MS Fanfic: The Mysterious Man

[The Valorous]

Here's a revised version I did in Word. Changed some words around and added some miscellaneous items. I will keep adding onto it as time goes on:

"The summer sun was hovering above the land, scorching the dry and barren earth with its dominating and unforgiving presence. The sky was empty blue with no sign of relief from clouds in sight. The wind occasionally picked up, blasting heat from the sun into the willowing trees and the cracked earth of the dry plains, but otherwise, the place was stagnant from life. Occasionally, carrion birds streaked above, giving their victims a short, but slight comfort of shade before the inevitable coming of their death.

Despite the setting, it was all a typical day in the trade town of Edana. Livestock were seen wandering about in their caged pens on the outskirts of town, being tended by their shepherd masters. The farmers on the far north hillside of Edana tilled the hard encrusted earth; the crops being engulfed by the advancing summer weeds. The townsfolk in Edana carried on their daily, meaningless routines, disgruntled and disillusioned, knowing that the gods had abandoned them for this season, but always hoping for the better.

All went like normal, until a man came towards the town. The townsfolk and people in the surrounding areas were startled and surprised at the sight of this stranger, as everyone in the area knew each other and were connected in some form. This stranger seemed to be a fellow not from this land. He had darker skin and was covered head to toe in robes, cloak and hood and all, though these robes did not look like the priestly robes that the exclusionist members of Urdual wore. In fact, they looked more like robes a beggar in the city would wear, covered in dried mud, tattered and torn from long wear and tear.

However, despite his clothing, he did not seem like a beggar. He carried himself differently than other men of his seeming stature. He had no visible weapons, nor any items of consequence for trade, which drew some questions about his purpose for appearing in the town. The stranger also had a limp on his right leg, as if the leg contained some sort of weight that had to be carried around like a burden. Slowly and surely, this man had become a fixation for the town, and though the farmers and shepherds outside gave this man questioning glances, the man ignored them, limping, in a mysterious but determined manner, towards the arched town entrance.

Captain Eldrin, the leader of the town guard, had seen the man come into view of the town, and knew that it was his duty to find this man's motives and purpose. He thoroughly disliked strangers, and most especially, strangers with no clear purpose. He decided to act and came up to the man, stopping him in his slow-moving tracks. The stranger slowly lifted his hood-covered head and grinned at Eldrin, catching him by surprise. Eldrin had dealt with more mysterious beings, and he was not about to back away from this man.

'Who are you and what is your purpose?' Eldrin asked, being abrupt and straightforward. The man began to move again, slowly limping towards him, nay, around him. This man seemed to not want to be bothered by the old Captain. This annoyed Eldrin, but he was cautious, so he stated again, 'Halt! Who are you and what is your purpose?' The man stopped once again, but this time he opened his mouth.

'I am Syrus Altair. I have come to see the mayor.' And with those words, he limped past the dumbstruck Eldrin and headed to the mayor's villa.

The mayor’s villa wasn’t that large, located on the east side of town, next to Ike, the town’s armor maker. The man known as Syrus Altair limped slowly towards the entrance, being inconspicuously followed by some of the townsfolk, who kept an invisible distance barrier between them and him. Syrus slowed down and stopped. The commoners did the same, trying to hide behind miscellaneous items, but not doing a very good job at it. Syrus abruptly turned his head around and gave the townsfolk a sly grin. He was up to something, and the townsfolk knew about it.

The townsfolk watched him slowly turn his head back towards the mayor’s villa and make his way to the entrance. He stopped and talked to the mayor’s guard. The two discussed something in hushed notions, and after an exchange of items, the guard let him pass through the front door. The commoners, who were genuinely intrigued, continued to talk to each other in quiet whimpers, fearing that the strange man inside the mayor’s villa would hear them and do something foreign. But in a few moments, Syrus reappeared from the front door with a satchel. He was not limping as much anymore, and he walked towards the crowd that had gathered outside. Afraid for their lives, the crowd quickly dissipated away from Syrus, who kept walking past the crowd and towards the town entrance.

At the last moment, Syrus turned around towards the mayor’s villa as the mayor stepped out to look at him, shaking his head as if it were of astonishment and disbelief. Then, within a few moments, the stranger known as Syrus Altair disappeared from town."

 

[The Valorous]

That was the prologue... here's the start of the story:

"Dain was out of breath, but he knew he had to keep moving. He had to make it to Helena. He started to jog, but with heavy items wearing him down, he slowed the pace to a brisk walk. He was ascending now, going into the rocky hills. He carefully watched his step, fearing that he was going to slip on dry ground, which had prevented him from getting a decent foothold. Then, he sensed something behind him. He was being followed. He knew it was too late, and he turned around to face the inevitable.

‘Tag, you’re it!’ smiled Kira. She leaped at Dain with all her childish might, causing both of them to fall over backwards onto the rocks.

