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Complete Series | Chapter One |
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This is a compilation of all updates to the upcoming series. Although I update this story every other day, feel free to come here to read any updates you missed, that way you don't have to search for them in my journal.
All updates will be listed as the current chapter, i.e., "1.1," "1.2," "1.3," etc. until we hit new chapters. 1.1 is chapter one, part one.
There was no warning. The blade pierced the man's heart within just a fraction of a second. The man desperately attempted to decipher the situation. He had no idea how the black blade had wound up inside his chest. What felt like hours went by as his mind raced.
The white-haired man before him was not nearly as patient, however. A crowd had gathered to watch, and all could see the white-haired man's triceps contract, tugging the blade from the man's chest. To the astonishment of the crowd and the wounded man, the triceps in his arm continued to contract, tugging the blade far from the man's body, obviously preparing for another strike.
The white-haired man's smile was heinous; he looked as though he were enjoying the ordeal. His smile grew only wider when he smelled the fear of the crowd. His almond skin was glistening with sweat and his hair began to perk up. His bangs fell to each side of his face as he took his stance.
His right hand tightly gripped the black rapier. Its guard swept around the hilt like tendrils of smoke rising around an incense bowl. Crimson blood dripped from the tip. This was his favorite toy, and it had found a wondrous playmate.
The white-haired man's smile was devious and wry, but his eyes did not match. His eyes reflected nothing of the man inside. They were empty and black -- emotionless, even. They pierced the wounded man even more mercilessly than the rapier had.
His smile faded into a frown. It had only been a few seconds since the rapier had left the man's heart, but he could see that the man's legs would give out any moment now and he would slump to the ground, dead. His fun would be spoiled by the insensitive timing of a mere thug.
He thought to himself, These damn bugs. Why can't they just roll over when you try to smash them. He flexed his arms as he prepared to strike, regardless of the wounded man's condition. The crowd radiated with anticipation and anxiousness, horror and terror, all at the same time.
The man's legs began to give out, and he would taste the dust of the earth from whence he came once more. He knew this, and he began to accept it, believing that he might make peace with himself before his death.
That would not happen. The white-haired man refused to allow it.
In a flash, the white-haired man closed the distance between the two men, with his rapier leading the way. Faster than lightning, the rapier pierced the man five more times, once in each thigh, once in each shoulder, and finally piercing the same hole that it had in the beginning, planting itself firmly in the man's heart yet again.
The man's reaction was not delayed. His screams were cut off by the gargling of blood that had risen into the man's throat. The rapier left his heart yet again, with a spray of arterial blood spurting after the tip. The man fell to the ground instantly and continued to bleed out.
The white-haired man shook the blood from the rapier and sheathed it at his belt. He quickly looked over his regal tunic, attempting to spot any blood that might have found its way to his clothing. Luckily, there was none, so his smile returned to his face.
He turned to the crowd and took a step forward, but something stopped him. He felt a hand clinging to his trousers. Looking back, he saw the dying man on the ground before him. His smile melted back into a frown. "Do you believe that you have the right to beg for mercy when you are already dead?"
The dying man coughed up what blood was left in his throat and mumbled a response, which was too quiet for the white-haired man to hear. With a swift kick to the shoulder, his voice immediately rose, but was accompanied with cries of pain. "Just... who do you think... you are!?"
The question caught the white-haired man by surprise. He felt something bubbling within his stomach as he pondered the question. His head fell back, and his scruffy ponytail shook, with his body following suit. He simply could not hold back his laughter, which he proceeded to allow the crowd that had gathered to hear.
"What's... so funny!?" the dying man spurted out, just moments away from his demise.
The white-haired man cleared his throat and regained his composure. "Ah... it's just that, you and your fellow men can't even connect your actions and this happening. What a blunder." His smile seemed more sincere than it had ever been since the two had met.
At the wounded man's look of confusion, he continued to explain, "Last month, we had a shipment of goods come in from the Lelantos Empire. The shipment was scheduled to be received at the docks here at Port Rap -- but that did not happen. You see, my friend, you and your men were the ones who kept that from happening."
The man's eyes sparked with realization -- and regret. However, that did not stop the white-haired man from explaining further.
"You bothered to challenge the Council of Virtuous Parley without believing there would be consequences. You killed my men. And yet, you still believed you would get away with it?" His laughter rumbled out of him yet again.
