Muffled footsteps marked the entrance of the Guard to the central plaza. Their obsidian armor shone in the mid-day sun, almost blinding to the eyes. The commanders wore long black cloaks that billowed out behind them with the rushing wind, revealing glaives at their waist. Banners were raised high into the sky with the blaring of trumpets and the beating of drums. This signified to the townspeople that the inauguration of their new king was about to commence. Soon, the anarchy that had befallen them would be lifted, and they would once again redeem themselves as the leading empire of Rasalmahoth.

Children quickly scurried off the streets when the pounding of the drums neared them. No one should be left on the streets when the Guard came; their temper came in a swift warning and their upheaval of the law was notorious. Women who had been hanging clothes out to dry stopped when the marching soldiers came, drawing their children close to themselves. Husbands, who worked in the smithy, halted the pounding of metal, glancing to the rhythmic marching of soldiers through the heat of their workplace. It was as if the whole imperial city of Mauk was holding its breath, not daring to make a noise.

Once the winding procession through the shops and homes had ended, the carriage halted in the middle of the city square and members of the guard positioned themselves around the carriage in a wide circle to ensure the safety of their new king. The doors were then opened, and what could be heard then was the single, unifying gasp of all the citizens. Their new king was the rightful heir to the throne, but their surprise at this decision lay deep. This prince carried a mental retardation that had ridden him off as unsuitable when it was first proposed that he rule. His father was the one who had originally volleyed for him not to rule, in order that the prince may spend his days in solitude, to be kept away from the general populace due to his ailment. For the people to realize now that the very man of whom it was sworn would not rule had become their king, it became a confusing, unspoken riddle, one that they could not solve.

"Hail, King Eric!" The captain of the Guard shouted to the crowd gathered, raising his hands into the air with the palms facing up. All the people looked to each other, unsure, but soon each cried out in one loud voice,

"Hail, the King!" What they lacked in vigor, they made up for in volume.

A slow smile crept to the King's twisted face. His left side was a skeletal remain, whereas his right side gave the appearance of burnt flesh. There was no stench around him, but his ghastly appearance was enough to make people shudder. His flesh was cold and clammy, and he stooped awkwardly on his right leg. Whether he had any hair or not was unknown to the people, for he kept himself garbed in a long black robe, never taking down his hood so they could clearly see his face. Raising a hand into the sky now, he cried out in a deep, cracked voice.

"My father, King Agerion, has passed beyond the veil much sooner than any of us would have wished."

Murmurs began to spread as soon as he began to speak. This was much less a formal inauguration anymore than a simple sit-and-stare occasion, with the gossip in between.

"What was this retardation he had?" one woman asked to another, and shrugs were spread all around.

"Sounds normal to me," another replied.

Drums began to pound deep and strong before the crowd's attention was lost, cutting off any excess talking from sheer force and volume. Paying attention once more to their king, the people had realized their folly and silently accepted the reprimanding tone of the Guard's drum.

"My people!" the king shouted out once more, though he showed no sign of noticing that he had been rudely interrupted prior, "It is now my duty to uphold what my late father stood for and represented, and that is to see the Imperial City once again at the center of Rasalmahoth! The Vanguin have long waged war upon our borders, a war that my father put every effort into, even at the cost of his own blood!

"I know I am naught but a monster to you, in this flesh prison forged for me from my mother's own womb! But I can assure you, I wish for nothing more than to serve you well and to have your allegiance as well! The Eastern Empire of the Vanguir would come sweeping through this city, seeing to it that the men in our armies are butchered like pigs, and the women and children slaughtered like simple field mice.

"You know we are losing this war. My father refused to see this fact, and for which you have all suffered, because we need more men in the Guard! Our troops are low, and without more reinforcements we will not be able to stop their advance upon this city. If we cannot protect ourselves, we have no hope of protecting our brethren in the smaller villages near the Blood River."

The king paused in his speech, eyeing the citizens from under his hood. He glimpsed the multitude of children who were clinging onto their parents in fear. His voice reiterated their nightmares of monsters, his demeanor scared them because of its abnormality. The adults still regarded him under the microscope of unsure judgement. It was evident that some began to warm to their new king, but others remained dolefully uncertain.

