Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
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EDIT: story added.
Nicola Valas awoke with a gasp, her small frame bolting upright against sweaty sheets. In the courtyard below her window, the sound only slightly muffled by the thick and unrelenting rain, her father’s prized hunting dog, now maimed and retired, barked combatively. Nicola swung her frail pain-wracked legs off the high goose-down mattress and hurried, as best as she could to the shutters. Throwing them open with a bang against the manor’s stone outer walls, the 7-year-old peered into the dark and the rain, squinting to see anything in the starless sky.
Below her, flanked by a pair of hulking,, hard-eyed soldiers from her noble father’s house guard, a rain-drenched messenger in Valas house livery clutched a sizeable package wrapped in oil-skin hides. The old hunting dog, blind in one eye, lacking a leg and horribly scared from the ear to the shoulder, barked furiously at the man but held its ground. Sniffing the package, the animal began to moan pitifully and tucked its tail between its legs, its bravado suddenly gone.
Nicola remembered the man; he was a trusted servant on her father’s military staff, not a soldier, but a professional book-keeper. She had not seen him since her father, Ivan, had left with many of the noble Valas house’s soldiers and servants more than 7 months ago. An excited smile came over Nicola’s young face. She quickly lit several candles on a tin candelabrum at her beside and ran excitedly into the hall. Daddy was finally home.
Maria Valas, lady of the noble house, had also heard her husband’s prized hound barking and whimpering. Like her youngest daughter, the pregnant young woman had gazed upon the messenger through the dark and the rain. Her emotions however, were more guarded. Ringing a bell, she summoned her servants so that she might be dressed to meet the man who worked for her husband and her.
In her room, 9-year old Lasha Valas slept soundly, unaware of the events unfolding within the manor house.
Mihail stepped hesitantly into a large sitting room and rushed immediately to the towering granite fireplace, shrugging out of his wet overcoat and tossing it dismissively at a waiting servant, soaking her in the process. Upon reaching the fire, the messenger warmed one then the other hand, cradling his rain-soaked burden against him closely with the opposite hand as he did.
Behind him, Nicola waited patiently, too well bred to address the messenger, as much as she might want to.
Finally, the lady of the house stepped lightly into the room. She was dressed in a long white gown, intricately embroidered with images of roses bushes, the thorns thereof curiously decorated with some semi-precious stone to make them glitter dangerously. Her hair was done in two plaits wound proficient about themselves courtesy of her serving ladies.
Turning, Mihail gasped quickly on seeing his master’s wife; he had always thought her beautiful and pregnancy left her glowing. Though he could tell her excitement by the rise and fall of her low-cut gown, she carried herself with dignity and addressed him directly, “What news of my lord?”
“It is best if we wait for your eldest daughter,” the messenger answered respectingly.
Nicola sulked, “Mother, make him tell us.” She didn’t want to wait for Losha; she wanted to know now.
Ignoring her, Maria sent one of her servants with an contemptuous gesture.
Nicola loved her sister. Everyone did. She was so graceful. Already, at the age of nine, everyone thought her beautiful. Everywhere she went, she was always dancing, practicing for the big day when she would be a real ballerina.. People all thought she was the best dancer they’d ever seen; they even told her so. Nicola wasn’t jealous; even though Nicola would never be able to dance, let alone walk quickly and she had the ‘jan dis’ since she was little, Losha looked after her little sister and she always played with her. Still, it wasn’t fair that she should have to wait for her older sister.
It wasn’t long for Nicola’s heroine to descend the stairs. Unlike her sister, Lasha had little respect for the dignities of her station. Fleet as a spirit, she ran at the messenger and threw herself into her arms, “Mihail! You’re finally back. Where’s daddy? Did you win? Did the soldiers bring glory to the house of Velas?” Suddenly flinching, the girl turned on the package, “What’s that?”
Smiling briefly, Mihail stepped away from the girl and addressed himself to Maria as she waited, “The three houses with all their soldiers arrived at Gurduk, heroically led in the center by your lord, the soldier-poet Andrei Prespur leading the left flank, Marius and Lucian of house Acaia leading the right wing and reserves respectively.”
