curiosity flickered in his mind.
"What could be in this canteen?"
Looking at the top, Schist noted it had not been open in a long time. Perhaps generations. Thoughts of oppression clouded his mind. "What would master think if he saw me with more water than normal?"
Sitting back, he nervously fingered the vial, as if it might suddenly yell at him. Only then in less depth of thought did he notice that he could no longer hear the movement of rolling carts, nor the echo's of children being punished from the deep pit.
Quickly putting the vial into his day pack, he scurried off towards the cabins. It was officially night, even though the moon probably rose long ago. One did not want to waste time that can be spent sleeping under a linen blanket.
--
Tired from the trek up multiple mining ramps, and from the previous day's work, Schist diligently walked on towards his slave house. It was only a small shack, but can hold up to 40 other people, more so if you don't mind sleeping on your side. Stopping a good 12 metres away, he looked over the building. Occasionally there was a guard to stop slaves from causing riots. The guards never wore any armour, just thick padded cloth, but they always sported a glistening sharp short sword. Time lost sleeping is time lost mining, as they say, so being awake after midnight is forbidden.
Cautious, Schist looked carefully for a guard. He couldn't see any of the bright red or blue uniforms guards normally wear, so it appeared safe. Crawling close to the ground, Schist quickly navigated towards the shack. He held his breath, as waves of toxins being sucked towards the pit can be just as deadly as any guard. Reaching the door, he began to unlock it to try and sneak in. Calmly, the tip of a sword rested onto his arm.
Confused, Schist looked at the sword. It was shining silver like an enchanted diamond, with a glowing purple aura around it. With a start, Schist looked at it's wielder, as a deer in headlights. Standing a good distance away was a mechanical Steam Knight, characterised by it's menacing midnight black armour, made blacker by smog and coal dust. The occasional *hiss* of steam escaped the suit, leaving the heavy plate furnace it was wearing on it's back, fouling the dirty air more so.
It's 2 metre Great Blade was more than enough to scare Schist into halting still. Waiting for the knight to talk, or punish, or do anything, the boy lowered his head. With fluent movement the sword lifted off his arm, and with a *crack* and a *pisshh*, halved it's length by compacting internally. Looking up into the gaze of it's medieval styled helmet, Schist waited for it to speak.
"Why are you late to bed?"
Surprised by both the male voice, and it's lack of anger, Schist couldn't help but be dumbfounded. The stories of Steam Knights spoken in exercise time revolved around their gruelling tempers and lack of humanity.
The Knight moved a step closer to Schist, with a thud accompanied by whirling mechanics.
"Speak up child. I did not hear you talk."
Staring up into the slits of the helmet, trying to picture a human, Schist began to fib out a story.
"I'm sorry. I got lost on the way to the cabin... I didn't..."
In a flurry, the man in the Steam Suit lunged forward a step, grabbing the boy's middle and removing him from the ground. Steam flew from the limbs of the beast with the sudden movement, flying up past Schist's face.
"Child, you are lying. Your master won't be pleased with you. Not at all."
Winded by the physical grasp of the arm, further influenced by the aspect of punishment from his master, Schist couldn't even bother struggling. He was captured, just like a rabbit in the hand.
"You are guilty of stealing owed labour from the King of Almaria, and are hereby sentenced a criminal of the king and court. The appropriate Lords or Owners will be contacted to show his or her viewpoint on the matter. Until then, you are to be detained in Karkun Civil jail. Enjoy your ride."
Before Schist could respond, the Knight hoisted him over his shoulder, and began a slow jog towards the main road, used to transport coal out to the major cities. Karkun was where his Master lived, so it was only a matter of time before his life will be in the hands of a twisted man.
Settling down onto the bulky metal, Schist began to fall asleep. The arm of the mechanism was still clamped over his back, so he couldn't slither, let alone escape. The clockwork gears clinked and clanked, accompanied by the rumbling of the Knights internal furnace in his backpack. A soothing effect flowed over the child, used to living in a world of machinery. Taking one last look out behind the knight into the darkness, Schist judged they would take a few hours to get to Karkun.
The few rogue tears that leaked their way out had dried now, and he started slipping off into a awkward slumber. Schist felt an urge inside him, an urge to talk. This must have been the first person ever to ask him a question that didn't involve anger or rage, even if he still got yelled at. Uneasily, he formed a question in his head. Turning his head towards the thick helmet of his captor, he asked his question lightly:
"...What's your name?"
