Curse

Ristaron · Aug 21, 2006, 08:07 PM // 20:07

Ever had the irresistable urge to write out a scene that has been playing in rudimentary form in the back of your mind for days, weeks, or even months? I am frequently writing, and much of it is such snippets (as I call them)... probably because I hate set-up and prefer to leap right into the climax.
Anyways, some of them are based in Guild Wars, and so I thought I might post a few here and invite the rest of you to do the same (if yours also relate to Guild Wars).

I only have one typed out, but it is in a good enough form that I can submit it. It's based in a sort of alternate timeline of the Guild Wars history, where Lion's Arch faces civil war around the same time Ristaron is living there.
In this version of the timeline he is not an instructor of swordsmanship at the Lionguard barracks, merely a friend of the Firstwatch (I assume, as the author, that he saved the Firstwatch's life or something to that effect).

Just to be perfectly clear: these aren't roleplays being posted in this thread, so don't reply in-character to what you read.

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The plain stone architecture and bland texture of the masoned walls was almost completely lost underneath art of every ethnic and religious background. Images of all style, technique, and concept added a warm ambiance to the otherwise plain room. It was sparsely furnished, with only a few comfortable chairs, a table in the corner, an antique bookshelf, a mahogany wardrobe, and a twin bed. This was the apartment of the only foreigner to have ever earned the respect of the current Firstwatch, a deeply xenophobic war veteran. Indeed, the man had killed more outlanders than he had liked in his lifetime, and it had come as a surprise to everyone when he had allowed the ranger a place inside the barracks.
Knowing that very few would appreciate the man as a neighbour in the upstairs quarters, Firstwatch Sarehio had been forced to offer him one of the unused downstairs rooms. They were slightly larger than their aboveground counterparts, but there were no windows, the air was faintly musky, and the footsteps from the overhead corridors could be heard through the unfinished ceiling.
Ristaron hadn't cared, it was a place to call home that wasn't hard as dirt and constantly fought for, like the groves he had tended in his wandering days.

While there had always been objections to his presence - as is understandable for one of his preassumed mythical race, open definace of his residence had never arose. Until tonight.
Tonight was the dawn of a new age in Kryta, one where the royal family no longer ruled, rather a council of people not afraid to act violently for their beliefs. Tonight the world as it was currently known would end.
That was the plan, according to the outspoken rebel leaders, and the seeds of their plot were fast growing. They had incited a revolution, and as Ristaron sat on one of his chairs, his entire demeanour pensive, a civil war was brewing. The city was being torn at the seams.

A low growl from Morgan immediately preceeded the sounds of footsteps that Ristaron's keen ears detected long before any other would have. Pushing his mug away from him on the table, his hand dropped to the hilt of one of his twin rapiers, which hung comfortably at his hips. They were marvellous tools, able to be used for defensively or offensively, in any number of different styles, and for good or for evil.
Tonight, Ristaron didn't know which role they would play, he only knew that he was fighting for his life.

In a way he was happy for the change, having unknowingly desired for something to bring an end to this monotonous chapter in his life. While the wild was just that - wild - it was constant interest, ever changing in the eternal boundaries nature provided. Territories change, geography is altered by floods or landslides, and viscious animals are found time and time again encroaching on the borders of your home. Out in the wild, the rapiers weren't used to teach, they were used to kill, just like they would tonight.

The distinct pairs of footsteps became distinguishable as the clamour of their approach became more audible. Though Ristaron could not possibly determine their exact number through the vibrations of their strides, he could estimate. The guess was based as much in what he heard as what he predicted. The ranger was not an easy target, and it was obvious. Nothing short of an entire attack squad would be sent to dispatch of him, and that meant six or seven - one of them a mage. This prediction was confirmed when the door to his room burst in off its hinges, landing on the floor and sliding past the seat the ranger occupied.
"Generally you knock before entering someone's abode", Ristaron scoffed in a loud voice without looking at the door, "or are manners not relevant in the new empire?"
"Your kind don't deserve manners", came the dreadfully cold reply. The ranger smiled his thin lips, he recognized the voice.
"I'm surprised you came yourself, Vin", he admitted, "I didn't think you hated me so much as to want to watch my death".
"Nothing would please me more", Vin returned. Though Ristaron couldn't see, he knew the man wore a confident smile.
"Well", the ranger began, "I'm sorry you'll be disappointed with tonight's show".

