guinevere_wood
December 11th, 2007, 8:18 pm
Okay, so I've been editing this story of mine, and slowly but surely, chapters of it are becoming decent enough for people to read it.
This is part One of six in a series, called "Eyes of Jade". It's a fantasy work, but entirely my own creation. Enjoy!
Chapter One: Seeing the Unseen
"So what will become of my people?" the emperor asked, tears in his eyes.
The specter in the room did not reply, but merely looked at the old lord. Finally, the visitor replied, "They will never recover from the death of their sovereign, and will fall into a period of despair."
But fear not, gentle angel, for one such as you, who fell from the sky and from grace, will resurrect that dying race that is decended from the kings of old.
Phoenix Rising
Tryval, Capital of Ivel, year 986 A.M.D.
The dying sun set on the city of Tryval, painting it in hues of red and lengthening the shadows on the quiet streets. Tryval had once been a bustling hub in the prosperous days of the King. But that age of fertility and peace ended in the rain of fire, foretold by the prophets of Meikori, goddess of the earth. When the Old Empire of Draza, the land of kings, fell to corruption and darkness, the rest of the world followed. What else was there to do, when the Emperor died without an heir?
There were whispers among the faithful, the gossips, and the delusional drunkards. Whispers of a 'fallen angel' that would save them all. Whispers that were founded upon nothing other than a fabled set of scrolls, called 'Phoenix Rising'. These scrolls contained the history of Draza, set down since the rule of Evalia the Great, Mother of Draza. Yet they also spoke of prophecies of a rain of fire that would descend upon the unfaithful and corrupt, to give rise to an era of darkness and despair. As far as the people were concerned, their only hope was in the 'fallen angel' of legend.
Willow Takamari, an expert pickpocket and traveler, didn't put any stock in the legend. No one had ever seen the scrolls, so how could one expect her, a cynic who relied on logic and her knowledge of people and the land, to believe in something that might as well not exist?
She covered her shoulders in her cloak to give her body some protection from the rain that was beginning to set in, and she gave an exasperated sigh. There weren't any taverns in this snake pit of a capital that didn't house some bard that sang of the Phoenix Rising tales. Frankly, she was slightly surprised that Ratalu Xiwan, the current ruler of Ivel, allowed them to be sung about at all. He had overthrown the rightful monarch—although, he was a weak and sniveling idiot to begin with, and thus probably deserved it—and had instated himself as dictator. One would theorize that he wouldn't want legends of a mythical hero that would overthrow him to be circulated, particularly in his own capital. However, he seemed to not mind. In fact, it appeared that Ratalu wanted them to be sung, simply because they kept his people quiet, and had them looking to a hero that didn't exist to overthrow him, rather than just doing it themselves.
Unfortunately, Willow's favorite place to get a good pint was the Wandering Bard, an inn that served good food and had better rooms for rent. The only downside was that it was a hot bed for people that spoke of the Phoenix Rising legend. Oh well, she thought as she opened the door. Win some, lose some. It's at least out of the rain.
She was greeted by a rush of warm air that carried the scent of well-brewed ale, chatter, and the bustle of a prosperous establishment. The innkeeper nodded to Willow, who was a regular guest, and she helped herself to a table in the corner. He brought her a pint of mead and a plate of bread, cheese, and apples. She sat back, and prayed—to what god, she did not know—that there would be no singing or storytelling tonight, not of the Phoenix Rising tales at the very least.
She was so absorbed in her mug that she did not notice a cloaked figure stop in front of her. Her eyes glanced at them, trying to communicate through her pale green eyes that she did not wish to be disturbed. If the unwanted guest understood, they completely disregarded it. "Might I sit with you?"
Ah, a man. She inwardly grinned, but the emotion she felt was far from pleased. Men often bothered Willow, so much that she sometimes wished that she were plain-looking. The gods clearly had sought to torture her by giving her an appearance that appealed the opposite gender. If this was what he was looking for, he had better be prepared to be disappointed.
Willow had looked into a mirror occasionally, and knew that she was pretty enough to attract that sort of attention. Red hair was fairly rare in Ivel, the common color being brown. Green eyes were less of a rarity, but in her case, with startlingly pale jade colored eyes, they might as well be. Only those who were familiar with the Drazi, or who were Drazi themselves, could see the
clear resemblance she bore to that race.
The visitor pulled back his cloak. Willow didn't need to see him to know where this stranger hailed from. His accent, however faint, pointed to the country of Yeven, the neighbor of Draza. The single-minded ways of the Yevenese helped them to avoid the dark age that engulfed Ivel and Apet. She kept her eyes focused on the chatting people around her, but she could still see him from the corner of her vision.