...for a minute, the knight carried on through the darkness, the only sound the recurring mechanics of the suit. Above the noise, Schist heard a deep breath come from inside the suit.
"You can call me Steve Garand; Steam Soldier, 2nd rank of the 17th band."
"Schist. My name is Schist."
They continued on into the darkness, with only the dim aura of the sword providing any light. Schist, content with the Knights reply, fell into a deep sleep. The soldier wondered awkwardly what would happen to the boy. He had already sent a word of his arrival via his sword to a messenger in Karkun, so there was no turning back.
Soon it began to rain, thin spurts of misty acid that irritated the skin. He looked over at the boy, thin and deprived. Again, he took a deep breath and muttered to himself. He lifted the sword up in his spare hand and placed the flat on the boy's back. Feeling the sword's presence in his mind's eye, he focused the energy of the blade.
"Warmth..."
Slowly, heat seeped into the boys skin. Time passed, and darkness persisted. Satisfied, he watched over the child for the rest of the night. It was hard being the bad guy, and guilt sizzled across his thoughts. Law might stop him from helping the boy, but nothing prevented him from 'forgetting' to confiscate the youth's rations. He set his suit to auto, and looked over the boy on his shoulder one last time.
"Schist... what a funny name."
Drowsy, he noticed the fire stone hanging around his neck, contemplating whether his master gave him it. Shrugging it off, he closed his eyes for a sleep in the suit. There was nothing more he could do for the slave without endangering his own loyalty to the King.
Something was different about this boy. He wanted to see what it was.
-----
Part Two.
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
Spam makes the world go 'round.
(Real english: Cool story. I'd love to read more of it)
Standing back up, he glared at the dirt and grime of days running through the mucky wastelands in this forsaken area. This was no place for a Child of the Tree, and a prince at that.
Scouting the wasted forest around, it was plain that no one else was there to intervene. With that, he concentrated on the energy he felt pulling him, the one that took him out to this cursed place.
Despite how small the trace was, it had definitely grown in power, doubled even. The lack of life around made it all the more simple to isolate the sense in his mind. It was this strange energy that the Arch Mage of the Alliance picked up on, and requested, no, demanded that he investigate.
Spitting on the ground, the figure further cursed the land. It wasn't worth the glory of even his forced presence. He could even remember the blackmail imposed against him. "If you don't leave now with a band of men to search for what is causing that energy, I'll tell the township of your 'great deeds' in the War for lake Rygnar!"
"You stupid Mage! You can't command me! I, Jharak, master of bows, won't ever do as you ask. I'll just go without any men!"
Looking back on his choice, it probably wasn't a good idea. There would still be a fair way to go, so extra supplies would have helped, and by the looks of it, he would be searching around Karkun City. No one ever goes to Karkun City without a military, unless they're insane. Shrugging, he hefted the linen bag over his shoulder. More reward for him if this turns out to be a true discovery.
Having finished packing up, and with the smog as hellish and oppressive as before, Jharak held out his hand and pretended to wield his chosen weapon.. He closed his eyes and felt the presence of an elder bow, engraved and curved to perfection. He felt the smoothed out burls in the wood, and could almost smell the fragrant resin's of the weapon.
Slowly, a pale blue aura outlined the figure of the exotic longbow, pulled up from the soul of the barren land's bracken and branches. It's power was weak, but it was the best he could do without taking out of his own life.
Fully equipped, he set off towards the mysterious entity. The longer he took, the longer it would take for him to relax in the mineral baths, and to receive a full body massage from the Maidens of the Spring.
---An hour later---
Easing his head up, the Knight in black armour awoke. Opening an eye, red from the lack of sleep in the jarring suit, he grumbled about sleeping on the job. The steam engine was still chugging on, strong as ever. Doing a few basic checks, Steve looked at the few gauges below his nose, making sure that pressure was still up in all limbs.
After confirming total control, he began to wonder why his arm was up beside his head. It took a second for him to remember that the boy was still there, locked securely under his gauntlet, against his steel plating. Surprisingly, the boy was still asleep, deprived from months on end in the mines.
Hardly wishing to disturb the lowly slave, he kept his arm up in the awkward position to keep the child safe. The road was empty this early in the morning, as even the sun had not come up. Hydraulic pistons rhythmically pushed the suit forward, the only sound out in the barren land the *hissss* of steam escaping out the plates of armour as they readjusted.