"Then... that must mean that you... are--" his voice was cut off by a kick to the face.
"Correct. I am Claude Faute, Guildmaster of the Council of Virtuous Parley, Port Rap's most prominent trading organization. You should be honored that you were killed by someone such as myself, although any one of my subordinates would have been enough for you to meet your end by."
The man let his face fall to the ground. There was a pool of blood that had gathered around him, but he could not feel it. He was cold and numb. He could not move an inch anymore. Of course, he did not want to, either.
He had made a mistake. And he knew it. He looked glanced over at his saber, which never had the chance of even reaching within striking distance of Claude. What a shame, he thought to himself, I didn't even get to scratch his boot. His eyes fell shut and his silence was absolute.
Claude turned back to the crowd, which parted before him as he passed through. He waved his hand in the air and called, "Someone clean this mess up, I have other matters to attend to."
The crowd watched as he made his way towards the city. In awe, they stood, staring in the cobblestone streets on the outskirts of Port Rap, port-town capital of the Yellowdale Kingdom.
In Port Rap, all authority belonged to the Council of Virtuous Parley and its Guildmaster, Claude Faute. His word was law, while his senior officers and his other underlings were the enforcers.
Claude let his hand brush along the sones that formed the foundation of the warehouse next to him. The building was placed oddly on a hill, with the cobblestone path leading downards, towards the inards of Port Rap and towards the bay. The crowd that had watched the scene unfold at the intersection of the alley further down the path had dispersed as members of the guild's Defense Division shooed the bystandars away. The brave souls began to clean up the mess, watching silently as the fearsome Guildmaster stepped his way up the path, towards the next intersection, where he planned to turn towards the large, dark wooden doors of the warehouse. Inside, he would find what he and his senior officers had been searching for.
He peaked the hill and turned at the intersection, taking slow and silent steps as he followed the side of the warehouse. The cobblestone path beneath his feet was warm as the sun beat down on it, and the air around him felt moist and tasted of salt. The faint smell of fish never failed to intrude up his nostrils. These were the perks of living in a port-town.
However, he did not let the uncomfortable conditions sway him. He was here with a purpose, and he could not forget that. So, he strode up to the large wooden doors. The sounds of metal weaponry and armor clashing against each other could be heard from even outside the warehouse, and it had caused such a ruccous that the nearby neighbors had been certain to clear the area, except for the ones who had watched his duel with the thug that had challenged the Guildmaster.
He gripped at both of the doors, his hands spreading from the center as he slid the doors open to either side of the entrance. As he released the doors, he placed his hands on his hips and examined the scene before him.
The large, barn-like structure was filled with crates. Soldiers and thugs were battling on a fairly large scale across the stone floor of the warehouse. Two soldiers had been guarding the door to prevent retreat, but did not protest to the Guildmaster's entrance. Where there were not people, there were large, wooden pillars that stretched from the floor to the loft above, and, most likely, even farther up, to the ceiling. There seemed to be heavy mining equipment lying about, and wagons had been loaded with the crates.
Rather than focussing on the soldiers and the thugs before him, he steppeda few yards into the building and examined one of the crates. It had the stamp of The Seven Swords, one of the most prominent guilds in the Lelantos Empire, which bordered the Yellowdale Kingdom to the North, just a day's travel by ship across the bay. He smiled at the crate and reached for the crowbar that had been lying on the stack of crates behind this particular crate. Someone was most likely going to open this crate and examine the contents before the Council had shown up.
As his fingers touched the crowbar, he instinctively pulled his arm back. In the few miliseconds that his fingers had spent pulling away from the crowbar, a large broadsword smashed into the crate, just centimeters from his finger tips. The blade was clearly sharpened to perfection, since it sliced through the thick wood and lodged itself into the next board.
In the single moment that Claude had, he followed the blade to the hilt, and then to the owner. Claude had instinctively reached for his rapier and had drawn it halfway before realizing who it was.
"Woah, woah, woah! Calm your blade, Claude. I was just testing your reaction time!" The large black man before him was the Officer of Defense, Victor. His guantleted hands reached up to the steel helm that he wore, and as he lifted the piece of armor from his head, Claude could see his yellow eyes flashing this way and that, ever vigilant of a threat. His dirty blonde brows were furrowed and his matching short hair was standing up on end, making it seem more pointed than usual.
