|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:46 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:47 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:54 am
DISCLAIMER
Read at your own risk. This work contains references to fictional organizations and characters that may upset some individuals. As a fictional work, no ill-will is directed at parallel real-world organizations. Contains violence not suitable for some children.
This work is my own, I claim it entirely. Any use of this work of commercial or personal reasons should be first cleared with the author.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:55 am
Dedication:
This story is my baby. If you cut me, I bleed its words. This isn't just an account of a fictitious war, it is a journey for self. For myself in particular. These characters, each in their own way, are all a part of me, and I, them. Others make cameos too--my friends, and sometimes, family. I would like to thank each and everyone of them for dealing with my ramblings and rantings and generally putting up with me (now and later) and beg them to accept my dedication of this story. Guys, this one's for you.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:56 am
INDEX OF CHARACTERS
These are my latest loves. Some of them are more real to me than people. Most are worlds apart.
Arielle Kennilworthy (age unknown) daughter of the head of the Church, Arthur Kennilworthy. She's a rather shadowy figure. There's awful rumors flying around about her--she's insane, she's deathly ill, some say that she was killed a very long time ago, and now all that remain are the rumors. One fact remains absolute--no one has seen little Arielle in years. What could possibly possess her father to hide her so? What secret could be so terrible that she must be kept locked away?
Arthur Kennilworthy-- (forty-eight) A blunt, fastidious man. In my mind, he's a pleasant gentleman--most of the time. He has a dark side, one that's more dangerous than anything that could ever be imagined: A dark side that could lead to the destruction of the world. As far as the political food chain goes, you can't find anyone higher, save for the Pope himself. Arthur's very close head of the Church, the unified government of the world.
Nani-- the nurse that sees to Arielle.
Malach (pronounced Ma-LACK)--Chite's father, was a guardian of the second choir (there are nine). He now serves on the Council of Eldaen, which governs the Celestial City.
Wings--White, golden-tipped, a symbol of high standing in the Celestial community.
Saraiah (pronounced Sa-RIGH-ah)--A very commanding prescence, Saraiah was a Seraph, a messenger, of the second choir before she left the celestial army in order to marry Malach and gain some respectability. She has two bouncing baby angels--Milechite, a fully grown guardian working his way through the ranks of the army, and Chite, a young female. Though she was high-born, she didn't always enjoy such an elevated status. She's lived a proper life for the last twenty years, despite always having to remind Chite, her spirited daughter, of her place--at home, where she belongs. Lately, despite her spotless past, some disturbing rumors about some shadowy doings are swirling around this particular family. Saraiah is caught in the crossfire.
Wings--white, golden-tipped.
Weapons--Though it's been a few years since Saraiah has deigned to pick up anything dangerous, she's a very persuasive angel.
Milechite (pronounced Mi-LE-kite)--Chite's brother, serving in the army. He's Saraiah's pride an joy, and the perfect soldier--strong and silent. Handsome too, but that's neither here nor there. He's in the middle of a (rather unhappily arranged) betrothal to another high-born celestial.
Wings: White and Grey feathers, fully mature. Maximum speeds of ninety miles per hour, roughly.
Weapon: Traditional broadsword. Nicely balanced, rather rigid.
Campet (12), the orphaned son of a fisherman, is just a little bit different. Funny things seem to happen when he's upset. Other people don't seem to understand him, and he doesn't have many friends. The ones he does have are a bit strange-- the adorable daughter of the village head (Saia), forced to play with him in secret because of her station. And his other: friend and fellow outcast Fira.
Fira (58, which is ancient), lives on the edge of the village. She's world-weary, tough, and sarcastic. Like Cam, she is an outcast because of her differences, though we don't learn what they are until later. But when Saia's soul is spirited away, she and Cam embark on the journey of a lifetime to save her, and end up rescuing a lot more.
Saia (11 and a half, thank you very much), is the village head's only beloved child. She is sweet, demure, and well-mannered, and a bit too serious for her age. Most kids are afraid to play with her because of her father's position(he answers directly to the Church) but she finds a friend in villiage outcast Campet. Her innocence is her downfall, and she is kidnapped by a demon (for reasons I won't divulge because it'll spoil the story.)
Chite (12, pronounced KITE) lives in the City of Angels, far away from the clutches of the Church. Like Saia, her father is an important figure. But instead of a pompous village head, her father Malach is one of seven Elders that make up the governing body of the Celestial City. Chite is not human. She's an angel. Her greatest wish is for adventure. But as the honored daughter of an Elder it is her duty to stay in the city, make an acceptable marriage to another high-ranking celestial, and lead a generally boring life while her brother, who has just gladly received the ranking of archangel in the army, gets to go off on an adventure. But when two odd travellers show up and emplore her help, Chite's life is turned upside down. She may just get her adventure after all.