Observing the world around him, the knight saw the approaching woods, with dry leaves that offer little cover from rain or wind. The cruel fog across the brush was receding as dawn wore on, a sight one would never see in the perpetual toxins of the cities. He was one of the few knights that was given patrols between towns: a permission often only given for Dragoons or Master Guards.
Looking at the leaves struggling to hold onto their positions in the light breeze, Steve grew anxious about his own position of power. He was a leading soldier in the war efforts - it was him who was to command a band into battle, and force the opposition to crunch underfoot. Yet here he was, hauling a child to jail. According to the law, he was just in his actions, but this felt worse than simply putting the child out of it's misery.
He didn't actually have a band yet. Part of the reason he was at the mine was to ask a former warrior now working as a guard to give insight on death. No one would ever join a Knight that hasn't first killed someone before.
Gazing around the broken trees, he caught the pale glow of a bow, glistening in the crown of a dying Oak.
Flinging the child to the ground, he wielded his sword in both hands, the blade extending with a *psh* just in time to block an aura arrow, deflecting it off onto the ground.
Attacking the Military is an offence punishable by death.
---
Schist felt the suit stop, and was about to yawn before being rudely flung off into mid-air. His scream was interrupted by a high pitch squealing sound accompanied by various sparks emitting from the knight. Before Schist could think about what he just saw, his face crunched onto the dry dirt, the impact blacking out his sight momentarily.
Rolling over onto his back, Schist watched as a thin, grubby man jumped out from a tree, hair flowing behind like he was in gale force winds. The Knight turned into a fighting stance, holding his massive blade sideways to block the little man's aura rapier, which seemingly appeared from nowhere.
Before the Knight or man could do anything, blue glowing Rapier hit shining Great Sword, and both cracked.
Schist gaped in amazement as the Great Blade shattered in half, and the aura both weapons contained exploded into a symphony of electricity. The invader landed on the Knights steam suit, who had been knocked over from the electrical explosion.
From out of nowhere, a glowing aura dagger appeared in the hand of the Aggressor, positioned under the helm of once powerful Knight in black.
Schist couldn't hold himself back anymore. "Stop! Don't hurt him!"
The invader looked up at the little boy, a look of astonishment on at the boys words. Quickly, his expression soured, and his aggression returned.
"Who are you to talk to me? Tell me! Or scamper off you little runt!"
Looking around, put on the spotlight, Schist did the only thing he could think of.
"Schist. My name is Schist."
Standing up off of the Knight in armour, leaving him on the ground, the Invader purposefully walked up to Schist with an air of arrogance and anger. He looked down at Schist, noting the slave's day pack around his waist, and the fire stone around his neck.
"So...'Schist'. Where did you get this?"
The intruder crouched down and lifted the black stone up to Schist's face. Schist could feel a radiance coming from the man, which both felt uplifting, and inspiring. Before he could enjoy the relaxing sensations, the red hot pain from a slap to the face wiped out the good feelings.
"Don't keep me waiting. Where did you get this, slave?"
"I... found it."
Rolling his eyes, he yanked the stone off the string round Schist's neck. Before Schist could react, the dagger made it's way under his chin.
"So, you just 'found' it then? I guess you'll just have to 'find' another, hmm?"
The man sneered at Schist's face, pathetic with lack of control. lying among mud and dirt on the ground, Schist watched as the man pocketed the rock into a small cash-bag, before standing up again. Looking past the thief, Schist noticed a shadow encompassing both him and the man.
"I can't believe how much time I wasted with you two. If this little rock was the whole reason I came out here, I swear I'll kill that bloody,Woah!"
Startled, the thieve's feet left the ground, held up painfully by his own gracefully long hair in the steel hands of the Black Knight. Despite the lack of a weapon, the Black Knight still donned a steam suit capable of crushing stones with it's own weight. From this height, Steve and the little man locked eyes, both reeking with anger and sweat.
"And what is your name, he who lives in a tree?"
The menacing statement was spoken with a calm voice, but with a raging tone. Schist viewed the scene from below, the Knight holding up the squirming man who so recently stole his stone. Despite the situation, the man Raised his chin and looked back into the helm with disgust.
"I am, Jharak, master of bows, and you have no authority over me! Now unclench your fist from my hair, foul demon of the King!"
