[Yep, I'm back to the pen. The lure of a good tale draws me ever to typing, and I'm a good fan of expression. Hopefully my skills have improved!]
Steel Genesis:
Index of chapters:-Chapter 1: Driven
Introduction:
The earliest nature of a soul to be displayed, even in infancy, is not the want to do wrong, or disobey. It is the drive, the overwhelming urge, to live beyond death. The soul thrives on recognition, and the need to be the best is paramount. Even stronger, built off of this primal dominance complex, is the urge to be immortal. Written words lives long after their author is dead, flowing script telling a tale. Souls yearn to live a hero, but even moreso, a soul yearns to die a Legend. ~Garris Shrike
Chapter 1: Driven
Driven to exhaustion - tongue hanging out - breath, shallow, ragged - pain wracks the body - finally, darkness and the fall.
A pain-induced seizure woke him up to a destitute world, one he'd rather not be in. He found himself covered with dried and crusted blood, rats scurrying around his prone body. He was naked, and his swords were gone. Events flashed back into his mind. They'd come for him, finally. He'd always known he was taking it one step too far, but he was on his own now and had no one to cover his back. This time, they got him. They drove him unmercilessly into the sewers, laughing as he stumbled beneath the blows of the whips, and the stinging cuts of the deadly swords. They'd left him there, to die, his blood smearing the grimy floors as the gobbles watched his breath leave his body. But he'd survived.
He pushed himself to his feet. He was a tall Enki, in his prime. You would guess him to be nearing middle age, but the years were keeping him well. Broad shoulders, ripped abdomens, and heavily muscled forearms and legs spoke to you of a brawler, but the way he moved spoke to you more of a dancer, albeit not quite as graceful. Emerald eyes surveyed the rats as they continued to scurry around him, gnawing at the inedible grime of the sewers. He kicked a couple, muttering an Enkian curse. The movement brought spasming ripples of pain to him, and he promptly sat down.
Grimacing, he mutters to himself "Laanx does not favor the outlaw, eh?" and stands up again, more slowly, and careful of his oozing wounds. He looks around, and sees the rickety latter he stumbled down yesterday...or was it days earlier? How long had Dakkru kept him? Limping to the ladder, he pulls himself up it painfully, agonizingly slowly. The wounds would heal. But the wounders would not.
He heard a female shriek as he hauled himself out of the pit of the sewers, and grimly laughed to himself. The ylian ran off, screaming something about bloody murder, and he coughed up some blood when he tried to laugh again. The world wasn't used to seeing what went on behind the scenes of a complacent Hydlaa. They would learn...oh yes. They would learn. He spied some rags on the body of a beggar, and hurriedly used them to compromise a makeshift outfit, and bandage some of the larger wounds. This would do until he could get ahold of his friends.
He looked around, gathering in his position. Behind Kada's, yes...he had been drunk, they'd taken advantage of that. So, he limped back into Kadas, drawing stares from the "finer" patrons. Many mutters of "Shrike, the fool..." and "Garris, what happened THIS time?" echoed throughout the bar. Shrugging them off, he slouched into a proferred drink.
(will write more later today. Any thoughts on the writing style?)
