Link to original post: Spero Quod Despero (My Story in Progress)
Well after a long time building up a story in my head, I recently decided to make the leap and put it down on paper. I decided to post Chapter 1, and see what you all thought of it. Depending on the response, I might post Chapter 2 and also rework the narrative if I see the need. Well, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.
Spero Quod Despero: Chapter One
The mountain trail was lush and vibrant, a dense network of colours intertwining. Branches rustled and heather swayed, filling the air with a gentle fragrance of summer bloom. The sun glowed in the sapphire sky, adding a radiant richness to the colours of all things lucky enough to be graced by the exalted presence of its rays. Muffled chirping as the birds went about their daily business mixed with the faint humming of bees busily leaping from flower to flower, drinking their fill of the fresh nectar.
Grumio was most pleased by the nature of his surroundings. What should have been an arduous journey had instead become a delightful amble. His eyes wandered all around, entranced by this dream-like environment. The scent in the air had a drugging effect, lulling him into a child-like state of contentment. Perhaps it would have been better if he were instead engulfed by the murkiest and most chilly of nights, with an ominous full moon casting the deepest and darkest shadows to haunt his path. Indeed, such surroundings would have far better suited his fate. Alas, this was not the case. His blissful lack of awareness and vigilance were all too great in this earthly paradise, a cruel joke played by nature in accordance with the twisted and ironic humour of fate.
Unbeknownst to noble Grumio, his demise was of the utmost importance to a certain faction. Many attempts were made on his life, all so far unsuccessful, a testament to his extreme alertness to danger and his artistic talent for combat. On this day there was someone all too different on his trail, the one who struck with the will of death himself. An oh so unstoppable force that could crush a whole legion of the greatest soldiers as if it were child’s play. Fitting then, that such a talent was wielded by him.
The boy kept his distance, his heart remaining perfectly steady as he tracked Grumio from his reconnaissance route in the mass congregation of vegetation. The odour of damp earth kept his mind sharp, and his eyes were focused on Grumio and his immediate surroundings, judging all distances and possibilities with the predatory perfection of an eagle. Now was not the time, he thought, and silently picked a flower. A Martagon Lily, a dazzling pink that exuded a fresh aroma. A faint smile flashed on the boy’s face as he gently placed the picked flower behind his ear, all while maintaining his intense surveillance of Grumio. His senses twitched as he noticed Grumio making the slightest inclination away from the path. There was no need to debate in his mind what do, brutal efficiency and an unhindered train of thought were what made him what he was. He seemed to become one with the air itself, diffusing through the vegetation with such a swift silence that not even birds at a foot’s distance noticed his movements. He knew exactly where Grumio was going. Not even the boy knew how he could determine such things, but there was no need for him to waste time and mental resources solving this little mystery, all that mattered was that the ability existed.
The young one took a deep, soundless gulp of fresh mountain air and latched onto the tree trunk. The canopy was thick, a perfect vantage point. His ascent was silky smooth, with the elegance of a snake, weaving his way to a high branch. A thick branch a good distance up while not too high, with an excellent coverage of leaves to leave him completely obscured and giving him an excellent view of his attack zone. Grumio was approaching the zone, his footsteps were roaring, crashing waves in such a tranquil setting. The boy was satisfied to see the usual alertness that he found so admirable in Grumio was not present. It seemed the third day of stalking was yielding fruit for his efforts. The boy’s nose pricked up, the smell of olive oil and spice brushing his nose ever so gently. He slid out his blade, almost time, he thought, his heart still just as steady. Grumio had stepped over the boundary of safe territory, the jaws closing in on him, there was no escape for him now. He meandered closer to the tree, following the whistling and chirping, music to his ears. He stood about five feet from the base of the trunk, closed his eyes, and arched his head back ever so slightly.
The child’s eyes narrowed as his target had been acquired, with dazzling grace he swept down from the branch, seemingly hanging in the air for as long as he deemed necessary, rather than gravity taking its course. His right arm sliced through the air with a pinpoint trajectory, the merciless steel at the end cutting through Grumio’s neck like there was nothing there at all. The sanguine jet glistened as it painted its way through the air, Grumio slumped to the floor without even realising he had been struck. The boy rolled Grumio over and gazed at him, a handsome man with striking jet black hair and fierce, stern features. His eyes, even in death, had a piercing property that would drill through all but the toughest of men. His looks certainly matched his reputation in the boy’s opinion. His eyes drifted to Grumio’s bloodstained neck, a metallic glint to give an indication of what he was after.
“Bring back his locket, stained with his blood, to show the deed has been done.” The voice echoed in his head. He removed the locket with a certain delicacy and respect, almost as if he were removing it from the body of a close friend. He dipped it in the pool of crimson and twirled it gently. He placed it in his pocket and stared up into the sky. Such a pity he had to die on such a day, why couldn’t it be gloomy? Then again, perhaps it was a good thing he spent his final moments in bliss rather than in fear and doubt. He cleaned his blade on some heather and sheathed it, locking away another fragment of his soul. It was all he could do to fight it, the feeling that would most likely swallow him if not supressed.
“To hell with it!” he whispered to himself. “This is what you are now.” He closed his eyes and tried to make the world around him dissolve for a short period. No use, the whole atmosphere was chipping at his mind now, and he couldn’t stand it much longer. He turned and made his way through the shrubbery, silently rushing back whence he came.