Willow noted the deep brown wavy hair that was pulled back in a low tail, and framed an angled face that was tanned yet smooth. His eyes, light grey, were odd, even for a foreigner. He couldn't be much older than she, and Willow was fairly sure that she was nearing her eighteenth year with the coming of the Blood Moon.
"You're not from around here," he said simply.
And intelligent, she noticed. Granted, it didn't take much to figure out that Willow herself was a foreigner, with her appearance and her trace of an accent in the Iveli dialect of Common Speech. But she did see the flash of intelligence in his eyes as he said it. This should be fun.
"Neither are you," she replied carefully. She didn't know if he would appreciate the comment, but it was too late for that. Besides, he'd given her a golden opportunity to call him on it.
"No, I'm not. But you…the face…you smell of Draza."
The way he said it, softly, so that the surrounding groups of customers did not overhear, was reminiscent of a confidant telling his soulmate a secret. Why would he consider her heritage a secret? Perhaps it was because her appearance was not only of a Drazi, but of a smaller sect that could trace their origins back to Old Draza, where the kings of old and noble men made the country into the famed power that it had been.
"And you hail from Yeven, do you not, stranger?" she laughed.
His gaze hardened. This one is more attentive than the rest, he observed. It would be better to handle her carefully, lest she see too much and more than what was good for her. "Damien Eucharista. I'm a navigator and investigator." He extended his hand.
Damien normally wouldn't have done that if he was interacting with an Iveli or Apetan. Open displays that involved touching another were generally frowned upon, unless it was with a spouse or relative. However, in Draza and Yeven, whose cultures were similar in some ways, this was a common gesture of greeting. She took his hand. "Willow Takamari. And what is it, Master Eucharista, that you investigate?"
"Let me get a drink and something to eat, and perhaps I'll tell you," he replied. His father had trained him never to give away too much information about anything, especially when it came to personal facts. He expected her to be the same. After all, what else could he expect from one with Drazi blood?
***
"So, you investigate myths?" Willow said incredulously. She had almost spat out her mead at that. Who would be so stupid as to investigate myths? They might have a grain of truth in them, but it was so buried beneath interpretation and speculation that it wasn't worth delving into. Clearly she had one of the craziest people that she'd ever had the misfortune to meet sitting right next to her. "Tell me, have you found any truth behind the Phoenix Rising scrolls?"
Damien's face was unreadable as he replied, "No. Why do you ask?"
She sighed, taking a bite of cheese. Why did she ask? It was because the telling of the tales that traced back to the fabled scrolls irritated her so much these days. "No particular reason. The tales of the scrolls are very popular, that's all." He seemed satisfied with that answer, and leaned back in his chair.
His eyes were like the grey glass of a mirror as he regarded her. "Well, I have been interested in the Phoenix Rising scrolls for some time now. But they are rather hard to get to, as you may have heard."
Willow rolled her eyes, but she nodded. The scrolls were guarded by forces that were neither beast nor human, but rather spirits, demons, and ancient magic. There had been a few unfortunate souls that had tried to venture into the endless Labyrinth of Evalia, but none had returned. The few writings that were on the scrolls warned of a maze that had no end, and was guarded by demons of fire, ice, and darkness. The traveler would do well to avoid the Labyrinth, as it was rumored that one's worst nightmares and most devious temptations lay inside its walls. Yet there was the occasional foolhardy idiot that would not heed the warnings, and would inevitably be at the mercy of the Draza 'fallen angel's' sword. Those that died—no, one's fate was worse than death in that maze from the twelfth level of hell.
"However, there are records of the imperial Nolindori dynasty having contact with a visitor," Damien continued, referencing the royal family of Draza. "Personal records."
"A visitor?" Willow repeated, a faint frown creasing her brow. A guest would be one thing, but a visitor? "Are these records written in Old Drazi?"
"Yes, and I know what you're thinking," Damien said, his face humorless. "A visitor, and not a guest? It would be unheard of, seeing as it is the imperial family we're talking about. But the word for 'visitor' was there, rather than the word for 'guest'."
Despite the fact that it was about the Phoenix Rising scrolls, Willow was intrigued against her better judgment. A visitor? What kind of visitor, who would just come unannounced? And what visitor would cause the monarchs to be so secretive about it? Willow could only wonder.
"I've heard the name Takamari before around here. The locals speak rather highly of you. It seems that you've got a bit of a reputation as a tracker, and judging by your speech, you seem somewhat educated. I've a proposal for you," Damien said, a trace of a smile on his lips.
Willow internally froze. If he knew that much, what else did he know about her? "And what kind of proposal might you have in mind, Master Eucharista?" she said indifferently, so as to not betray her internal clamor.