Claude pushed the blade of his black rapier back into its sheath at his belt and he let out a sigh of relief -- or so Victor thought. "God damnit! Now that you've challenged my reflexes, how about you challenge my ability! C'mon, let's go for it right now! You've already set yourself up to fall--"
"Now, now, kid, don't get ahead of yourself. If you want to fight, there's plenty of these thugs left. Just don't kill the Big Boss, we need him, you know."
Claude looked disappointed and lowered his formerly protesting arms, which had seemed to be flailing wildly at Victor's full-plate steel armor. Claude composed himself and turned back to the crate before him. As he reached towards the crowbar again, he shot Victor a challenging glance, which Victor did not entertain with a response, much to Claude's disappointment.
Victor took his eyes away from the young Guildmaster and watched the battle before him. He could see the guild's warriors battling their hearts out, and he had faith that they were all strong enough to handle the thugs before them. So far, the guild had not lost a single soldier out of the twenty that were deployed in the warehouse. In contrast, at least two dozen of the thugs were either wounded or killed.
Victor's only reaction to the slaughter before him came with a single sentence. "God, Claude, this is going to be a b***h to clean up."
Claude, who was struggling to wedge the crowbar into the crate's crevices, hardly paid him any heed. When he finally managed to insert the crowbar where it would have enough force to pull up the large nails that held the crate shut, his smile reformed on his face.
Victor patted him on the back and turned away, looking back towards the battle. The guild's men were all wearing tough chainmail and were all equipped with a variety of weapons, ranging from spears and halberds to longswords and axes. The guild believed it could bring out the best of a soldier in combat if they fought with the soldier's preferences in mind.
All of the soldiers were split into different groups to match their choices in weaponry. This was the way that Victor had been placed when he was still a lower rank, although, he always claimed that his preference in weaponry was every type of weapon. Victor let out a deep, hearty laugh at the situation before him. None of his troops were nearly as versatile as he was, and he knew that he needed to change that, since he was the head of the Defense Division.
"I wouldn't mind if those two dolts, Old Henrik and Sylvestor, managed to get their intelligence wrong this time," Victor said through his laughter, smiling widly and brushing his free, guantleted hand over his bright hair.
Claude had managed to pull up two corners of the crate and had begun to push the boards up from the freed corners. He glanced at Victor and managed to call to his side, pretending to have listened, "Yes, yes, of course, Victor."
Victor contained himself kept from smacking Claude on the back of the head. He knew Claude would only take it as a challenge again. Instead, he replaced his helm, let a hand rest on Claude's shoulder, and, leaning over, he said, "You see that one there?" He raised his hand, pointing to the fray before them within the warehouse.
His finger tip led to a large fellow, clad in scaled armor. He was furiously slashing at the Council's Defense Division troops with two sabers. The curved blades cut through the air with nearly unparralelled speed when compared to the weapons of the other troops. They cut straight through the polearms, and they harmlessly glanced off shields, but their speed was keeping the guild's troops at bay.
"I'm gonna go teach the troops a lesson," he said, smirking, "and he'll be my training partner."
At this, Claude raised his head and searched the crowd. When he found the man, a frown stretched its way across his face. He yelled to Victor, who had pried his sword from the crate and had begun walking towards the troubled troops, "I thought you said we shouldn't kill the Big Boss!?"
Victor waved his left hand without looking back, and, letting the blade rest on his shoulder, yelled, "Oh, I won't kill him, I promise!"
Claude's frown didn't dissipate this time. He shook his head and looked back to the crate. He had managed to pry open the boards, but the contents did not please him. With a scoff, he reached inside the crate.
Victor sauntered his way pastas the crowd of frightened soldiers. He smirked as he broke through to the opening that the saber-wielding man had made. The other soldiers backed away from Victor's hulking figure. His armor glinted in the light that shown through the upper loft of the warehouse.
The soldiers all took in the sight before them. Victor was a large, black man, built to the core with muscle. His dirty blonde hair was hidden beneath his helm, but his yellow eyes shown through the eye slot. An eager rage burned within his pupils, begging to be set free.
