"The Dark Nobility" - Introduction Chapters

[Inquisitor023]

Well, I'm back t'would seem. Been a while, ain't it? Missed you too. Sorry I didn't get you anything while I was away.

So, some may know I'm trying (Trying) to write a Fantasy Novel. It is set in my own world and follows (Thus far) four characters. I'm giving you the first Chapter of each character. So far, one is finished. One is in writing. Two are still in planning.

No need to thank me, honestly.

I'll post up the first part soon enough. Just a little conversion to do.

[Inquisitor023]

Cherriana smiled a soft smile as she stepped through the ankle-deep snows of Kannard Vale. She walked up a small mound of snow near the iron fences surrounding her regal estate. She looked over the lands - her lands, she reminded herself - with eyes as green as grass and a smile as white as the snow at her feet.
Absent-mindedly, she ran a nail through her long blood-red hair.

She simply stared at the trio of rising moons in silence for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off her pale skin. She smirked. "I am glad I took this from you, Mother."

The harsh winter winds tore at the black leather and golden chainmail she wore. The wind seemed to be displeased at her attempts at modesty and seemed to want to strip her bare before the moon. The Goddess of the Moons - Nyr - wanted her presented with nothing to conceal her. "How romantic," Cherianna said aloud, sarcastically as she smiled faintly at the thought.

Her joints began to cramp from the cold and thus, she began to move away from her home and towards Kannard Vale proper. As she moved, the winds increased in bitterness and strength. To try and counter it, she pulled the black furs around her shoulders closer.

As a Vampiress she was hardly concerned by mortal concerns such as the cold or heat. However, she had an appearance to keep up. To the people of Kannard Vale, she was mortal. To them, these petty matters of nature and God's whim were a concern and to keep them appeased, to her they must appear. They must appear to all her family: The Kozma Clan.

She shook her head in disguist invisible to the plebs who hailed her as she walked. 'Honestly,' she thought to herself, 'For nearly three hundred years our dark family has ruled and yet no has noticed we are more than human?' Sometimes, she truly hated the masses.

She stopped beside the arena, its white marble walls glistening in the moonlight. She thought of the gladitorial games that had occured over the last three days to celebrate her rise to the throne. And her Mother's death, on a less significant note.

Brave men saluted, fought, bled and died under her eye. The thought of the blood , crimson and hot, splashing on musclar body, shining armour, glistening sword and sand-covered floor caused her mouth to water and a tounge to run across her fangs. She decided to go in, her black fur-covered boots impacting on the black granite floor with a wet thud. She stepped through the arena's entryways and followed along to the battleground itself. She stopped for a moment, however, when she noticed a figure dueling the very air around him. A Gladiator.

"Pray tell," she called out, "And who are you?"

The Gladiator spun swiftly, his iron shortsword's tip aimed at her. It was lowered and sheathed almost immediatly when he noticed the green serpant crest on her black leathers. "Emira Kozma," he said with respect, addressing her by title "I am but a Gladiator."

Cherianna walked into the arena further, leaving footprints in the blood-splattered sand. "Gladiator? Is that your name?" she asked with a hint of amusement, "Fine then, Gladiator. Tell me why you still stand within my arena when all your kind are either slain or with Kannard Vale's finest whores and barkeeps."

If Gladiator was taken aback by her approach, he made no sign. "I am above them, Emira," he said simply, "While they spend their time among whores, they weaken. I train. I am strong." He smiled faintly, "That is why I am alive still."

"No time for women?" Cherianna smirked, raising a coy eyebrow.
Gladiator was taken aback. He tried to form words, mumbling slightly. "I... Well, I sometines do... I don't often... Sometimes..."

"Relax, foolish man," she said sternly, "I am not concerned for that sort of sword. I am concerned for that one." She pointed to the longsword in his hand.
Gladiator was on the defensive now, "Why?"

“Why so short with me, Gladiator?” she asked before sighing, “I grow tired of your title. Tell me your name and quickly.”

Gladiator eyed her up with a mixture of suspicion and curiousity. Cherianna did not smile but was pleased. He was curious as to what she was seeking...

“My name is Orphée,” he replied calmly, his tone edged with suspicion.

“Orphée,” Cherianna mused slightly, walking up to him slowly, stroking his cheek. He stood his ground to her touch, not showing any response. “A truly heroic name.”

“Blessed be to my parents, then,” he replied before hastily adding, “Emira.”

“Indeed...” she smiled to him. She held the gaze for a moment and his expression softened. 'No time for women,' she thought to herself sarcastically, 'You can make time for me...'

