Post by Remis on Jun 30, 2007 19:54:47 GMT -5
I remember that day well...Oh, oh so well...It had been a Wendsday, in April if I recall. I was sitting at my desk, writing a letter to the Great King. I didn't necessarily like my job, but it kept food in my stomach and a roof over my head. An informant or too be simpler, a spy, was paid well and was supposed to believe he was doing a great duty for his country and he should be honored to be able to do it himself.
That is a crock of crap.
The general people believed that spies were a sort of magician, that was able to turn invisible and get into to people's mind. They believed that well, because it was what the Great King wanted them to believe. And with his influence, he could make people believe almost anything he wanted them too.The Scoundrel.
I heard a knock at my door. So I got up from my rather comfortable cushioned chair and went to look through the eye hole. I put my right eye to it and closed my other one. The man at my door was none other than one of the castle servants. He was rather wiry, and only looked to be around 15 or 16. He wore a cotton shirt and wool pants along with some lowly straw sandals. The servants of the castle had it worse than even the lowest guest. The were able to sleep wherever the could find an empty room at. And if they couldn't, they simply slept in the halls or in the horse stables.
I opened my door with a turning of the knob and a pull.
“Yes?”
“Lord Achilo requests your presence, sire.”
“Hmm. Why is this?”
“He did not tell me, sire.”
“Fine, carry on.”
Lord Achilo? One of the lesser nobles? Why would he require my services? Everyone in the castle knew that I was not for hire. My assassin skills and stealth could only be commanded by the Great King or one of his many generals. I could read and write, but I was not a scribe for petty sake! How dare he demote me to such rank? I should get his father to handle him. But then again, Lord Achilo would probably just say I wanted some of their fortune. Wretch.
I went back into my room, and grabbed my soft linen-sole shoes and put them on. I grabbed a cape to put over my linen shirt, and I attached a scabbard to my sheep-wool pants. A noble, no matter how lowly, was still a noble nonetheless. I walked out into the cold stone halls, took a left, and was off to the upper floor to meet the lord. I went up the stairs, 32 of them exactly, I knew this because the great king always made his stairs in sets of 32. Why? I have no idea. He made everything either 32, 10, or 1. I didn't get it. Ever since he had called a mental-doctor to talk to, he had been rather, weird. But, getting into those affairs was not my business, I may be a spy, but why should a solider of the army bother with noble affairs? All it was was drama, and I had a severe dislike of drama.
All drama ever brought someone was a day of weeping and another enemy. It was utterly pointless...
After the little climb I went down another hall, grabbed a torch from a holder, and turned to walk down the hall beside it. You could always tell if someone had lit the torches or not in the next hall, for there was a piece of wood at every corner. If it was laying flat, the torch was turned off, if it stood up against the wall, it was lit. It was custom to do this when you lit or put out a torch. Just an easy way of communicating and a way to prevent some insignificant problems.
I arrived at a door that had a varnished cherry trim around it and Lord Achilo's royal symbol on it. A hawk gripping a sword with one wing gold and the rest of the body black. Why he had chosen this? I do not know.
I entered the door, only to find the torches were unlit and the window closed. I used my torch to guide the way to the window. I set my torch in a holder and opened the window.
“Lord Achilo, sire?” I called, hoping for a reply. I was beginning to get a rather disturbing feeling about this place. My hair stood up on the back of my neck. I turned around, then jumped to the right as I heard a blade go past me.
I stood up fast, and saw my attacker was wearing a ninja garmet. He had a black mask with a cut in it for his eyes. His shirt was pure black and long-sleeved, it hung loosely from his body. The sash around his body was black and held 2 throwing knifes, and an empty sword sheath. He had green eyes and I could see a strand of black hair falling down his mask.
The man charged, and ducked to go for a low sweep at my legs. I jumped to avoid it. I landed only to be greeted by a powerful blow to my shin by the heel of his foot. I ignored it best I could as my cape fell off. He was obviously trained in the martial arts very well. I on the other hand, eh, not so much.
I drew my own sword, which outmatched his in range and obviously strength, for mine was made of steel. His was made of a polished bronze. My sword was longer and not that much thicker. Considering he had shown he was a much better swordsman in skill, I suppose at the time my sword gave me an ego boost out of needing.
Hah! I parried his overhead blow and swinged around to catch him in the ribs. I felt his blade parry my own attack almost instantly. My hand stunned for a moment out of the shock of the clash, and as I attempted to pull back and stab him, I found cold metal at the front of my neck between my two neck muscles. I didn't dare move for fear of being impaled at the slightest movement. I felt a thin stream of blood running down my neck.
