Prologue
The room was dark, it's only illumination coming from the occasional flash of light, caused by storm's lightning, raging outside. With these small illuminations the bookshelves of a great, yet small, library were illuminated, all filled with volumes upon volumes of books. Texts ranging from the myths and legends, to the core history, of Cyridale. One lone desk, with a cushionless mahogany chair lay in the center of the room. Surrounded by the volumes, the fireplace that lay only a few feet from it, serving as the only heat to protect whoever ventured inside from the cold that seemed to linger in the air dispite the high tempurature of the summer months.
A lone man stood, facing one of the shelves. His long, black, hair falling down either side of his face. His fingers touching the spines of the many novels that lay in front of him, searching, longing, to brush the spine of the book he desired. His pale blue eyes scanning the titles, eyes full of wisdom beyond the man's years, eyes filled with purpose. Finally as his hand brushed past one of the books he stopped. Slowly he clutched it and pulled it from the shelf, eyes darting to the closed, and locked, door as if expecting it to open any second.
After what seemed like hours his gaze once again shifted to the book. Clutching it to his black tunic he made his way over to the lone desk. Placing the novel on the desk he sat himself in the chair, gazing at it once more, hesitant, trying to fight the longing that drew his hand ever closer to the leather-bound cover. A leather that was as perfect as the day that it had been bound to the book, all those years ago.
Exhaling a long, deep, breath the man recalled the information he had gathered over the years. Though the tales he had heard had seemed so outrageous that only a man who had a little too much to drink would believe them, he found that fact and legend could not be separated by his mind alone. He had read the novels on the shelves of this library many times, yet had never come across this book. The book that his father had been rumored to have read before his disappearance. A father the man had never known. A father the man cared nothing for.
Opening the eyes the man had closed during his reminiscence he gazed at the book. The eyes falling upon a title the man knew existed, but had sworn wasn't there merely minutes ago. The title he had long searched for, the title that had always been there, and the title that unknown to him would shift the fate of the man as it had done to many others before him.
Opening the eyes the man had closed yet again apon reading the gold lettered words the man pulled back the cover, slowly, still hesitant of what he was about to do. As text appeared before him he began to read and with each word the man, unknown to him, began to fade, little by little, until by the time he was on the second page he was already transparent. So slowly Marcus Reinsfield faded from Cyridale's existence, and as the last of his appearance disappeared so too did the book, finding it's way back into it's place on the bookshelf from whence it came. The Legends of Guile had claimed another man, changed another fate
Chapter 1
Night had fallen on the Hendrian estate, even the most vigilant of watchmen was succumbing to it's effects. The perfect opportunity for the the lone figure to move from his hiding spot, within a shadow cast by the very man, watching for his kind. Slowly edging towards the man, who's own torchlight had sealed his fate, the figure drew a knife, not making a sound. The blade gleamed for an instant before it left the figure's hand, and into the neck of the oblivious watchman, who didn't make a sound as he died, choking on his own blood.
Hand lashing out the figure caught the torch before it crashed to the ground, leaving the man to die as the figure drew it's knife from the neck. Sheathing it the figure made it's way to a window, which was carelessly left unlocked and lifted it, silently, still holding the torch with it's free hand. The figure's face was shrouded in shadows, cast by the flame, as he looked one more time upon the three-story building. Hoping that it had calculated right the figure crept in, closing the window as quietly as it had opened.
Looking around it realized it was in luck, it was near it's destination. Looking around the room for something special, something that stood out from the rest of the many trinkets that rested on the many shelves that lined the wall it shifted it's gaze to the door on the opposite side of the room.
Not paying attention to the details of the other various objects in the room it made it's way to the door, pressing up against it, trying to hear even the slightest intake of breath from the other side. Sitting for what seemed an endless amount of time the knob finally turned, unlocked, not making a creek as it was pulled open. The hall that lay before it's eyes was empty, dead silent.
Leaving the door open it crept into the hall, an eerie darkness across it's near six-foot figure despite the torch that was still clutched firmly in it's left hand. Searching for the door that was it's goal. The figure probed it's thoughts for the outlay of the place, not taking long until it's hand rested on a golden nob, with one lock hanging below it. Reaching into the pocket of it's black atire the figure drew one small black, velvet case, opening it to reveal five different sized needle-like objects, hooked at one end. Drawing one, it place the case back, turning it's attention on the lock.
Slowly the figure inserted the thin object into the lock, probing it gently. The figure worked diligently, redoing the task it had done countless time. This was it's life, it's art. Eventually a smile came to the figures lips, as a slight click resounded through the hall. Withdrawing the tiny object the figure placed it back in the case, turning the nob the figure walked into the room.