The scrape of a boot on the stone ground, as quickly after the motion to advance it was, was nowhere near as fast as the reaction of the veteran ranger. Ristaron leapt up from his seat, spun on one heel and kicked out with his other leg, sending the chair into an advancing trio. The mug he had been sipping from went at the other group, forcing them to break formation in reaction to the unexpected projectile. Before they could form a rank again, Ristaron was there, his rapiers out and flashing in the candle-light. A spray of blood escaped the first man's neck as one of the deadly blades slashed a dark red line across it. The ranger spun dexterously to catch the man beside him while he was still offguard, both blades coming across in opposite directions to carve into his chest. The fine edge easily pierced the leather hide armour, and tore open the man's lungs. The third man's attack was parried before it began, and the next thing he knew he was face to face with his target, staring into the deep midnight eyes and wondering what the burning sensation in his stomach could be. His world was black before he fell from the blade.

By now the men who had been hit with the chair were up again - only to be knocked back down when a five hundred pound grey flurry barrelled into them. Morgan's powerful jaws tore out throats as her powerful legs kicked heads into a spinning daze. A creature of primal force, the terrifying Dire had defeated them before the fight had even begun. Now there remained only Vin and an elementalist who had just finished casting one of the most devastating spells possible for such a location. The ground beneath the ranger's feet began to tremble and quake, almost putting him off his near-perfect equilibrium. But he managed to maintain a balanced stance as paintings fell from walls, statues toppled over to smash on the floor, and cracks formed in the ancient masonry. As the shaking subsided and the last of the art fell from its place, everyone jumped right back into the fighting.
Again the ranger and animal proved to be the faster, and no sooner had the trembling subsided enough for movement that Morgan pounced upon the elementalist, leaving Ristaron and Vin to square off in their ultimately inevitable mortal combat.

**

The elementalist fell to the floor as Morgan came down on him with powerful paws. But the Dire's initial assault was defeated, for she simply rebounded off as she would when running into stone. Barking at the jolt of pain from hitting the magical armour so roughly, the Dire rolled up a few feet away and began to stalk her opponent as he rose. A creature of unusual intelligence, Morgan knew she had only to wait a little while longer for the kill to be in her grasp. She had faced geomancers in the past, and their cocksure attitude was always their demise. Hiding behind their enchanted armour made them agressive, until they had to retreat to renew it.

**

The two fighters began to stalk each other like cats as Vin drew an elegant longsword and a wicked dagger. Ristaron had to smile, very few people had the exceptional coordination required to wield two blades, if Vin was confident enough to use them in conjunction, the fight would indeed be interesting. Red rivulets from the ranger's bloodstained rapiers showered over the pair as they met, locking blades briefly then parting. The move had not been intended to kill, merely to size up the other. Now both smiled, realizing their techniques weren't very different if they had such similar tactics.
Not like the two fighters.
They seemed complete opposites, from their physical appearance to their apparel. Ristaron's ebony skin and long, thick white hair against Vin's pale complexion and cropped black hair. Vin wore vibrant colours, blues of deep hues and a white shirt under his black jerkin. Ristaron wore natural colours of brown and green, and his clothes were more egalitarian and humble. Even their similar boots were opposite, Vin's shone with polish while Ristaron's were proudly weathered and had long since lost their glossy lustre. The ranger's deadly rapiers alone seemed to outshine their enemy counterpart's.
They met again in combat, more ferocious than anything the other had ever fought.

**

The geomancer waved his arm, and two daggers of stone appeared before him just before shooting towards the powerful wolf. Despite her enormous frame, Morgan was extremely agile and easily evaded the projectiles. They slammed into the rocky floor where she had been and shattered all over the hallway. Still noting here opponent's more sluggish movements that came from the added weight of the enchanted armour, Morgan watched as her opponent began another spell. This one made her realize the dangers of facing this opponent in an enclosed space. A gentle hum emanated from some disembodied source that surrounded the Dire on all sides at once. Immediately she realized a drag against her motions, like if she was underwater and trying to move. Growling against the resistance, the wolf desperately put more and more of her considerable muscle into breaking the drag, but found she only encountered stronger resistance. The next stone daggers collided with her squarely, and she yelped. Flinching up, she let herself roll onto her good side.
If she had had lips, they would have smiled.
Getting up slowly, she waited for the next pair of daggers to come at her. When they conjured, she allowed herself to roll again, not putting any effort behind the motion so that gravity alone took her. The daggers skittered by harmlessly, and she got up again.
In spite of the burning pain in her flank, Morgan was having fun.