‘Ow, ow, Kira! That hurt!’ screamed Dain, as he dropped his backpack to brush his back clear of rocky debris. He looked at Kira, who had a gleaming smile on her face, acting all innocent from what she had done. ‘Okay, Kira. Are you ready to go home now?’

‘Nope! I want to stay!’ Kira said gingerly. She stood up and disengaged from her brotherly mentor, catching a slight glance at a lone covered figure out in the distance. The heat was so terrible that it seemed like a mirage, but that didn’t slow Kira any. She continued to walk on top of the rocks barefoot, around Dain, who had by now dusted himself off and sat up.

‘Kira, please. We’re already done running errands here, and this heat is killin’ me! Can’t we please go home?’ Dain implored. He had already pulled out his water pouch, taking a swig of pure elven water, which maintained its coolness and rejuvenated the body. He tried to hand some to Kira, who motioned her hand away from the water, but slowly raised her other arm into the direction of the lone skulking figure in the distance. Dain looked to where Kira pointed, and realized what they had seen. With sudden urgency, Dain whispered, ‘Come on, Kira. Let’s hurry out of here.’

Kira helped pick Dain up, but her gaze had maintained focus on the robed figure, which slowly seemed to pace forward toward its intended target. She gasped when she realized what it was, and turned quickly to Dain, who had almost finished packing the fallen items into his large brown backpack. They quickly picked up their things and, once finished, headed east towards Helena.

They had traveled quite a distance, reaching the vaunted spider-filled caves to northeast. The figure who had originally headed towards them had seemed to disappear and turn west towards the stone-frozen lake and the dark forest that engulfed it. Dain decided that it was good time to take a break, as the blazing heat of noon gave way to the cooler breeze of the late afternoon. He motioned Kira, who had become wide-eyed with paranoia, to take shelter with him in the caves. The ground outside contained the heat of the summer day, but the ground inside the caves had preserved the weather of the cool spring months before, so Dain had quickly started a basic campfire on the cave entrance floor. Kira, sensing the heat, crouched beside him as they rested that night.

Syrus had seen the couple going into the caves, but he paid no heed to them. He had a mission to follow, and it had to be done. He continued to limp steadily towards the forest until he reached the shore of the petrified lake. There he stopped, pulling out a canister full of liquid from his inner right robe pocket. He began to convulse as he attempted to open the container, dropping some of its liquid content to the ground. He quickly drank, spilling more of the liquid, but he had consumed enough, and his convulsions ceased.

A short distance away from Syrus, a group of orcs had emerged from the forest and onto the opposite shore. They obviously did not see Syrus on the other side, as the orcs continued to talk and even yell to each other. Syrus, however, had seen them and had determined that they were one of the many scout groups who ventured into and out of the forest on a daily basis. It was odd, Syrus thought, that these scouts would make themselves so visible and audible, appearing proudly decorated with their captured skulls and tufts of scalps hanging over their belts. They also wore mail, which would have been a death send to even the most novice human scout. Syrus decided that he was bored. The old hermit would have to wait."

 

[The Valorous]

Second half of first chapter. Also, I'll be gone for like 2-3 weeks. Vacation in the Philippines. Chea homie:

The orcs continued their walk over the petrified lake, keeping a casual pace and admiring the sights. Two of the five present were novices, which could be easily told by their paranoid nature and lack of battle trophies that usually hung from their belts. They had their weapons up and ready, and their eyes shifted from one spot to another, never focusing on one place for too long. The other three were more clearly marked as veterans, but none of them seemed to be the leader, as they were all equally decorated. They were more relaxed, their weapons holstered or held lightly, and their chatter nonstop. The dusk had begun to settle and limit the use of the eyes, as the light source dimmed at a frantic pace, and it helped Syrus immensely, as his night eye gave him limitless vision.

Syrus had maintained his original position, which was directly in front of the orcs. He decided not to move, for the time-being, and focus on their weak spots. These orcs, despite being very compromising to their position, were very heavily armored and very well armed, as were all the other orcs who waged war against all of Daragoth. Syrus found a particularly easy weak spot on one of the novices and decided to act on it. He got up and ran full speed at the front leftmost orc, brandishing a curved blade hidden from his right arm. Syrus had gotten to within five feet before the orc had finally realized something was in front of him, but it had been too late. The orc’s neck was gashed open, sliced through by the sharp and precise blade. The orc fell on his knees, gasping for air as he choked on his own blood, as his fellow warriors looked on in bewilderment. All at once, the remaining orcs formed a protective circle which was directed outwards, completely ignoring their dying comrade, drowning on his own pool of blood only a few feet away.

Suddenly, the defensive stance broke as one of the orcs began splitting away from the rest; it was the second novice. He began to run back towards the forest, disappearing into the darkness, where a loud thud was heard shortly after. The next few moments were of complete, uneasy silence, as the three remaining orcs continued their defensive stance, refusing to move. They knew that if they separated, they would be picked apart by this unknown hostile.