His armor was an entire set of full-plate with customized parts. The helm was a simple design with one large eye slot that formed a T in the center. At the top of the helm, a white, silk tassel extended upwards and then proceeded to fall down the back of the helm. The pauldrons and vambraces both were rounded so as to deflect most oncoming attacks. The chestplate was as solid as they come, with three layers of steel along the chest, stomach, and abdomen. Beneath that chestplate was a layered cuirass of chainmail. Flowing from under the pauldrons was a snow-white, silk cloak that stretched down to the greaves.
This sight often struck terror in his enemies, but the enemy before him did not falter. The man gripped his sabers and took a stance. His left foot was forward, and his body was lowered, so that he could lunge at any given moment. His sabers were both pointed towards Victor.
Victor didn't take any time to gawk at the man before him. His eyes stayed on the man as he yelled, "Everyone watch this! Treat it as a lesson for defeating an enemy faster than you."
The crowd of soldiers backed even farther away, clearing a large area for the two to duel. Victor lifted his broadsword from his shoulder and held it in his right hand, letting it drop to his side. He raised his left hand and clenched his fist in front of his face.
Raising the tip of the sword slightly, he began to charge towards the man. The sabers would keep any normal soldier at a distance because of their speed and agility, but Victor knew of the curved blades' weakness.
As he gained momentum and closed the gap between them, the sabers began to flail about. He did not slow down, but instead took the attacks full on. With a wave of his sword, he deflected a blow that would have struck in between the crevices of his armor on his right side, possibly breaking a rib. However, the saber on his left side kept coming.
Seeing the oncoming threat, he began to spin on his feet, holding his fist out in front of him. He was only inches away from the man, and the saber was closing in fast, carving a path through the air towards Victor's throat. Despite the speed of the saber, Victor was able to close the distance even faster. With his fist leading the way, he completed his 360-degree turn, allowing the fist to make contact with the man's face, disrupting the momentum of the sword and launching the man backwards into a nearby wall.
With that single punch, the man was knocked unconscious. Victor ordered some of the soldiers to tie the man up and to proceed with the operation, to which the soldiers eagerly agreed, finding a new sense of vigor within themselves.
As he stepped away from the scene, he realized that the enemies were breaking. There were only a few thugs left in the warehouse, so Victor gave the order to capture them alive if at all possible. He leaned against one of the large poles on the outskirts of the main area and continued to watch the scene unfold before him. He lifted his helmet from his head and wiped sweat from his brow.
His soldiers were already far superior to normal warriors, mainly because they had seen the terrors of battle several times already. The Council of Virtuous Parley's Defense Division played a large role in the Yellowdale Kingdom, acting as it's reserve forces or mercenaries. The guild's military was, arguably, the second-most profitable Division because of this.
While some argue that acting as sell-swords is low or unsavory, all the officers had agreed that it would be a logical financial move, and even the former Guildmaster himself had argued that it would help urge the guild into a more profitable age. After his death, Claude met with all of the officers and questioned their thoughts on the matter.
After a long debate, the four officers, Henrik, Lorelis, Sylvestor, and Victor, all agreed on a compromise that they held true to even today. The guild could participate in any mercenary activity on three conditions: one, the employer must take responsibility for all results; two, the guild will not accept any contracts that make offers below two platinum per soldier hired; and three, the guild keeps all loot that is awarded from battle.
With these conditions, the guild had been able to make profits of up to at least 50 platinum per month. Since the guild often collected armors and weapons from their battles, their trading industry also grew exponentially.
Victor snapped himself out of his thoughts and shook his head. Replacing the helm, he strode back into the fray, beginning to pile up the leftover equipment in an empty cart.
Claude angrily slammed his fist down on the stone podium before him. He was clearly frustrated beyond measure. He took his time looking at each of the officers in the semi-circular room before him.
It was a large room that resembled a courtroom of sorts. This was the Grand Council Hall. Directly across the room in front of Claude was the exit; two large, stone doors that towered at a height of ten feet. From the door extended a large hall that expanded into an even larger circular auditorium, which was just below Claude's High Seat.
The High Seat was the Guildmaster's throne of sorts, which was in the center of the Grand Council Hall. The other four Seats were reserved for the Council's officers, which lined the exterior of the circular room to the left and right of the High Seat. All of the seats were on platforms that were risen up above the circular auditorium floor below, and the High Seat was risen even above them.
The walls were decorated with paintings and behind each Seat, five large statues, embroidered with silver banners stood in rounded recesses along the wall. Each statue depicted the officer's Division.
