zelda12
02-12-2005, 06:46
Well this is my new offering to the mead hall. This, for the first time is planned, and is only a first in a series of stories all set in a world of my own imagination, as the real one is just too hard to make storylines fit into. The name of this first story is undetermined as yet but here is the prologue.
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Power is all consuming, it is a drug that seizes men and women and holds them in an iron grip. Twisting their minds and their conscience. Causing them to commit deeds so heinous that they lose any semblance of human compassion and love. Some might say they become so twisted by the power that they cease to become human.
But is this true, does not some inner part of them scream to the heavens. “This is wrong!” Does there not reside an inner bastion, assailed but still strong, that contains inside their soul their pureness, their innocence?
Who knows, but we must all hope so because if they can succumb to the intoxication of power, which destroys all the goodness in their souls. Then surely we are all similarly vulnerable?
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Prologue
The wind howled around the streets of the port of Trena. A storm epic in its proportions was gusting in from the south. With it came rain in quantities such as that which must surely have been seen by God himself in the storm that had created the world. Lightning slashed their way down from the dark and broiling skies that had darkened midday to the blackest midnight. Thunder reverberated.
In the docks crews rushed around frantically trying to secure their ships.
Five men were struggling desperately to secure the mooring lines of a large brig when a huge gust of wind tore loose the ship’s sails. With a ripping sound the mainsail unfurled. The wind seized it up and suddenly the mooring lines snapped and the ship was sent careening into another ship on the next pier.
The huge crash of splintering timbers cut through the sound of the thunder. Deep in the belly of the brig a fire had broken out and sped towards the ship’s magazine.
Don Phillipo Marilino, head of the Marilino trading house, hurried through Trena’s back street. He pulled his big oiled overcoat around his face to keep the biting cold and rain off.
Soon, he thought, Soon I’ll be back home by the fireplace with Angelica. And I can get out of this God awful weather.
He rounded a corner and walked into a long dark alley.
No sooner had he gone five feet than he heard footsteps behind him. Turning he saw two heavy set men who had some badly concealed weapons under their coats.
Cold dread took Phillipo’s heart. I’m going to die. He thought. Then again maybe not, there’s no one at the end of the alley, yet. I’m sure that if I made a run for it I might make it. He thought, hope rekindling in his heart.
Phillipo was tensed to run, when two more men walked into the alley from the other end. Shortly followed by a third.
This is it, looks like I’m dead. Maybe if I keep them talking the watch will come. He thought, then in a strong voice used to haggling in a crowded market Phillipo said aloud to all five of the men. “What do you want.”
“Well, friend, it’s like this. Me and my… aha, associates have been hired to dispose of… an obstacle.” Said one of the men who’s voice sounded like liquid oil.
“Who? Who paid you and how much?”
“Ah but… brother, that would be telling.” Replied a new voice that had a pure silken tone to it, with a subtle edge of pure malice.
“Grego?”
“Yes brother, its me.” Answered Grego as he walked forward past the two assassins.
Grego was tall and thin with a haughty posture and a long scar that ran across his face and an eye-patch over his dead eye. In this stormy and hellish night what could be called debonair was transformed into a malevolent figure who’s every movement spoke of implied threats and violent actions.
“But Grego, you’re my brother? Why?”
“Why. Why! Why! Let me guess, maybe it’s the fact that all I am to you is a second rate ships captain. I’m you’re brother. But you refuse to allow me to do anything more in the family but do trading runs!”
“But Grego…” Phillipo said before being cut off.
“Oh I know that it is all from your jealousy of me. I can understand that… But as you can seen I cannot stand your treatment of your dear wife.” With this Grego smiled slowly revealing his mausoleum white teeth.
“Angelica? What do you mean…” And for the first time since the conversation had started Phillipo’s voice was tinged by genuine surprise and fear.
“Ah yes. Your dear wife is very unhappy with you. She seems to believe that you use her for her sound business sense and then take all the credit for yourself.”
“But how…? I mean…?”
“Ah yes, it finally dawns on you. Your wife has betrayed you. Of course you have only yourself to blame. Now of course you must die. But rest assured I will take care of the family business.”
With that Grego turned and over his shoulder said. “Goodbye Phillipo. May God be kind upon you’re soul.”
As the assassins closed in upon Phillipo he slowly saw his family’s faces pass before his eyes. Last of all came that of his wife. Angelica.
As the assassin’s raised their blades a solitary tear slowly trickled down his face.
The assassin’s blades slashed down in unison.
The explosion rocked the docks in a blinding flash of light and sound as the brigs magazine went up, taking with it the other ship.
