Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

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JoshuaDurron
 

Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Fri Jan 31, 2003 12:06 pm

((Trying another fic here... Maybe I'll actually finish this one.))

Year 1050, in the City of Baron...

"Aw shut yer trap. I dun care what you got to say about it, magic an' such is the life blood of da world. An' you're sayin' to stop using it?"

The crowd surrounding the young man was growing, and questions like the one just asked were coming from many of the approaching people. However, the man was not one to be easily intimidated or distracted, and he seemed almost completely at ease dispite the hostile atmosphere around him. The only hint of nervousness he had was indicated by his absently fingering the religious rune that hung from his neck.

"Is magic our life blood?" the speaker asked the man who had just questioned him. "Or is it a potion? A potion we drink because it provides an easy solution to our problems? A potion we drink, without considering the side effects? I will not deny that magic has been an incredible boon to our society. In fact, the wonders it has done have benifitted almost every aspect of society, from transportation to cooking."

Here, he looked away from his antagonist and addressed the crowd at large. "But at what cost? Any person standing here can name at least one disaster or menace created by the same forces of magic. Demons summoned from the deepest reaches of hell, undead raised in the thousands, soulless golems ravaging the land, dangerous research going wrong and ruining whole villages with the explosive results. At one time, these may have been acceptable costs. But they are no longer."

The speaker's voice rose in pitch as he became swept away in what he was saying. Clearly, he believed it with all his heart. "In this day and age, there are countless other, less dangerous ways to achieve the benificial ends. Priests can easily match white mages in healing skill, and even now research into the nature of plants is proving to yeild more and more fully natural cures. Machines are quickly coming to match magical devices in efficiency and strength. All while posing less of a threat than magic."

The crowd, hearing these words, began to disperse, writing the speaker off as "One of those strange Valthi folks", or "some religious nut who's had to much to drink". Undaunted, the man pressed on, his voice rising in strength to reach those still within earshot. "The time has come for people to stop relying on magic and start doing things for themselves. The price is one we can no longer afford to pay."

With that, he seemed to have had his say. Although there were still a few people either casually interested or actively ridiculing him, he stopped speaking and began to depart the square in Baron he had been speaking in. Seeing that their prey had become less interesting, those mocking him decided to depart also, and those listening took their leave. No one seemed interested in learning more about the street preacher.

But it seemed at least one man was not done giving him a hard time. As the speaker walked towards the square's north exit, he was suddenly accosted by a voice from an alleyway.

"Ya make no sense. Whaddar ya wassin yur time for?"

The man was obviously drunk, as the two-thirds empty bottle of whiskey he had in one hand gave evidence of. He was also dirty, scruffy, and unshaven. But his clothes were of surprisingly good quality, once you looked under the layer of grime covering them, and something about the way he held himself, even when drunk, told one that he was unusual.

All this was lost on the street preacher, however. Or if he did notice it, he gave no indication. Instead, he simply answered the question. "I have a holy obligation to do my best to lead society in the path most benificial to it, by both word and example. And if I fail, then it shall become clear, in one way or another, that I was, myself, on the wrong path."

The drunk had taken a deep pull on his whiskey bottle as the other man spoke, and as he finished, he let out a laugh, spraying little drops of alchohol in a short arc in front of him. "Well then, misser, it shur seems to me that yur on the wrong path."

"Perhaps," the other replied. "But I will keep following it for now."

"Why?" The question comes from the drunk man like an arrow from a bow, as if he had anticipated that answer.

The preacher paused a moment, as if considering his answer. "Because I have faith-"

"FAITH!" The drunk, who had been leaning against one side of the alley up until his point, now shoved himself completely upright and shouted, "Well MY GOD lookie here, misser preacher man has FAITH!" The drunk staggered forward a few paces, and his voice lowered to normal (for a drunk) but remained openly hostile. "Lemme tell you sommin. Yur faith makes you blind, misser preacher. If ya think puttin magic out of the picture will solve any problems, ya got 'nother thin' comin'. 'Cause the world out there don' need magic to be nasty. So I'll pass on the faith, thank you, and stick to this." He hefted his bottle as if to seal his point, and took another drink.

The preacher shook his head. "Strong drink is just another magic. Perhaps it helps you some. But it can also hurt you, much more than it could ever help you. And in the end, it cannot take the place of faith."

The drunk reared back and glared at the other. "Oh, is that so. Well then you can take your faith with you, all the way to hell!" With that, the drunk threw the bottle in his hand at the preacher. It broke on the ground about a half foot from it's target's feet. His final act of spite towards the preacher accomplished, the drunk collapsed on the ground and passed into a drunken stupor.

The other looked at him for a moment, then whispered to himself. "Blind, yes. But then, musn't all faith be blind to some things?"

With that, he stepped down the alley and, after a fair amount of grunting and manuevering, managed to lift the drunk over his shoulder. He walked out of the alley and back towards his original destination. A handful of people, who had been present for his speech earlier, saw the sight and wondered where the young man was headed with the drunk. And why he even bothered at all...

((The views expressed in this post are those of their respective holders, and not necesarily those of the author. Ect, ect, ect... [/disclaimer])) <p>

They call me Lorr...</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=joshuadurron>JoshuaDurron</A] at: 1/31/03 7:59:32 pm

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Fri Jan 31, 2003 8:26 pm

"his voice rising in strength" -- I think that'd sound better if you worded it: "his voice strengthening". Personal nitpickiness.


"'Cause the world out there don' need magic to be nasty." -- Not a problem, but interesting. It makes sense that in a world with magic, some people would blame the world's problems on this force, not knowing what it's like without it...

""Oh is that so." -- should be "Oh, is that so?"

All in all, interesting little writing. o.o I'm curious to see more. <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Got Dragonale?" -- Richard Storm (Nakibe)
-=- "Bah, my past was full of drinking and polymorph spells." -- Hakaril (Archmage144)
-=- "I REJECT YOUR PRESENCE!" -- CaptainPervy (UnclePervy)
-=- "What. In. The. @#%. Are. You. Two. Doing?" -- Hzar (Banjooie)</span></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Fri Jan 31, 2003 8:58 pm

Year 1050 in the City of Baron...

The world was blurry, and someone was beating on his head over and over with a small tack hammer. Those were his first thoughts as he became conscious. The man from the alley sat up, finding himself in a small room. From the looks of it, he was in the room of an inn. And he had no idea how he got there.

There was an instant of nervousness, and he looked about, expecting to see some prostitute, or perhaps a slaver cleaning him up for auction. Instead, there was a tall, slim young man with sparse blond hair sitting in a chair at a desk by the window. He was scratching away on a sheet of paper with a pen and ink, apparently trying to get everything in his head down before it exploded out through his ears.

The light coming in the window hurt the eyes of the hungover man, and he clapped both palms over his eyes with a moan. As he fell back into the bed, the man at the desk turned around, his face and the rune hanging from his neck showing he was the same street preacher who had dragged him out of the square before.

"Where the hell am I?" The moan seemed to arise from the depths of the matress on the bed, as if it's occupant had somehow managed to merge his own body with the box springs. Undoubtedly, he wished he could.

"You're in my room at the Southern Cross." The man at the desk answered.

The hungover one burrowed deeper under the covers, pulled a pillow over his head and grumbled, "Stop screaming."

The man at the desk laughed, and turned back to his writing. There was a long pause, and it seemed that the one under the sheets had either fallen asleep once more, or gone on to another world. But eventually, the silence was broken again as a rough voice asked, "What's your name? And why the hell did you help me?"

A few more scratching sounds were all the answer he got for a moment. Then the pen could be heard rattling on the edge of the ink well as it's user put it down. "My name is Thomas Dumat. And I helped you... because it's what I do."

Silence reigned for a moment. Then, "It's... what you do?"

"Yes." The chair creaked as the person in it turned to look at the mound under the covers. "Just like drinking is what you do, helping others is what I do."

There was a slow, dry laugh from the bed. "An odd hobby. But you're a priest, so I guess it fits. I should have known better to pass out near a priest. Now, I suppose you're going to lecture me about the evils of drink or something."

"No." The chair creaked once more as the person in it turned back to his writing. A stunned sound came from the bed, and the covers were pulled back as it's occupant stared in disbelief at Dumat.