Lasha was not patient enough for this tale, “But where’s daddy?” She was still eyeing the wet oilskin package suspiciously.
“Shhh, let him speak Lasha,” this from Maria as she maneuvered her bulging belly into a reclining sofa to hear the messenger’s tale.
“The enemy soldiers were smart and they were ready for us. They let us into the streets of the city without resistance, but once there attacked with hit and run tactics from second-story windows and concealed alleyways.” He hesitated and began unwrapping his package. "Your husband and father caught sight of the enemy king Auric himself, and as I watched, he became like a furious vengeful spirit. He seemed to flow from one enemy to another like a glorious scythe, graceful and deadly. He cut a line to the enemy king, his retainers struggling after him. He finally caught up to Auric in a plaza. It was only then that we realized the trap the enemy had set for us. Barricades suddenly fell into place, hastily constructed affairs of wood and pitch, potent only for their prestigious size and weight. Suddenly the pitch was on fire and our lord and his men were behind enemy lines, hidden by smoke and wreathed in fire. Outnumbered and out of position, with no where to run, Lord Ivan was a force of honor and glory. Peering through the fires, we could see that all his retainers had fallen. All about him lie his enemy, inglorious in defeat, but still they came at him. Finally, while fighting scores of the enemy, he was slain by a javelin thrown from a rooftop.” Simultaneous gasps from the three women, “Looking up we saw the Illian god-king gloating over the dishonorable murder. I’m so sorry.”
“When the fires died down; the remaining Prespur and Valas forces converged upon the God king, this time led by Lucian Acacia and his son Marius. With so few of the enemy remaining and their forces surrounded the enemy quickly succumbed to our combined might.” Mihail paused, and slowly unwrapped the package. Within lie the crimson cloak Lord Ivan wore into to combat, the symbol of his command. Though obviously freshly washed, deep reddish brown stains infused it. “He was wearing this,” he turned to Lasha, “As Lord Ivan had no sons and you are the oldest of his children, this is yours now. House Valas is yours now.”
turns 0-49:
Nicola Valas awoke with a gasp, her small frame bolting upright against sweaty sheets. In the courtyard below her window, the sound only slightly muffled by the thick and unrelenting rain, her father’s prized hunting dog, now maimed and retired, barked combatively. Nicola swung her frail pain-wracked legs off the high goose-down mattress and hurried, as best as she could to the shutters. Throwing them open with a bang against the manor’s stone outer walls, the 7-year-old peered into the dark and the rain, squinting to see anything in the starless sky.
Below her, flanked by a pair of hulking,, hard-eyed soldiers from her noble father’s house guard, a rain-drenched messenger in Valas house livery clutched a sizeable package wrapped in oil-skin hides. The old hunting dog, blind in one eye, lacking a leg and horribly scared from the ear to the shoulder, barked furiously at the man but held its ground. Sniffing the package, the animal began to moan pitifully and tucked its tail between its legs, its bravado suddenly gone.
Nicola remembered the man; he was a trusted servant on her father’s military staff, not a soldier, but a professional book-keeper. She had not seen him since her father, Ivan, had left with many of the noble Valas house’s soldiers and servants more than 7 months ago. An excited smile came over Nicola’s young face. She quickly lit several candles on a tin candelabrum at her beside and ran excitedly into the hall. Daddy was finally home.
Maria Valas, lady of the noble house, had also heard her husband’s prized hound barking and whimpering. Like her youngest daughter, the pregnant young woman had gazed upon the messenger through the dark and the rain. Her emotions however, were more guarded. Ringing a bell, she summoned her servants so that she might be dressed to meet the man who worked for her husband and her.
In her room, 9-year old Lasha Valas slept soundly, unaware of the events unfolding within the manor house.
Mihail stepped hesitantly into a large sitting room and rushed immediately to the towering granite fireplace, shrugging out of his wet overcoat and tossing it dismissively at a waiting servant, soaking her in the process. Upon reaching the fire, the messenger warmed one then the other hand, cradling his rain-soaked burden against him closely with the opposite hand as he did.
Behind him, Nicola waited patiently, too well bred to address the messenger, as much as she might want to.
