Icanra
Merchant
Hey guys, so I am writing a book series about the In-Character History of Astrum Island, but I wanted to get some feedback on the first book as I go, to see if you guys enjoy them. Be aware this will be a loooong project so please bear with me! So with all that aside, here is the first book in the series "The Fall of an Empire". This is a WIP so stay tuned for the other chapters to come! 
Book One - The Fall of an Empire
Book One - The Fall of an Empire
Chapter One - Captain Floyd
Heat. A blistering heat that seemed to burn through the skin, to the bone. Accompanying only the sight of mountainous black rock, separated by lakes of
burning lava. Captain Floyd Kelain cast a gaze over the battlements, his armour shining and pristine with a frilled medal centred like peacock's feathers.
Floyd felt a smile creep over his face as he looked over the tall battlements of Etena, for once in his life he truly felt part of something bigger. As he gazed
towards the glowing hot lake, he watched the shadows twist and convulse - seemingly dancing for the recently appointed captain. While looking into the shadows he found himself reminiscing upon his childhood, an increasingly common activity as of late. He reflected upon his own life and how he once slaved away in the mines of Lutia.
With a pang of sadness, he recounted how he had long ago forgotten his parents - who only remained as shadows in the back of his mind. Due to his strong stature being fit for a miner, he was sent to work in a quarry for a total of nine long years, working his way up and finding that the harder he worked and the more obedient he acted, the quicker it would be for him to be moved to an easier job. With a strong determination to succeed, he soon was granted freedom from his labours as a slave and enlisted into the Lutian guard, again working his way up the ladder until finally, he had become a captain - the very thing that had driven him so passionately for the last 4 years.
Floyd straightened himself up, dusted off his hands, and removed his helmet before wiping his eyes. He felt disappointed at himself for showing such sadness, even though he was the only one who could have witnessed this momentarily display of weakness. He reflected that if he ever wanted to become a General, he must void himself of mercy and emotion. With a cough he held back tears, his mothers face burned into the back of his eyes like an eerie projection. Floyd watched in shock as the shadows soon took on that very same face, beckoning him into one final warm embrace of the smoking liquid, that waited just over the balcony of the guard post.
Floyd shook his head violently.
"Must be the heat" He murmured to himself, shifting in his heated armour which even now felt it was purposed to oppress him further, rather than protect his flesh.
"It isn't real..." Floyd sighed and looked towards the opposite gate tower, noticing a face staring directly back at him."Malcolm"
He murmured the guards name to himself, confused at why the rookie guard would turn away after he had noticed his stare. Floyd pondered on this momentarily, before shrugging and scanning the mountains once more. He tilted his head as he caught the gleam of light hitting armour outside the gates, he thought how odd it was that a guard would be outside after curfew. As he squinted out into the darkness he heard a snap and the sound of something flying through the air, before seeing a flashing object, long and shining coming towards him at an alarming speed.
Suddenly the object seemingly disappeared in front of him, a wave of coldness spreading from the back of his skull. He found it odd how his legs seemed to give out beneath him, as he staggered towards the balcony of the tower. He also found it strange that his left eye was seemingly closed and yet he never recalled blinking.
"Mus- be nofing" He slurred. Only, it didn't feel like nothing. He doubled over to cough, and heard the sound of something slapping against the floor like a spilt ale. He put his hand over his mouth, feeling a hot liquid trickling through his clasped fingers. His ears started to ring, a high whining sound filling his head. He found it strange how numb his body felt, his hands exploring the back of his head where he felt something sharp emerging through his blond hair. He dismissed this as he tried to chuckle it off, recalling Malcolm's joke about a drunken guard. It was odd how Malcolm was always there near him, always with a smile on his face. He thought how it would be nice to spend more time with the rookie guard, chuckling once more with a feeling of dread creeping over him. Floyd felt his face start to loosen, hearing loud footsteps behind him as his vision blurred and contorted. With a flash, a red-gloved hand grabs his shoulder, exerting pressure over Floyd's body which now felt wooden almost like a child's marionette. Floyd tried to cry out for help, but could only watch as he was lead to the balcony of the tower, the steam from below causing the tears trickling from his eyes to burn like a poker. He knew this wasn't right, that this was wrong. He tried to get his body to stop but he could feel only terror as he tilted over the balustrade. He would scarcely have the energy to scream, simply squeezing his eyes shut and pretending he was a child once more, waking from a terrible dream. Yes, just a dream his mother assured. Only a dream.
Just a Man. Falling. Weightless. As Floyd felt himself flying down through the air he still tried to reason what was going on. But his brain was content to sleep, only to sleep. As his vision started to darken, he heard the high whine from his ears turn into his mother's lullaby. A smile creeping once more over his face as he fell towards his mother, the burning red shadow outstretching her arms to welcome her son home.