"No?"

"No. I think the 'evils of strong drink' are quite apparent to you right now. I'd just like to know your name, although even that's unnecesarry if you don't wish to tell me. In short, you're free to go any time." More scratching as Dumat continued his almost frantic writing.

For a moment, the man just sat in bed, to stunned to notice the bright sunlight, his clothes sitting on the seat two feet over, or even the fact that his mouth was hanging open, despite the fact that it was drier than beef jerky over an open fire. Then he seemed to recover himself. His jaw clicked shut, and he worked his tounge about in it for a moment, trying to get some saliva in his mouth to losen things up. Finally, he spoke again.

"It looks like it's about ten o'clock. Last I checked it was four in the afternoon. How long was I out?"

There was a moment pause as Dumat finished his sentence. Then, as he dipped his pen into the inkwell he took the time to answer. "Three days, more or less."

Again, the man seemed to be in awe for a moment. Eventually he managed to stutter, "Thr- three days?"

Dumat nodded. "Three days. Either you're not accustomed to drinking, or you took in an awful lot. The innkeeper threw a fit over the smell you had the first night, but an open window soon solved that."

There was another lengthy lapse in the conversation, and Dumat placed aside one sheet of paper and took up another. He had almost half filled this one when the man behind him spoke once more. "I see... well, I guess I owe you one."

He stood up and began to get dressed, rather surprised to note that his clothes had not only been cleaned, but patched up. Dumat said nothing, only continued writing whatever it was that held his interests so strongly.

A full sheet of paper later, Dumat was still writing, and his guest was preparing to leave. Neither had spoken a word. Just as his hand came to rest on the doorknob, he paused, apparently indecisive. Dumat was still writing quietly.

"Sethrik Durron."

For the first time, Dumat stopped writing in the middle of a word. "Eh?"

"My name. Sethrik Durron." The door swung open, and Sethrik's footsteps echoed off into the corridor.

Dumat looked at the closed door for a moment, mildly surprised, then took out a fresh sheet of paper and wrote the name down. Then he set it aside and returned to what he had been doing before... <p>

They call me Lorr...</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=joshuadurron>JoshuaDurron</A] at: 1/31/03 9:31:15 pm

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Fri Jan 31, 2003 9:19 pm

aweful -- "awful"
apparetnly -- "apparently"
Dumat was still writing calmly. -- You say he was writing frantically, now he's writing calmly? Perhaps you should substitute "quietly" or "silently" for "calmly."

Now. More. :D <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Got Dragonale?" -- Richard Storm (Nakibe)
-=- "Bah, my past was full of drinking and polymorph spells." -- Hakaril (Archmage144)
-=- "I REJECT YOUR PRESENCE!" -- CaptainPervy (UnclePervy)
-=- "What. In. The. @#%. Are. You. Two. Doing?" -- Hzar (Banjooie)</span></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Sat Feb 01, 2003 11:50 am

((Sorry about all the edits to the previous segment. Just kept noticing things I wanted to change... Anyways, this is an actual next chapter, so enjoy!))

Year 1050 in the City of Baron

Five packages of brown paper lay on the counter. Each was marked with a different name and destination. Next to the packages was a list of possible destinations, and prices. Currently, however, that list was being ignored by the people on both sides of the counter.

"Surely there is some way you can lower the price." The man asking was none other than Thomas Dumat. Apparently, he was trying to mail what he had been writing earlier. Equally apparent was the fact that the money he had in his pouch was not enough to cover the cost of the courier service.

"I am sorry, but I must stand by the prices I have named. And I assure you, there is no place in the city which will charge you less." The merchant placed both hands on the counter and folded them. "Now if you are unwilling to pay that price, I must ask you to move aside and let the next customer through."

Dumat sighed, and pulled several gold coins out of his money pouch. "How much will this cover?"

The merchant looked at the coins carefully, and then replied, "You will need twice that for the entire lot. Would you like to just send part of it?"

The question was troublesome. The noonday sun reflected off of his holy rune as he absently twirled the pendant between his fingers. It was a fairly valuable piece of jewelry, and could easily-

His trail of thought broke as someone suddenly appeared beside him. Several more coins joined his own on the table, and a voice said, "That should be enough to cover the cost."

"It is," the merchant confirmed, not questioning the money's source. A moment later, Dumat had signed a few papers and his transaction was complete. He walked away from the courier's stall with a bemused expression on his face.

"I was not expecting to see you again so soon, Sethrik."

Beside him, the other man shrugged. "I was just passing by. Thought I'd give you a hand. And please, call me Seth. I can't stand my full name."

Dumat raised an eyebrow. "I see. Where, pray tell, where you headed, Seth?"

"To the Belching Dragon, home of the finest whiskey in Baron," Sethrik replied with a smile. "I managed to pick up some quick cash today, and I intend to enjoy it."

"Oh? I suspect you just spent a good deal of the money you acquired," Dumat commented. "I do not believe in holding debts myself, but I also do not believe in letting my own go unpaid." He reached up to his neck and undid the chain that held the rune he wore. "Consider this my thanks."

Sethrik took the rune in one hand, and looked at it carefully. "Um... thanks, I guess. But I really don't have much use for something like this. And surely it has some value to you..."

"It is a thing, Seth, nothing more. Things are meant to be passed from one person to another when the time is right." Dumat paused at an intersection and looked at it carefully. "I believe this is where our paths part. I am travelling to Doma today."

With a slow motion, Sethrik pocketed the rune he had been given, while looking at his companion curiously. "I see. Well then I believe I shall continue on my own way."

Nothing more was said as the two men parted company, but Sethrik found himself walking slower as he approached the Belching Dragon. For the first time in a long time, he found he could think clearly about things. And think without there being an accompanying wave of despair. As he entered the tavern, he took the rune he had been given out of his pocket and examined it. Bright, silvery streaks of light were reflected off of it's surface, catching the eyes of several people in the bar. Sethrik quickly returned the item to his pocket and entered, advancing to the bar. No point thinking more about that right now, were his thoughts as he pounded on the counter to attract the innkeepers' attention.

Once he had it, however, he did not receive a warm welcome. "Durron!" The innkeeper shouted. "You'll get no drink from here until you pay off the tab you racked up last time. You still owe me for four bottles of whiskey!"

Sethrik checked his pouch, and found that, while he could pay off that kind of tab, he would not have enough left to afford anything else. He thought about it for a moment, and the pulled the rune out of his pocket once more. "Eh, Harold, you pawn stuff, right? How much can you give me for this?"

The 'keeper took the rune in one hand and looked it over with a practiced eye. Then he seemed to become more interested and withdrew a jewelers glass. "Hm..." was all he would say for a while. Finally he put it down and handed the rune back to Sethrik. "I can't pay you fairly for something like that, Durron. I suggest you take it to a jeweler's stall, or some other such place."

"Eh?" Sethrik looked at the rune as it was handed back to him. "What do you mean? A piece of silver like this can't be worth more than three bottles..."

A crash sounded as the 'keeper dropped the glass he had begun to polish. With a startled expression on his face, the 'keeper leaned over the bar and looked Sethrik dead in the eye. "You playing with me?"

"I beg your pardon?" He countered one question with another, while leaning back to put some more distance between the 'keeper and himself.

"You tellin' me you didn't... look now, Durron, I don't care how you get a hold of stuff like that, but don't be tryin to sell me stolen property." The 'keeper glared across the bar at the man in the seat before him.

"It's not stolen!" Sethrik sputtered, "It was given to me."

The 'keeper nodded, and replied, "Sure." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "Every day someone just ups and gives you a piece of solid platinum. Get out of here, Durron, and don't come back 'til you've gotten a hold of some honest money."

With this, Sethrik was escorted out of the bar and deposited in the streets. He offered no resistance to his two burly companions, mainly because he knew he couldn't resist, but also because he was still in shock.

Several passers by saw him standing there, the rune held in one hand, a look of absolute disbelief on his face.

"Platinum...?" <p>

They call me Lorr...</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=joshuadurron>JoshuaDurron</A] at: 2/5/03 3:08:00 pm

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Wed Feb 05, 2003 2:31 pm

The Belching Dragon... XD

Okay...this bit here: "I do not believe in holding debts myself, but I do not believe in letting my own go unpaid." It seems a bit...funny. The way English normally goes, you'd need a different transition than "but"...something more along the lines of "but I also."