He pulled off his mask, only to reveal the person I least expected. The servant boy.
“What?”
That is a crock of crap.
The general people believed that spies were a sort of magician, that was able to turn invisible and get into to people's mind. They believed that well, because it was what the Great King wanted them to believe. And with his influence, he could make people believe almost anything he wanted them too.The Scoundrel.
I heard a knock at my door. So I got up from my rather comfortable cushioned chair and went to look through the eye hole. I put my right eye to it and closed my other one. The man at my door was none other than one of the castle servants. He was rather wiry, and only looked to be around 15 or 16. He wore a cotton shirt and wool pants along with some lowly straw sandals. The servants of the castle had it worse than even the lowest guest. The were able to sleep wherever the could find an empty room at. And if they couldn't, they simply slept in the halls or in the horse stables.
I opened my door with a turning of the knob and a pull.
“Yes?”
“Lord Achilo requests your presence, sire.”
“Hmm. Why is this?”
“He did not tell me, sire.”
“Fine, carry on.”
Lord Achilo? One of the lesser nobles? Why would he require my services? Everyone in the castle knew that I was not for hire. My assassin skills and stealth could only be commanded by the Great King or one of his many generals. I could read and write, but I was not a scribe for petty sake! How dare he demote me to such rank? I should get his father to handle him. But then again, Lord Achilo would probably just say I wanted some of their fortune. Wretch.
I went back into my room, and grabbed my soft linen-sole shoes and put them on. I grabbed a cape to put over my linen shirt, and I attached a scabbard to my sheep-wool pants. A noble, no matter how lowly, was still a noble nonetheless. I walked out into the cold stone halls, took a left, and was off to the upper floor to meet the lord. I went up the stairs, 32 of them exactly, I knew this because the great king always made his stairs in sets of 32. Why? I have no idea. He made everything either 32, 10, or 1. I didn't get it. Ever since he had called a mental-doctor to talk to, he had been rather, weird. But, getting into those affairs was not my business, I may be a spy, but why should a solider of the army bother with noble affairs? All it was was drama, and I had a severe dislike of drama.
All drama ever brought someone was a day of weeping and another enemy. It was utterly pointless...
After the little climb I went down another hall, grabbed a torch from a holder, and turned to walk down the hall beside it. You could always tell if someone had lit the torches or not in the next hall, for there was a piece of wood at every corner. If it was laying flat, the torch was turned off, if it stood up against the wall, it was lit. It was custom to do this when you lit or put out a torch. Just an easy way of communicating and a way to prevent some insignificant problems.
I arrived at a door that had a varnished cherry trim around it and Lord Achilo's royal symbol on it. A hawk gripping a sword with one wing gold and the rest of the body black. Why he had chosen this? I do not know.
I entered the door, only to find the torches were unlit and the window closed. I used my torch to guide the way to the window. I set my torch in a holder and opened the window.
“Lord Achilo, sire?” I called, hoping for a reply. I was beginning to get a rather disturbing feeling about this place. My hair stood up on the back of my neck. I turned around, then jumped to the right as I heard a blade go past me.
I stood up fast, and saw my attacker was wearing a ninja garmet. He had a black mask with a cut in it for his eyes. His shirt was pure black and long-sleeved, it hung loosely from his body. The sash around his body was black and held 2 throwing knifes, and an empty sword sheath. He had green eyes and I could see a strand of black hair falling down his mask.
The man charged, and ducked to go for a low sweep at my legs. I jumped to avoid it. I landed only to be greeted by a powerful blow to my shin by the heel of his foot. I ignored it best I could as my cape fell off. He was obviously trained in the martial arts very well. I on the other hand, eh, not so much.
I drew my own sword, which outmatched his in range and obviously strength, for mine was made of steel. His was made of a polished bronze. My sword was longer and not that much thicker. Considering he had shown he was a much better swordsman in skill, I suppose at the time my sword gave me an ego boost out of needing.
Hah! I parried his overhead blow and swinged around to catch him in the ribs. I felt his blade parry my own attack almost instantly. My hand stunned for a moment out of the shock of the clash, and as I attempted to pull back and stab him, I found cold metal at the front of my neck between my two neck muscles. I didn't dare move for fear of being impaled at the slightest movement. I felt a thin stream of blood running down my neck.
He pulled off his mask, only to reveal the person I least expected. The servant boy.
“What?”