Dalon (13) doesn't know who he is. On the course of their journey, Chite, Fira, and Cam find him wandering alone in the plains. He has no memory whatsoever, but Chite is able to recognize him for what he really is--a fledgling demon. What will be his choice in the end? Will loyalty prove strongest? Will he betray his friends?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:57 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 8:59 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 9:14 am
PROLOGUE
They met in secret places; the small flat in Whitehall, the “abandoned” library in London, an after-hours chapel-turned-museum. They were the few, the elite; these men decided the fate of nations. The Pope was in attendance, Pope Innocence II and his undersecretary, Arthur. Cardinals Morae and Inare also, as well as a scrivener in order to record any official ordinances or decrees. At the moment, the last man was idle, the conversation now in progress strictly off the record. As was the custom, the Pontiff spoke first.
“These territories must be reclaimed.” The voice seemed to come at them from some otherworldly place, the man himself nearly lost in the shadow of a dying fire. At eighty, Innocence II was a commanding presence. The very folds of his transparent ivory skin seemed to radiate an austere majesty. His eyes were expressive, veiny blue pupils (nearly blind with age) surrounded by the creamy white iris. His teeth, sharpened by the relentless passage of time, were very nearly feral. At the moment, a blue vein was visible in the man's temples, throbbing to the tuneless beat of his voice, inexorable, powerful. "The pagan lands brim with heresy."
“My Lord, if I may,” Cardinal Morae broke in hesitantly. His voice was quavering. It was always a bit dangerous to interrupt His Holiness; he was to wait for a signal from the undersecretary before he continued. Kennilworthy raised two fingers of his right hand--the pope had deemed it appropriate that he should continue.
“It has been quite a while since the loss of the free territories. Generations have passed. Surely the progeny aren’t capable of defending their lands. You have seen how these civilizations have regressed with the onset of the anarchy. Would it not be possible to retrieve them?”
Silence reigned as the Pope inclined his head. He wore the gravest of expressions. It was minutes before he spoke at all. “It would be possible, with the right men.” Another pause. “Undersecretary?”
“Yes. Arthur nodded slowly. "We shall reclaim this immoral world in the name of all that is Holy.” Despite the gravity of the subject matter, the man wore a pleasant smile. He was seated to the right of the most powerful man in the world, and yet his countenance was unburdened by fear. It was uncanny, some said, the influence this man seemed to possess over the leader of the civilized world. Braver men than he would have been trembling.
The Pope gave an answering smile. “Very well. Let the inquisition begin.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 9:15 am
INTRODUCTION
The year is 1378 CE (current era).
The Church is busy as always in its work, for the work of the Church is never done.
The Church rules the world.
Their goal: To rid the earth of heresy.
The "pagan" lands brim with heresy.
The papacy is headed by the idealistic Innocence II, however, the real power lies within a man the world knows only as Arthur Kennilworthy. He came into power in 1370, and since, the men of the inquisitorial squad have shown no mercy to those deemed "heretics." If you are accused of heresy, the Church will find you, and when they do, they will kill you. However, parts of the world remain free--the "pagan" lands. Our story begins in the western waste, in a small village named Kayako...
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 9:20 am
Chapter One: NATURE OF THE BEAST
The day was beautiful, the first in a seemingly unending series of gray, rainy days that hung over the small village like a noxious pall. However, where most would have been celebrating, this particular village was tormented by a tragedy belied by the cheerful weather. The people, all grim, hung around the town square in small clusters and bunches, most wearing various shades of white or grey—the colors of mourning. The largest of these by far was clumped sullenly around the chief hovel—it was the house of the village head. Strange rumors had been floating around all day. Horrible rumors—rumors about the village head’s daughter.
But our story doesn’t begin there. Our story begins, like so many others, with the birth of a child that was just a little bit different…
Campet Marion was orphaned almost from the moment he drew his first breath. His father had been a native—a fisherman, in fact. As to the origins of his mother, none could really say. His father had simply come home with her, after a long trip down the coast. She had been pregnant. After a few months, she gave birth, dying in the process. His father, nearly bursting with grief, boarded his boat. In the days that would come, the other fishermen would sagely recall how they tried to reason with the man—a storm was coming, they’d said. You’d best not go out. You’ve still got the child.
It was true. Before she died, Fisherman Marion’s pretty wife had been delivered of a healthy baby boy. However, it wasn’t enough to stop the old man. So he had gone out, for the last time. He was never seen again.
But Cam (as the child had come to be known) was seen quite often in the town. Working the odd job when he could, and stealing his food when he couldn’t. The villagers had never liked Cam. He was too dirty, too poor, too different. The boy was strange. Though for all purposes he looked like any other village child, strange things happened when he got angry or upset. The other children of the all shied away from him, taunted him. Something about him made them uneasy.
At the time of the attack on the little girl, Campet was twelve. He couldn’t claim to be well-cared for, or even cared for at all. In the days after his birth, he had been passed around from house to house, no mother being able to stand him for too long. He had proved himself a queer child, even then. He was a quiet, for one. By the time all the other children had learned to scream and cry for food or pain or just general temper, Cam remained silent, only making quiet peepings in want of nourishment. He was odd in other ways as well. He had never crawled or bumped along the ground. One day, out of the blue, the toddler Cam had simply stood and walked, as though he had been doing it his whole life. This certainly unnerved his latest set of foster-parents
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 10:00 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 10:01 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 10:07 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 10:48 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 15, 2007 10:54 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