"Tomorrow at dawn I ask that each man of sixteen years or more enlist in the Guard. This war will not see its end unless our army is replenished, and we can begin anew with fresh vigor. It is already a brutal war with thousands left dead in the Quicksand just north of the Blood River, but we have a chance to end it now, before even more are left dead for the Rakash's pleasure.

"Will I have your aid?"

Silence met his question as the citizens looked to each other for a reaction. Whispering ensued, but before the captain of the Guard could issue the order for the drum to begin, the king shook his head. Soon afterward, people began to nod and shout their support until the entire plaza was filled with cheering. Blessings for the new king could even be heard.

"Tomorrow will be the day when we strike back at those who would dare oppress us! Tomorrow will be the day when the wrongs against us will be justified! Tomorrow we will invade The Rift!" King Eric shouted to his people, and the noise intensified from the din that had already formed.

Entering his carriage pulled by three black stallions, he was taken back to the castle amid the shouting and cheering that could be heard from miles all around. The feeling of renewed vigor drifted in the air long after he had left the plaza. The adults returned to their work with more enthusiasm than they had previously. Young children did not understand the joy emanating from their parents, but regardless of that fact they ran back out into the streets where they continued to play. There were only a few who did not share the sudden abounding happiness, and they were the ones who holed themselves up in the dark basement of an old city official's house, where they spoke amongst themselves in anticipation.

Glass of water and wine were brought to the table arrayed in the basement. Each of the fifteen attendants took their seats at the round table, with two standing near the cellar trapdoor to ensure no one would come in without their permitting it. The room was relatively clean for a stone cellar. Pipe work was revealed in the ceiling, winding its way through to a hole in the top of the wall near the trap door; the hole was boarded up as well as it could have been done to prevent stray animals or people from getting through. As a whole, the room was relatively small.

"I have seen...Darkness lay at our feet...while light fades even know...from my own eyes," an elderly man said from his place at the table. He leaned back in his wheelchair, coughing slightly. A nearby doctor approached him and helped him take a drink of water. Chatter continued to fill the room until the man had finished, at which time he raised a hand. All fell silent, listening to what he had to say.

"King Eric is insane...It was no mistake that his father...made sure he would not rule..." The man paused, mulling over a thought in his head. "This man has a gift...A tremendous gift...But he...cannot be trusted, with anything. I can not say whether the danger imposed upon us now will become clearer any sooner, but...you must...not...allow him...to..." Coughing uncontrollably, there was a sorrow evident in the man's eyes. The doctor tended to him, but the man continued speaking through his choking.

"The...King is...an..." Before the elder could finish his statement, life slipped away from him. The doctor tried everything in his practice to see if there was anything he could do, but the disease had taken its toll. Shutting the eyes of the man, the doctor turned to the others. A silent question was in the eyes of everyone present. What was the elder about to say? What would they do now? Who would lead them through this?

"So...This is...This is how it begins, isn't it?" a male's voice spoke up in the silence. The young man who had stepped forward was nervous, and it showed in the humble way his characteristic dark eyes drifted around the room, shying away from actual contact. As with most others present, he wore modest clothing; a well-fitting brown tunic with black pants.

"What are we going to do about anything? We all know what's been going on, but what can we do about it?" another man spoke, looking to everybody. Shrugs and shaken heads met his question. The air of uncertainty was in the room.

"First we should decide who's going to assume leadership. We can't figure anything else out otherwise," a woman said, sitting to the left of the man who had spoken previously.

"Lucinda Owens should...resume leadership..." the nervous young man spoke again.

"I can't-" a woman began to speak. She had a fair complexion; pale skin with long dark hair, matched evenly with equally brown eyes.

"No, Migero's right, Lucy," the woman sitting next to her said. "You're the best choice. Your uncle has told you things he hasn't told the rest of us. You know the most when it comes to any of this," she said. Lucinda looked to the others, who were nodding and smiling. Sighing, she fell back into her chair.

"Alright..." She gave an exasperated look to the man who suggested she lead. "Did you have any ideas, Migero?"

Migero looked at her, startled. "Well, um...No, well...I guess I sort of do..."

"Well, let's hear it," Lucinda said, smiling.

"I don't think I could last, listening to another crackpot idea of storming the castle," a man named Mikhail laughed. Everyone remained silent, however, to listen to Migero.

"I guess I was just thinking that...Well, we'd have to...infiltrate the Guard..."