Finally, the lady of the house stepped lightly into the room. She was dressed in a long white gown, intricately embroidered with images of roses bushes, the thorns thereof curiously decorated with some semi-precious stone to make them glitter dangerously. Her hair was done in two plaits wound proficient about themselves courtesy of her serving ladies.
Turning, Mihail gasped quickly on seeing his master’s wife; he had always thought her beautiful and pregnancy left her glowing. Though he could tell her excitement by the rise and fall of her low-cut gown, she carried herself with dignity and addressed him directly, “What news of my lord?”
“It is best if we wait for your eldest daughter,” the messenger answered respectingly.
Nicola sulked, “Mother, make him tell us.” She didn’t want to wait for Losha; she wanted to know now.
Ignoring her, Maria sent one of her servants with an contemptuous gesture.
Nicola loved her sister. Everyone did. She was so graceful. Already, at the age of nine, everyone thought her beautiful. Everywhere she went, she was always dancing, practicing for the big day when she would be a real ballerina.. People all thought she was the best dancer they’d ever seen; they even told her so. Nicola wasn’t jealous; even though Nicola would never be able to dance, let alone walk quickly and she had the ‘jan dis’ since she was little, Losha looked after her little sister and she always played with her. Still, it wasn’t fair that she should have to wait for her older sister.
It wasn’t long for Nicola’s heroine to descend the stairs. Unlike her sister, Lasha had little respect for the dignities of her station. Fleet as a spirit, she ran at the messenger and threw herself into her arms, “Mihail! You’re finally back. Where’s daddy? Did you win? Did the soldiers bring glory to the house of Velas?” Suddenly flinching, the girl turned on the package, “What’s that?”
Smiling briefly, Mihail stepped away from the girl and addressed himself to Maria as she waited, “The three houses with all their soldiers arrived at Gurduk, heroically led in the center by your lord, the soldier-poet Andrei Prespur leading the left flank, Marius and Lucian of house Acaia leading the right wing and reserves respectively.”
Lasha was not patient enough for this tale, “But where’s daddy?” She was still eyeing the wet oilskin package suspiciously.
“Shhh, let him speak Lasha,” this from Maria as she maneuvered her bulging belly into a reclining sofa to hear the messenger’s tale.
“The enemy soldiers were smart and they were ready for us. They let us into the streets of the city without resistance, but once there attacked with hit and run tactics from second-story windows and concealed alleyways.” He hesitated and began unwrapping his package. "Your husband and father caught sight of the enemy king Auric himself, and as I watched, he became like a furious vengeful spirit. He seemed to flow from one enemy to another like a glorious scythe, graceful and deadly. He cut a line to the enemy king, his retainers struggling after him. He finally caught up to Auric in a plaza. It was only then that we realized the trap the enemy had set for us. Barricades suddenly fell into place, hastily constructed affairs of wood and pitch, potent only for their prestigious size and weight. Suddenly the pitch was on fire and our lord and his men were behind enemy lines, hidden by smoke and wreathed in fire. Outnumbered and out of position, with no where to run, Lord Ivan was a force of honor and glory. Peering through the fires, we could see that all his retainers had fallen. All about him lie his enemy, inglorious in defeat, but still they came at him. Finally, while fighting scores of the enemy, he was slain by a javelin thrown from a rooftop.” Simultaneous gasps from the three women, “Looking up we saw the Illian god-king gloating over the dishonorable murder. I’m so sorry.”
“When the fires died down; the remaining Prespur and Valas forces converged upon the God king, this time led by Lucian Acacia and his son Marius. With so few of the enemy remaining and their forces surrounded the enemy quickly succumbed to our combined might.” Mihail paused, and slowly unwrapped the package. Within lie the crimson cloak Lord Ivan wore into to combat, the symbol of his command. Though obviously freshly washed, deep reddish brown stains infused it. “He was wearing this,” he turned to Lasha, “As Lord Ivan had no sons and you are the oldest of his children, this is yours now. House Valas is yours now.”
turns 0-49:
Spoiler :
which you need because research takes a long time..
I've got 3x gold and one useless map.
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