"It is a thing, Seth, nothing more. Things are meant to be passed from one person to another when the time is right." -- Me likies that quote.

"No point thinking more about that right now, were his thoughts as he pounded on the counter to attract the innkeepers' attention." -- was his thought...although that's a strange way (to me) to indicate thought. I'm used to reading and writing thought "dialogue" in italicized form. Not everyone uses that convention, however.

"I suggest you take it to a jewelers stall" -- jeweler's stall
____

Now, technical notes aside...wait, no, one more. A hunk of platinum that big'll get that man killed, if it's worth in Baron anything near what it is here. For that matter, I'm surprised a simple barkeep could determine platinum from white gold or silver, or an enchanted other metal...or a drunkard knew what it was, for that matter (though he might not, that's not specifically clarified, just implied).

I suppose platinum could be more common in Gaera, however. That would mean it'd be worth less and more people'd know what it is.

Also keep in mind that platinum is EXTREMELY soft, even moreso than pure gold I believe, so that thing's going to get bent, scratched, and battered all to hell, really quickly. Of course, what Gaera has that our world doesn't, is magic -- an enchantment could probably protect it, I suspect.

Ohjes. And interesting addition. More. :D <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Bah, my past was full of drinking and polymorph spells." -- Hakaril (Archmage144)
-=- "I wanna get so drunk that I start seeing my friends as cows." -- Aya (LadyDragonClawsEDW)
-=- "If you're still able to see in colors and not in scents...you're CERTAINLY not drunk enough." -- Nakibe
-=- "LET'S ALL RUN FREE, NAKED, AND DRUNK!" -- Shirinai</span></p>

Uncle Pervy
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby Uncle Pervy » Wed Feb 05, 2003 2:46 pm

-The man asking was none other than Thomas Dumat.

Mmmmm... Dun like that "none other than" it has the feel of the Author talking to the reader directly, whcih hadn't happened up til this point.

Is the Belching Dragon 300 years old? Funky. Image

As for that Rune...

I doubt it is pure platinum, due to it being shapped and all. Thus, it'd be a lot less valuable. And while Dumat would be a target for thieves, I dun think it would get him killed outright too quickly. Unless Baron = Forfiet Isle in crime rate.

But yeah, Barkeep man there likely shouldn't have known that <p><div style="text-align:center">Image Image Image Image Image ImageImage</div></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Wed Feb 05, 2003 4:11 pm

o.o;

Well, corrections made. As for the platinum, yeah. I wasn't sure what the exchange rate would be on Gaera, but really it's not a big rune. Maybe four inches square, and a quarter inch thick, definitely not pure platinum. I don't think I'll try and write around the barkeep now that it's set... but if he can't be expected to tell the difference between platinum and plain silver, neither could thieves, no?

[Brackets reserve this post for the next portion, coming later tonight.] <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Wed Feb 05, 2003 4:22 pm

Well, see, one doesn't have to go extremely out of one's way to learn to recognize or know about platinum...it's just if you don't have a reason to learn about it, then you probably won't. A theif would have a reason to learn about it, depending on how professional they are, and what type of marks they go after. A barkeep has no real reason to do so...

As a side note, a platinum wedding band costs around $2000-$2500. I'm not sure how much of that is the price of the diamond. A gold one (probably with a slightly lesser quality diamond) costs $100-150. <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Bah, my past was full of drinking and polymorph spells." -- Hakaril (Archmage144)
-=- "I wanna get so drunk that I start seeing my friends as cows." -- Aya (LadyDragonClawsEDW)
-=- "If you're still able to see in colors and not in scents...you're CERTAINLY not drunk enough." -- Nakibe
-=- "LET'S ALL RUN FREE, NAKED, AND DRUNK!" -- Shirinai</span></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Thu Feb 06, 2003 11:33 pm

((Meh. New post, since Dia replied and all...))

Year 1055 in the City of Doma

"Stop pullin' a man's leg. Sure, Dumat's generous and all, so I can buy the jewelery story, but you followed him just 'cause of that? Quite frankly, Seth, I don't believe it."

Sethrik shrugged. "Believe it or not, Ghinnard, it's why I'm here."

The man, Ghinnard, shrugged. The action caused his plate armor to rattle, and the noise continued as he unslung his crossbow and rested it on the knee he had propped up on a chair. "I don't believe it, Seth. And I'll tell you why: because quite frankly, you're too mercenary for it. Quite frankly, I cant figure out why you stick with someone like Dumat. It just doesn't fit with you. Sure, if you owed the man something, but you can't honestly say that it's still because he gave you a decent piece of cash five years ago."

"Maybe it's because his group is the fastest growing cult in the recorded history of Gaera, and the vultures sense easy pickings?"

A man in nobleman's clothing suddenly appeared next to Ghinnard, a harsh look on his face. "Regardless, shouldn't you be at your post, guard?"

Ghinnard turned a bright shade of red, and stammered, "Y-yes, Lord Xahn." With that, he hurried back to the castle gate, which he had left unattended while talking with Sethrik.

Xahn was just about to return to his former buisness, apparently walking across the courtyard to some meeting or another, when he found his rhetorical question of earlier rebuffed.

"Dumat is no cult leader. I wouldn't follow him if he was." Sethrik was glaring at the noble, with his arms folded across his chest. "Besides, his presence here in Doma is proof of that. The meetings he is attending are of some of the most respected minds on the continent. He will prove to them that what he is doing is for the best, and more importantly, that it will work."

"Oh?" Xahn didn't look back at the other man. "Perhaps the results of these meetings... will be different than what you expect."

Sethrik just laughed, and turned to head into the main keep. Dumat would be out of his meeting soon, and Sethrik wanted to meet him when he got out.

As he was walking away, however, Xahn's voice drifted over to him one last time. "I like you, Durron, so I'll give you some advice. Leave Dumat while you can."

A lounder laugh was Xahn's answer. "Don't think so, Xahn. I don't leave people who I owe a debt until it's taken care of. And I owe Dumat."

The sound of gravel skittering across the courtyard was heard as the nobleman whirled to glare at Sethrik's back. Apparently he had struck a nerve. "What could you possibly owe that pompous little preacher?"

Sethrik pulled up short at those words. For a moment, he was silent, fists clenched at his side, shoulders trembling oh so imperceptibly. Then he spoke, slowly and clearly, drawing attention from almost everybody in the courtyard who wasn't watching the altercation already. "Thomas Dumat is kind, generous, and forgiving almost to a fault. A year of his life on this world does more good than the entirety of yours ever will.

"Everyone owes a man like that," he added in a whisper. And then he walked out of the courtyard and into the castle proper. <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=joshuadurron>JoshuaDurron</A] at: 2/7/03 5:50:44 pm

Uncle Pervy
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby Uncle Pervy » Fri Feb 07, 2003 3:14 pm

Idjit point!

- "I don't believe it, Seth. And I'll tell you why: because quite frankly, you're to mercenary for it

Too


Where is this happening? A bit of background setting would be nice. Also, some evidence of Dumat's good works would be helpful.
<p><div style="text-align:center">Image Image Image Image Image ImageImage</div></p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Fri Feb 07, 2003 3:24 pm

<ul><small>so I can buy the jewelery</small></ul>Do you mean literally buy the jewelery, or "buy" the story of the jewelery? Considering the note you left the last segment off at, you might want to specify.
<ul><small>"Maybe it's because his group is the fastest growing cult in the recorded history of Gaera, and the vultures sense easy pickings?"

A man in nobleman's clothing suddenly appeared next to Ghinnard, a harsh look on his face. "Regardless, shouldn't you be at your post, guard?"</small></ul>If that's the same man speaking, you need to be more clear about it.
<ul><small>A lounder laugh was Xahn's answer.</small></ul>Two things: one is the misspelt "louder." The second is the ambiguity of "Xahn's answer"...that could be taken to mean an answer spoken by or to him. It'd be better to clarify.
<ul><small>"Thomas Dumat is kind, generous, and forgiving almost to a fault. A year of his life on this world does more good than the entirety of yours ever will."