**

The shrill ring from the blades colliding was almost a single note as the two fighters circled each other, their weapons weaving complex and beautiful patterns. Never before had either of them faced an opponent quite so equal, quite so perfect in their counterform. They were like one as they moved, no space was taken that wasn't given up, no advantage was gained without losing one of equal value. Their very essence seemed to swirl about them as they fought, graceful but powerful, and above all: deadly.
As the dance continued, each opponent got a better feel for their own style, for the other used it so well. The mesh was harmonious, mesmerising, and any who would have watched would have been completely transfixed.
But there were none to watch, they all lay dead at the constantly moving feet of the fighters who both were beginning to determine the weaknesses of the other.
Perspiration collecting on his brow, Ristaron began to understand that he would need to perform some of his best manouevers in order to defeat the exceptional opponent he was facing.

**

It was like clockwork. The more Morgan defeated the geomancer's attempts, the more frustrated he became. He was obviously a man who stuck to a strategy he knew worked, and didn't plan much beyond it. So when he was forced to reconsider his tactics, his attention became divided... just enough for him to fail to aknowledge that his Armour of Earth had expired. As the hum began to die down, Morgan made her way towards him. He could have laughed if he weren't deep in casting one of the longer spells in his considerable repertoire, one that would exhaust him, but in all probability kill the ferocious Dire that he fought.
He was on the final words of the incantation when the tones became garbled in his mouth as Morgan leapt forward and tore at his unprotected throat. He fell to the ground, gasping, unable to scream as his spell backfired and immolated him in obsidian flames.

**

Feigning a stumble, Ristaron knew exactly how the next few moves would play out. Vin saw through the feign and stabbed at where he predicted the ranger would be. A subtle roll of the wrist forced the attacking blade outwards so it proved harmless, and the second rapier then came in, hungry for flesh. But Vin batted it away with the offhand dagger, and quickly flung himself into a spin to build the momentum required to catch his enemy properly. He found his enemy had disappeared as he came around for the slash that would have cut the ranger open from side to side, and a moment later knew that his pride had at last defeated him. Looking down at his chest, he saw the tip of Ristaron's rapier protruding, dripping with blood.
His blood.
Vin coughed red as he chuckled at the sight, his world became hazy and he felt strangely lightheaded. Losing his practiced balance, he fell off his opponent's sword and crashed to the stone floor, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth, now framed by pale lips.

Panting from the arduous duel, Ristaron blinked his midnight eyes repeatedly after looking for the last time at the body of one of his greatest opponents.
A whimper sounded from the doorway, and the ranger turned to watch Morgan enter, favouring her right side. It didn't take much investigation to find out why, there were two obvious puncture wounds. In a heartbeat the caring companion was there, sinking to his knees to get a slightly better view of the injuries - though it was hardly necessary since Morgan was almost as tall as the ranger while on all fours.
There was no residual trace of the weapon which had done this, leading Ristaron to conclude that it had been a conjured projectile of the caster Morgan had taken down. Such weapons were only temporary, and vanished shortly after being created. Nonetheless, the damage they inflict remains.

Reaching into a pouch on his belt, the ranger produced a vial of salve which he had recently mixed. He had to applaud the timely coincidence as he popped the cork and allowed some of the viscous paste to ooze onto his open palm. Only a little bit was required for most wounds, but this was no typical injury. The punctures were deep, and Morgan was lucky they had missed all vital organs. The great Dire yelped as her friend slid one of his gentle fingers partway into one of the wounds in order to spread the elixer.
Making quiet hush noises, he did the same for the second, spreading the unguent inside to accelerate the healing process more effectively. He rubbed the rest on the outside to ease the pain of the swelling, and then gave the Dire - his best friend - a great hug before recorking the vial and replacing it in his belt pouch.
"Looks like we're going back to the wild", he smiled. Morgan turned her massive head to regard the ranger, and from the sparkle in her sterling green eyes - which always gave away the glimmer of unusual intelligence behind them - he knew she was glad.

Poison Ivy · Aug 21, 2006, 10:33 PM // 22:33

Woah...very nice, thanks for sharing

Ristaron · Aug 22, 2006, 12:02 AM // 00:02

Thank you, I'm working on others. I still need to edit them a fair number of times since I'm an anal-retentive perfectionist.

<Edit>: Here's another one I just typed up... haven't editted it properly but I think it's alright.