Well after a long time building up a story in my head, I recently decided to make the leap and put it down on paper. I decided to post Chapter 1, and see what you all thought of it. Depending on the response, I might post Chapter 2 and also rework the narrative if I see the need. Well, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading.
Spero Quod Despero: Chapter One
The mountain trail was lush and vibrant, a dense network of colours intertwining. Branches rustled and heather swayed, filling the air with a gentle fragrance of summer bloom. The sun glowed in the sapphire sky, adding a radiant richness to the colours of all things lucky enough to be graced by the exalted presence of its rays. Muffled chirping as the birds went about their daily business mixed with the faint humming of bees busily leaping from flower to flower, drinking their fill of the fresh nectar.
Grumio was most pleased by the nature of his surroundings. What should have been an arduous journey had instead become a delightful amble. His eyes wandered all around, entranced by this dream-like environment. The scent in the air had a drugging effect, lulling him into a child-like state of contentment. Perhaps it would have been better if he were instead engulfed by the murkiest and most chilly of nights, with an ominous full moon casting the deepest and darkest shadows to haunt his path. Indeed, such surroundings would have far better suited his fate. Alas, this was not the case. His blissful lack of awareness and vigilance were all too great in this earthly paradise, a cruel joke played by nature in accordance with the twisted and ironic humour of fate.
Unbeknownst to noble Grumio, his demise was of the utmost importance to a certain faction. Many attempts were made on his life, all so far unsuccessful, a testament to his extreme alertness to danger and his artistic talent for combat. On this day there was someone all too different on his trail, the one who struck with the will of death himself. An oh so unstoppable force that could crush a whole legion of the greatest soldiers as if it were child’s play. Fitting then, that such a talent was wielded by him.
The boy kept his distance, his heart remaining perfectly steady as he tracked Grumio from his reconnaissance route in the mass congregation of vegetation. The odour of damp earth kept his mind sharp, and his eyes were focused on Grumio and his immediate surroundings, judging all distances and possibilities with the predatory perfection of an eagle. Now was not the time, he thought, and silently picked a flower. A Martagon Lily, a dazzling pink that exuded a fresh aroma. A faint smile flashed on the boy’s face as he gently placed the picked flower behind his ear, all while maintaining his intense surveillance of Grumio. His senses twitched as he noticed Grumio making the slightest inclination away from the path. There was no need to debate in his mind what do, brutal efficiency and an unhindered train of thought were what made him what he was. He seemed to become one with the air itself, diffusing through the vegetation with such a swift silence that not even birds at a foot’s distance noticed his movements. He knew exactly where Grumio was going. Not even the boy knew how he could determine such things, but there was no need for him to waste time and mental resources solving this little mystery, all that mattered was that the ability existed.
The young one took a deep, soundless gulp of fresh mountain air and latched onto the tree trunk. The canopy was thick, a perfect vantage point. His ascent was silky smooth, with the elegance of a snake, weaving his way to a high branch. A thick branch a good distance up while not too high, with an excellent coverage of leaves to leave him completely obscured and giving him an excellent view of his attack zone. Grumio was approaching the zone, his footsteps were roaring, crashing waves in such a tranquil setting. The boy was satisfied to see the usual alertness that he found so admirable in Grumio was not present. It seemed the third day of stalking was yielding fruit for his efforts. The boy’s nose pricked up, the smell of olive oil and spice brushing his nose ever so gently. He slid out his blade, almost time, he thought, his heart still just as steady. Grumio had stepped over the boundary of safe territory, the jaws closing in on him, there was no escape for him now. He meandered closer to the tree, following the whistling and chirping, music to his ears. He stood about five feet from the base of the trunk, closed his eyes, and arched his head back ever so slightly.
The child’s eyes narrowed as his target had been acquired, with dazzling grace he swept down from the branch, seemingly hanging in the air for as long as he deemed necessary, rather than gravity taking its course. His right arm sliced through the air with a pinpoint trajectory, the merciless steel at the end cutting through Grumio’s neck like there was nothing there at all. The sanguine jet glistened as it painted its way through the air, Grumio slumped to the floor without even realising he had been struck. The boy rolled Grumio over and gazed at him, a handsome man with striking jet black hair and fierce, stern features. His eyes, even in death, had a piercing property that would drill through all but the toughest of men. His looks certainly matched his reputation in the boy’s opinion. His eyes drifted to Grumio’s bloodstained neck, a metallic glint to give an indication of what he was after.
“Bring back his locket, stained with his blood, to show the deed has been done.” The voice echoed in his head. He removed the locket with a certain delicacy and respect, almost as if he were removing it from the body of a close friend. He dipped it in the pool of crimson and twirled it gently. He placed it in his pocket and stared up into the sky. Such a pity he had to die on such a day, why couldn’t it be gloomy? Then again, perhaps it was a good thing he spent his final moments in bliss rather than in fear and doubt. He cleaned his blade on some heather and sheathed it, locking away another fragment of his soul. It was all he could do to fight it, the feeling that would most likely swallow him if not supressed.
“To hell with it!” he whispered to himself. “This is what you are now.” He closed his eyes and tried to make the world around him dissolve for a short period. No use, the whole atmosphere was chipping at his mind now, and he couldn’t stand it much longer. He turned and made his way through the shrubbery, silently rushing back whence he came.
