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Arthak Renoble
Posted: 10 Dec 2004 01:33 PM |
| // I'll be using this thread to post snippets from Arthak's past as I write them up... some short, and some longer. They will probably not be in chronological order, but they'll be separate enough from each other to understand what's going on. Also, feel free to give comments and/or critique if you wish. Hope you enjoy, I'm just starting out with my writing. |
<WickedArtist> I'd imagine a baby as a REALLY BIG kidney stone |
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How Renoble Got His Scar
Posted: 10 Dec 2004 01:34 PM |
Knock knock.
He always knocked. The sight of her eyes greeting his with their familiar warm gaze as she opened the door for him, always left him feel more than glad to have come home again.
Today, she didn’t open. Gazing to his right, Arthak noticed the reflections of a fire burning in the hearth on the wall. She was home. Someone was. Was there something wrong?
His fingers, stiffened by the cold wind, reached into his pocket to get the key. Fiddling to hastily get it into the lock, a feeling of slight nausea came over the young merchant. It had been a bad day already, if something had happened to her – anything… he couldn’t handle that right now.
Arthak slammed the door shut and paced into the living room, his eyes glancing around swiftly.
He smiled. There she was, curled up in one of the big, leather chairs in front of the fire.
“Oh, hello honey. I didn’t hear you knock,” she spoke with a soft voice. She had a book in her hands, opened on a page somewhere in the middle.
Arthak sighed, and walked towards her to give her a kiss on her forehead.
“It’s alright Isabelle. You had me worried for a moment though,” he replied, with the same smile still on his lips.
She replied with a faint smile of her own, before standing up.
“Wine?” Isabelle asked.
“Yes, I could use a good glass right now,” he said. “It’s been a rough day.”
She nodded and disappeared through the door. Arthak could hear her, the rhythm of her elegant feet moving down the stairs to their small, but sizable enough wine cellar.
He picked up the book she had put down on the small table in between the two chairs, careful not to close it. Images and Words, said the title. He put it down again, and sat down himself, staring into the flames in the hearth. The wind could be heard as it furiously raced past windows and doors.
Her footsteps approached again, and he took one of the two filled glasses Isabelle had taken with her.
“There you go, love,” she mused. “Had a rough day, you said?”
“Mmhmm.” He watched her sit down while taking a sip himself. “Yes. Tough crowd… I hate it when people simply can’t be satisfied with the goods I can offer them.”
Isabelle smiled. “Oh honey, just let them be. You know how people are… it’s in their nature to complain.”
He gave her a playful frown, knowing she was right. She usually was.
With a smirk on her face, she stood up and walked towards behind his own chair, before putting her hands in his neck and gently squeezing and rubbing the tensed muscles.
Arthak sighed again, but it was a sigh of content this time.
“Gladly,” he began, “I have a loving wife to take care of me when I come home. What would I do without her, I wonder. What coúld I?”
She gave a soft laugh in reply.
“You’d manage, you old charmer.”
A brief silence ensued, in which he stood up and turned to face her, a smug grin evident on his face.
“What?” she asked, grinning in return.
He pressed his lips against hers in reply, running his fingers through her flowing brown hair. Suddenly, he felt her muscles tense. Slowly, he pulled back.
“Hmm? What’s wrong, Isabelle?” he said.
“I heard something,” she whispered. “Did you lock the door behind you?”
He glanced towards the hall, now hearing footsteps. Silent ones… as if trying to hide themselves, but they were there.
“Isabelle, the back door,” he whispered in return, motioning her towards where the wine cellar also lay.
“… But…”
He silenced her by putting a finger to her lips. “Quick, honey. Go.”
She nodded, and snuck off. He grabbed a light, wooden chair from behind the dinner table nearby, holding it up to his side with both hands as an improvised weapon.
A sharp laugh behind him broke his concentration. The sudden kick to his back came from nowhere, and made him tumble forwards, falling down flat on his chest.
“Well well… what we ‘aving ‘ere, huh?” a voice spoke from behind him. Arthak stumbled to his feet again before turning towards its source.