Liara fell back against the rough wall with a thud and clutched at her nose with both hands. She had to blink her soft brown eyes several times to dispel the pain that washed through the stinging sensation that assaulted them with the injury.
"Sorry!" Elran grimmaced, rubbing his elbow where it had collided with his friend's face. Glowering, the temperamental young woman pushed off the wall and moved past him without a word, jumping down the hole in the cavern floor to land in the musky chamber below. She found Dran examining the walls of the cavern with his torch. Noting the curious expression on his chizelled face, doubt immediately invaded her thoughts.
"What is it?" she inquired, her voice echoing almost as loudly in the chamber as the sound of Elran landing casually behind her.
"I think this is the place", Dran's voice was almost a whisper. Then he turned and held his torch out to the left, where an opening had barely been visible before. The light flooded through the rough-hewn edges of the gaping hole in the wall, and stretched as far as it could into the volumnous hall that they had been searching for since the passing of winter.
"Woah", Elran breathed. His awe was met silently by the other two, equally astounded by the sight.
Even though they had read every available source concerning the Rumera House and its lost treasury, they could never have prepared themselves for the scene that stood before them.

Undoubtably as it had been left just before the Searing, the vault was like a picture of the past, perfectly preserved. Mounds of coins - much of them gold - were scattered throughout the reinforced room. Expensive swords and shields hung from specially designed racks on the walls, and paintings of unestimable value were displayed proudly. Rumera had been the most wealthy family in all of Nolani, owning a vast estate that - before the Searing - was valued at three hundred platinum. But even more impressive was the estimated worth of all the artifacts and art within the property, which tallied to a number comparable to the wealth of the Royal family itself.
And, according to tales of servants of the House who had survived the Searing, much of the equity was stored inside the very same room the trio of explorers now cautiously entered: the treasury.

No novices to ruins and riches, the sheer amount of treasure alone was enough to stagger the group. None of them could begin to concieve the value of the horde they now had at last discovered. It was enough to allow all three of them to live opulently for the rest of their lives, attended by servants and defended by personal armies. Images of the most lavish lifestyle they could live were conjured in their minds, lives where they could do as they pleased, not as they were ordered to by the local guilds, or even the King. Not that either had much power now that the guild wars were over, and the Searing had crippled the once mighty kingdom. The adventurors knew they weren't the only ones getting a head start on claiming what was to become common wealth when the King finally crumbled, as was inevitable with his obstinant objection to change. He would attempt to hold onto old hatred and archaiac values until his reign finally collapsed about him, be it from the invading Charr or the constant threat of civil war. He had kept the kingdom alive, yes, but living was no longer enough.

As Liara passed a particularly large mound of coins, she let her calloused hand brush against the smooth metal. A miniature avalanche began, cascading down the steep slope of the silver pile and making a dreadfully loud clamour as the individual coins crashed to the stone floor. The echoes played off every corner of the vast chamber, and the young woman felt her heart pound in her chest as she set her eyes on a single artifact before her. A polished silver shield emblazoned with the family crest of House Rumera, set on a thick stripe of dark purple. She knew that shield. She knew its former wielder, its elaborate history, and the last estimated value.
Then, she knew its cold feel as it rushed forward and slammed into her face.

Falling back, she smashed into one of the mounds of coins and rolled off to the floor where she tried to focus her eyes through her daze. The shield was now strapped to a translucent arm that attached to a translucent body, armed and robed as one of the nobles of the House. The face bore an expressionless visage that confirmed every alarm in Liara's mind that this warrior was dead.
"Who enters the vault?" came a hollow, disembodied voice that echoed all around. The ghost of the noble, who from the use of the shield identified him as Reman Rumera, backed off so Liara's companions could help her up.
"Who enters my house?" the voice pressed, and the adventurors stood transfixed as the shape of another transluscent individual clad in elaborate robes appeared a short distance away. His long white beard and the gold pendant in the shape of the family crest distinguished him as none other than Carvonus Rumera, the last lord of the house. With his appearance, a half dozen others appeared, all undoubtedly the other members of the family.
"We are travellers", Dran explained.
"You are thieves!" roared the ghostly noble, pointing a gnarled finger at Elran, who hastily cast aside the jewelled dagger he had retrieved from one of the stacks of treasure. But his repent came too late, and as the dagger landed on another pile of gold, he felt the fatal blow of an arrow through his heart.
In a flash, Liara and Dran's weapons were ready. The ranger shot an arrow with perfect accuracy at the house lord, who stood with a cruel smile painted on his aged face. The arrow passed right through his head, but didn't harm him in the least. Liara was equally unsuccessful, easily defeating a well-delivered attack pattern from one of the nobles before performing a backhand attack with her plain longsword - right through her opponents neck.
But the incorporeal noble was invulnerable to her plain blade, and replied by bashing her with his shield. Nowhere near a petite woman like a pampered noble, Liara wasn't used to being so easily pushed around. But she quickly found herself on the ground, watching in horror as her enemy's blade came down straight for her.

As the steel plunged into her heart, the woman could only think of the precious silver and gold, and how it had almost been hers.