From left to right on the left side of the room, the Seats belonged to the Archiving Division, whose statue was a depiction of a scholar, flipping through a manuscript. The next Seat belonged to the Intelligence Division, whose statue was a depiction of a robed figure whose face was shrouded and unfinished. From left to right on the right side of the Great Council Hall, the Seat against the wall belonged to the Defense Division, whose statue was a warrior, clad in armor and who wielded a sword and shield. To the left of that was the Financial Division's Seat, who's statue was a figure with scrolls and coins stacked around it.
The High Seat was in the center, and the statue behind it was a figure that held a scroll at its chin. The scroll fell down to the bottom of the torso. Its contents were the Council of Virtuous Parley's Dozen Dicta, which were essentially the rules and guidelines by which the guild took on its members. Each member, even the Guildmaster, was bound by contract to follow these mandates, otherwise, they would face the judgement of the four officers.
These Dozen Dicta were as follows:
1: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are to follow the Dozen Dicta without question, unless otherwise amended by the High Council.
2: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are subject to judgement if they fail to contend with the Dozen Dicta.
3: No member of the Council of Virtuous Parley retains the ability to act of his or her own accord. All major acts must be agreed upon by the High Council.
4: The High Council can be subject to objection, and will be dealt with accordingly if the matter is found to be understandable.
5: The Guildmaster serves as figurehead and commander of all other Divisions, except in instances in which the High Council debates.
6: Officers serve as figureheads and commanders of their own Divisions, except in instances in which the High Council Debates.
7: Members of the High Council will take full responsibility for the results of any and all operations that might succeed or go awry.
8: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are to abstain from defiling, defacing, destroying, or damaging citizens of the Yellowdale Kingdom.
9: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are to abstain from defiling, defacing, destroying, or damaging property of the Yellowdale Kingdom.
10: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are to abstain from pilfering, purloining, expropriation, misappropriation, embezzlement, or thieving.
11: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley are required to abstain from marring the guild's name or image.
12: All members of the Council of Virtuous Parley agree to the Dozen Dicta and are subject to the High Council if otherwise associated.
With the Dozen Dicta in place, most of the turmoil that was initially swirling within the guild in its early days had been swept away. For the last century, the Dozen Dicta had kept each guild member in place, and they had created a class system that puts the High Council on top, while leaving them subject to objection.
Claude hadn't looked at the statue behind him in months. Every time he stepped up to the High Seat, he never even paid it a glance. He knew of the Dozen Dicta and he followed them to the point on most occasions. As Guildmaster, he also reserved the right to amend the Dozen Dicta by convening with the High Council.
However, that did not happen in a formal setting the majority of the time. Claude or one of the officers have, in the past, just asked something like, "So, can we just bend the rules a bit this time?" If all of the officers and the Guildmaster agrees, then the matter is technically passed informally. All it would take is four other "Sure"s.
Claude was still unhappy with the days events. He glanced at the statues behind each of the officers and the banners behind the statues. The banners had the Council of Virtuous Parley's emblem sewn into them. It was a circle with four lines headed off in each direction. The circle embodied the Guildmaster, while the other lines were depictions of the four Divisions.
Claude looked away from the banners to the officers. Victor was looking nearly as unhappy as Claude was, despite his earlier comments about not minding if "Old Henrik" and Sylvestor managed to get their intelligence wrong.
Claude looked to Sylvestor, whose short, black hair looked even more frazzled than usual. His blue eyes were flickering from one page of a manuscript to another on his podium. "Perhaps I shouldn't let you convene with Henrik as often as I do," he said to the scholar.
At this, Henrik giggled beside him. Claude quickly shot him a glance, but Henrik didn't mind it. He just continued to try and stifle his laughter by squeezing his nostrils. Henrik's brown eyes were shut tight and his balding head was bouncing too and fro as his body rocked with the contained laughter. The short, white and black speckled hair that was left on his head sat in place.
As the Officer of the Archiving Division, Sylvestor often worked with Henrik, who was the head of the Intelligence Division. In this case, the two had worked together, but Henrik knew who was actually to blame for the folly. Hence why he had failed to stifle his laughter when Sylvestor was blamed for the ordeal.
Sylvestor had already decided he was not going to go down without a fight when he heard Henrik laughing. "That old man is at fault! I am not the one who told you that the shipment from The Seven Swords was going to be split into two shipments!"
