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Tag Archives: Achille

Morella Brightcloud

Her story starts before her birth.  Morella’s mother and her father, Achille, were deeply in love, despite her father’s strange fascination and obsession with order.  Rumors circulated, however, that Morella’s mother slept with people in order to gain their favor in her husband’s endeavors, but Achille ignored the rumors and simply enjoyed the woman’s company.  Morella was born, and any who looked at her saw mother and father– there was no doubt that she was not a bastard– especially after she began to sort her toys by size and color.  Many times, Morella did catch her mother with other men, and her mother explained very patiently that there was nothing wrong with embracing a sexual nature, but she must save her virginity for the person she was destined to marry, and that she must not tell her father of such things.

When Morella asked her mother if the woman still loved Achille, she answered “With all my heart, which is why I sometimes embrace people I do not like at all– for his sake.  If they see me come to them, they assume both of us must like them, or that they have some advantage, and your father can simply clean up the mess, which he is very good at.” Read the rest of this entry »

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A Sculpted Fantasy

The sculptor threw aside the chiseled bust of his commissioner.  The duke would hate it.  Shaking hands picked up the stone.  Ah, it looked much better, with that curl missing.  Now, it lacked that lively edge that made the duke seem an impetuous youth.  Slowly, he carved the hair into something more refined, and the duke as he was now appeared.  Absently, he wondered what had happened to change the lively young Achille into the stern man he was now.

Had his father finally beaten it out of him with fists and feet?  Had he gotten a too-convincing tutor?  Had one of his adventures in the desert gone bad?  Perhaps, he just grew into it.  With a sigh, the old man set aside the stern bust, made to join the library once Achille’s heir took over the duchy.  He looked it in the eye.  It held all of the life of the man– a relatively small amount, as it was. Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

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The Fall of the Heir

Continued from The Heir’s Rise in Heroism.

The man sighed regretfully, then looked to either side. “Search the stables!  We’re looking for three girls and a boy.  There should be one with heavy armor, two with caster books, and one with a bow!” He returned his gaze to me. “We have witnesses that saw you leave with them, and I know you’d never let them leave on their own.”

Panic coursed through my body.  Father was going to have my friends arrested! “Please, let them go!”

He shook his head. “If we return without them and you, we lose our heads.” Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

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The Heir’s Rise in Heroism

It was with stealthy feet that I carefully evaded my father’s guards.  A grin teased at my lips– a grin I could hardly contain.  Today, we went to Hotazhek Volcano.  I jumped from a window into a hedge, and pulled on my padded cloth suit, mail, leathers, and over-tunic after I removed the surcoat and tunic my father had decreed I wear in the castle.  Finally, my coif and helm.  To any who were not familiar with me, Achille was not present, and instead, just another street warrior.  I waved to a few guards on my way from the keep, and was unchallenged.  Father hired many freelance warriors to support the ranks of his army in the case of an army of monsters or cross-desert invasions that never came.  I looked like just another freelancer who turned down offers of an army commission.

I walked through the streets to a slummy tavern.  As I walked through the door, I stopped being Earl Achille Brightcloud, and became Achille the Warrior.  I grinned as I spotted my friends.  Obrecht lifted a glass as I entered.  She was my closest friend and the most true.  Many times, we moved together to scout an area, and fought back-to-back as we waited for Ainslinn, Anciel, and Dallan.  They were our cohorts, and respectively a full-human mage, a light-blooded war-priest, and an archer.  We each drank just enough to feel warm inside, and then we left the city, supplies and arms at ready. Read the rest of this entry »

 
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Posted by on February 9, 2013 in Saldecla, Semihistorical Fiction

 

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Enter, the Republicans.

Trotting horses rode through the desert.  Their sweat was a lather, and their riders desperately looked around for some sort of shelter.  There were three horses, but five riders, and as they approached the gates of Driazhek City, they yanked their horses up short.  One of the three beasts fell, sending its two riders to the ground with it.  One pulled himself from underneath, while the other kicked the over-burdened, gasping animal.

One of the guards hurried forward and shoved the kicking man away with a shout. “Don’t you kick that animal!  It carried you across the desert!  Show some respect, or learn to walk the sands yourself!”  The other man carefully dribbled water into the horse’s mouth, who eagerly drank with a dry tongue.  Once all three horses were watered, the guards led them in and tended to the beasts first, while other guards dashed to continue guarding the gate.  The first guard glared at the travelers. “Idiots.” he muttered. Read the rest of this entry »

 
 

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