“I see great potential in you, Orphée. Great, great potential...” She let her hand stroke his cheek and work down to his chest. “I would be very much honoured if you would accompany me to my home and... Discuss your future with me.”

In that split second, she knew Orphée was debating this. He knew exactly what she wanted. He knew exactly what it would entail. What he did not know -or, at least, Cherianna hoped he did not know – was what would be the cost.

“Discuss...” he repeated after a moment, “I... I shall, my Emira.”

Cherianna smiled to him. Just as she had hoped.

---
They spent the night together, wrapped in the furs and velvets of Cherianna's bed. She enjoyed the passion he shared with her and he enjoyed the touch of a woman that he had not paid. They both fell asleep shortly after their love-making and awoke to the Bannerman's calls.

“Rise!” he called following with a flurry of drum beats, “The day of work has begun! Rise!”

“You should go, little Gladiator,” Cherianna whispered to Orphée. “You wouldn't want to miss your fight...”

“No,” he replied, standing and dressing himself, “I would not.”

“Fight well,” Cherianna smiled, “For you represent the Kozma.” He paused as he tied his boots together, turning to look at her.

“I am sorry, Emira?” he asked uncertainly. Cherianna smiled at him.

“You represent the Kozma, Gladiator,” she smiled, crawling closer and wrapping her arms around his neck. “You fight under my Banner... You shall wear the viper.”

He looked away from her, staring at the tapestry that had the viper she made reference to. A Gonfalon with alternating stripes of black and crimson. On it was the silver-crescent moon and the green viper, poised to strike. Every man and women knew how much of an honour it was to bear the moon and viper. Every individual sought the power, glory and honour it brought. Orphée knew this and he imagined what it would bring. He, however, also knew the risk. Should he fail the Kozma, he would be punished harshly. Could he hold his own?

“I accept the honour, Emira,” he said, turning to her. “I thank you with every depth of my soul.”

“May the God of War bless your sword arm,” Cherianna smiled as she wrapped herself in the covers.

“I hope Kakrn sees fit to see me through,” he nodded with a smile as he finished dressing. With that, he stood and saluted her with poorly concealed pride. A night of passion with the Emira of the Kozma and now the possibility of honour and wealth beyond imagination. This was a good morning.

As he left, he was replaced by Einar, the Captain of her Guard. He was already dressed in his black iron plate armour with a long red cloak. She could not see it, but she knew his symbol – three white interlocked triangles – was embroidered on the cloak's back. His twin silver long swords rested at his waist and his hands rested on the hilts. His face was hidden behind a helmet, imposing and strong, of the same black-iron as his armour.

“I do not truly wish to know what that was about, Emira,” he said with his usual gruff tone, but this time laced with warmness.

“It was about a nice night,” she smiled to him, “And ensuring control...” She climbed out of her bed, without clothing and moved to the window. She opened them and stood on the small balcony. She embraced the cold... It was wonderful for stirring the tired mind.

She could tell Einar was looking at her. Despite being partly-Vampire, he was still a man. She didn't really care. They'd shared a bed once. They had spent a long time together.

“You'll need to explain how this gains you control, Emira,” he said after a few moments.

Cherianna smiled slyly. “It's simple.” She looked over Kannard Vale. The circular marble Arena. The Honest Lad tavern. The Grand Market. The Smiths and the Whorehouses. Her city... And further still, her word was law.

“I need the people,” Cherianna said coldly with darkness in her tone. “And, well... The people love a fighter. And they especially love a winner. So when a Gladiator serves the Kozma alone and wins great victories, their love for he passes along to us.” She smiled as activity began to spark in the city. They were, mostly, making their way to the arena.

“Ensure his oppoent is suitably,” he paused for a moment, drawing out the word. “Demoralized.”

“As you say, Emira,” Einar nodded, turning to leave, his fine cloak twirling.

“And have Igor prepare me breakfast,” she called after him.

[Flailing-Axes]

Great to see you writing again Ging, loved the piece.

If I might make a few small points?

You use the word snow about three times in the first two sentences. It may well be deliberate, but it jarred with me a bit. Hope it's no an inconveninece to change.

Quite a few of the sentences in the first half of this jarred me actually, in particular the line about cold and God's whims being a concern? There's nothing gramatically wrong with it, ofcourse, but a few lines like that seemed to drag on a little bit, or repeat hat had already been said in the sentence before.