Claude didn't bother scolding Henrik for his mistake. He continued to inquire about the situation. "Start from the top. Sylvestor, what exactly went wrong?" He laced his fingers around each other and rested his chin on them, awaiting Sylvestor's response.
"Well, you see... The shipment that was coming from the Lelantos Empire and The Seven Swords -- it was split into two shipments because the load was too heavy for the second ship. So, the shipment that was raided at the docks might have been... the first half of the shipment." Sylvestor had stood up to relay this information, and he eagerly patted his bright blue silk robe before he sat back down.
Victor had his arms crossed and his helm was sitting on the podium before him. He scoffed at Sylvestor's explanation and mumbled, "You're telling me that all that this morning was over a fur shipment? Hah!" His yellow eyes were burning with frustration.
Beside Claude was Lorelis, the officer of the Financial Division. She stood and looked up at Claude, "I've run the numbers and it seems that the cost of today's excursion might be around 80 platinum. If that's the case, then we may only make 20% of the profit that we had initially intended from this shipment. However, if we had known that the second, more profitable half of the shipment had not been raided, we would have made 80% of the profit by not going after the lost shipment."
Claude admired Lorelis' calm demeanor. She was matter-of-fact and did not sugar coat things. Her black hair resembled silk as her bangs fell down the left side of her face, and the rest fell down her back. Her eyes were forest green and they twinkled in the light of the colossal chandelier that lit the Grand Council Hall. Her petite figure found its way back to her Seat and she immediately began scribbling on parchment that was covering her podium.
Claude nodded at her analysis of the situation, and his nod eventually evolved into a frown. "When is the second half of the shipment arriving, Sylvestor?"
"If it arrives on time, roughly two days from now." Sylvestor straightened his spectacles and examined Claude's facial expression. His frown had begun to dissipate, replaced with a smile, and his white hair fell down his back and shoulders in his ponytail. "What is it that you have in mind, Claude?"
Claude firmly planted the smile on his face. "All in favor of taking action to retrieve the shipment ahead of time, say 'I,'" Claude said, raising his hand.
The officers, except for Henrik, seemed confused at first. Henrik just smiled, and leaned back in his Seat. "I," he said, relaxed.
The other officers eventually came to agree with Claude, even though they did not understand his intentions. This was normally how it was. Claude often failed to comfort the officers with explanations.
"Then that settles it. Victor, send a dispatch out to the Lelantos Empire. You and I will arrive at The Seven Swords' guild hall within the night." His smile stretched even farther across his face as he stood up from the High Seat. Looking down at each of them, he left the officers with one final remark. "Our shipment arrives in the morning."
The ride to the Lelantos Empire was excruciatingly long. Claude and Victor had spent the entirety of the last four hours on horseback, galloping along the paths and roads that were spread across the Yellowdale Kingdom. The city of Lelantos could be seen from the top of the hill.
Victor had insisted that at least a small company of soldiers should accompany them on their trip, just in case. At first, Claude had welcomed the challenge, but after Victor's gauntlet smacked into his back, he reluctantly stopped arguing. Now, the group of travelers were galloping down the hill, headed towards the capital of the Lelantos Empire.
The scenery around them was beautiful. The moons had risen high into the sky. One obscured the stars that resided behind it, while the other -- being much farther away -- was barely noticeable as it peaked out from behind the other. However, both shone with a mellow blue light on the grasslands before them. The path that they followed had been beaten down to just dirt, and all around them, the grass basked in the moonlight and waved freely in the wind. The river stretched into the horizon and passed beside the walled city of Lelantos. Eventually, that river opened out into the bay, which made travel to Lelantos by boat simple.
Despite the brilliant sight that surrounded the company, they continued to push on, ever vigilant. In this area, the sight of an escort usually increased the odds that a caravan could be raided. The thought process behind this included the cost of hiring an escort, which could show that the person was of nobility or high ranking.
The group did not have any wagons or freight to carry, so their probability of being raided on the road was low, which was why Victor insisted that it would be fine to bring an escort in the first place.
Despite the escort, Victor's bet held strong, and the group arrived at the gates of Lelantos within the next fifteen minutes. It had been a while since Claude had been to Lelantos, so he made sure to take in the sights as he began to pass through the gates.