"What?!" Mikhail shouted with mirth. "By the gods! That's the damnest thing I've heard from you," he said, laughing uncontrollably. Some of the the others joined in, but Lucinda gave them a cold look before turning to Migero to continue.

"We just need to make sure that...come the end of this war....we won't be on the bottom. We can have our own men planted in the Guard. This way, we can make sure our people won't end up...in the scrap heap. We can make sure this king doesn't turn into a...worse dictator than the last one," Migero's soft voice conveyed his determination, and some of the others seemed to be catching on.

"It's a fool's mission," Mikhail began to say. "and since the lot of us are a bunch of damned fools, I don't see why not. Hell, I don't think we'll have a choice in the matter anyway. Tomorrow the good king is going to have us enlist, and I'll wager good money that if we refuse, we'll either be spiked due to treason or sedition, or we'll be told to rot in a cell for the same reasons."

An older man, perhaps in his forties, stood up from the table. He spoke in a rough voice, green eyes dancing around the table to look at everyone. If his macabre appearance didn't intimidate the others, his voice did.

"I don't deny that we won't have a choice in joining, but even then..." He shook his head with a small laugh. "It would take years for us to progress through the ranks like any other, if some of us do at all," he said with a glance at Migero, who winced slightly. "That and...it might be necessary to give a certain...'act of faith'." He said, implying something dark. Some of the people at the table shuddered, and they once again looked around, uncertain.

"Tim is right," another man said, standing up to the right of Timothy. "We have no guarantee we can get into high ranks in the Guard, much less do that without having to give Acts. I'd feel much better working in a Resistance, fighting from our own place."

"Tomlin doesn't know that for sure-"

"You think we can get into the Guard without having to butcher babies?" Timothy challenged the speaker. Again the room fell silent.

"Let's not fight," Lucinda said gently, standing up as well.

"Why don't we...reconvene tomorrow. As you said, Lucinda knows more of any of this than we do...Let her...think it over," Migero spoke up feebly. Tomlin turned away, frustrated.

"Alright," Tomlin said as he turned back, looking to Mikhail and the other man beside him, whose name was Anthony. "We'll wait. Let's reconvene tomorrow before dawn.That will give us time to prepare...should things require it," he said, looking meaningfully at Lucinda, who nodded.

"Wait, what-" Migero began, suddenly suspicious, but was cut off.

"We'll reconvene tomorrow," Lucinda said, formally ending the meeting. Noise returned to the room at a small level, and the two standing near the trapdoor moved aside so that Mikhail and his two companions could leave. The rest would leave in pairs or singly. Common going-ons were watched closely by the Guard; it would not do well for them to alert the Guard of a possible resistance group. There were no scheduled town meetings, so they had absolutely no reason to be in such a large group, albeit there were only about fifteen of them.

Those who remained downstairs, now only about four other than Migero and Lucinda tried to remain as silent as they could. When it became too late in the evening, there were less people on the streets and many more inspections by the Guard. It would do them much good to go one at a time now, instead of two-by-two.

"I'm sorry for your...loss," Migero said to Lucinda. She jumped up almost in surprise at the sound of another voice, then looked to MIgero with a smile.

"It's alright...My family has been expecting it to come for some time now. Uncle Rowan wouldn't have lasted much longer as it was...Now he'll be able to go to the white lands..."

"The 'white lands'...I've heard you guys say that...from time to time. You believe in the...religions? They've always been outlawed."

Lucinda laughed gently. "You are the only one of us who doesn't believe in one."

"Well..." Migero said, averting his gaze. "There are no new movements that I like..."

"These aren't 'new' movements..." she replied.

"I'm sorry, I should've used a different word-"

"No, no, I mean that..." Lucinda stopped suddenly, eyeing Migero.

"What did you mean?" he pushed, trying to get her to say. She only shook her head and looked at the floor. The two keeping watch at the door looked to Migero.

"It's open, if one of you want to go."

"It's alright, you two can go. I can keep watch. I used to do your same job, you know," Lucinda said to the watch boys, and they both left after a short interval of one another. Once they were gone, she looked back to Migero.

"I don't believe in any of these...new religions, if they could even be called that," she said.

"I thought you believed in the New Order with the others."

"I have my faith in the Ancient Rites, the true religion of our ancestors. The religion of the Old World, before it was replaced by the new ones of dictatorship and censoring."

"The Ancient Rites?!" Migero exclaimed.