All along the wharves and piers men were thrown back by the force of the explosions and splinters of wood scythed through the air cutting men down in sprays of red.
*********************************************************************************
Power is all consuming, it is a drug that seizes men and women and holds them in an iron grip. Twisting their minds and their conscience. Causing them to commit deeds so heinous that they lose any semblance of human compassion and love. Some might say they become so twisted by the power that they cease to become human.
But is this true, does not some inner part of them scream to the heavens. “This is wrong!” Does there not reside an inner bastion, assailed but still strong, that contains inside their soul their pureness, their innocence?
Who knows, but we must all hope so because if they can succumb to the intoxication of power, which destroys all the goodness in their souls. Then surely we are all similarly vulnerable?
**********************************************************************************
Prologue
The wind howled around the streets of the port of Trena. A storm epic in its proportions was gusting in from the south. With it came rain in quantities such as that which must surely have been seen by God himself in the storm that had created the world. Lightning slashed their way down from the dark and broiling skies that had darkened midday to the blackest midnight. Thunder reverberated.
In the docks crews rushed around frantically trying to secure their ships.
Five men were struggling desperately to secure the mooring lines of a large brig when a huge gust of wind tore loose the ship’s sails. With a ripping sound the mainsail unfurled. The wind seized it up and suddenly the mooring lines snapped and the ship was sent careening into another ship on the next pier.
The huge crash of splintering timbers cut through the sound of the thunder. Deep in the belly of the brig a fire had broken out and sped towards the ship’s magazine.
Don Phillipo Marilino, head of the Marilino trading house, hurried through Trena’s back street. He pulled his big oiled overcoat around his face to keep the biting cold and rain off.
Soon, he thought, Soon I’ll be back home by the fireplace with Angelica. And I can get out of this God awful weather.
He rounded a corner and walked into a long dark alley.
No sooner had he gone five feet than he heard footsteps behind him. Turning he saw two heavy set men who had some badly concealed weapons under their coats.
Cold dread took Phillipo’s heart. I’m going to die. He thought. Then again maybe not, there’s no one at the end of the alley, yet. I’m sure that if I made a run for it I might make it. He thought, hope rekindling in his heart.
Phillipo was tensed to run, when two more men walked into the alley from the other end. Shortly followed by a third.
This is it, looks like I’m dead. Maybe if I keep them talking the watch will come. He thought, then in a strong voice used to haggling in a crowded market Phillipo said aloud to all five of the men. “What do you want.”
“Well, friend, it’s like this. Me and my… aha, associates have been hired to dispose of… an obstacle.” Said one of the men who’s voice sounded like liquid oil.
“Who? Who paid you and how much?”
“Ah but… brother, that would be telling.” Replied a new voice that had a pure silken tone to it, with a subtle edge of pure malice.
“Grego?”
“Yes brother, its me.” Answered Grego as he walked forward past the two assassins.
Grego was tall and thin with a haughty posture and a long scar that ran across his face and an eye-patch over his dead eye. In this stormy and hellish night what could be called debonair was transformed into a malevolent figure who’s every movement spoke of implied threats and violent actions.
“But Grego, you’re my brother? Why?”
“Why. Why! Why! Let me guess, maybe it’s the fact that all I am to you is a second rate ships captain. I’m you’re brother. But you refuse to allow me to do anything more in the family but do trading runs!”
“But Grego…” Phillipo said before being cut off.
“Oh I know that it is all from your jealousy of me. I can understand that… But as you can seen I cannot stand your treatment of your dear wife.” With this Grego smiled slowly revealing his mausoleum white teeth.
“Angelica? What do you mean…” And for the first time since the conversation had started Phillipo’s voice was tinged by genuine surprise and fear.
“Ah yes. Your dear wife is very unhappy with you. She seems to believe that you use her for her sound business sense and then take all the credit for yourself.”
“But how…? I mean…?”
“Ah yes, it finally dawns on you. Your wife has betrayed you. Of course you have only yourself to blame. Now of course you must die. But rest assured I will take care of the family business.”
With that Grego turned and over his shoulder said. “Goodbye Phillipo. May God be kind upon you’re soul.”
As the assassins closed in upon Phillipo he slowly saw his family’s faces pass before his eyes. Last of all came that of his wife. Angelica.
As the assassin’s raised their blades a solitary tear slowly trickled down his face.
The assassin’s blades slashed down in unison.
The explosion rocked the docks in a blinding flash of light and sound as the brigs magazine went up, taking with it the other ship.
All along the wharves and piers men were thrown back by the force of the explosions and splinters of wood scythed through the air cutting men down in sprays of red.