"Everyone owes a man like that," he added in a whisper. And then he walked out of the courtyard and into the castle proper. </small></ul>Little known grammar fact: if you one paragraph in dialogue, and start the next with new dialogue from the same speaker, you drop the closing quote of the first paragraph. This is how you distinguish between different and same speakers.

____


The time warp was a little...sudden. Took me a while to figure it out. It almost looks like a segment is missing, somehow, or some background description...there should be some sort of better transition, I think. Other than what appears to be a time "hole" in the story, good installment. <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Bah, my past was full of drinking and polymorph spells." -- Hakaril (Archmage144)
-=- "I wanna get so drunk that I start seeing my friends as cows." -- Aya (LadyDragonClawsEDW)
-=- "If you're still able to see in colors and not in scents...you're CERTAINLY not drunk enough." -- Nakibe
-=- "LET'S ALL RUN FREE, NAKED, AND DRUNK!" -- Shirinai</span></p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Fri Feb 14, 2003 2:09 pm

<blockquote style="padding-left:0.5em; margin-left:0; margin-right:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; border-left:solid 2">Little known grammar fact: if you one paragraph in dialogue[/quote]

HAR HAR DIA MADE AN ERROR. I think you forgot the word "end" in there.

Also, Bubba will write more. :( <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

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pd Rydia
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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Sat Feb 15, 2003 2:46 pm

Indeed. ={{{ <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Why must my flaming debris be so delicious and edible? ;_;" -- FlamingDeth
-=- "oye KoD! tu griego me rockearia, si fuera griego de verdad..." -- ikozaedro
-=- "Seriously. The undead just don't stop. Great, aren't they?" -- Dirk (Skull Dragon)
-=- "Kelne's a natural magnet for everything, from lovers to planetary destroyers to carrots." -- End Reshiki</span></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Sat Feb 15, 2003 5:47 pm

((OMG, MORE! WITH PLOT-LIKE UNDERTONES???!!! OJES!))

Year 1055 in the City of Doma

The fire crackled on the hearth, and Thomas Dumat sat staring into it with a blank expression. His hands were folded in front of his face, and his chair had been pulled away from his desk. When Sethrik entered the room, it seemed merely as if his friend had become lost in thought as he prayed…

So, with little ceremony, Sethrik dropped himself down in the free chair next to Dumat’s desk and put his boots up on the writing surface of the workspace. Fortunately, there were no papers there to get dirty. He leaned back in the chair and wrapped his hands behind his head, and then addressed his friend who was watching the fire. “Well, it seems that the conference is going well so far. The priests you’ve gathered together are listening to what you have to say, and if all goes well they’ll acknowledge you as an official sect before to long. It’s everything you were hoping to get from this.

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised at how well they’ve taken everything, even though there has been a certain level of tension between the schools of magic and the church lately. But the number of questions they ask… and the way they’re so willing to consider your answers… it’s more than I expected. Maybe it was worth over five years of effort trying to arrange all this.” Dumat didn’t say anything, and Sethrik was in a fairly good mood, so he kept rambling on.

“I was really surprised you weren’t in the room the King gave you for this. It seems you’re always there answering people’s questions after the meetings are over.

“Say,” Sethrik dropped his feet back down to the ground and leaned forward, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees. “What are you planning to do if you get offers from multiple priesthoods? I think you were planning to go with the Order of Ishtar, weren’t-”

“The world doesn’t need magic to be cruel.” Sethrik was interrupted by Dumat, who let his cryptic statement hang in the air for several moments.

When no follow-up was forthcoming, Sethrik simply said the first thing that came to mind. “I believe the word I used was ‘nasty’…”

“Look at that packet on the desk.” Dumat instructed him. Sethrik shrugged, and did as instructed.

“What do we have here?” He muttered to himself, shuffling through several dozen pages of writing. “Looks like a bunch of letters. Lot of them look like they got your signature. Some funny looking drawings. What is this?”

For the first time, Dumat looked away from the fire, a disbelieving look on his face. “You mean you can’t tell just by reading the first paragraph? On any of them?”

Sethrik put the papers back down, setting them off to one side of the desk, moving slowly. He seemed to be embarrassed as he answered, “Well… the matter’s never really come up before… but, other than making out people’s names in signatures and such… I can’t really read.”

Dumat let himself fall back into his previous position. “I see. Then… what you have there is a supposed correspondence between myself and my chief mage, discussing a method for achieving godlike power once the world’s population ceases using mana. I’m afraid I don’t really understand it much farther than that.”

Disbelief covered Sethrik’s face. “What? Where did this come from?”

“I don’t know.” The visionary put his head down in his hands. “I just don’t know. But suddenly, everything that was going so well… it’s all been ruined, and I’ve been made to look like a hypocrite. The clergy who have listened to me patiently so far are now turning on me. I begged them to stay for a little while longer, so that I could at least manage… something… but they will stay only for another day, and that will most likely be used to publicly condemn me and brand all of us as some bizarre from of cult.”

Dumat lowered his hands and rested them in his lap, tears now visible running down his face. “Five years… five years spent on the wrong path… truly, the world can be cruel no matter what the circumstances.”

The room was silent for a long time. The sun sank in the sky, as an hour passed by.

“Do you remember,” Dumat looked up again, as Sethrik began talking once more. “About a month after we met, when we wound up in that village in northern Baron? The one where a family had come down with that nasty fever? When you found out about it, you set aside what you were doing and holed yourself up in that house with them. Told me you would be fine, because you’d had that fever before. Kept me running around the place for two weeks, bringing you supplies and medicines so you could keep them alive, and then sending them to you on the back of the family dog, so I wouldn’t get sick myself.

“In the end, you couldn’t save any of them. But at least they died in comfort. The townspeople ran us out of town because they thought you were a demon who had come to feed on their pain as they died. They even threw the bodies out of the town after us, and you were the only one who thought of giving them a proper burial.”

Dumat nodded. “I remember, yes. It wasn’t the most pleasant of situations.”

Sethrik, who had taken a flask out of a pocket somewhere on his person, took a swig and replied, “No. But not nearly as unpleasant as the time you confronted that group of bandits outside old Farmer Morrison’s place. Twenty five of them, and the only one willing to stand with you was me.” Sethrik shook his head with a grin. “Old Morrison thought we were dead men, but you just muttered a short prayer and summoned an angel to the scene.” He took another swig from his flask and laughed. “That pretty much scared all of us witless. You captured a rampaging group of bandits single handedly that day, but that wasn’t the end of it. You also went to their trials to ask for leniency. They were still hung, but almost all the good will you earned by stopping them was lost when you pleaded for their lives. No one could ever figure out why you did it.”

“Human souls are not things we are meant to have such casual control over,” Dumat answered. “Repentance should never be denied so permanently as it is by death.”

Sethrik corked his flask and tossed it onto the desk. “Exactly. Your faith is so strong; it can pull you against even the most stubborn resistance. You’ve never let a thing like unpopularity stop you from pressing on. Your faith, that thing which I ridiculed at our first meeting… your faith makes you stronger than any man or monster I have ever seen, and I find it hard to believe you would let such a blatantly false accusation as this one stop you now.”

With a vicious shake of his head, Dumat stood up and grabbed the notes for the speech he had planned to give that day. “You don’t understand!” He shouted, shaking the papers in the air, “The holy men of our time cannot see! Their rejection is the same as that of the heavens themselves! I was foolish to ignore the signs I have been shown up until now, and now this! I have received my judgment!” Dumat whirled and threw the papers into the fire. “And it is condemnation,” he whispered.

For a moment, the two men watched as the papers crackled and burned in amongst the greedy yellow flames. Then Sethrik picked up his flask, then the pile of supposed letters between Dumat and his mages, and doused the paper with the flask’s contents. “Perhaps you accept this as a judgment from the heavens.” With that, he threw the stack of letters into the fire where the alcohol from the whiskey poured onto them caused them to burst into a small fireball, incinerating the paper instantly. “But I… I do not.”

With that, Sethrik turned and walked by Dumat, heading towards the door. The latter grabbed his arm as he went past. “Where are you going?” Dumat demanded.

