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We last left off where Seth decided to go to Valor on his black dragon Erath. And when he got there...And if anyone forgot the story, Kyan found his long lost friend Seth on Valor, and his black dragon Erath. Kyan is a mamkute that can still use swords as well as dragon stone attack.
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Alasants & Athed
Topic Started: Jun 17 2008, 06:40:55 PM (232 Views)
Will the Wonder
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Alright, before I begin, know that this isn't actually a fanfic. Its more a prequel story to the main story I'm writing. I won't mind if its taken down because its not a fanfic, but if its allowed to stay up, maybe you guys and gals will get some kicks out of my works. Maybe even give me positive feedback :D *wink wink nudge nudge*

First Contact
His first thought, the first sign of human life he gave off before even breathing, was quite simple. But to him, it was most definitely something that was cause for alarm:

This is NOT where I was when I used that thing!

Sitting up in a hurry, he nearly cracked his head against the ceiling of the square room he was now locked in. His head practically rotating three hundred and sixty degrees as he scanned his surroundings, he saw he was in a jail cell that only had one window that was barred and set into the top of the wall. He was placed on the top bunk of a bed set that was two different steel sheets.

In his panicked awaking state, he thought he really did hit the wall, and slammed himself back to the sheet of metal he was on, rubbing his head. He soon found out that the sheet was still extremely cold against his bare back, and he yelped in pain as he rolled over the edge and did in fact hit his head off of something: the other bunk.

Landing with a dull boom on the floor after cracking his face off the bottom bunk, he swore out loud as he rolled around, clamping his nose shut with his fingers to stop the flowing blood. However, he soon remembered his predicament, and rose to his feet a second later and practically threw himself to the bars of his cell. His voice high pitched due to the closed breathing passage, he screamed out:

“If a guard can hear me, you need to let me out, right now!”

A minute after he started his shouting, a voice from two cells down answered him. The voice was loud, had a touch of annoyance to it, and was in no way regretful for using the language it did.

“Dawg, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’ll SHUT YOU UP!”

Sliding himself down to the end of the bars so he could get a better view down the aisle, he saw that a large, tan hand was waving around a middle finger. Clearly, whoever the hand belonged to was in a sour enough mood and didn’t appreciate anyone else’s whining.

Letting go of the bars, he turned around and, noticing that he no longer felt his nose being clogged, removed his fingers. Indeed, the bleeding had stopped, although there were dribbles of red liquid on the bed he had banged into. After coming to this discovery, he inspected his cell more thoroughly.

To his right, across from the bunk set, was a small mirror set against the wall, cracks and blood defiling its other wise clear, smooth surface. The aforementioned bars were of course still set into the wall, although he could now here voices and feet shuffling around from the outside world.

In one corner, a mouse hole that looked no bigger than the man’s palm was visible, although there was a spider web spun before it; either the spider that had spun the web was bold, or nothing had gone in or come out of the hole in quite some time. Seemingly jumping to the mirror, some of his worries were finally alleviated when he realized his looked exactly like he had before coming to, aside from the few spots of blood:

His shoulder length silver hair was still brushed straight out, although it was longest in the middle. Young as he was and as infrequently he cut his hair, it was still thin and wispy enough to be shoved aside by the seldom breezes that squeezed past the window bars. His otherwise brown eyes were slightly bloodshot and had deep, black bags under them; it was no wonder after what had happened.

The ever present X shaped birthmark was engraved into his left shoulder; as he barely ever wore shirts, it was always the first thing that people noticed, and was the number one reason most of the people he avoided fights with didn’t fight him. He was of average height, standing only at five six, and his entire upper body was heavily tanned; this was ironic because he never stayed in the sun for to long, preferring the interiors of pubs and inns alike.