And with that, Jharak spat onto the helmet, covering a few mouth slits with a curdled mess of phlem.
Breathing heavy from the mixed emotions of people fighting, Schist contemplated the stalemate. Without his sword, Steve would not be able to act fast enough in crushing Jharak, and Jharak was in no position to hit Steve with the strange glowing dagger in his hand.
It's like when two slaves manage to headlock each other, but neither can become unstuck. Schist had seen many fights like this, and it always took someone else to break it up.
Of course, Schist didn't have any power in this situation. A little slave boy watching two grown ups give each other dirty looks with anger on each side.
It was tiring watching people fight. Thirsty, Schist opened the day pack around his waist, and searched around for his canteen. Pulling out the vial by mistake, he was about to put it back when Jharak let out a loud gasp.
"You! slave! What is that in your hand?"
Schist looked over the canteen thing in his hand. What was it? It looked like it held water the whole time, not that special.
"umm...I found it as well."
"Oh give it here you imbecile!"
Looking at the bottle again, it didn't seem like something for an adult to get fussed about. Neither Jharak or Steve could move to do anything, so he was out of harm's way.
A funny thought crept into Schist's head. Grinning atrociously, he raised the bottle closer to his face, and popped the cork on top. A few wisps of smoke rose out, mingling with the dusty air, before dissipating into the smoggy abyss above.
Watching the display, it didn't take Steve all that long to feel the magic coming from the bottle. He wasn't exactly refined at fire magic's, but he could sense it coming from the vial, thin and vaporous. Already it was charging the air with it's power.
Before either Black Knight or Master Bowmen could react, the Coal Slave played his trump card, and downed the elixir. Both adults were at a loss, as the scrawny child drunk an unknown amount of charged fluids, until the vial was all but empty.
Having finally finished the potion, Schist lowered the bottle, Waiting. He looked at Jharak with a childlike glare, as if there was nothing he could do. Having drunk the elixir, Schist didn't feel any different, although he certainly quenched his thirst.
Glancing at each other, Steve and Jharak exchanged looks.
The Black Knight was supposed to be handing the boy into prison.
The Master Bowman was supposed to be reporting on all magical entities.
The Slave Child didn't know what he was doing.
It didn't take Schist to long to click. Wide eyed, he backed a few steps off the road, and dropped the vial, before fleeing into the brush.
Dumbfounded by Schist's actions, both Jharak and Steve untangled themselves. forgetting their feud, they paused momentarily to confirm their disbelief before ploughing into the woods after him.
"Get that boy!"
---
Part three!
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
It would be nice of you to PM them to me. There's nothing worse than having an imperfect story!
I am, from New Zealand, and I've noticed there are a few variations in spelling between NZ and USA. These sorts of mistakes can't really be sorted out, but it's nice to know anyway.
And thanks for reading. I hope you will come back and read the next few parts if I write 'em up :biggrin.gif:
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
and your translating into american spellings, why? why not canadian? or the english variation of great britain? seriously...in canadian english there are some words that look like spelling errors but turn out to be words, the end in bre instead of ber....its awesome in spelling tests when you accidently put the letters wrong unintentionaly and get the word right
I wouldn't change my work into American English, but I know some people will describe an error like "The word woollen has too many L's!", and it will be easier for me to dismiss if I already know there is a variation between languages.
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
2/3rds done. I've been kinda busy with other projects, but I will be finished soon!
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
Despite his advantage, he heard the pounding of steel on dirt to his right, the mechanical beast and it's user pumping after him. A loud rustling in the trees left of him alerted Schist to the woodland invader, jumping from tree to tree like a leopard.
Leaping over a knotted root, nearly costing Schist his freedom, he ran through his head ideas to losing the followers. Feeling a swipe of air behind him, Jharak had nearly grabbed his neck while swinging from the trees. Not wanting to risk it twice, Schist veered to the right, the Knights path now crossing his.
Quickly switching back, Schist changed direction nauseatingly fast back through the way he came. The Steam Suit now behind him couldn't take the turn, tipping over and sliding across the mucky earth and soil. Steve cursed loudly, trapped in his temporarily non-functional suit.
Having lost one follower, Schist felt a momentary glee before his foot caught on the knotted root he so gracefully leapt over earlier. His face hitting the ground for the second time of the day, a figure ran past him, grabbing onto his waist. Before Schist could shrug off the grasp, he was dragged up onto his feet, instantly running with his captor.