Sethrik reached up and pried the visionaries hand off of his arm. “To make an appeal to a higher power.”

With that he stormed out of the room, leaving Dumat alone once again. <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Sat Feb 15, 2003 8:48 pm

OMFG. Seeing as I suck horridly at writing critiques, I shall spare you the pain of my floundering attempts at such.

Instead, I shall poke you with a cattle prod until you write more. *does* <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Wed Feb 19, 2003 12:04 am

((Fic is turning out to be much longer than I had originally anticipated. Either that, or it was always this long and I just didn't realize it. Anyways, this is the part of the fic I am the most unsure of. I wanted it to seem... almost surreal, but still remain connected in some way to the rest of the piece...

Basically, it's style is wild, and it could probably be told in another style. But this one reflects the mood I want to create during this part the most. If you are EVER going to reply to this fic... pleasepleaseplease reply to this part. It's the one I need the most feedback on. And now... on with the show! ^_^))

Year 1055 in the City of Doma

A lone man stood within the gates of the castle of Doma, staring out at the empty road and the guards that watched it.

Night had fallen long ago, and rain had been falling since before that, the grey streaks of falling water having obscured the final rays of sunlight from view. To him, it was an appropriate setting for what was about to happen.

There was no doubt in his mind as to who had framed his friend. There was also no doubt in his mind as to what must be done.

He was not an extraordinary man, nor was he exceptional. In fact, he was quite mundane. He was orphaned when his parents died of fever, a beggar until the age of twelve, and always cold, always hungry. In fact, he suffered more from common problems then other beggars of the same age as he was. Again, he was not an extraordinary man, nor was he exceptional. In fact, he was quite below average. All that had changed when he had met a kind man who had been willing to stop and give him help.

That help was not cheap, however. He had to work for it. And so he began to work in his benefactor’s traveling circus, by doing chores like caring for animals, moving equipment, and finally learning to fill the places of missing people in the performances. It was when he took the stage as an actor in a simple sketch meant to amuse people before the main show started that he first felt it: the thrill of performing. Suddenly, he had something he wanted to do; something that made his heart beat fast.

Over the years, he learned to perform in many ways, mastering many aspects of acrobatics and acting. He could have easily left the circus and taken employment as one of the entertainers at the castle of some rich noble, but he chose to remain with the man who had taken him off of the streets. The man who had seen something worth saving in him when no one else had. The man whom he had started to call… father.

On his eighteenth birthday, on his coming of age, his world fell. Bandits rarely attack caravans the size of the one he traveled with, but bandits rarely gather in groups as large as the one which slaughtered and pillaged the circus he had come to love.

They let the survivors go, but there were only a handful of them, a fraction of the once proud traveling circus which had been his family and home. Among the slain was the one he had taken to calling father.

For a time, he had lost himself in drink, convinced that any world where men could ruthlessly kill for something so trivial as gold could only meant to be spent in a mindless stupor. After all, in such a world, where could another man such as his adopted father arise?

He had almost totally convinced himself that another such man could not exist. And then he met another. A man just as kind and caring as his surrogate father, who suddenly stepped into the drunken haze that was his world and dragged him from the squalor that his life had degraded to.

He had stayed with that man for five years, trying to understand him and help his goals. There was not doubt in his mind, that this person was a hopeless dreamer. But if he could keep him on track for his dreams… perhaps that would be enough to repay the person who had returned his own dreams to him.

But now, he had seen someone who had set out to destroy his friend’s hopes and dreams. Although different men with different goals, he could almost swear he saw the same light in this new man’s eyes as there had been in the eyes of the bandits who destroyed his old life.

And by all the powers of Heaven and Hell, he intended to see that such a travesty did not happen again.

For the first time in well over five years, he would have to perform once more. But this time, the stakes were higher. One man’s dream lay on the line. And his own reason for living was on the line as well.

So the act began! He plunged into his role, performing once more, searching out the enemies of his own enemy. He made any promise and told any lie that would bring him closer to his goal, letting smooth words roll of his tongue, following them only moments later with curses when he was in the presence of others.

He handed out money, he collected old debts, he bluffed, gambled, and seduced his way to what he needed. And finally, there was only one thing left to be done. One last scene, the climax of his drama, was yet to be performed. And then he would have the reaction of his audience, either glorious acceptance or crushing rejection. All would ride on this one, final act. The stage was set, and the actors in place. Now… now, my friend, now is the time!

Come with me now, for we, too, are the audience of this man’s final, desperate act. Watch as he enters the castle once more, throwing his cloak, dripping wet, onto a cloak rack. Stay beside me as we dog his footsteps down the corridor, and listen well as he pauses, straining to hear the far off sounds of a disgruntled nobleman pulled from his rest to a late night conference with another of his own rank.

Hurry now, for he is running! He is headed for a room on the second floor. A single guard stands outside it, one who is in the employ of a man who has been persuaded to join our friend’s side. The guard looks the other way as he slips in. Quickly, don’t be caught outside!

Follow him over to the desk. Watch now, for this is the moment of truth! Do the heavens smile on him or not? Will he find what he searches for? There is little light in the room, coming only from the dying fire on the hearth, and it does not aid his search as he shuffles through the papers, lifting them one by one and bringing them close to his eyes so that he can make out what is written on them. Finally, he puts them back down on the desk, clearly disappointed. Has our friend’s mission failed?

No, he is searching the drawers now. Watch as he lifts piles and packets of papers, skimming them frantically and placing them aside as quickly as possible. Ah, he has stopped holding that large sheaf of papers. Look, what is this light in his eye? Is it manic joy, or just the light of the dying fire reflected on his pupils?

A sound! A light knock on the door, alerting him that he has no more time! Quickly, he grabs all the papers he has taken out and puts them back. All of them? No, wait, he has kept the papers he was holding before, quickly shoving them into an oilskin bag he appears to have carried for just this purpose.

And now, he hurries towards the door, intent on making his escape. But he is stopped by another light knock, a signal telling him he can no longer escape through this route! The owner of the room has returned!

With no time to waste, the trapped man turns and runs to the window, stepping through it and closing the glass pane after him. He now stands out on a small balcony and begins letting himself down by the vines growing on it. He hovers now, almost eight feet from the ground. With a deep breath, the man summons up his courage and drops!

He lay there for several moments. Then he reached down to check on the bag at his waist. It was still there. And combined with what he now knew… it could be done. The dream could be saved. And his purpose in living had been confirmed once more.

Breathing heavily, he stood and looked up to the sky, letting the pouring rain run down his face and neck. And then he laughed. It was not the mad laugh of a maniac, nor was it the haughty laugh of a victorious man. Rather, it was the laugh of a man who once again felt the joy of living pour through his veins.

And then, as lightning split the sky, Sethrik Durron placed his arm across his waist and bowed, accepting the thunderous applause of the heavens. <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Wed Feb 19, 2003 4:15 am

That was...odd. I'm somewhat confused as to what exactly was going on. Did he just go in and grab a couple papers? What were on said papers? And what happened to Sthrik not being able to read?

EXPLAIN AND STUFF. :( <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

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pd Rydia
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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Wed Feb 19, 2003 4:21 am

Smaller segments, please. ~_~ A little more bitesized, I can't sit to read huge installments like that. <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Why must my flaming debris be so delicious and edible? ;_;" -- FlamingDeth
-=- "oye KoD! tu griego me rockearia, si fuera griego de verdad..." -- ikozaedro
-=- "Seriously. The undead just don't stop. Great, aren't they?" -- Dirk (Skull Dragon)
-=- "Kelne's a natural magnet for everything, from lovers to planetary destroyers to carrots." -- End Reshiki</span></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Wed Feb 19, 2003 10:01 am

FD... ::points at what Dia said:: Explanations would have made it even longer, and I hope to avoid losing my readers...

So you must wait until next time for the explainations! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! ::builds suspense by not writing anything for the next week:: <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=joshuadurron>JoshuaDurron</A] at: 2/19/03 8:51:58 pm

Uncle Pervy
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby Uncle Pervy » Wed Feb 19, 2003 2:15 pm

Ummm...

The whole Directly addressing the reader thing, the "Come, see how..." ect. thing, really, truly, utterly, and completely demolishes the flow of your story.

Sudden perspective change bad.

