|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun May 22, 2011 6:05 pm
P R O L O G U E
Injured soldiers, rescued by The Guard, are no longer being taken into Prophylaxis borders. They are given emergency care and deposited on the side of the nearest main road for others to find. Where in the past, injured soldiers too far from the nearest encampment were treated with care at Prophylaxis by highly skilled doctors, they are now merely bandaged, given a painkiller or two and sent away as far from Prophylaxis as possible.
Military leaders have always depended upon the neutrality of Prophylaxis to provide free medical care in the field. Now suddenly bereft of this service, they find that their number of able bodied soldiers is decreasing at a rapid pace. Their medical tents are filling up faster than before. Soldiers are being sent home for extended care at a rate faster than the capital can send reinforcement.
Even more disconcerting: no one has seen a member of The Guard. Why? Additionally, the Lady Amaranthe has stopped all post between Prophylaxis and the two Kingdoms. Her last message before the land's complete silence bodes ill.
"Any uninjured soldier, Blanc or Noir, found near the borders of Prophylaxis will be captured, blinded and deposited at a random location in the forests surrounding our lands. Do not come near Prophylaxis. We will not welcome you as we have in the past."
A clamor arose. What caused Lady Amaranthe's sudden hostility? Was it towards Blanc? Noir? Leaders wracked their brains for what may have caused such a cut off in communication. However, Prophylaxis had always been a place of mystery and it merely added to the hundreds of questions both kingdoms already had about the place.
Blanc responded in pure Blanc-like fashion. They honored the Lady Amaranthe's decree and have ceased activities near Prophylaxis. Instead, they have begun to strike at Noir by sea by seizing trade ships.
And Noir responded in their own way. Heir Apparent, Lucian Sable, has organized a group of specialized soldiers to investigate Prophylaxis to get to the bottom of the matter. Since Lady Amaranthe's last message months before, the group has made no progress. They have found nothing of why she might cut Prophylaxis off from the rest of the world.
And then the Lady Ashe asks a question none had ever considered. It broached a topic so old that its origins were beginning to blur and a story many were beginning to consider myth.
Has something happened with the gate to Paradise?
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 07, 2011 11:38 pm
P A R T x O N E
The question was asked. The court burst into an uproar. Many simply rushed about the audience hall in a frenzied madness. After 500 years, could the Gates be welcoming them again at last? Those who caught on faster than most merely stayed silent and slipped away to investigate the idea. Plotting began in earnest from all sides seeking to exploit the furor. Those wanting to be more aggressive in opening the gates. Those wanting to strengthen their spy network. Those hoping to profit on the ensuing panic.
And the Lady Ashe and Lucian? The Lady Ashe sat in the hall, calmly watching the commotion slowly pass while Lucian immediately went to his study after calling for his special task force. Plans were quietly made with sounds softer than a mouse. Meetings in the study continued for several days. While Lady Ashe distracted the public from Lucian's secret meetings, the heir marched steadily closer to a secret so well kept that for five hundred years not one person stumbled upon it.
Far away, a lone Noir pawn, ignorant of any distress caused by Prophylaxis and the Gate, lies unconscious upon the forest floor. Knocked out from a battle mere minutes earlier, he slowly stirs. He lies on the border between Noir and Prophylaxis unnoticed by The Guard. And though it would seem that they would catch him, he is covered by the underbrush. Bruised all over, he wakes up but stays motionless.
It hurts to move.
Then a rustling a few feet away alerts him.
A flash of white and he breathes a sigh of relief. It is only The Guard. They pause a mere foot away and begin a hushed conversation.
"It's not safe!"
"If not here after Lady Amaranthe's declaration, then where?"
"We'll be overheard!"
"By who? The birds? No one is around. The more important issue is the Gate."
"Yes, yes. I know."
"The color."
"Becoming more like the sun everyday."
"The records say it used to shine like the sun too."
"But it means nothing!"
"How dense are you? It means everything! Perhaps it will open again."
"Of course it will. Someday."
"But don't you see? That someday may very well be within our lifetime! OURS, Pierce! OURS!"
"Fantasy. And we've lingered too long. We must get back to our patrol."
"But, Pierece!"
The sounds begin to rapidly fade into the distance.
The young Noir stays motionless. But not in fatigue. In shock. And after a few minutes of waiting to establish a distance between he and the Patrol, he stands despite the pain.
Despite the pain, he runs. For he holds the thread to a secret five hundred years old.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 8:37 pm
[PART x TWO]
This soldier ran hard without rest. He could not remember how to get back to camp, but he remembered the way to a town not far away. His destination set, he ran for over four hours. Upon arrival at the town entrance, he quickly spotted the nearest inn and ran inside.
He looked terrible. There was dried blood days old on parts of his uniform. His hair was a mess and there were leaves sticking out at odd angles. His boots were muddy and he was dripping with set. Paying the stares on his person no mind, he asked for the inn keeper.
He requested pen and paper. Once the supplies were procured, he secluded himself in a corner and began to write furiously. Taking all precaution, the soldier wrote in code and he wrote multiple copies. Once finished, he waved the inn keeper back and requested envelopes. Many of them. He stuff all the letters into envelopes, paid the inn keeper for his hospitality and went to the nearest post office.
Despite his fatigued mind, he gathered enough strength give the messenger very clear instructions on how to deliver his letters. One letter per messenger. All to the same location but by different routes. Speak to no one. Run quickly. Matters pertaining to the king, he confided to ensure urgency. One letter he kept for himself to give to his captain.
His task done, he slowly dragged himself out of the building only to slump to the floor in exhaustion. He allowed himself the luxury of a few minutes sleep before he had to drag himself back to the camp somehow. Never noticing the shadows looming over him.
His eyes never opened again.
And in a little alleyway far from the hustle and bustle of the main street slumped a small figure. Just like a drunk vagabond. Silhouettes numbering two stood over the figure. They were covered in cloaks with the hood drawn. One knelt to extract a letter while the other stood watching bloody sword in hand. Just enough of a swish revealed beige colored clothes before the cloak was drawn closed again. Both figures hurried away.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