Registering that he was sprinting, Schist felt the arm on his back, pushing him forward. Jharak was running effortlessly beside him, observing the boy's straining legs and grazed face.
Bursting out of the forest in a flurry of leaves, Schist saw the startled face of a caravaneer flash past. Without stopping, he and Jharak plunged back into the forest over the other side of the road.
Focussed on avoiding the bushels of branches and leaves, Schist tried to forget why he was running with Jharak. It wasn't like he had anywhere to go, and the man was obviously able to outrun him. Even as Jharak navigated the trees and roots, his feet and hands seemed to land on the best possible spot, while his hair seemed to flow right around any source of tanglement.
Schist decided that running away was a hell of a lot more fun than working in the mines.
~~~
Steam wafted past the leaves, knocking the occasional one off with the slightest waft of smoke. Steve looked over the trail of foot prints left in the mud - One set small, but pronounced; the other larger, but faint.
No doubt it was Schist and Jharak. The bow master was obviously talented in tracking enough to cover most of his own footing, despite at sprinting speed.
Handling his new blade, he looked over it, noting the engravings on it's hilt. The stunned merchant on the road gladly handed it over to let the Knight send message to Karkun about the intruder 'Jharak'. Needing the weapon for later, Steve put the purchase on credit and followed the trail into the woods while it was fresh.
Looking over the new Great Blade, Steve noticed the style of carving. It was probably a dragoon grade blade, with a medium weight feel despite the length of the weapon. It was made of Black steel, and had a crimson aura to it. Although the blade did not have any steam inlets to allow compression of it's 2.2 metre length, it did contain it's own coal charge rune.
Steve's internal furnace was powered by magic'd coals, and this rune would extend his fuel usage from 4 days to 2 weeks.
Sheathing the blade onto his back, the shaft sticking out either side of the suit, Steve continued powering forward into the empty woods. He had a new mission to capture this boy and find out about this magic he consumed. He was also told to find out who this 'Jharak' person is, and to capture if possible.
Despite managing to lose someone like a slave boy, recapturing Schist with the bow master could push him right up into the rank of a dragoon. The only people who wielded bow's were those of the Free Alliance: Sworn enemy of the king. Judging by Jharak's agility and prowess with magic, it is almost certain he is high ranking in their military.
There was nothing he could do except track into the night. They might be faster, but his suit could run from dawn 'til dusk. The pair will need to sleep sometime.
~~~
Laying down on a chair, black leather with a high arched back, a forth player entered the game. With a thin, cruelly sharp scythe in hand, the man in a suede overcoat puffed on a hearth-wood pipe. Gazing over the various papers on his desk, he abandoned his work and began devising a fate for the slave 'Schist'.
He had only just heard of the boy's detention, and immediate escape.
The pathetic boy was a runt, didn't earn much pay at all. Of the six slaves in that mine, he always hauled the lowest amounts, always was the latest to bed.
Fingering the scythe, he ran his nail along the top of the handle. The fine grain of the hearth-wood, a rare breed of tree found only near the boarders of Almaria, was delicate and smooth to his fingers. The handle is also engraved with electrum, and it has platinum caps on both ends.
The blade itself was Draconic in origin. It was made of raw thellium, a super heavy metal found in caverns too deep for mortal beings to scavenge. The weapon itself had been forged as part of claw blade, but it broke off during the fatal fight of the dragon's demise.
Now it made an excellent scythe. Inspecting the curious blood-red veins across the silver surface, a grin crafted from evil intentions swept across his face. He knew exactly how to dispose of this slave.
A gentle knocking echoed across the room, bouncing off the wooden panelling and paintings of men in bowler hats.
With a flick of a finger, the door unlocked. A ring with a small black stone set inside allowed him to do simple tasks like that. It only took a little practice, but it was easy after trying for a few months.
Taking the hint, an outline opened the large doors into the relativity empty office space. The figure was cloaked, donning a darkened hood, and adept's garments. Walking straight up to the desk, the Adept was in silence, arms crossed.
The man in suede frowned. He never understood mages that well. They always managed to hold advantage in any situation.
"So, you obviously received my call."
The adept nodded slowly, although the man couldn't tell if it was confirmation or condescending. Shaking off the feeling, the man in suede continued.