Addressing the reader directly after staying silent for so long bad.

It needs work, and I know you have the talent to pull it off. ^_^



<p><div style="text-align:center">Image Image Image Image Image ImageImage</div></p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Wed Feb 19, 2003 5:23 pm

<blockquote style="padding-left:0.5em; margin-left:0; margin-right:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; border-left:solid 2">FD... ::points at what Dia said:: Explanations would have made it even longer, and I hope to avoid losing my readers...

So you must wait until next time for the explainations! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! ::builds suspense by not writing anything for the next week:: [/quote]


In that case, I think you already know what I'm going to say. Also, disable smileys. :( <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

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pd Rydia
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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby pd Rydia » Mon Feb 24, 2003 11:10 pm

You know, you CAN break up installments into smaller segments. o.o They don't have to be full chapters or anything.

Also, I suggest more dialogue and action for this story, and less description. It was alright at first but the pace hasn't really picked up enough, and it bogs down the story... <p>
<span style="font-size:xx-small;">-=- "Why must my flaming debris be so delicious and edible? ;_;" -- FlamingDeth
-=- "oye KoD! tu griego me rockearia, si fuera griego de verdad..." -- ikozaedro
-=- "Seriously. The undead just don't stop. Great, aren't they?" -- Dirk (Skull Dragon)
-=- "Kelne's a natural magnet for everything, from lovers to planetary destroyers to carrots." -- End Reshiki</span></p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Tue Feb 25, 2003 1:56 pm

It's been over a week since anything has been added on to the story. This makes me sad. ;_; <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Thu Feb 27, 2003 3:00 pm

Appologies to FD (and anyone else following this fic who might be disappointed that it hasn't been updated recently). I did plan to have another part written by now, but a number of circumstances have interfered. I'm experiencing a certain level of burnout due to recent exams and a road trip with the university orchestra. Sadly, things don't look like they'll let up soon, but my weekend looks clear enough to attempt writing another section. I wanted to rework the last one too, 'cause I didn't really like some of the stuff I did there anymore than Pervy did, but I have a feeling that if I go back on stuff now, I'll never finish this. So... I'm not gonna, at least not right now. Again, look for the next segment sometime this weekend.

Chow,
Bubba <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

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Re: Blind Faith: A Saint's Tale

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Thu Mar 13, 2003 3:31 pm

It's way past that weekend, and I still see no new installments... >_> <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

It's on a weekend... but the wrong one. ^_^;;

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Sun Mar 16, 2003 6:09 pm

((<_<

>_>

::revives the story:Image )

The Year 1055 in the City of Doma

The room was busy, bustling with dozens of aids and representatives of various and sundry Lords, and other political entities who had taken a sudden, and almost unnatural interest in the proceedings revolving around one Thomas Dumat. It’s odd, how calm and rational discussion can attract almost no attention, but as soon as fingers are pointed, and accusations start flying, everyone and his cousin wants to know what is happening, and who comes out on top. All of this was perfectly fine to Sethrik Durron. His plan depended almost entirely on what he was about to do being seen by many people.

At the moment, he was sitting next to his old friend, the same man who was the center of attention right now. Dumat let out a sigh, folding his arms across his chest, his expression speaking of the late hours he had put in the night before trying to come up with a way out of his current predicament. Sethrik leaned over to his friend and whispered, “Cheer up my friend. If this isn’t what you’re meant to do, I’m sure something else will present itself to you.”

Dumat replied by sinking deeper into his chair. “This from the man who so stubbornly insisted just yesterday that I not give up all hope on my dreams. Has your opinion changed so suddenly?”

“No,” Sethrik shook his head, “I’m just trying to keep you from slipping into deep depression. After all, the situation isn’t entirely lost until it’s over.”

“Oh?” Dumat inquired. “What are you planning to do, make one final plea for my innocence based solely on my character in the past? I doubt you will meet with much success.”

“Have a little more faith in your friends, Dumat. After all, isn’t faith your strongest point?”

Dumat sat back up upon hearing that. “Wait a minute, Seth, you’re not actually planning to do some-”

“They’re starting,” Sethrik announced, cutting Dumat off.

And indeed they were, a large bearded man in cleric’s robes having just approached the podium in the center of the room. All around him, people at their tables fell silent, preparing to listen to the words of this holy man. As Sethrik recalled, he represented the god of neutrality, who’s name he could not remember.

“My friends, today we are here once again to hear the words of Brother Dumat, and Brother Lucious. Yesterday, Brother Lucious began bringing strong accusations against Brother Dumat, and today we are here to listen to the rest of his words, and then Dumat’s defense. Brother Lucious, if you are ready…”

The man gazed about the room for a moment, and then came to an abrupt stop when it became obvious that the cleric known as Lucious was not, in fact, present. “It seems,” he announced, “that Brother Lucious is not with us today. Therefore, if there is no one present who wishes to continue to present the evidence of the accusers, we are prepared to listen to Dumat’s defense. Are there any to speak for the accusers…?”

In answer to the question, a single man rose from his seat. Sethrik Durron folded his hands in front of him, holding a large packet of papers in them, and said “I will.”

Every man in the room looked over at him, and immediately whispering began. Without exception, every man in the room recognized him as the one who had worked as Dumat’s aid for the past three years, and traveled with the visionary for two years before that. Was it possible, the question seemed to be, that he had decided to bail out when possible?

In the midst of all the commotion, Dumat turned to give an incredulous look at Sethrik. Seeing it, the actor used the current commotion about him to cover him as he whispered, “Faith, Dumat, have faith.”

Then Sethrik began to walk down to the podium, papers in hand, gazing back and forth at the people in the room. He recognized what was happening here. The accusations against Dumat had turned this holy meeting of clerics into an ad-hoc trial. Every man in robes there was now a member of the jury, and it was his duty to convince them of what he had to say.

As he looked about the room, he caught sight of Lord Xahn, sitting in a far corner of the room. As he suspected, the man had come to gloat in his victory, even though the stage hands for this performance had assured that his support would not be present in this act. And so, Sethrik was smiling as he turned to stand in front of the men in that room. “My friends,” he announced, “I am here to tell you about the case the accusers of Thomas Dumat have prepared. I am here to tell you all about it…”

((OK, 'nother new part. School has been owning me lately, but right now I'm on spring break, and I hope to bring this portion of the plot to a close this week. So look for more sometime later.)) <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

FlamingDeth
Moderator
 
Posts: 2128
Joined: Tue Apr 23, 2002 1:54 am

Re: It's on a weekend... but the wrong one. ^_^;;

Unread postby FlamingDeth » Sun Mar 16, 2003 6:15 pm

Yay! Victoly! And stuff!

Write more or I fire a torpedo at you. o.o <p><table border=0><td>Image</td><td valign=CENTER><table bgcolor=#FFFFFF border=1><tr><td>
<font color="maroon">I am an arrogant bastard.


And now, since I want to be unique like everybody else, quotes:

"People don't seem to realize, it wasn't a powerful ass poke. It was a powerful poke, to the ass!" ~ Lord McBastard
"So what you're saying is that Nintendo and Sony are in league with each other, and possibly the Red Skull?" ~ EKDS5K</font>
</td></tr></table></td></table></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: It's on a weekend... but the wrong one. ^_^;;

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Sat Mar 22, 2003 3:22 am

The Year 1055 in the City of Doma

“It is said,” Sethrik began, “That the desire for power is one of the greatest driving forces in mankind. It is also said that to achieve power, a man will pay any price, tell any lie, or become anything.”

“However some say that jealousy is a greater motivator of men, and that when a man sees something another has, which he desires, he will do anything to take that thing from the other man, even if he cannot keep it for himself.

“The evidence I am about to show you today will point, not to a single man’s desire for power, but rather the jealousy of a number of men towards a man who had gathered more influence and power together than they could hope to achieve.”

Sethrik reached his hand into the packet he held, pulling out a thick wad of papers. On many of them was the prominent, bold seal of the House of Xahn. “Two men in particular were jealous. The first was Aranoth Xahn, who saw his own dreams of power undercut as another began to gather influence and popularity while forwarding an ideology which would make the fulfilling of his own difficult.