He was alive and his entire body still worked. That was really all that mattered; having his body functioning meant he could eventually break out of here. He began pacing his cell now, rubbing his chin slightly while raising and drooping his head. While he ran over the reasons why he needed nothing more than to be free of these bars, the average sentences he spoke over and over again were:

“I need to get out of here. I need to get my hands on that sword. Whoever has it now does not know what they are getting into. I’ve got to get it back, and I’ve got to make sure that never happens again!”

At the third repetition of the shouted sentence, the man from before shouted an even more violent threat, this time vividly detailing how he cease the prisoner’s incessant babbling. This time, the X marked man snapped and shouted back, threatening he would double up on the death threat, all the while killing his verbal opponents’ entire family.

The man from the other cell absolutely exploded at this. Bangs and cracks were heard alongside more threats and insults as the other prisoner stated he would lay waste to the prisoner’s entire family, perform forceful intercourse on the silver haired man’s mother and girlfriend at the same time, and would finish by force feeding the first man his father’s massacred corpse.

Damnit, I shouldn’t have responded like that. He’s ignorant, that’s all. If he knew, he’d understand that I NEED to get out of here! Come on, think…

New section below this point!
It was five minutes later that a guard finally showed up. He was a midlife aged man, although he still had a full head of raven black hair and he was missing the pinky on his left hand completely; a wound he had received from playing with a knife when he was a child.

Stomping his way down the aisle, he stopped before the silver haired man’s cage. After looking between the man and the piece of parchment he was holding, the guard flicked his finger through the air, pointing to the cell. A second later, two bulky men who were fully covered in dark brown, loose fitting clothes opened the cell door. After a minute of struggling and insisting that he had to be set free, the silver haired man was tied up, shackles on his feet and ropes bound around his wrists. He was then led out of the cell and was hurried forward by the two large men; the man with the parchment was now two cells down and his eyes were bulging in fear at what the first prisoner knew was coming:

“GOT SOME MORE PUNK BITCHES FOR ME, HUH?!”

To the X marked man’s surprise, the guard still flicked his finger forward, and his two captors stepped forward, leaving him alone. He knew it would be useless to attempt an escape, however; the shackles would not allow him to move his legs farther to climb a set of stairs, let alone full out run.

This time, after the cell cage was opened, all three men entered. As was to be expected, the obnoxious man was boisterous and destructive as he fought back; he had one of his fingers broken in the scuffle and had managed to break one of the right wrist of one of the heavyset guards. Ultimately, he was taken into custody and was eventually led out of the cell. The silver haired man almost passed out when he saw what had been shouting at him:

It wasn’t a man, it was a mountain. He was well over seven feet tall, which led all three men to wonder just how he had been fit into the cell in the first place. His tan, chiseled frame had to be wider than the silver haired man would be when lying down, and his fists had to be bigger than the head of any of the guards. He, like the first man, had a head of silver hair, though his was slicked back and was practically only a differed colored part of his head. How this man was ever contained in the first place was a mystery to every man on the floor.

They were led down the aisle, the smaller prisoner in front, and were stopped just before the door and were shifted to be standing side by side. Banging on the door twice, the guard stepped aside as someone in thin, red robes came into the hallway. He stood before the two prisoners and held his hands up, his eyebrow furrowing while his fingers twitched. The hulking man only scoffed at this, while the shorter man knew what was going on: The man in robes was trying to extract anything lethal from them.

After a minute, the man lowered his hands and began leading the procession up the stairs that were on the other side of the door. After what seemed like hours of climbing a revolving staircase, they finally came to another door that had two very different locks on it; two different keys were needed. The man in robes and midlife guard stepped forward, pulled their keys out and opened the door.

Passing through, the two prisoners were instantly held at point blank range by a group of archer while two new men came forward; they, like the rest, were generic guards, their only purpose to pat down the prisoners. Clearly, the silver haired men had been put into the big boy time out section.

And then a new man showed up, along with two attendants who were carrying a round table, two pieces of parchment, and a gavel. Sitting down in a chair that was already present, the man, who wore gray robes that had arm length sleeves, scratched his chin while the table, parchment and gavel were set before him. After accepting ink and a quill from the table man, he cleared his throat, and began speaking.