"I need you to track down the slave 'Schist' and absorb whatever magic he has on him, as well as help capture the recently wanted criminal 'Jharak'. Are you all ready to go?"
Unfolding his arms, the Adept revealed an orb of glass, with an octahedron of shaped fire stone inside. It was large for a stone: it would probably fit snugly in the palm of a hand, without the glass.
"Ahh, good, so we are all ready then? I will come with you, to oversee the operation."
Standing up, the man in suede wielded his Scythe, and walked around the desk. Reaching the door, he realised the mage was not following. A scowl on his face, he looked over at the Adept, who was calmly taking out his wages pay from a money purse left on the desk.
Fuming, he waited until the Adept was satisfied. He watched coin, by coin, by coin, manage to make it's way into the Adepts own bag. About a minute later, he was starting to get irritated.
Right on time, the Adept closed his purse with a *click* and slowly lumbered out of the office. The man in suede swore the mage was stalling, but didn't say a thing.
"Stupid mage, capturing this "Jharak" better be worth the payments for recovering my slave."
~~~
Exhausted, Schist immediately collapsed over when Jharak stopped at a clearing. The forest's condition had improved greatly as they moved away from the city, with the tree's now alive, with at least half-crowns of leaves.
With the claws of thirst clinging to his throat, Schist drank down his canteen of sludgy brown water. Retching, the older man gave the slave a disgusted look.
"How could you even drink that!? I couldn't even fathom calling that water!"
Snatching the canteen off Schist, the man closed his eyes, and focused on the small bottle.
"Fill"
Almost lethargically, a copious amount of water vapour floated into the air off the grass and soil, channelling into the canteen. Mouth agape, Schist took the canteen back again, and drank the crystal clear dew-drops of nature.
Finishing what was possibly the cleanest drink of his life, he felt revived. The freshness shaved off miles of pain from the extended sprint, replenishing the soul.
"How did you do that?"
Turning, the man smiled arrogantly at the praise from such a worthless being. Flicking his hair behind him, he shone perfect teeth and looks all over the boy, smothering him in perfection.
"I am a prince, that is how I do it. As a prince, and child of the tree, I am very adept at summoning anything to do with water."
Leaning forward, he put his finger under Schist's chin, in an uncomfortable manner.
"Although, from the amount of magic contained in that wee potion you drank, I'm sure you can do something similar. Let's see what you can do."
"Heh, yesss... let's see how much magic he drank. I'm sure he has no control over it."
Now standing beside Schist, he bent down and whispered directly into his ear, frightening the boy.
"Cup your hands, and think "fill". Let's see if you can do a basic water summon, just like me."
Taking the position, a gentle breeze flowing through the meadow, Schist tried focusing his mind. Feeling around with his mind, he couldn't find his stone to get power from. Normally when he lit fire's from his stone, he needed a source.
Shrugging, he felt the world around him, the sensations and smells wafting around becoming his source of energy.
"Fill"
Immediately, the whole meadow began to decay, rot. A plume of fire erupted in Schist's hands, frightening both the slave and prince.
Jharak, now astounded himself, watched as the boy held an ever increasing tower of flame in his hand painlessly, while the land around him shrivelled to fuel the burn. Acting fast, he conjured a ball of water and doused the inferno, cutting the destruction.
Shocked, they both looked around at the devastation. The grass was brown and dry, while bark splintered and peeled on the trees.
"ahh, so... you do know how to control magic. Good work. I suppose."
Absolutely stunned, Jharak thought back on the situation. The boy is of fire nature - the magic of the King. Yet, he used nature to fuel the fire. Normally fire magic required a stone, or a human sacrifice.
There is a lot of explaining to do, and the Arch Mage better know the answer.
---
Part Four!
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
Day job? I'm a student. Not even out of school yet :tongue.gif:
A simple suggestion on geology here.
~~~
Slaves of the Coal Mine
An interesting Novel to pass the time.
I'm also enjoying this story. I'm enjoying the pace- being thrown into an interesting world with a real sense of immediacy (the characters think and speak as if the readers have prior knowledge) and just having to run with it. It probably wouldn't work for an entire novel, but it's perfect for the media of a few forum posts.
Keep them coming!
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Retired Staff"Never try to teach a pig to sing; it wastes your time and it annoys the pig." — Robert Heinlein
Lovely Halloween, fun Halloween, I am still feel excited and happy until now;
Wish all my friends have a good time! Thank you!