Shiney
December 7th, 2005, 05:09 AM
This is my first attempt to write a fiction, so please, no flamethrowers. >_> *hides*
“What is a soul? A person? Energy? A tool? What is a sword? A weapon, a tool, or an extension of one's self?”
(Author’s note: If several concepts in this story seem familiar to you, that’s the idea. It’s a cliché tale, but one that will show an almost never-seen outcome, please enjoy the brainchild of my twisted and demented mind.)
Chapter 1: A sleepy little village.
The Nashanite Empire was a strong, undefeated nation that spanned an entire continent, ranging from nearly every type of climate. Its greatest cities were places of eternal light, fueled by the magic of potent wizards, and the knowledge of the greatest inventors. It became great as most empires do, through trade, diplomacy, and economics. But unlike other empires, Nashan has never fallen in over a millennia of existence. This is largely due to the Swordsworn, a group of people who supposedly only exist in Nashan, people who are capable of extraordinary events, used as undeniable keepers of the peace, and the last, most dangerous line of defense…
Our story starts as most do, in a sleepy little village on the eastern coast of Nashan, not even large enough to be put on the map, a small fishing community that no one ever pays any attention to, known as Mos Taike. Until recently, that is. A decade ago, the empress declared that the Swordsworn would be visiting every single settlement in Nashan, from the capital city, to every grass-and-mud hut to search for those with the potential to become Swordsworn.
A young boy, no older than eight or nine years sat up in his lumpy bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was very tall, though his limbs and torso were as thin as someone his age, giving him the appearance of being incredibly lanky. He had dark, nearly bronze skin, and hair a shade of red that no one was born with, the color of a bright apple, or perhaps fresh blood in bright sunlight. His eyes were a deep, crystalline blue, and very sharp with a very disturbing cunning, and a confidence that looked like it would be there on his deathbed. He looked out the window to look at the thick fog that obscured anything more than two feet away, and got out of his bed, beginning to get dressed in simple workman clothes, a a dull yellow vest with many pockets along with an earthy brown jerkin and pants. Another boring little day in a boring little village… Still, it could be worse, the Swordsworn could be ignoring this place entirely, like they were before he was born, according to his parents. At least now there was SOME excitement twice a year.
As he went downstairs, his hand snapped up like lightning to catch the friend fish-roll his older brother had tossed at him. “It’s about time, Dakado.” Egrue said, grinning at his younger sibling. “Hush.” Dakado said simply, taking a bite from the roll and walking out the door. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, after all. It took him only a moment, perhaps two short moments after leaving the door to realize why his brother was up so early. It was today; TODAY that the Swordsworn would be coming, and now, both he and his brother were old enough to try out!
Every time it was basically the same, three people came into the town square, never the same people, but one was always old, and one a young person, and then the stuffy official for our area. They had all the young men and women, at least ten years old line up if they wanted to try. The test to see for potential was relatively simple; they had a sword, not the kind with a blade, but the kind an accomplished Swordsworn used. It was a simple, rounded hilt without a pommel, and a round hole in the top. When someone grasped this special hilt, if they had potential, it usually reacted by sending out sparks, or in some cases, a faint stream of light.
As the day progressed to noon, when the fog was weakest, meaning you could see a total of fifteen, maybe twenty feet on a good day. The three came out from the inn into the square, and immediately, people began to gather around them. There weren’t that many up to try out, most of the people in the village thought it was a waste of their time to become “some fool crusader.” But there were always enough young people to make a line. This time the two Swordsworn were both male, one with a short white beard that matched his military cut hair. Swordsworn were actually more often female, but as far as skill went, the genders were on equal footing. At least, according to what little information reached this settlement on the coast. The other was a young man with pale, almost blonde hair that was plastered to his face in the fog. The line moved quickly, as usual no one seemed to succeed in making the sword so much as blink.
Then it was just Dakado and his older brother, Egrue, in line. When Egrue stepped up, the old man smiled comfortingly at him Egrue shrugged, grinning, and picked up the sword the younger man handed him. Almost immediately, small yellow sparks began to emit from the hole in the sword with a crackling sound like a fire. Egrue Yelped yelped and dropped the sword, but the younger man caught it before it hit the ground, and the old man patted him on the shoulder. “Well boy, it looks like you’ve got a lot of potential...” He was plainly surprised, by the look in his eyes, but he quickly recovered, and motioned for me to step up.
The young man handed Dakado the sword when he was close, Egrue already running off to tell their parents. Dakado reached out, picking the sword up. As soon as it was completely in his hand, the blade didn’t spark, it screamed, and a bright column of yellow light shot forward for at least two feet, sputtering in the dampness of the fog. This time Dakado jumped back, and so did the official, and the young Swordsworn, causing the blade to flicker out as the sword hit the ground with a metallic noise. The old man picked it up, and motioned to Dakado to step closer again. “You did well, better than I expected, you’re the Dakado boy, right?” He certainly didn’t look surprised, though…
Behold my newbishly poor attempt to write! Constructive criticism is mroe than welcome, because I want to make this great.