"Shh, I know," Lucinda said, putting a hand over Migero's mouth. "That's why I haven't told anybody but you, though Mikhail and Tomlin are believers as well."

"So you are planning something with them. The rest of us thought you four were part of the New Order as well, not some hokey religion that plays off of-" Migero began accusingly before he was cut off.

"We understand each other, Migero, more than you ever could." Sighing, she turned away from him. "You should go now, before Guards come."

"You go first," Migero said. Lucinda nodded and took her leave. When it came time for him to leave, he heard the sound of metal pounding on the floorboards above. Hastily, Migero dove under the round table and began prying up some of the loose floorboards to find the hidden compartments they commonly used for smuggling items. Sliding in, he pulled the boards back up over him and lay back, waiting.

"Victor," a stoned voice shouted drunkenly from above. "McGreggor has your medicine, waiting for you at the depot." The man received no reply. "Hey, Vicky, where the hell did you go? You damn Experiments never-" A crash sounded from above, but Migero remained where he was; it didn't sound like the drunken man had fallen of his own accord. He began to feel uneasy. There were rumors going around about these Experiments, and the thought of one of them being in this very house was unnerving.

Footsteps began to come softly down the stairs, and Migero peeked carefully from his spot under the floorboards. A shadow cast itself over his hiding place. Quickly, he moved his body back into the dirt so that he would not be as visible if an eye cast itself downward.

"Is it in this room, or beyond there," a voice said, and Migero could only assume that 'beyond there' was the space where there was a hole in the wall.

"That's what she guaranteed. Look here, this is it. The boards are out of place. You would expect a better hiding place. This one is remarkably conspicuous, not at all what she promised," a different man said, and before Migero had time to react the floorboards were pulled up and a member of the Guard gave a growl, lunging for him.

"Who are you, street rat? What are you doing here," one of them spat, holding onto the cuff of Migero's tattered brown coat.

"Are you one of the Resistance?" the other asked, pulling up the visor of his helmet so part of his face was visible. "Answer truthfully," he said.

Resistance? We aren't a resistance yet, unless...Lucinda...You're a bloody liar! Migero looked at them, unsure of what he should do.

"I do not know...I do not know any Resistance," he stuttered in his usual fashion. The man eyed him keenly before nodding to his comrade.

"You have nothing to fear from us, Migero. There is a new order coming, one we would hope you will become a part of. Oh, yes, this has been in the works for a long time now," the man said, noting the confusion on Migero's face.

"How do you know my...name?"

"We are one of you. Or rather, you are one of us. McGreggor," he said to the other.

"Yes?"

"Head to the depot. This one will help me here."

"Yes sir!" McGreggor said and hastily left. The Guard that remained took off his right glove and showed Migero a tattoo on his wrist; the same one Migero himself had.

"Proof for you, so that you may trust me this time," the Guard said, showing the emblem of the new resistance, the very one members of the organization Migero was part of already had.

"You know me name," Migero stated, "but I do not...know yours."

"Victor is what they call me, and you may do the same. Now, we must hurry, for we do not have much time left at present. I will need your help while McGreggor is picking up the medicine. There is a lot to be accomplished before dawn tomorrow."

"So you know Lucinda? She must have gone to see you after she left here," Migero said, determined to find out what was going on.

"I do not..." the man halted in his speech. "Yes, it was her. She has made up her mind. We fight. Are you coming?"

"Who are you? Why is she on terms with someone of the Guard? How does she know one of the Exp-" A hand came swiftly across Migero's face, leaving a streak of blood on his right cheek.

"You would do well to know when you should speak, and when you should remain silent," Victor growled. "There is too much at stake now."

Migero felt his swelling cheek, eyeing Victor with slight distaste.

"What do you need me for," he asked.

"I need you to take the place of the Guard of whom I just killed," Victor replied, already heading back upstairs.

"What?" Migero asked incredulously. "You...can't mean..."

"Your people will need all the help they can get; they also need someone inside the Guard. Is this not ideal?"

