Chapter 1
A bright haired, fur-dressed man of
about twenty years steps into a clearing. In front of him lies
great walls of metal and wood. He glances down to the piece of
paper holding the directions and description for only a second
before he slides it back into his page-holder. It’s just as the
woman described. A silent city of metal— one that has no
doors.
The boy, Ralic the Fifteenth, steps up
and knocks— no answer. He clears his throat.
“ Hello!” … no answer. Ralic
draws a deep, powerful breath. “HELLO IN THERE!” … but still he
receives no answer. He raises a brow and taps his foot as he
overlooks the great wall a moment. He then turns away and starts in
a circle.
Ralic makes a lap around the
walls, taking about five minutes as he scans for any place he could
scale to enter. Eventually he comes all the way around, spotting
nothing, and just decides to use his rope. After notching the lasso
and about twenty minutes of consistent failure and effort, the rope
catches something on the other side. “ Yes! ” He exclaims loudly as he tugs
the line tight and begins his ascent. He manages to haul his self
over the wall in only half a minute’s time, allowing him to rise
and peek over. Along the lookout rafters there’s not a soul to be
found.
Ralic gathers up his rope on the other
side and returns it to his pack before he begins to explore.
There’s an eeriness to this place that he can’t quite put his
finger on. Outside the walls the birds sing cheerfully, and the
forest sways with life; but behind these metal-girded walls, it's
like there’s something that defies all of it, somewhere in here.
Ralic wonders if he should go get some more men— he wonders if,
were he to go down and look through the houses, he might not leave.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath; he remembers the beauty of
his home in Qetaine, and opens his eyes again with renewed
determination. He’s certain he’ll be known as 'Ralic the Fifteenth—
the one that entered the depths of the dark fortress and returned
unscathed'. He does like the sound of it, though it doesn’t really
roll off the tongue the way he wishes it would. Regardless of
titles, he’s certain he’ll manage.
He descends the guard planks into the
city center— not a person or sound anywhere in the main square.
Ralic knocks on various doors, breaks into various houses— but time
and again, the result’s the same. Each time he opens a new door,
his sense of dread mounts higher. Somehow, he knows he’s being
watched; his gut feeling is rarely off point. Halfway through the
search of the old homes, he notices something strange from his
quick peeks inside. There are no beds, no plates or bowls, no
decorations— it’s as though people not only don’t live here, but
these buildings are not even meant to be homes. There’s no sign of
anything but industry. There are forges, scrap materials,
workbenches; yet coat racks, windows, and even weapons are all
missing.
Ralic mulls over the possible reasons
in his mind as he reaches the last house; after this one, he’ll
have searched everything save for the large object covered in a
long sheet, situated in the center of the town square. Opening the
door to the last house, he finds a workshop like all the rest; but
as he steps through to search for anything that could help shed
some light on what happened here, he steps over a bending set of
planks. Ralic jolts back— the feeling new to him. After a moment of
confusion, he inches up once more to the offending area and eases
his boot back onto the board. The boards press down as if
connected— creating a weird, annoying sound like the few times
Ralic’s had a back ache and made too sudden and extensive of a
movement. He kneels, reaches into the boards and lifts into a
little handle that depresses when he lifts. The grouping of boards
open to reveal an intricate set of hinges and springs— he’s never
seen anything quite so ingenious. He moves the hinges
A bright haired, fur-dressed man of
about twenty years steps into a clearing. In front of him lies
great walls of metal and wood. He glances down to the piece of
paper holding the directions and description for only a second
before he slides it back into his page-holder. It’s just as the
woman described. A silent city of metal— one that has no
doors.
The boy, Ralic the Fifteenth, steps up
and knocks— no answer. He clears his throat.
“ Hello!” … no answer. Ralic
draws a deep, powerful breath. “HELLO IN THERE!” … but still he
receives no answer. He raises a brow and taps his foot as he
overlooks the great wall a moment. He then turns away and starts in
a circle.
Ralic makes a lap around the
walls, taking about five minutes as he scans for any place he could
scale to enter. Eventually he comes all the way around, spotting
nothing, and just decides to use his rope. After notching the lasso
and about twenty minutes of consistent failure and effort, the rope
catches something on the other side. “ Yes! ” He exclaims loudly as he tugs
the line tight and begins his ascent. He manages to haul his self
over the wall in only half a minute’s time, allowing him to rise
and peek over. Along the lookout rafters there’s not a soul to be
found.
Ralic gathers up his rope on the other
side and returns it to his pack before he begins to explore.
There’s an eeriness to this place that he can’t quite put his
finger on. Outside the walls the birds sing cheerfully, and the
forest sways with life; but behind these metal-girded walls, it's
like there’s something that defies all of it, somewhere in here.
Ralic wonders if he should go get some more men— he wonders if,
were he to go down and look through the houses, he might not leave.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath; he remembers the beauty of
his home in Qetaine, and opens his eyes again with renewed
determination. He’s certain he’ll be known as 'Ralic the Fifteenth—
the one that entered the depths of the dark fortress and returned
unscathed'. He does like the sound of it, though it doesn’t really
roll off the tongue the way he wishes it would. Regardless of
titles, he’s certain he’ll manage.
He descends the guard planks into the
city center— not a person or sound anywhere in the main square.
Ralic knocks on various doors, breaks into various houses— but time
and again, the result’s the same. Each time he opens a new door,
his sense of dread mounts higher. Somehow, he knows he’s being
watched; his gut feeling is rarely off point. Halfway through the
search of the old homes, he notices something strange from his
quick peeks inside. There are no beds, no plates or bowls, no
decorations— it’s as though people not only don’t live here, but
these buildings are not even meant to be homes. There’s no sign of
anything but industry. There are forges, scrap materials,
workbenches; yet coat racks, windows, and even weapons are all
missing.
Ralic mulls over the possible reasons
in his mind as he reaches the last house; after this one, he’ll
have searched everything save for the large object covered in a
long sheet, situated in the center of the town square. Opening the
door to the last house, he finds a workshop like all the rest; but
as he steps through to search for anything that could help shed
some light on what happened here, he steps over a bending set of
planks. Ralic jolts back— the feeling new to him. After a moment of
confusion, he inches up once more to the offending area and eases
his boot back onto the board. The boards press down as if
connected— creating a weird, annoying sound like the few times
Ralic’s had a back ache and made too sudden and extensive of a
movement. He kneels, reaches into the boards and lifts into a
little handle that depresses when he lifts. The grouping of boards
open to reveal an intricate set of hinges and springs— he’s never
seen anything quite so ingenious. He moves the hinges
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