On the other end of the battle, Syrus had just dispatched his second victim, who had decided to run into his waiting arms. He now watched the three from a slight distance away from visibility. It would be a difficult approach, much more difficult than with four, Syrus assessed. He then remembered the satchel he had left town with. He had to get to it. He quickly scanned the area near him with his night eye, and finally saw the distinct shape of the satchel near his first victim’s body. It seemed a little close to the three orcs, who maintained their triangular outer formation, but he knew that would be his only chance of breaking through their defense anytime soon. Syrus decided to move before one of them gained wisdom and decided to throw down a light.

The orcs were definitely afraid, and none of them seemed to remember the torches they always carried to go into the forest. They were all perspiring with their shifty eyes traveling from left to right, holding their weapons closely. They heard a noise from the brushes, but they knew if one of them broke from the formation to engage, they would certainly be doomed; so they stayed put.

Syrus had reached his satchel and pulled out all the contents from it when he heard the noise in the brushes. It was movement from something that had a hard time being discrete. Syrus decided to stay still as he continued his gaze towards the brushes. A short moment later, a wolf emerged. Syrus saw it had three legs, two in front and one on hind, and acknowledged that there was another of Syrus’s kind nearby. He quickly picked up the contents of his satchel and moved away from the three orcs. He was going to have to assemble this somewhere else.

The noises had stopped, and the area was again filled with an eerie silence. The orcs knew they couldn’t just relax their stance, but they also figured that their assailant had given up after being revealed by nature. They had just started to relax when a projectile struck one of them. It hit the orc in the middle of the forehead, right in-between the eye slots, killing the victim immediately. The other two looked right at their other fallen comrade in fear and disbelief, and at that same moment, another projectile came flying from the dark, striking one of them on the side of the neck. It was a wounding blow, which the orc recovered from. The stricken orc pulled the projectile from his neck armor and looked at it. It was a crossbow bolt.

Syrus was disappointed only for a second as he glided in with his blade, landing right beside the wounded orc, who he thought was open for a killing blow. The orc saw him as soon as he landed, and it raised its battle axe to eliminate its assailant. Syrus attempted to parry with his blade, but the orc’s strength was no match for him, and he lost his right forearm. He countered the orc’s strength by rolling to his immediate left, next to the veteran orc’s corpse. He was expecting the third and uninjured orc to come in and help his wounded mate, but he never appeared. Instead, the wounded orc continued to go on its blind rage, slashing at Syrus’s body and head, tiring itself each time it swung. Syrus noticed this, so he continued to dodge the waning attacks. Soon, the orc could no longer swing, its neck trickling with blood and with vision blurring.

Syrus decided to finish this fight. He reached into his right leg and pulled out a long curved sickle from the metal struts. With his left hand Syrus swung into the orc’s face at full force, slashing the orc’s face and drawing blood. Again, Syrus swung, this time into the orc’s body, from right to the left, cutting loose the heavy armor and sending the orc to his knees. Finally, Syrus sliced the orc’s belly open, going from the bottom to the top. The orc was just about dead as it fell face forward onto the ground, letting off a final gasp of air before expiring.

Syrus returned the weapon to the sheath in his leg, and looked for his right forearm. He found it and reattached it to his arm. He went further and picked up his small crossbow. He would have been thankful to the mayor if it had shot where he had aimed, but business was just business. He sighed and attached the crossbow to his right forearm, which had previously contained his short blade. He then took the blade and hid it in a dagger sheath on his right leg next to his sickle and other discrete devices. After all that was done, he returned to the corpses to find three. He grinned.

‘Mardonius, come out, my friend,’ Syrus called loudly into the darkness. Mardonius appeared, grinning as slyly as Syrus was. They walked to within talking distance.

‘Syrus, how did you know it was me? I gave no sign.” Mardonius heartily explained. He was seemingly amused at his colleague who had figured him out.

‘Oh, but you’re wrong, Mardonius. Your wolf…’ Syrus pointed to Mardonius’s left, where a white three-legged wolf appeared.

‘Ah… I see.’ Mardonius smiled down at his wolf, gently patting it on the head. ‘I just thought I’d give one of my own some help.’

‘They were on my kill zone, Mardonius. You need not steal kills from your colleagues.’ Syrus pulled out a sealed note and began to hand it over to Mardonius.

‘Oh, but if we all worked together, we’d just be about the most powerful force on the battlefield,’ Mardonius took the note and unsealed it while stating, ‘of course, except for the ones led by the apostles, and I don’t think…’ Mardonius stopped mid-sentence after reading the note. ‘Understood,’ Mardonius said, turning around and disappearing into the shadows with his wolf. Syrus’s grin slowly faded, and he decided to use his former firing spot as his camp. He sat down, feeling his convulsions return to him, and he took another dose before falling asleep under the tree.