"Would you mind helping me find the Phoenix Rising scrolls?"
This is part One of six in a series, called "Eyes of Jade". It's a fantasy work, but entirely my own creation. Enjoy!
Chapter One: Seeing the Unseen
"So what will become of my people?" the emperor asked, tears in his eyes.
The specter in the room did not reply, but merely looked at the old lord. Finally, the visitor replied, "They will never recover from the death of their sovereign, and will fall into a period of despair."
But fear not, gentle angel, for one such as you, who fell from the sky and from grace, will resurrect that dying race that is decended from the kings of old.
Phoenix Rising
Tryval, Capital of Ivel, year 986 A.M.D.
The dying sun set on the city of Tryval, painting it in hues of red and lengthening the shadows on the quiet streets. Tryval had once been a bustling hub in the prosperous days of the King. But that age of fertility and peace ended in the rain of fire, foretold by the prophets of Meikori, goddess of the earth. When the Old Empire of Draza, the land of kings, fell to corruption and darkness, the rest of the world followed. What else was there to do, when the Emperor died without an heir?
There were whispers among the faithful, the gossips, and the delusional drunkards. Whispers of a 'fallen angel' that would save them all. Whispers that were founded upon nothing other than a fabled set of scrolls, called 'Phoenix Rising'. These scrolls contained the history of Draza, set down since the rule of Evalia the Great, Mother of Draza. Yet they also spoke of prophecies of a rain of fire that would descend upon the unfaithful and corrupt, to give rise to an era of darkness and despair. As far as the people were concerned, their only hope was in the 'fallen angel' of legend.
Willow Takamari, an expert pickpocket and traveler, didn't put any stock in the legend. No one had ever seen the scrolls, so how could one expect her, a cynic who relied on logic and her knowledge of people and the land, to believe in something that might as well not exist?
She covered her shoulders in her cloak to give her body some protection from the rain that was beginning to set in, and she gave an exasperated sigh. There weren't any taverns in this snake pit of a capital that didn't house some bard that sang of the Phoenix Rising tales. Frankly, she was slightly surprised that Ratalu Xiwan, the current ruler of Ivel, allowed them to be sung about at all. He had overthrown the rightful monarch—although, he was a weak and sniveling idiot to begin with, and thus probably deserved it—and had instated himself as dictator. One would theorize that he wouldn't want legends of a mythical hero that would overthrow him to be circulated, particularly in his own capital. However, he seemed to not mind. In fact, it appeared that Ratalu wanted them to be sung, simply because they kept his people quiet, and had them looking to a hero that didn't exist to overthrow him, rather than just doing it themselves.
Unfortunately, Willow's favorite place to get a good pint was the Wandering Bard, an inn that served good food and had better rooms for rent. The only downside was that it was a hot bed for people that spoke of the Phoenix Rising legend. Oh well, she thought as she opened the door. Win some, lose some. It's at least out of the rain.
She was greeted by a rush of warm air that carried the scent of well-brewed ale, chatter, and the bustle of a prosperous establishment. The innkeeper nodded to Willow, who was a regular guest, and she helped herself to a table in the corner. He brought her a pint of mead and a plate of bread, cheese, and apples. She sat back, and prayed—to what god, she did not know—that there would be no singing or storytelling tonight, not of the Phoenix Rising tales at the very least.
She was so absorbed in her mug that she did not notice a cloaked figure stop in front of her. Her eyes glanced at them, trying to communicate through her pale green eyes that she did not wish to be disturbed. If the unwanted guest understood, they completely disregarded it. "Might I sit with you?"
Ah, a man. She inwardly grinned, but the emotion she felt was far from pleased. Men often bothered Willow, so much that she sometimes wished that she were plain-looking. The gods clearly had sought to torture her by giving her an appearance that appealed the opposite gender. If this was what he was looking for, he had better be prepared to be disappointed.
Willow had looked into a mirror occasionally, and knew that she was pretty enough to attract that sort of attention. Red hair was fairly rare in Ivel, the common color being brown. Green eyes were less of a rarity, but in her case, with startlingly pale jade colored eyes, they might as well be. Only those who were familiar with the Drazi, or who were Drazi themselves, could see the
clear resemblance she bore to that race.
The visitor pulled back his cloak. Willow didn't need to see him to know where this stranger hailed from. His accent, however faint, pointed to the country of Yeven, the neighbor of Draza. The single-minded ways of the Yevenese helped them to avoid the dark age that engulfed Ivel and Apet. She kept her eyes focused on the chatting people around her, but she could still see him from the corner of her vision.