"But how will I imitate...Wait, what do you mean, one of my people? And what do you mean we need someone inside of the Guard? I thought you just said-"

"That your questions will have to wait for later!" Victor roared, fed up with Migero's curiosity. Calming down, he looked into Migero's eyes, not dropping his gaze. "The man was a drunk. Learn from that," he said and disappeared upstairs. Migero hesitantly followed after him, not sure if he liked what he saw. He felt that nothing but trouble would come from trusting this 'Victor'. Reluctantly he followed Victor out of the old house, and spent his night in the soldier's barracks near the castle after he had fit himself into the tight armor of a Guard. When morning came, he was roughly awakened by Victor and sent to make preparations for the king's carriage that would take him into town. In the middle of his preparations, Victor came up behind him, sounding worried.

"Casthon," Victor said to Migero, "see what those stable boys need. They should not be sifting through that." Migero obliged, and, clumsily in the armor, made his way over to the stable boys, both of which looked to be in the early teens. They immediately stopped what they were doing and looked at Migero, who had no idea what he was going to say to them.

"Sir! Sir, we must get weapons for our family. They say there's been a witch spotted in the plaza!"

"What's this?" Victor asked, handing off his report to another and turning his attention to the boys.

"A witch, sir! She's saying she'll curse our families! Sir, witches haven't been seen since the Advent of the New Dawn! We need something to protect our families with!" the energetic youth said. Victor's eyes briefly glanced at Migero before looking back to the boys.

"Pieces of metal will not save you against sorcery, boy. Go back home; we will take care of this matter," he said harshly. The boys looked to Migero pleadingly, evidently thinking he had some sort of command here. Victor gave one of the youths a rap on the shoulder, and they immediately dispersed.

Turning to Migero, he muttered under his breath.

"Find McGreggor. The man has my...medicine," he said reluctantly, knowing that Migero was aware of the circumstance of his condition. "I will need it. Meet me in the plaza with it."

"Yes sir," Migero replied, watching Victor follow behind the boys' trail at an even pace. Quickly regaining his senses, Migero quickly ran off to find where McGreggor was stationed. It took some asking around, but soon he was led to the station depot not far from the plaza.

"McGreggor! Sir," Migero said, approaching him slowly to give McGreggor time to disengage from anything he was doing currently.

"What's happened?" he asked urgently.

"Victor needs his medicine."

"What? What would cause him to-"

"Some boys came by, saying there was a witch spotted in the plaza," Migero replied.

"A witch? But they are a dead race! How could there be any in existence?"

"Sir, I don't know, but he needs his medicine!"

"Right, come with me my friend," McGreggor said, and they both hurried to the plaza. By the time both of them made it back nearly half-an-hour later, they saw a woman hanging from a gibbet with Victor laying in a pool of blood.

I have taken notice to this thread and read it very closely. I understand I am new and am more than certian that my second post should not be correcting someone's writing but it is the man to choose his truck and not the truck to choose his man. So I would do as though I would do if years had passed since I started posting as I would do if it was, and in fact is my first post. You have said any suggestions are much appreciated so I will suggest a few corrections.



This paragraph is a great rough draft paragraph. It takes the bulk of your imagination and structurizes it, then formulates imageary (<-- I don't think I spelt that right I am sorry lol.). The only weak point to the all of your writing I see is punctuation, conotation, and timing. Almost every sentence you have is great for painting your idea in someone elses head it just sounds un-natural because you frequently change the "tense" of the sentence with prefixes anmd subfixes along with past, present, and "will soon happen" tense's.



This sentence is great, it is all past tence. All of the actions you are describing have happened, and are being told as such.



Then you switch it to it has happened, which is right, but then to it is happening with "signifying". Used incorrectly in context it changes the tense of the sentence. This happens alot through out all of this piece I took notice too and don't mean at all to harp or even sound rude but just quickly read over it and correct the most of it if you feel I made a valid point. That is the beauty about writing though, it is your own and you can treat it as such. If at all you are interested though here is a way that I would write the paragraph in past tense:

Muffled footsteps marked the entrance of the Guard to the plaza. Banners flew high in the heavens, signifying the events importance. An inauguration of utmost class - the placing of a new king to the throne. He would present himself to the people soon. They would then resume their normal lifestyles, without the worry of becoming victim of a worsining anarchy.

Other than that this piece is very well writen. It takes a mind full of imagination to write as much as you do as often as you do, that is a tool many people lack. Well hope to hear from you soon.