“The second was Herrin Lucious, a man who became a priest so that he could wield influence and power among men, only to find another overtake him without even trying.” Sethrik produced another stack of papers, this one without any type of obvious identifying markings. As he set them down on the podium, he caught the sight of Xahn shifting position nervously in his seat.

“These two men began to plot the downfall of the man who was the target of their jealousies, exchanging letters frequently, and scheming towards their mutual goal. In the end, they came up with a plan that would discredit this man, and set it into motion.

“But to accomplish all this, they would need to forge documents in the hand of the man they sought to bring down. Unknown to them, however, was the fact that the man they hired to forge their documents was a follower of the very man they sought to bring down, and repented of his crimes as soon as he learned of their true purposes.” Sethrik caught sight of Xahn stiffening as he said that as he looked to the guard at the door, another person in the employ of his allies in the shadows of Doma’s political scene.

Xahn’s tension was typical of the entire room at the moment, as the clerics had fallen into an almost horrified silence at the accusations that Sethrik seemed to be almost throwing about at random. It was entirely possible that they thought his was simply a last ditch effort to save face before the downfall of his companion, but if they thought so, they were about to be mistaken. For the actor still had one last card to play, and then his unfolding drama would be decided, and all that would be left was the resolution.

“He comes here today,” Sethrik continued, nodding to the guard, “To make amends for his wrongs. I ask you to listen to what he has to say.” The guard reached over and pulled the door open to reveal a pair of additional guards standing there. They stepped aside and ushered in a small, spindly, squinting man, who’s fingers and clothes were blotched with ink stains, and who’s pale complexion told of much time spent indoors.

Upon seeing him, Xahn leapt to his feet, pointing one finger at the man like a weapon and screaming, “YOU TRAITOR! WE HAD A DEAL!!”

Pandemonium erupted in the room.

((:Image osts, then flees torpedos:Image ) <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

JoshuaDurron
 

End of the first saga...

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Tue Apr 08, 2003 11:17 pm

((...and the beginning of the second one. Now that we've met our two protagonists, and have learned a bit about them in 'A Trial of Faith', we'll be moving on to the second phase, 'A Journey of Faith'. Provided that people other than FD are interested, and Pervy buys me a new snorkel before Friday.))

The year 1055 in the City of Doma

“Explain it from the beginning again… I’m afraid I still don’t understand exactly what you did.”

Sethrik Durron grinned and rocked his chair back on its hind legs. “It’s simple, really. First, I made a guess as to who framed you. Xahn was the obvious person. But he didn’t have the know how to frame you alone, nor did he have the influence to make his claims stick. So he needed an assistant in the clergy. It’s well known that he had some sort of understanding with Lucious, so that was the natural person to suspect.”

Dumat nodded once. “Alright. How did you acquire the documents you had today?”

“Those belonging to Lucious were taken in a raid on his quarters, based on some meaningless trumped up charge. I talked to some political enemies of Xahn’s and they agreed to aid me in my search for evidence to frame Xahn, and in return I would try to discredit him as much as possible. Those taken from Xahn were acquired more… creatively.”

“You mean stolen?” asked the visionary with a quirked eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” Sethrik responded with steepled fingers. “But really, anything with his seal on it would have done. I didn’t even know what was written on them, as I was the only one to see them between the time they were acquired and now. And as I told you earlier… I can’t read.”

Dumat, who had been slouched in his seat in exhaustion from a long day, suddenly sat up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the plans were already clear. Xahn planned to frame you from the start, thus he wanted to make it look authentic, and would have had to hire a forger to fake your handwriting. My allies in the Doman political society knew who he would go to, and the rest was just a matter…” Durron grinned and lifted a small glass of wine off the nearby table containing the remains of a recently eaten meal, “Of making a well played bluff.” He swallowed a small sip of the beverage and smiled.

“So…” Dumat said slowly, “You counted on Xahn’s own nature to do himself in.”

“Exactly. And he did beautifully.” Durron raised his glass in a toast to the absent Doman Lord, and then placed his cup back on the table his feet were resting on.

Dumat smiled slightly and said, “I should have expected something like this from you. I don’t know what I can say but… thank you.”

A comfortable silence hung in the room for a moment, and then Dumat reached over to his desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. “What are you doing?” Sethrik asked after a moment.

“I need to prepare a speech to the people now. We’ve received the official recognition we wanted, but our reputation has taken a hit and we need to- what are you doing?” The visionary asked as his companion stood, took the papers out of his hands, and put them back on the desk.

“Dumat. Take a break.” The actor picked up the papers and put them in a book. He then gathered that book, along with the five others spread out on the desk, under his arm and turned to walk out. “I’ve already had all your other work materials moved into my room. These are going to join them in there, and I’m not giving them back until you’ve taken the next forty eight hours off.”

“W-what?”

“You’re a wonderful man, Dumat, but you don’t know when to relax. So I’m making you. Go do something fun. Whatever it is you do for fun…” Sethrik paused, halfway to the door and looked back. “You know I’ve been with you five years and I still don’t know what that is? You need to relax more often.”

“Oh?” Dumat laced his fingers behind his head. “So you’ve been plotting against me too?” Sethrik smiled and nodded cheerfully. “Well then I’ll try and do as you suggest. But I want my books back in no less than forty eight hours, understand?”

“Completely.” Sethrik nodded for emphasis, and then turned and walked out of the room. <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

JoshuaDurron
 

A Journey of Faith (Part 1 of many)

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Fri Apr 11, 2003 7:30 pm

((PERVY STILL OWES ME A NEW SNORKEL))

The Year 1055 in the City of Doma

“Mfff… what does he do with all this stuff, anyway?” Sethrik Durron was muttering to himself, moving this and that around in his room, trying to arrange all the books and various other paraphernalia that he had had taken out of Thomas Dumat’s room in preparation for his plan to get the man to relax.

He sighed and stepped out into the halls, looking about for one of his friends in the guards. Maybe he could get a hand with all this stuff. Absently, he held a small tome in one hand, glancing back and forth and looking for a familiar face.

“Would you be Thomas Dumat?” asked a quiet, feminine voice.

He started, rather surprised to hear anyone speaking to him, as he was mostly ignored by all but the guards he had befriended. “Eh?” Was the only reply he could make, turning to look behind him, down the hall in the other direction. He was met with a surprising personage.

She was dressed rather plainly, wearing little more than a long, flowing white cleric’s robe with a spiral symbol struck through by a line on it. It was unfamiliar to Sethrik. Her hair was arranged plainly around her face, falling in a bronzed waterfall around her shoulders, accenting the curve of her neck, all of which seemed to pull Sethrik’s gaze towards her eyes, which were deep, swirling green pools of infinity. She could not be said to have a commanding presence, being a half foot shorter than he was, but it still seemed to him that for a moment, the hallway about her bent, swirling to merge with the spiral pattern on her robe, and drawing all of reality towards the spot upon which she stood.

Then he blinked, and shook his head once, dispelling the illusion. Perhaps the wine he had had that night, in celebration of clearing Dumat’s name, had gone to his head. He hadn’t touched alcohol in more than two years, and his tolerance for it might have lessened. Whatever it was, though, he couldn’t let it interfere with his poise, and the woman was still looking at him, awaiting an answer.

“No, I’m afraid I’m not. I am Sethrik Durron, Dumat’s personal assistant. What can I do for you Miss…?” He let his sentence end in an implied question, waiting for her name.

“Rosa. You may call me Rosa. I am a priestess of Hontogami, the one who oversees truth. I was wishing to speak with Sir Dumat. If that would be possible, Mr. Durron.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be, Mother Rosa-”

“Please, call me Rosa,” the priestess interrupted. “To apply a title to me that is inaccurate is not just, and I would prefer that you did not do so.”

“Ah.” Sethrik nodded once, a little taken a back. “If that is so, then I’m sure that Dumat would prefer you did not call him ‘Sir’,” the actor said with a strained smile. What did he care about these things, anyway? But it might be well to straighten that out, in case it proved to be a major sticking point later. With religious people, one never knew. “And you may call me Sethrik. I’m afraid that Dumat is… indisposed right now, and not seeing anyone on business matters.”