The walls of the city were lined with the banners of the Empire, and the walls themselves were at least fifteen feet tall and fashioned completely of stone bricks. There were large towers that had been built at each corner of the wall. The roofs of the towers were made of layered wooden planks, and Claude could see figures standing within them. He figured that they were either archer's towers or beacon towers. They might have even been both.
The gate to the city was open. The large wooden doors were swung outward to both sides of the gate, and Claude noticed that the doors had been reinforced with large, black-iron bars. They lined the door up and down on each side. Victor nudged at him from his perch on his horse and pointed at the doors, whispering, "See those? The doors probably weigh nearly half a ton each!"
Claude nodded and continued to take in his surroundings. There was a gatehouse that was positioned on the top of the wall, but the troops that guarded the gate only stayed in the gatehouse when the gates were closed. Now, they were out and about, carrying torches and greeting visitors to the city.
The guards wandered over to Claude's company and noticed the guild's banner on the saddlebags of the horses. "Ah, the Council of Virtuous Parley. What brings you to Lelantos on this fair night?"
Claude looked down to the soldier who was questioning him. "We are here to speak with Sir Lucien Vorstalm of The Seven Swords. We have urgent financial matters to attend to."
The guard looked to the men in the guild's company and back to Claude. "I'll need your names before I can let you all through the gate. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it's a new regulation. By order of Lelantos IV himself."
Claude was puzzled. Lelantos soldiers had never asked for travelers' names before. What even could have caused a regulation such as this to come into being? He listed the company's names, and the guild was able to travel onwards.
Just past the gate spanned the city of Lelantos. It was much larger than Port Rap, but did not have unlimited access to the bay. This was a disadvantage of Lelantos, but they made up for that disadvantage by creating hundreds of farms that lined the river to the north and south. The fertile soil made for an abundance of crops, which proceeded to feed their growing economy.
Port Rap's soil was far too salty to be farmed because of its proximity to the bay, which opened out into the Emberbow Sea. The Yellowdale Kingdom did not have a river with fertile soil to farm, so trading with the Lelantos Empire was a necessity. However, the Lelantos Empire also relied on the Yellowdale Kingdom due to its lack of forests. Despite the river that flowed through the Lelantos Empire, the entirety of the country was dominated by grasslands and farmlands. In contrast, much of the heart of the Yellowdale Kingdom was covered in forests, which made trade with the Yellowdale Kingdom essential as well.
Claude did not particularly enjoy the city of Lelantos. It was far too bright for his standards. Here in Lelantos, the city was lit from head to toe by lanterns and torches, and the community was bustling night and day. Taverns were brimming with drunks, and the marketplace was overflowing with advertisements and sales. The large walls that surrounded the city trapped a majority of the light and the noise within the city, which only amplified the intensity.
Port Rap was not a walled city. It could not possibly be one. The bay's waves would eat away at the walls and weaken them. The salt in the air would embed itself into the seams and destroy the foundation of the walls. It would be an illogical operation if the city were to have walls built around it.
Despite the uncomfortable conditions, Claude carried on, leading the group through the cobblestone streets of Lelantos. Crowds parted so as not to be run over by the horses, and some paused to watch as the armored soldiers passed. Victor waved at the crowds and smiled widely at the attention.
Eventually, they reached the more formal and far less active business district of Lelantos. Here, the streets were lit with fewer lanterns and the only people bustling about were high class citizens and business owners. The streets in the business district did not have nearly as many weeds growing about. The cobblestone roads were clean and the smell of herbs were in the air.
The buildings were not nearly as cheaply made as the cottages and shacks that were scattered around the other parts of the city. Here, the buildings had layered, wooden roofs, such as the ones on the towers that lined the walls. This was in stark comparison to the other buildings, which were mostly thatched with straw. The walls of the buildings were made of crushed stones and formed a more compact, tougher material than the normal stone bricks.
As they trotted along, the company followed the streets up small stairs, steadily rising to the heart of the city. Eventually, the cobblestone streets opened up into a circular plaza. There was a fountain that stood in the center of the area. The water flowed off from the layered design at the heart of the fountain. It resembled several upside-down plates that were stacked on top of each other.
From this area, they could see the city below them. They were roughly at the same height as the walls that surrounded the city, and the sight was breathtaking. The lights from the torches flickered to and fro as people moved about.