Punctuation has always seemed to be an issue with me (mainly commas). Either I’ll add a swamp of commas or completely nix something that I should have had, haha. I see your point on switching the tenses though. To be completely honest, I wasn’t really aware I was doing it (I was just writing the story as it came to me). Though, while I do agree with what you’re saying (there actually are places I’ll need to fix to make it more fluent, part of this reason is because of what I said previously; I just wrote as it came to me), it actually is meant to be a mesh of the present, past, and future. The story itself is told in the present, but I add in pieces here and there that has either futuristic foretelling or is a little smidgen of info from the past.

I will go through the first chapter and see if there are some tense changes I should fix. Most of that stuff is meant to be there, but if it’s confusing to go through an read I’ll try editing it so that it doesn’t seem so awkward to go from past -> present -> past -> future.

Thank you very much for your feedback, BD. I truly appreciate you taking the time to read it and comment. =).

I'm sorry, but I feel I have to disagree with BD, I believe that the tense changes are fine, although I would suggest lengthening it a bit, especially while Migero is waiting, and when he runs to the plaza. When writing, it is very difficult to emulate time, especially large amounts of time passing, without it seeming like a waste of time to the reader. I also think you could benefit from going a little more in depth into, not only the character descriptions, but the surroundings as well; Namely the house, the city (population and layout), the crawlspace under the floorboards, and the new kings appearance. I have a pretty good idea of what all of that looks like, but you have to think of it like an RPG, and all of the readers are playing, you are the GM/DM, and you have to be very specific about everything (especially if the majority of the story takes place in this town). Does the royal family have a history of corruption? What time setting does it take place in? You may even want to think about an intro to organize everything, and get it all started. Those are just my thoughts, some people won't agree with them, but oh well... Overall, I give it an 8/10; Very good, but not spectacular...

On a more positive note, I think it is truly astounding that someone of your age group has found such a steady voice in their writing. I love the imagery you provide, and the dialog is is fine, you may want to have a little more character reaction to what others are saying. Like I said, overall, a great story, good delivery, okay description, excellent voice.

I had a feeling that description would be lacking. Either I give way too much, or I give too little (in this case too little). I’m going through it already to double-check tenses, so I’ll add in more description to it while I’m at it. As for giving an intro to somewhat organize things, I usually don’t do that. It’s more in my style to thrust someone into the action, and have the reader pick up the details as they go. However, if someone doesn’t really know the time placement (or the setting itself), that can pose a bit of a problem for my style, haha...I will try and add as much as I can regarding what is really involved with certain aspects of the plot (countries / royal background). Hopefully I can get all that incorporated into this without making it...superfluous.

Doubtful I’ll have the edited part up today (yeah, I’m ditching the whole “I’ll just edit it when I’m done” thing, haha), but I’ll put a note in the “subtitle” header for my topic when Ch. 1 has been edited.

Thank you very much for the critique, Dream. =).

I do understand and see that which your are trying to emphasize with this statement. I do also agree that it is in your words "very difficult to emulate time", but in any case while writing time is not emulated through the use of description but more over the use of vocabulary in proper context. Consistency in writing is key, and when consistency lacks so does the writing structure and delivery. I would agree that the piece has amazing voice and is delivered with grace, but why settle for standard when the piece could be amazing?

8/10 is good but 10/10 is great.

When describing time in a piece using context, you simply remove the confusion to the reader all together and the time is, as supposed to be, assumed through context. Also, if consistency is found properly in your writing and in the proper context the passing of large amounts of time are also very simple to recongnize (<---I murdered that words spelling sorry : P ) because of the shift in tense through out your context. Something as little as this (timing and tense's, context, ect.) if often times looked over and passed up during the critique'. But, simple errors such as this , context, tense's, timing, ect., seperate the greatest author's from the best. So I stand still vast in my opinion. Why over look the timing error when you could correct and have your piece read fluently and sound natrual to the tounge and mind?

And I am sorry I didn't posative encouragement after my first post, that was very rude of me.
It truely is a great piece for a writer your age.

In this forum, actually reading someone's works and commenting on it is a compliment. But thank you. =).

Also, I have updated my first chapter. I've added quite a bit, so please tell me if some of my edits need more explaining (in the sense that they're confusing, not that you think there should be more of an explanation. That’ll come later. >.o).

Again, thank you for reading and commenting!

(I realize I will need to get a better transition worked in between this next installment and the prior part of chapter one, but it will happen at a later time. Thanks for viewing at the least.)