Chapter 2 - Malcolm Harris
Malcolm soon found himself gazing towards the opposite tower, looking at the rack of poleaxes leaning against the cracked stone walls. A lone guard stood in the tower, looking out over the lava pools, Malcolm noticed how calm and still the guard looked - as if the guard had the power to drift and fly through the air without a care in their mind. With a cough, Malcolm looked down at his muddied boots, for which he had been scolded for many hours ago when the sun first rose. He shuddered, recalling the brunt of General Shifey's cane against his knuckles, running a hand across the now bruised welts that had formed soon after. Malcolm sighed and straightened himself up, licking his thumb and trying to wipe away the specks of soot from his uniform, attempting to make himself look at least somewhat tidier before his punishment that evening.
Malcolm shuddered, thinking about the punishment he would receive, still feeling the lash of General Shifey's heel against his back and the beating he had suffered in front of his fellow rookie guards. The General seemed only to use him as an example to put fear into the hearts of the other recruits.
"Probably, so no one tries to slip something into his ale"
Malcolm murmured, fully aware that rumours of the General's alcoholism were in fact true.
He looked back to the opposite tower to see the gleam of blond hair in the place of the guard's helmet. As the guard turned to look towards him, Malcolm's eyes focused onto Captain Floyd's well chiseled features. With a blush, Malcolm's heart fluttered as his sheltered feeling rose once more. Upon meeting Floyd's gaze he looked away timidly, his cheeks reddening further. Malcolm was sure that Floyd would never want to be seen with him, he was a lowly guard and the thought that Floyd would ever be with him was beyond question. Malcolm sighed sadly. Upon this his mind flashed back to his father and how he reacted when he had first shown interest in another man.
His father's reaction was one of disgust as he was branded a heretic as his father denounced him, unbuckling his belt. With a silent tear, he pictured the dark cellar he had been locked into where he had been-
"Stop!" Malcolm mind screamed out, halting his thoughts as the memory consumed his subconscious as if his father was still mocking him.
Malcolm felt a sense of pride in how he had run away from his father and made something of himself as a guard. Powerful. Strong. He thought of how he could take revenge upon his father before stopping with a whimper, disgusted at the thoughts he was able to comprehend.
"Maybe he was right..." He mused.
Malcolm once more looked towards the other tower, noticing that Floyd was now leaning against the balcony, something seemingly protruding from the back of the captain's head.
Malcolm rubbed his eyes, convinced that this was his mind playing tricks on him, now seeing a silhouette creeping up behind the captain's withering form, a dark red glove slinking behind him. Malcolm started to let out a cry of warning for Floyd, before a clasping hand held his own mouth shut, trapping the warning as his desperate eyes watched Floyd fall from the battlements. With a roar of anguish, he tried to launch a flurry of punches towards his attacker, before a sharp pain in his ribs caused his movement to stop, forcing him to his knees as if he was wading through dark red honey. Malcolm clutched at his chest, feeling a wooden handle, unable to register what that handle was for, until he felt something warm and wet splash into his hands like the flow from a water pump.
Malcolm fell to the floor, tears of regret mixing with saliva, sweat and blood to surround him in a pool of sorrow. He watched as the owner of the clasping hand moved to the winch for the portcullis. With a heavy clanking noise, the gate opened and loud footsteps marched into the courtyard. Malcolm closed his eyes and prayed, hoping that Floyd would forgive him for his mistake as the life faded from his eyes and he fell still. The footsteps grew louder as torches were lit and screams pierced the darkness. The siege had begun.
Chapter 3 - Cooking Swine
Walking past the various pots and pans, the stoutly chef's appearance could be made out. He was a short dwarfen man, with a large bushy beard, rotund and short in stature. Rolls of hairy body fat would spill out of the bottom of his robes, giving him the appearance of something closer looking to a pig than his own meal had done. Only stopping to scratch his large behind, Grett would snort and stomp toward the table in the centre of the kitchen, grabbing the great hunk of burnt meat with an unwashed hand. He slices eagerly into hog, forcing some semi-cooked meat into his yellow teeth, chomping down noisily onto his food - a wet, sloppy sound heard as he chews.
Grett would swallow the meat, choking slightly and washing down the remains with some murky ale. He would look towards the boiling oven, the fierce fire burning brightly, a crackling heard within as the leftover fat drips off the top shelf and into the flames. His gaze would turn to a sink full of dirty plates, almost scraped clean by hungry mouths. He would utter an ugly snorting laugh, deep and bellowing.
"Dirty rats..." He would murmur to himself before moving aside an overturned pot.
With the removal of this pot, it would reveal some strange herbs chopped up on the side, a sickly smell seeping from them.
"See 'ow ya' like my special seasoning" He chuckles deeply again, at his own joke.
Grett would move back to the table, cutting off another chunk of meat and forcing it into his mouth, not caring that some of the grease and meat is caught in his dirty beard. A loud scream is heard from outside, then a sickening thud as if a sack of tomatoes had hit the ground before bursting with their bitter red juice. He would raise his ale in celebration of the planning coming off as expected. He greedily rubs his hands, envisioning the reward he would get from assisting in the downfall of--
"Grett!" A figure calls out, stepping into the dark shadows at the edge of the kitchen, stopping Grett's cycle of thought as the fat dwarf looks up trembling, attemping a struggled bow.