A man, about the same size as he was. Black hair, blue eyes. Somewhat of a ruffian. The large dagger in his right hand made the image complete.
“You… what are you doing here? Get out!” Arthak shouted. He knew his words would not serve him well here, however.
“Heh heh… nay, I don’t think so,” the housebreaker replied. “Ye look like a wealthy lad to me… I think I’ll stay for a moment and ‘ave meself a little game.”
Arthak kept his eyes on the man as he continued.
“Heh heh… that’s what I’m gonna do, aye. The game’s called dodge the knife… heh heh.”
Swiftly, the burglar lunged forward in an attempt to stab Arthak, who only just managed to evade the lethal attack.
“Oi… have ye had practice, lad?” the dark man asked Arthak sarcastically. Arthak refrained from giving reply.
The rogue again lunged forward, but this time he grabbed Arthak with his free hand before giving him a stern knee in the groin. Grumbling heavily, Arthak slid to the floor in massive pain. He felt the sharp side of the dagger pressed to the left side of his neck shortly thereafter.
“Now… where were we, lad? Ah, yes. Tell me where this wife o’ yours is hiding, ey? She was here just yet, I heard ye two talking.”
Trying to set his mind free from his misery, Arthak coughed up the words in obvious anger.
“You’ll… never… get to hear that from me, you… filthy thief,” he spoke softly, but as loud as he could.
“Ye will regret that, lad,” the burglar replied. Arthak felt the dagger slice into his skin, and the warmth of the blood running down towards his shoulder. He screamed, both of anger and pain this time.
The housebreaker screamed with him, surprising Arthak. The intruder’s grip weakened, and as he fell over to his side, Arthak noticed the bolt coming out of the man’s back.
She dropped the crossbow and ran towards him, tears streaming from her eyes.
“Arthak!” she shouted.
“Isabelle…” he whispered. The last thing he felt before slipping into unconsciousness, was her tender touch as she bandaged his wound. |
<WickedArtist> I'd imagine a baby as a REALLY BIG kidney stone |
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Nightly Musings
Posted: 10 Dec 2004 07:39 PM |
What was he? Did his thoughts mean anything, as young as he was? Fifteen years of age, and already wondering what the future would bring him.
Arthak lay on his back, in the grass, looking up to the stars. It was a hot summer evening, with insects chirping all sorts of nocturnal ballads. His parents had taken him to the countryside, to visit some friends. Voices could be heard, coming from inside. People laughing, drinking.
The young lad, however, could only think of more serious matters. Was he destined to be a merchant, like his father was?
The question split his mind, for he knew not the answer. He did know, that there was something different about him – he had an alternative his father had never had. Witchcraft, some people in his family called it.
How it had come to be?
Arthak didn’t know. It was simply there; it had always been. He remembered well, how he had first discovered it.
It had been a cold winter day, many moons past. At the time, he had been eight years old, or so. He had been outside, playing with friends. Hide and seek. He’d been lying in some bushes… he couldn’t remember where exactly, any more. He could, however, still vividly see the small twig as it caught fire, somehow.
Somehow.
He had been thinking about it, as he lay there. It’s so cold here. Wish I could just… make a fire. He had concentrated on a random twig.
Was this the path he was to pursue? He’d been able to do it again; set small things on fire with his thoughts. Put out the fire again. Small things. Was it that special?
What’d they think of him? His family would resent him for it.
No, he couldn’t.
Or could he?
His father wished him to become a successful merchant like he was himself. Did Arthak wish it as well, however?
Then again…
What was he? Did his thoughts mean anything, as young as he was? Fifteen years of age, and already wondering what the future would bring him. |
<WickedArtist> I'd imagine a baby as a REALLY BIG kidney stone |
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Re: Nightly Musings
Posted: 15 Dec 2004 11:16 AM |
| ((Well written. I enjoyed reading them both. looking forward to the next installment)) |
-Kalos
"When in doubt, tell the truth. It will amaze most people, delight your friends, and confuse your enemies" -Mark Twain
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