Willow noted the deep brown wavy hair that was pulled back in a low tail, and framed an angled face that was tanned yet smooth. His eyes, light grey, were odd, even for a foreigner. He couldn't be much older than she, and Willow was fairly sure that she was nearing her eighteenth year with the coming of the Blood Moon.
"You're not from around here," he said simply.
And intelligent, she noticed. Granted, it didn't take much to figure out that Willow herself was a foreigner, with her appearance and her trace of an accent in the Iveli dialect of Common Speech. But she did see the flash of intelligence in his eyes as he said it. This should be fun.
"Neither are you," she replied carefully. She didn't know if he would appreciate the comment, but it was too late for that. Besides, he'd given her a golden opportunity to call him on it.
"No, I'm not. But you…the face…you smell of Draza."
The way he said it, softly, so that the surrounding groups of customers did not overhear, was reminiscent of a confidant telling his soulmate a secret. Why would he consider her heritage a secret? Perhaps it was because her appearance was not only of a Drazi, but of a smaller sect that could trace their origins back to Old Draza, where the kings of old and noble men made the country into the famed power that it had been.
"And you hail from Yeven, do you not, stranger?" she laughed.
His gaze hardened. This one is more attentive than the rest, he observed. It would be better to handle her carefully, lest she see too much and more than what was good for her. "Damien Eucharista. I'm a navigator and investigator." He extended his hand.
Damien normally wouldn't have done that if he was interacting with an Iveli or Apetan. Open displays that involved touching another were generally frowned upon, unless it was with a spouse or relative. However, in Draza and Yeven, whose cultures were similar in some ways, this was a common gesture of greeting. She took his hand. "Willow Takamari. And what is it, Master Eucharista, that you investigate?"
"Let me get a drink and something to eat, and perhaps I'll tell you," he replied. His father had trained him never to give away too much information about anything, especially when it came to personal facts. He expected her to be the same. After all, what else could he expect from one with Drazi blood?
***
"So, you investigate myths?" Willow said incredulously. She had almost spat out her mead at that. Who would be so stupid as to investigate myths? They might have a grain of truth in them, but it was so buried beneath interpretation and speculation that it wasn't worth delving into. Clearly she had one of the craziest people that she'd ever had the misfortune to meet sitting right next to her. "Tell me, have you found any truth behind the Phoenix Rising scrolls?"
Damien's face was unreadable as he replied, "No. Why do you ask?"
She sighed, taking a bite of cheese. Why did she ask? It was because the telling of the tales that traced back to the fabled scrolls irritated her so much these days. "No particular reason. The tales of the scrolls are very popular, that's all." He seemed satisfied with that answer, and leaned back in his chair.
His eyes were like the grey glass of a mirror as he regarded her. "Well, I have been interested in the Phoenix Rising scrolls for some time now. But they are rather hard to get to, as you may have heard."
Willow rolled her eyes, but she nodded. The scrolls were guarded by forces that were neither beast nor human, but rather spirits, demons, and ancient magic. There had been a few unfortunate souls that had tried to venture into the endless Labyrinth of Evalia, but none had returned. The few writings that were on the scrolls warned of a maze that had no end, and was guarded by demons of fire, ice, and darkness. The traveler would do well to avoid the Labyrinth, as it was rumored that one's worst nightmares and most devious temptations lay inside its walls. Yet there was the occasional foolhardy idiot that would not heed the warnings, and would inevitably be at the mercy of the Draza 'fallen angel's' sword. Those that died—no, one's fate was worse than death in that maze from the twelfth level of hell.
"However, there are records of the imperial Nolindori dynasty having contact with a visitor," Damien continued, referencing the royal family of Draza. "Personal records."
"A visitor?" Willow repeated, a faint frown creasing her brow. A guest would be one thing, but a visitor? "Are these records written in Old Drazi?"
"Yes, and I know what you're thinking," Damien said, his face humorless. "A visitor, and not a guest? It would be unheard of, seeing as it is the imperial family we're talking about. But the word for 'visitor' was there, rather than the word for 'guest'."
Despite the fact that it was about the Phoenix Rising scrolls, Willow was intrigued against her better judgment. A visitor? What kind of visitor, who would just come unannounced? And what visitor would cause the monarchs to be so secretive about it? Willow could only wonder.
"I've heard the name Takamari before around here. The locals speak rather highly of you. It seems that you've got a bit of a reputation as a tracker, and judging by your speech, you seem somewhat educated. I've a proposal for you," Damien said, a trace of a smile on his lips.
Willow internally froze. If he knew that much, what else did he know about her? "And what kind of proposal might you have in mind, Master Eucharista?" she said indifferently, so as to not betray her internal clamor.
"Would you mind helping me find the Phoenix Rising scrolls?"