Second half really picked up though, in fact pretty much since the gladiator arrived. Few typo's though, missed a paragraph break here

Cherianna smirked, raising a coy eyebrow.
Gladiator was taken aback. He tried to form words,

also,

he paused for a moment, drawing out the word. “Demoralized.”

ought to be a she

Other than that, very nice. I look forwards to whatever comes next!

[Inquisitor023]

Danke for the look-over my friend. I will sort out the issues you mentioned as soon as possible. :)

The next piece is taking longer than planned...

[Inquisitor023]

The snows of the North were always harsh, even in the summers. However, in the dead of winter, the snows were an enemy of much greater deadliness than even the most veteran Knight. They would claw at your skin and clothing, trying to drag you into a cold rest that would last a lifetime. It would howl in your ears, terrifying and destabilizing the most steadfast of men. It was a situation that even the most vengeful of men would not wish upon their greatest enemies.

And yet it was this situation that the men of the Thirteenth Legion of Kozma found themselves in. In the middle of the winter they were camped a mile away from the city of Kalraz. After Queen Cherianna took the Crown Kalraz – which had been Cherianna's mother's place of favour – had suffered. People emigrated in droves to more prosperous places and the standard of living dropped sharply. The people had cried in protest of this and had risen up against their Lord-Baron, killing him and his family.

Queen Cherianna would not stand for rebellion and had dispatched the Legion to cull it before it spread further. Marshal Alois led this assembley of men and pitied every soul he commanded.

He glanced around him, a curse to the Gods in his throat. It felt frozen there – solid and unmoving – like the Aerdic river to the North or the earth buried under ankle-deep virgin snow.

“Captain!” he yelled, his voice raw from years of command.

“My Lord?” the Captain asked by his place by the fire where he sought to work some heat into his body.

“Are you not supposed to be on patrol?” Alois asked simply, his tone neutral.

The Captain stuttered, “A-aye my Lord. But Sir, the cold...”

“The Cold bites us all, Captain.” Alois turned to him simply and pulled his thick cloak tighter. “Even men like myself. But you're better off moving to keep the cold away. Now go.”

The Captain sighed, “Aye, Lord.” He picked up his blade and shield and savoured the last moments of the fire, beyond walking off.

Alois shook his head as he looked over the ridge towards the city before him. In the setting moonlight, it was almost beautiful. The tall spires of Castle Kalraz, deep in the city's heart, jutting out into the sky like fingers of fallen giants, pointing to the stars.

The walls, strong and tall, were both an architect's fantasy and a soldier's nightmare. They could not be scaled nor smashed without specialized equipment – which he was, of course, lacking – leaving little ways to break the walls. You could not go through them without specialist equipment or over without massive losses. The large food stores and murderous weather conditions left starving the enemy out almost as foolish.

Under the walls, however, was a completely different story.

It did not take long for Alois and his commanders to realize their avenue of assault. And now, for the two weeks of their siege, they had three Cohorts of Legionnaires digging a trio of tunnels leading to three seperate points of the Walls. Two of the tunnels, the left and right tunnel, would lead to the watchtowers. He knew that a significant amount of the Kalraz Militia had defected and held the towers. Their bowmen would cut his men down, should they advance overland, from their position in the Watchtowers. Two Cohorots would cut them down and advance along the wall to kill more defectors.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the sounds of chainmetal clattering and boots impacting softly in snow. He looked from the ridge as he saw the three Cohorts he sent to dig return. Their dull-iron chainmail was covered in the earth and snow. Their shields were strapped across their back along with their pair of throwing axes while their longswords remained sheathed. Their Sergeants led them, trying to motivate them to march quickly.

“Sergeant!” Alois called out, “Sergeant Nikolai!”

One of the Sergeants looked up, a young man with short black hair and stubble. Alois indicated for him to come and speak with him. The Sergeant shared a last word with some of his Legionnaires before turning and climbing up a snow dune to Alois. “My Lord?”

“You can speak simply, Nikolai,” Alois smiled to him. He knew the man well. He trusted the man.

“As you say, Marshal,” Nikolai replied, smiling. He was an odd case. One of the few foreigners to get into the Legion instead of the Militia. His old homeland is, likely, what kept him from rising in the ranks. It was a sad fact.

“What has you return?” Alois asked as he stared at the spires again. It hit him he'd have to sieze these spires and clear resistance from there. It would be a long and bloody fight.

“The digging is done, Marshal,” Nikolai replied, “We're just past the wall, or so we believe.” Alois nodded. An underground tunnel was hardly the most percise of arts.

“Well done, Nikolai,” Alois smiled to him. “You and all your men will be first in line for a hot meal and a woman of choice when this is done.” Nikolai laughed.