From here, they could also see the Imperial Palace on the opposite side of the fountain. There was a stone wall that was about seven feet high that was created to keep out the normal citizens. A guard was positioned by the wall every twenty feet or so. Directly in adjacent to the fountain was a large iron gate that served as the entrance to the Palace.
The group dismounted from their horses and one of the guards greeted them and took their horses to the stables, which were positioned to the left of the fountain. Another guard let a small troop to the guild members. "What business have you with the Imperial Palace?"
Claude answered firmly, crossing an arm across his stomach as he bowed in greeting to the guard. "I am Claude Faute, Guildmaster of the Council of Virtuous Parley in the Yellowstone Kingdom. We are here to seek a conference with Sir Lucien Vorstalm of The Seven Swords. He should be expecting us."
"Wait here, and I will confirm your arrival with Sir Lucien." The guard wandered off, passing through the gate and turning to the left a short distance into the Palace grounds. He had left the other guards with the group.
A short while later, the guard returned and bowed low to the guild members. "I apologize for the inconvenience. If you would follow me, I will bring you to The Seven Swords' Guild Hall." The guard turned back to the gate and the group passed through as two other guards held the gate open, proceeding to close it and lock it once the group had passed through completely.
Claude stepped steadily behind the guard, taking in the visuals of the Palace grounds. There were gardens all around him, and the stone-slab paths were lit with elegant lanterns. The air here was clear and smelled of flowers. Bushes lined the paths and above the bushes were more gardens that had been raised to about chest-height. A gorgeous array of decorative flowers covered the cleanly cut grass of the gardens.
They had taken the same left as the guard had previously, and in the distance, they saw a large building. It was a beautiful building that resembled an inn. However, the building was completely built of white stone. The building had several balconies that were supported by large columns. The entire structure was split half by a bridge that crossed over the main path. It connected the two halves with a hallway, and from their spot on the path, the group could see the windows of the bridged hallway. They were elegantly shaped, with tendrils of stone lining the corners.
The guard stopped them at the foot of the bridge and asked them to wait. "I will inform Sir Lucien of your arrival." He stepped off to the building on the left and entered a door beneath the bridge. He returned a few moments later and instructed the group to enter the building.
Claude led the guild members into the left half of the building and he took in the familiar sights of The Seven Swords' guild hall. This was the entrance hall, and it was splendidly decorated with beautiful, white furniture and a fireplace. The white walls were lined with paintings whose frames were trimmed with gold and silver.
The fireplace was lit and a figure was sitting by it in an armchair, delicately poking at the wood with a long iron rod. As they entered, he set the rod down and stood to face the guild members. His silver hair fell to his ears and his silver eyes. He wore an elegant black royal coat whose buttons were also silver. His shirt beneath was snow-white, and he wore gloves that matched it.
His voice was deep, but incredibly soft when he spoke. "My guests from the Yellowdale Kingdom, please, make yourself at home! For, we have much to discuss." His smile was sincere as he bowed to the visitors.
Claude crossed his arms and nodded at the man. "Sir Lucien Vorstalm of The Seven Swords, it is good to see you again. I'm sure you will hear us out, as we have made the long and arduous trip here, all the way from Port Rap in just one night on horseback."
Lucien closed his eyes and nodded with his smile still intact. "Indeed. You all must be exhausted. Might I bring you refreshments?"
All of the members were anxiously awaiting Claude to agree, but Claude dismissed the offer, much to their disappointment. "That won't be necessary. This is an urgent matter, and we have only a few hours left to act on it."
Lucien scoffed slightly, "Well, how urgent could a matter be that you would decline food? I don't remember you ever doing that when you were a child, you know."
At this, Claude furrowed his brow and began to rant. "Just because you weaseled your way into the royal family doesn't mean you get to pity me, you know. I swear, it's like this every time we meet. 'Prince' Lucien is so great. He's everything the Lelantos family could have ever wanted. Meanwhile, Claude, here, is working his fingers to the bone just to keep his guild alive!"
Lucien laughed aloud at Claude's outburst. "You never change, brother." He attempted to contain himself, but failed and began laughing even harder.
Claude was not impressed. "Let's just get this over with," he said to his group with a mumble. "I'd rather my brother not pity me any more than he has to."
 Ty-Harukii · Wed Jun 21, 2017 @ 08:07pm · 0 Comments |
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