"Mi'lord!" The dwarf would grovel at the feet of the figure, before being sent away with a click of fingers - bringing the dwarf back to standing.
"Is it done..." A deep voice growls, the only thing visible of the figure being a sinister red glove, now stained with dark red patches.
"Aye Mi'lord! The soldiers ate it all up quicker than I could give it to 'em" The dwarf babbles proudly before being stopped by another snap of a gloved finger.
A scream can be heard in the distance before it would be cut off. The gloved figure cackles.
"Music to my ears, my how convenient venom is, to snuff out life without needing to lift a finger" The gloved man purrs. "Everything is now falling into place"
The dwarf would pretend to cough, rather obviously.
"My pay? Mi'lord..." The dwarf would imply heavily, his greed once again shining through.
The gloved man would growl, saying nothing but simply retrieving a satchel of radiants from somewhere within the shadows and throwing the bag towards the stubby dwarf. Grett would struggle to catch it, the bag simply hitting him in the belly and falling into his hands with a slight jingle of coins. The dwarven cook would empty the coins into his chubby hand before counting as quick as his feeble mind could - mouthing the numbers as he does so. After finishing, the cook would look up irritated, wiping his nose again much to the disgust of the red gloved man.
"This is less than ya' promised" The cook would snarl, throwing the bag onto the counter, taking a bold step towards the gloved figure.
"The poison was taken from your wage... You have been paid what your work was worth, to get rid of the King's guards, that was it!" The figure raises his voice.
"A simple task, nothing more!" He growls towards the dwarf, who takes a step back.
"That ain't fair! This was my plan, after all! You 'ave no right to deny my pay" The dwarf protests.
"Your plan... Oh no, no my fat little friend, you did nothing. Just poison a few guards, that was it. A vermin's class of work". The gloved figure remarks, narrowing his eyes as the dwarf takes another daring step towards him.
"Ya' needed me! Without me, this plan would 'ave failed! Ya' would 'ave failed without me!
"You are nothing!" The gloved man would yell out, finally loosing his composure. "Simply a pawn in our plan! Be grateful I don't end you here you dwarven scum" He would spit at the dwarf's feet.
The dwarf would let out a yell, pulling the large knife from the hog meat, waving it threateningly towards the shadowed figure, chuckling to himself.
"Looks like yer' outmatched, now yer' gonna give me my pay..." He would slice the blade through the air with a threatening smirk. "So ya best be paying"-
The dwarf would yell as with a flash of silver, a spurt of red showers the sides of the kitchen as the knife clatters to the floor - now sporting a fleshy left hand with it. The dwarf would drop to his knees, screaming in pain - rolling around on the greasy floor, blood mixing with fat and dirt, smeared around as the dwarf tries to crawl away to safety.
"All you had to do was just... Follow orders" The gloved figure takes a step towards the whimpering chef, chuckling at the limp hand now on the floor. The glove would pick up the hand, taunting the cook with it before opening the large oven door and throwing it inside. The smell of cooking flesh corrupts the air as the dwarf struggles to his feet, blood dripping from the remains of his severed arm.
"Sorry mi'lord, the money is fine. Please Mi'lord, I-I..." The dwarf would start to babble, pleading for his own life, the figure remaining motionless - his sword glinting in the darkness.
"Stand!" The figure orders. The dwarf does so, trembling. "Come!" A gloved finger points to the floor, the dwarf steps closer, feeling the burning oven behind him - the stench of flesh making him gag.
"Please Mi'lord I-"
"Quiet! Who do you serve scum..." The gloved man's voice is stern yet remains calm.
"You, of course Mi'lord!" The dwarf would once again grovel.
"Wrong! Who do you follow..." He waves the sword in the dwarf's face, before wiping it's blood onto the dwarf's grimy apron.
Grett suddenly remembers, nodding and calling out.
"The Empire!" He croaks, pale from the blood seeping from his arm.
A smile is illuminated by the fire of the open oven.
"Yes... Perhaps you might be worthy after all, now scrape your other hand from the oven vermin..."
The cook nods hastily and turns to the oven, taking a step towards it. As a growl of malice emerges from the gloved figure's lips.
"How do ya' want me to- Agh!"
The dwarf lets out a blood-curdling screech of terror as he reels from a kick to his back, sending him toppling into the oven racks as he falls into the flames. He lets out a yell of agony, reaching a blackening arm to the figure who just stood there. Watching. Waiting. A smirk appearing on a set of pale lips, before the figure grabs hold of the oven's handle.
The gloved man slams the metal door of the oven closed, the dwarf clasping the bars and shaking them with another horrifying scream as the flames enveloped him. The smell of burning flesh is accompanied by sizzling and the cracking of fat burning as the screams get hoarse. The figure with the red glove cackles, moving towards the door. He lets out a sinister chuckle, before exiting the room with a final remark.
"Dinner is served..."
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And even getting to know the character for a bit before he suffers the same fate as the one in the first chapter, while getting to know more about how the Floyd is viewed by others, after knowing how he viewed himself. You are a hella good writer!
That means alot to me, i shall get chapter 3 up asap
I'm very very tired xD