“I shall hold you too that, Marshal.” The two were silent for a minute, simplying staring at the city.

“Marshal...” Nikolai began softly. Alois already knew where this was going. “Did Fredrich...?”

Alois showed no emotion. Fredrich was Nikolai's pet, a black-furred bear from his homeland. He arrived with Nikolai and enlisted with him. He was wounded in a skirmish against Rebel supporters.

“He died from his wounds,” Alois answered. “I'm sorry, Nikolai. I know he was a friend to you.”

Nikolai remained quiet but a glistening by his eyes told Alois the man was fighting back tears.

“Aye Marshal,” Nikolai whispered softly. “May I be excused?”

“Of course,” Alois replied kindly, “The three digging Cohorts are to rest. The remainder of us will fight.” Nikolai did not reply as he began to walk away: slumped and dejected.

Alois looked at the horizon one last time as he closed his eyes. He dropped to one knee and drew his mace, resting it head first on the frozen earth.

“Kakrn, Lord of Battle,” he began to pray, “See your faithful servant through the gates of the Underworld where he will do your work. Offer him the strength and conviction to smash traitor, heathen and cowards alike. Finally, grant him the honour of the Heavens and all that it would offer him, provided he fall in your service. Blessed be.”

He opened his eyes and his mind thought of those he'd lost already. Falke, Sacha, even Fredich.

“I fear they shall not rest alone by the time we are done,” he whispered to himself.

---

The dark confine of the tunnel was sickening, Alois discovered. How the Cohorts tasked to dig these tunnels managed to survive this amazed him. It was tall enough for a man to walk along, if he bent his knees slightly, and just wide enough for a man to walk along.

He decided he would lead the center tunnel. They were to sieze the gatehouse and open the gates for the rest of the Legion to march in. Hopefully, it would be a simple assault. So far as they knew, the city was manned by untrained and poorly equiped rebels. That was what he told his Legion, at least.

Part of him sat uneasy: These untrained and poorly equiped rebels overthrew the loyalist elements of the Milita and the Lord-Baron. Something did not sit right with him. It was nothing more than a gut feeling... But he took gut feelings for more worth than all the Heavenly Signs in the stars.

They reached the end of the tunnel. If everything went according to plan, they would be just past the walls and into the city. Alois turned to the men behind him – a long line of professional soldiers, prepared to fight, kill and die for their Emira. It brought a smile to his face and warmth to his heart.

“Men,” he began, loudly enough to be heard by his men but not loud enough so it may raise suspicion. “We've been here too damn long. Forteen days and forteen nights. I don't know about you, but that cold tried to take something a little close to home.” He got some laughter from that. “Well, you can blame the ungrateful and treasonous whoresons above us.”

His men stood silent and simply listened. “Those bastards above us dragged you from your homes. Wives, children... Or whores. I don't judge.” He paused, nodding to the Sergeant right in front of him. A young lad, just shaving. He looked firm in the face of battle.

“Well I'll tell you one thing,” Alois began as an anger as cold as the snows began to overtake him, “Your wives have slept through the cold alone. Your children have longed for their fathers voice and smile. Your whores... Well, they're probably okay.” Again, a little laughter. “Don't forget.” He pointed up above him, “They caused that. Repay in kind. The Gods will be watching, my friends. Prepare for battle and do not disappoint!” His men cheered and rattled their shields.

There would be no pretense of stealth. Nothing but the close brutality of combat. Alois turned and pulled the plank holding the exit together away.

Nothing happened.

“Gods damnit,” the Sergeant behind him swore, “The ground's frozen!”

“Language,” Alois scolded, “I'll deal with it.” He drew his mace from his belt and swung it overhead. A crack was heard. He swung it again. The cracks were visible now. He swung a third time and a crack echoed through the tunnel as the ground splintered in icy chucks. Alois pushed through it, shifting the earth aside. He was inside the city. His Cohort followed.

He looked around. Three men to his left, four to his right. Rebels with spears. They were surrounded. Their backs to the wall, their fronts to a smithy and the enemy to the sides.

The Rebels could not believe what they saw for a minute. They came from the ground!

It proved to be their undoing. The ground by them collpased beneath them. Two from the left and one from the right fell into the Cohorts below. Longswords and hands reached up from the depths , aiming for ankles and shins. The Rebels turned to try and counter but their hearts were full of fear and they tried to run. No alarm... Not yet.

He signalled his Cohort to follow. As they pulled themselves out of the tunnel and reformed, Alois began to evaluate from inside the walls.