An acrid stench of dried blood mixed with sewer drainage met Migero's nose. He waved it away, cautiously approaching Victor's motionless form. Placing a hand on his neck, Migero couldn't find a pulse; Victor was as good as dead. Ignoring the blood on his glove, Migero's attention fell upon the woman, the 'witch', hanging from the galleys. Curiosity aroused in him with regards to why the woman had been strung from it without even a trial, much less where she came from. She looked ordinary enough; golden hair fell to her waist, a modest frame beset her. Standing up, he looked around him, suddenly surprised; he realized all eyes were upon him. It had slipped his mind that he was, albeit unofficially, in charge of this situation as long as he was in the uniform of a Guard. Gathering his thoughts, he held back his shoulders and sneered from under his helmet; he had seen the Guard look down upon common villagers like they were rats. The visor helped distort his voice as he reached for a deeper tone inflection.

"You!" he shouted, pointing the bloodied glove to an unsuspecting male. The man stood forward hesitantly, gathering his courage. A short mat of brown hair plastered his forehead from the midday heat, and beady black eyes radiated further warmth from underneath. He had no facial hair to speak of, and otherwise wore modest clothing over his medium build, as one would find in a smithy.

"Sir!" the man replied, standing up straight.

Migero made up for his own hesitation by slowly walking up to the man and observing him, as he would a little child that was playing a game with the big kids. "Who is that woman?" he asked first, eliciting many whispers to spur forth. Migero realized that may have been the wrong starting question; his leader was dead, and the first thing for him to ask was who that woman was?

"A witch, sir. Alinda Vide."

"How did she kill the captain?" Migero inquired, his wary eyes flashing across the crowd, uneasiness seeping its way into his thoughts.

"She touched his forehead, sir, when he came to her and asked who she was. She was screaming almost incoherently, but she was threatening us, saying she'd kill our families with her magic."

"How did she end up on the gibbet?" It suddenly resurfaced on Migero's mind that usually nobody was really cooperative with the Guard, especially when it came to questioning and answering. He would have to remember that next time; he was used to having a normal conversation with somebody where there was usually never a pause after six sentences, and usually never went without a detail overflow.

But the man did not answer right away. He fidgeted slightly, and his eyes betrayed a look out to the people gathered and listening intently. Recovering quickly, he answered somewhat vaguely. "She was hung there, sir, by a few from the crowd."

"Can you identify them?" Migero asked, though he was almost certain on his own that this man was one of the few. Even more certain was Migero that this man would not tell him.

"I don't know, sir. I came afterwards. I didn't see who did it, sir."

There it was. Flat out denial of anything. Migero nodded. "Very well."

"Take him away," came a voice from behind Migero. It was one of the Guard Captains. Abruptly coming to his senses, Migero realized he was supposed to be moving. Approaching the man, he firmly placed his hand on his arm, binding his hands together with a chain that hung at his waist. He walked him out of the crowd, while the Guard Captain stayed behind and gave a thorough glancing look over the crowd. "Carry on," he said finally, walking out after Migero.

With the man deposited in the cells of the palace, the Guard Captain called Migero to his room. When Migero entered, he couldn't help but feel extraordinarily at unease. Victor was his key here, but with him dead? What was he supposed to do now? The room was decorated finely, with tapestries on the windowless walls. A sword was encased in glass near the far side of the oblong room next to his armor, and a large, four-poster bed was off to the side.

"You have done well today. I hear you are the new recruit of Victor's, may he rest in peace," the Guard said solemnly. He was out of uniform right now, insofar as he had his helmet off and the outermost black layer of armor.

"Thank you, sir," Migero said, unable to contain a tremor in his voice. The Captain smiled kindly, taking Migero by surprise.

"With Sir Victor's passing, I would take it upon myself for you to join my regiment. You are not yet ready for fighting, but...I believe you will do fine upholding the law in the city. Tomorrow morning at dawn, report here again and I will give you your first assignment. Until then you have the day free," the Captain said officially, with a nod of his head. Migero saluted before leaving the room, left to wander aimlessly back through the palace until he found his way out. He garnered a few strange glances, but he left the impression that he was actually doing something productive in his wandering. When he finally made it out, he headed to the barracks. There was a full day before tomorrow, and he had it all to himself. Taking off his Guard uniform, he stashed put his other clothes back on and snuck out of the barracks. He didn't want to spend it as a Guard; the city would be rife with gossip now, and he wanted to see what they had to say.