“I see,” Rosa replied with a sigh. “I’m afraid that won’t do… I’ve lost time on the way here already, due to a bandit attack, and the proposal I’ve come with on behalf of the Temple require a rapid answer…”

Sethrik raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps I could be of assistance.”

The priestess, who had been turning to go, paused and asked, “Oh?”

“If you have no objection,” he began, “I will listen to your proposal, and present it to Dumat at the earliest opportunity. I believe I can have a reply for you in thirty six hours…”

The priestess considered that for a moment, and then, much to Sethrik’s surprise, bowed deeply. “I thank you, Sethrik Durron.” <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

Uncle Pervy
 

Re: A Journey of Faith (Part 1 of many)

Unread postby Uncle Pervy » Sat Apr 12, 2003 5:51 pm

Hmmmm...

Lord Xahn needs to be developed a bit more.

He's too much in the background to be the real culprit. Show us what he does in the meantime Let's see him in action, what else does he do? And perhaps the same Lucious,

Aside from that, I like ^^ <p><div style="text-align:center">Image Image Image Image Image ImageImage</div></p>

JoshuaDurron
 

Re: A Journey of Faith (Part 1 of many)

Unread postby JoshuaDurron » Tue Apr 22, 2003 2:23 pm

((Grah... this is another kinda long installment, but I hope you'll stay with it. Hopefully you'll find it amusing, as I've tried to make it interesting, and stuff. ^_^))

The Year 1055 in the City of Doma

“I’m surprised you were able to put a plan in motion so quickly.”

“When one plays for high stakes, one should always have a back up plan prepared and ready to move at any time.” Xahn leaned back in his chair, his arms loosely folded across his chest. “I expected our first approach to work, but apparently discrediting Dumat won’t be as easy as it first seemed.”

Across the dinner table, Lucious shrugged. “We were not expecting him to have the resources, nor fortitude to have me arrested, or the ability to acquire those documents, however it might have been done. But that’s beside the point. What interests me now is, what does your current plan entail? You’ve mentioned that it does exist, and is working right now, but not what it does.”

“It buys us time, and moves Dumat away from his greatest region of influence: among the common people. I have influence among the people in a certain religious order, although the order’s leaders themselves do not know my agents are among them. In the event that our first attempt failed, they were to set in motion a proposal that would draw Dumat away from Doma altogether, and place him in the mountains between Baron and Doma, to the South of here, near the Forbidden Plains. I have put land of mine at their disposal, and I have no fears of their discovering who it really belongs to.” Xahn let a slight smile creep over his face. “While it is not a permanent solution, it should satisfy my supporters at Gunnir for a time, and give you the opportunity to regain some of the followers you have lost to that rouge preacher.”

Lucious sat with his eyes half lidded as Xahn spoke. When he finished, the priest replied, “I see. I suspect I know of which order you speak of when you say you wield unseen influence. I don’t like exploiting them in such a manner, but the solution does seem to be satisfactory, for a time. I’ll continue to rely on your schemes, Xahn. Don’t let things screw up again.”


“Raaaawr!” Howled the large, tromping creature as it chased after a small girl. Its robes billowed and flapped around it like sails torn free of their moorings and flapping loose in a storm. Its hair was ruffled into a veritable tumbleweed of cowlicks and snarls, and it’s hands were held out like twisted tree branches, clutching after it’s prey.

The girl ran screaming at the top of her lungs, a long drawn out “eeeeeeeeeee!!” alerting anyone within earshot that something unusual was going on. Just when it seemed that the creature would catch up with the girl, however, a number of young boys jumped out from behind a nearby barrel wielding short sticks shaped like swords. In a matter of a half second, they had sprung upon the monster while mimicking great war cries. The five of them piled on, burying their hapless prey by sheer weight of numbers. The dog pile shifted back and forth several times as the creature at its bottom struggled, but in the end the fighting ceased and nothing moved for a moment. Then the five boys got up and danced about their fallen foe, shouting and laughing joyously.

One by one, they took a bow before the fair maiden they had rescued, and were preparing to go when suddenly the creature they had struck down reared back to life! With a single menacing swoop, it caught up the largest of the boys, who could be no older than ten, and tossed him into the air, catching him as he came down and putting him into a headlock.

“You’re not so tough without your sword, are you?” Demanded the boy’s captor, keeping one foot firmly on the boy’s wooden sword while giving him a vicious noogie with his free hand.

“Hey, no fair! You were supposed to stay down after we got you!” The boy replied.

The man holding him laughed, letting him go. “Ah well, sometimes you can’t just take things lying down.” He reached up one hand and smoothed his hair down some with it, then plopped down onto the ground in a sitting position. “But you had your fun. I just thought I’d have some too.”

The girl walked up to the sitting man, passing through the circle of her honorable nights, and tugged on his sleeve. “Uncle Tom, will can we do it again?”

“Yeah! Again!” Cried the oldest boy, being joined in the chorus of demands by his four comrades.

Thomas Dumat held his hands up defensively. “I don’t know. I’m kinda tired now, guys, and-”

“Oh? Tired? I’ve never known you to run out of energy so quickly, Dumat.”

The children and their older playmate looked up to see a tall, cloaked man standing in the street about ten feet off. Dumat was a bit befuddled at first, but this was quickly replaced by a mischievous grin as he shrugged and replied, “Perhaps I’m merely getting old. But I won’t forget who you are! I’ve dealt with you in the past, you great creator of distrust and strife! I may be to tired to do much now, but I’m sure these five honorable knights will be more than enough to take my place!” Dumat leaned in closer to the five boys with him, who had taken out their wood swords again and were looking at him eagerly, and said in a loud whisper, “Get ‘im, boys!”

Nothing else needed to be said, and the five boys charged off towards the man, once again yelling imaginary war cries and holding their swords menacingly. The cloaked man had time to give off a short, “Eh?” before being overwhelmed by them.

A short time later, the boys left the twitching man on the street and returned to Dumat. “We took care of him, Uncle Tom!” they declared.

“Well done,” replied Dumat, a serious look on his face. “Now, it’s getting late. You’d best escort your lady home, and then get home yourselves.”

“Alright. Will we see you again tomorrow?” Asked the oldest.

“Perhaps.” Dumat watched the six children walk off, a slight smile still on his face.

After they had rounded the street corner, a voice from behind him asked, “How does sending five kids with sticks after your oldest friend constitute taking a break?”

Dumat turned to look at Sethrik, who was now sitting up and rubbing his shin, where he had been hit by one of the boy’s sticks. “Well, you did say to do something for fun,” the visionary answered, “and educating you in how exhausting children can be did seem like a lot of fun at the moment. What brings you out here?”

Sethrik got up and dusted himself off. “Business, I’m afraid. Even though I’m the one who told you to take some time off, I think you need to hear about this now. Let’s head back to the castle shall we?”

The other man shrugged slightly. “If you insist. I was rather looking forward to another twenty four hours of break time, but if it’s important enough even for you to come out here…”

“Well, with any luck this won’t take more than an hour of your time,” Sethrik reassured him. “And I’ll just add that onto your time tomorrow, to even it out. I’ll start talking along the way. You’re familiar with the followers of Hontogami, right? It seems that they want your support in…”

The two men continued talking as they headed back to the Doman castle. <p>

Victory to the strong of will
Death to pretenders</p>

Uncle Pervy
 

Re: A Journey of Faith (Part 1 of many)

Unread postby Uncle Pervy » Tue Apr 22, 2003 5:50 pm

DUMAT'S A RACIST AND GATHERING AN ARMY, ONOES!

Interesting bit, that is. ^^ <p><div style="text-align:center">Image Image Image Image Image ImageImage</div></p>

lianna
 

kinda?

Unread postby lianna » Sun May 18, 2003 7:06 pm

<s>ok it wasnt that grate. it was ok, but they almost put alot of my frinds and i to sleep!! i totally thought that u guys could do it! and u can just try harder see ya!!!! </s>

i cant use proper english, so i have no reason to rate a story! lol!

Furthermore, I love a coward who can't make a proper account ^_^ ~This Editting Brought to you by the Adam/Pervy Axis


Image

Edited by: [url=http://p068.ezboard.com/brpgww60462.showUserPublicProfile?gid=pdrydia>pd]&nbsp; Image at: 6/11/05 17:04


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