Before it sat a number of jewels and trinkets, few of which concerned the figure. The figure pocketed but three of the most valuable before a shout was heard from outside, the dead guard had been discovered. Clutching the torch tighter the figure left the room, closing the door behind it, the sound of footsteps fast approaching in it's ears. Turning, the figure dashed, towards the door form which it entered, just as the first guard turned into the hallway, shouting at his companions before drawing his sword, it ring echoing in the figure's ears as the man began to charge.
The time for secrecy was over, the time for escape was now. Drawing it's knife just in case it'd need it the figure quickened it's pace, hoping to beat the guard to the door. As the two neared the figure made a turn, opening the door with his knife-hand. Dashing to the window without stopping the figure froze, turning. Pulling it's left hand back the hurled the torch, catching the fur rugs that covered the floor ablaze right as the guard entered the room, halting at the sight of the flames.
As if in slow motion the guard watched the figure smirk at him, lifting up the window with it's free hand. It's full face illuminated by the fire. It was a face the guard would make sure never to forget. The face was that of a man, that of a thief. Turning suddenly the thief jumped out the window, his smirk remaining as he blended in with the shadows of the night. Sheathing his dagger he made his way to the city resting in the valley, but only a half-days travel from the estate. He would fetch a good price for what he had looted. “All in a day's work.” He told himself, chuckling. “All in a day's work."
*************
It was dark. That was all Marcus Reinsfield could tell of his current surroundings. How he had gotten here Marcus could not remember. Surely he must have fallen asleep while reading, yet, he could not remember being tired in the slightest. That must have been what had happened though. Marcus could not possibly think of another explanation. Yes, that must be it, then someone had broken in and kidnapped me... Left me to die here... wherever this is... He reasoned with himself. Why though, what could be someone's reason? Finding none he set his mind to figuring out where exactly he was.
Even before his eyes began to fully adjust he realized that instead of laying down, which surely he should have been if indeed he was just waking up, he was standing. Turning his head he could make out the outline of trees that he had never seen before. These instead of the wider, longer oak leaves that he was accustomed to had what looked to be spikes bristling out from all sides. Intrigued, he began walking up to one when his mind picked up the next two sensations.
As he took a step he felt the ground give way beneath him slightly. At the same time he realized he was cold. Very cold in fact. Looking down he noticed that the ground beneath him was white, and his feet seemed to have fallen through it slightly. Wrapping his arms around himself Marcus made his way to the trees again. Stopping at one to touch one of the many green spikes that protruded from one of the branches. Drawing his hand back instantly as the pain registered.
Where... am I..? Marcus asked himself, stepping away from the tree. The thought seemed to mock him as he looked up at where the night's sky should have greeted him, only to find a seemingly endless expanse of gray. Sighing, the man shivered as he began walking through the trees, hoping to find something at least warm if not familiar, lest he should freeze in the foreign land. Running a hand through his nearly frozen black hair he look up as slow-falling, cold, rain began to hit his face.
Cursing his misfortune Marcus picked up the pace which he was walking, stumbling once, but quickly regaining his balanced Marcus looked around himself once again. Through the white haze that now clouded his vision he swore he could pick out a path some distance to his right. Changing direction he began walking faster, nearly going into a dead run as he realized indeed it was a path up ahead.
Stopping at the path's edge Marcus looked down either side of it. Only to see nothing. Only slightly dismayed he soon reasoned that if it was indeed a path, then it meant a town was near. From there he could learn where he was, how to get back to estate, and above all else, he would be able to find warmth.
His hopes revitalized Marcus began to walk along the path. Yet, as the minutes soon turned to hours he found his hopes once again being diminished like his energy. Wondering how much farther he could possibly have to walk Marcus began to feel a slight twinge of panic. His limbs had gone numb more than an hour ago. It was as if he was a hallow shell, mechanically pulling himself along the path. Soon, though, even that became a task of his own as he found himself stumbling more often, and slowing his pace.
His lungs burned from the cold with each new intake of breath, and he found though he clutched himself as tightly as he could, his arms no longer could grip his body. He stumbled once more and crashed to the ground, motionless, before a familiar sound reached his ears. The sound of horses treading across the earth. Looking behind him, he noticed a faint light steadily approaching. A carriage! He screamed to himself inside his head as he slowly tried to stand up. Waving an arm to signal it.
Yet, the carriage never slowed, instead it ignored him entirely as it continued moving along. Perplexed Marcus held his hand out in front of the driver as it started to pass him. Nothing, no recognition, not even the eyes flickered towards him. Quite startled now, and desperate he grabbed onto to carriage, hoisting himself up, with difficulty, and held on with what strength he could. The warmth from the inside taken as a godsend as he slowly regained feeling in his extremities.
He brought his hand to the door's handle, hesitating as he heard the voice of a man inside. Hoping that the man wouldn't mind an uninvited guest too much Marcus slowly opened the door, slipping inside, and quickly surveying the hooded man who was now staring directly at him.
This was something I started around november, and added on sporatically. Figured I may as well post what I have of it.