The Gatehouse was a small enough structure with two doorways to it. Any hostiles to contend with would be at the gate controls or above it to act as a sentry. He would split the Cohort.

“First section,” he hissed, “Follow me. Second, follow your Sergeant.” He pointed the Sergeant to the left side staircase and up above the gate. “Clear it.”

“Aye lord,” he nodded as he began to jog to the stairway. “His men followed.”

“Well lads,” Alois grinned, “You want to live forever?” He began to jog up the staircase and trusted the Legionnaires to follow. The stairs were narrow and dark, the torches normally lighting them extinguished. His chainmail chincked as he ran up the steps, his leather boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each footfall. His mace was in his hand and his spare hand went to grab his shield.

He reached the top of the steps and found himself in a dimly-lit room. He could see two men walking.

“Militia!” he yelled, pointing his mace at them, “Lay down your weapons in the name of Emira!” They turned quickly, swords in hands.

“Legionnaires! Sound the alarm! Alarm, alarm!” They screamed.

They were in the thick of it now. One of the men charged at Alois, swinging his blade down fiercely. Alois side-stepped and followed up with a bash of his shield. It impacted with the man's leather armour and sent him sprawling backwards. The other man was more restrained. He drove his sword forward, trying to pierce through his chainmail. Alois stepped back to avoid the blade and the man followed up with another diagonal slash. Alois parried it with his mace and swung with his boot, connecting in the Militia's groin.

He gasped and stumbled backwards, bent over slightly. Alois swung his mace up, connecting with the man's chin and snapping it back with a wet crack. The man collapsed. The first man began to pick himself up. Alois smashed his weapon into the back of the man's skull, hearing the bone fragment. He fell, dead. His Cohort began to form in, looking around.

“Get the gate raised,” Alois ordered, “And get that drum going. We need the Legion to march. We're settling this quickly.”

“Aye Lord!” the Cohort replied as two moved to raise the gate. The Cohort's bannerman rested a hand on his drum, waiting for the gate to be raised before he began to beat it. The order for the Legion to advance.

“Down the stairs!” Alois ordered, “This fight is far from over!”

[Ossai]

Ah, so thats what you were doing last night when I was slaughtering Norwegians. Looking good so far mate, Einar is obviously the best character

Now, get back and make more.

[Skringly]

I echo Ossai's words.

As I'm not really a writter I'm afraid I can't really get anymore constructive than that. But I do hope you will soon be posting some more.

[Anne Marie]

Write more, post often. I'd like to see where more of these character back stories go and how they work into the other. Just a few things I found while reading through.

After Queen Cherianna took the Crown Kalraz

I believe a comma is needed between 'Crown' and 'Kalraz', because it comes off sounding as a title rather than Kalraz being a city. Also, shouldn't 'Crown' be marked with a lower-case since there's no official title following it?

[Captain Kellen]

Another interesting piece...

I'm not sure I like the idea of your character 'Cherriana' being so shallow as to have 'relations' with a gladiator so quickly. Maybe a paragraph explaining how she knows the fighter and has been 'yearning' for his company.

See, in my eyes, she being shallow as to give up her body so easily doesn't match the 'I hate rebellion' or control issues she also has. People, even vampires I suppose, that need to be in control are not promiscuous by nature. I know being immortal might make this different but you write he in picking up a gladiator and then elude to her being selective about her partners a few sentences later.

I do like vampire stories but I suggest that either they are or they aren't vampires. I'm not sure where the part-vamp thing is going or how it will work out in the long run. I suggest that the vampires, in your stories, struggle with the idea of 'who' and 'why' they bring others into their ranks. Necessity, accident, loneliness, need for control... Your smart and can figure in something.

I'll be in the corner with garlic...

CK

[Adrassil]

I like, brother, although I have to agree with Kellen, I don't find Cherriana a very likeable character so far, but I'm not sure if she's meant to be. I think the rebels have a perfectly good reason to rebel and am, in all honesty, rooting for them. (although I do like Alois and co)

Anyway as we talked before I really found this part off.

“What has you return?” Alois asked as he stared at the spires again.

This bit of dialogue confused me because, I didn't know if it was on purpose or a typo or something. It broke me, as a reader, from my immersion in the story completely because a character who'd so far spoken perfectly normal English, just suddenly talking in what could be almost Lolcatz was very jarring.

It's like if I had Arlathan Karkin just after his introduction in say to Karmen Kons "Can I haz relationz viz you?" with no explanation why and the other characters didn't find it weird at all, just explain it or change it, please.

But otherwise good, keep it up!