“What is a soul? A person? Energy? A tool? What is a sword? A weapon, a tool, or an extension of one's self?”
(Author’s note: If several concepts in this story seem familiar to you, that’s the idea. It’s a cliché tale, but one that will show an almost never-seen outcome, please enjoy the brainchild of my twisted and demented mind.)
Chapter 1: A sleepy little village.
The Nashanite Empire was a strong, undefeated nation that spanned an entire continent, ranging from nearly every type of climate. Its greatest cities were places of eternal light, fueled by the magic of potent wizards, and the knowledge of the greatest inventors. It became great as most empires do, through trade, diplomacy, and economics. But unlike other empires, Nashan has never fallen in over a millennia of existence. This is largely due to the Swordsworn, a group of people who supposedly only exist in Nashan, people who are capable of extraordinary events, used as undeniable keepers of the peace, and the last, most dangerous line of defense…
Our story starts as most do, in a sleepy little village on the eastern coast of Nashan, not even large enough to be put on the map, a small fishing community that no one ever pays any attention to, known as Mos Taike. Until recently, that is. A decade ago, the empress declared that the Swordsworn would be visiting every single settlement in Nashan, from the capital city, to every grass-and-mud hut to search for those with the potential to become Swordsworn.
A young boy, no older than eight or nine years sat up in his lumpy bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was very tall, though his limbs and torso were as thin as someone his age, giving him the appearance of being incredibly lanky. He had dark, nearly bronze skin, and hair a shade of red that no one was born with, the color of a bright apple, or perhaps fresh blood in bright sunlight. His eyes were a deep, crystalline blue, and very sharp with a very disturbing cunning, and a confidence that looked like it would be there on his deathbed. He looked out the window to look at the thick fog that obscured anything more than two feet away, and got out of his bed, beginning to get dressed in simple workman clothes, a a dull yellow vest with many pockets along with an earthy brown jerkin and pants. Another boring little day in a boring little village… Still, it could be worse, the Swordsworn could be ignoring this place entirely, like they were before he was born, according to his parents. At least now there was SOME excitement twice a year.
As he went downstairs, his hand snapped up like lightning to catch the friend fish-roll his older brother had tossed at him. “It’s about time, Dakado.” Egrue said, grinning at his younger sibling. “Hush.” Dakado said simply, taking a bite from the roll and walking out the door. He wasn’t exactly a morning person, after all. It took him only a moment, perhaps two short moments after leaving the door to realize why his brother was up so early. It was today; TODAY that the Swordsworn would be coming, and now, both he and his brother were old enough to try out!
Every time it was basically the same, three people came into the town square, never the same people, but one was always old, and one a young person, and then the stuffy official for our area. They had all the young men and women, at least ten years old line up if they wanted to try. The test to see for potential was relatively simple; they had a sword, not the kind with a blade, but the kind an accomplished Swordsworn used. It was a simple, rounded hilt without a pommel, and a round hole in the top. When someone grasped this special hilt, if they had potential, it usually reacted by sending out sparks, or in some cases, a faint stream of light.
As the day progressed to noon, when the fog was weakest, meaning you could see a total of fifteen, maybe twenty feet on a good day. The three came out from the inn into the square, and immediately, people began to gather around them. There weren’t that many up to try out, most of the people in the village thought it was a waste of their time to become “some fool crusader.” But there were always enough young people to make a line. This time the two Swordsworn were both male, one with a short white beard that matched his military cut hair. Swordsworn were actually more often female, but as far as skill went, the genders were on equal footing. At least, according to what little information reached this settlement on the coast. The other was a young man with pale, almost blonde hair that was plastered to his face in the fog. The line moved quickly, as usual no one seemed to succeed in making the sword so much as blink.
Then it was just Dakado and his older brother, Egrue, in line. When Egrue stepped up, the old man smiled comfortingly at him Egrue shrugged, grinning, and picked up the sword the younger man handed him. Almost immediately, small yellow sparks began to emit from the hole in the sword with a crackling sound like a fire. Egrue Yelped yelped and dropped the sword, but the younger man caught it before it hit the ground, and the old man patted him on the shoulder. “Well boy, it looks like you’ve got a lot of potential...” He was plainly surprised, by the look in his eyes, but he quickly recovered, and motioned for me to step up.
The young man handed Dakado the sword when he was close, Egrue already running off to tell their parents. Dakado reached out, picking the sword up. As soon as it was completely in his hand, the blade didn’t spark, it screamed, and a bright column of yellow light shot forward for at least two feet, sputtering in the dampness of the fog. This time Dakado jumped back, and so did the official, and the young Swordsworn, causing the blade to flicker out as the sword hit the ground with a metallic noise. The old man picked it up, and motioned to Dakado to step closer again. “You did well, better than I expected, you’re the Dakado boy, right?” He certainly didn’t look surprised, though…
Behold my newbishly poor attempt to write! Constructive criticism is mroe than welcome, because I want to make this great.