“Narze Chaze, you were caught assaulting a platoon of the city guard. When questioned, you stated that they had insulted you in every way possible and attacked you, and you killed them in self defense. Eye witness reports argue otherwise. How do you defend yourself?”

The newly introduced Narze only glared down across the room at the seated man. Blood had been trickling out of his mouth since they came out of the door, a result of being elbowed in the jaw in his jail cell. Snorting loudly and meaningfully, he hocked the ball of bodily liquid across the room, and it splattered on the piece of parchment.

“By telling you to get fucked, old man, that’s how.”

The judge banged his gavel three times, and one of the original three guards kneed the towering man in the groin; he fell like a sack of potatoes, groaning and swearing under his breath. The judge then locked eyes on the other man and blinked a few times, looking between the second piece of parchment and the prisoner; unlike Narze, this man’s reason for imprisonment was LACK of action:

“Krauf Lios… You were found just outside the city, covered in blood, offering no response to questioning. You were taken into custody, and your weapons and possessions, much like Mr. Chaze’s, were taken from you. How do you defend yourself?”

Krauf didn’t even bother a second guess at what he said; when he shouted out, it was with an authentic tone of desperation. Whatever it was he was trying to prevent, it must have been extremely dangerous or horrific.

“Please, you need to give me that sword back! I don’t care if you throw me in the cell, just give me the sword! You don’t know what it does! I’m the only one who does, and I’m the only one who ever should!”

The judge banged his gavel three times again, and Krauf was also kneed in the groin. The judge rose from his seat, although the table was not taken away. He looked down upon the judged and spoke curtly:

“Your defensive statements are inferior, offering no justifiable reason for your actions. You will both be executed tomorrow morning at first light.”

He banged the gavel once, and just as quickly as the trial had been set, the pieces were removed from the room.
New section below this point!
The walk back down to the staircase was almost the same as when they came up: Patted down at every door, wait for the two guards to open the door out of the current chamber, and be swept over by the man in red robes before entering the cell block. The only difference this time was that the prisoners had to walk after having their groins kneed.

Limping slightly, trying his best to avoid the pain and not caring that he made a fool of himself by walking with his legs wide open, Krauf was led to his cell. Before he was placed inside, however, the door to the stairs opened, and one of the guards from up top hurried over to the middle aged man. Pulling him aside for a moment, the guard whispered something to his associate. Whatever it was, the middle aged guard gave off a shout of disbelief, after which the messenger left the aisle. Krauf and Narze did, of course, learn what the message was:

They were to be jailed together. This was evident of Narze being loaded into the dingy cell first, Krauf behind him. Once unshackled, Krauf quickly moved aside to the far wall; he knew there was no chance of escape, even for one as fast as him, but he didn’t want to be close to Narze when he was released.

Krauf’s hunches of Narze’s actions were proven right once again when he began to viciously assault the guard that freed him. He was taken down, however, by a hard blow to the base of the spine. Before leaving the cell, the first guard kneed the mountain of a man in the head, bloodying his nose. He then proceeded to leave and lock the cage, which was very fortunate for him; Narze slammed straight into the bars to try and return the damage.

Krauf, during Narze’s short lived charge, had settled back on his bunk, cupping his hands behind his head, and was now thinking of the current predicament: It was either he was to be executed tomorrow morning, or Narze would soon realize that Krauf shouted at him, after which the seven by nine jail cell would most likely become his crypt.

Narze, however, no longer cared about the man who had shouted at him. Instead, he had taken to the opposite wall, seating himself while clogging his nose and tipping his head to stop the bleeding. After a few seconds, Krauf made an attempt to start conversation, but was silenced before the second word by a snarl from his cell mate.
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*has been labeled as the Sanger Zonvolt of the FEABL by Crimson Archer*

I AM WILL THE WONDER, THE GUITARIST THAT SMITES BOREDOM!
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