Birth of the Syndicate

[Psy]

Well, here's a little backstory to my in-game group. It's also something I do when I'm bored, so the 'chapters' may be a tad short.

Prologue
The Imperial City market was crowded as usual. All the usual victims were there. It would be difficult, Rache noted, to manage to get through the crowd without it catching her in the flow. The young dunmeri had already locked her targets. Now, it only remained the small matter of retrieving their belongings. She grinned through a mop of unkempt black hair. There was only one guard about - an easy haul, but all the same, one vital to their survival.

She darted through the crowd, ducking through every gap, nook, and space possible, collecting purses fat with coins as she went. It was too easy, yet she could not deny the exhilaration that overtook her whenever she attempted such an endeavor. The thrill of doing something that was forbidden, the excitement at the prospect of new clothing. A change of taste. And most importantly, the all-important possesion of money.

It was with those thoughts in mind that she lightened the burdens of half-a-dozen targets before escaping the crowd. She tucked her newly-claimed packages under her armpit, before making her way back to home. Already, she was calculating her gains. It seemed almost unfair to her targets that she loosened their pockets so easily. Nonetheless, one had to survive, and taking what she needed from people who didn't need it so much.

"Easy," she whispered under her breath, and began walking.

Except when she took a step, instead of meeting ground, her foot found only air. A guard jerked her into the air, causing her to drop everything she had gained. No. She was gripped by the cuff of her shirt, lifted clean off the ground. Oh, no. Rache began struggling to free herself from the grasp of the guard. No, no, no!. Rache felt her body being shook like a rag-doll, and she stopped her resistance. Why!?. When she looked up, all she saw was the ugly face of the sneering Imperial city guardsmen, and when she tried to cast her gaze down, she found the spilled contents of the stolen purses.

"Caught red-handed," Rache was shaken roughly one more time as the guard spoke that damning phrase," I doubt you'd be able to pay the fine, runt. Are you the boy who's been terrorising the markets lately?"

Rache remained stubbornly mute, staring at the guard with defiant, red eyes. Her dress often made her look like a boy, and she wasn't suprised that this time, she was automatically assumed to be one. The Imperial didn't seem to like her attitude, however, and raised one hand to punch her, before remembering that he was in a very public place. Instead, he just resorted to shaking the poor body he gripped in his hands furiously.

"Say something, boy!" the guard demanded of Rache," Or we could talk as much as we wanted in the prisons."

He seemed amused by the wide-eyed thief in front of him. Prison was a completely foreign aspect to Rache's life, yet it was also frightening. Then, the guard chuckled, and brought a hand up with a coil of rope. Without a doubt, to bind her. I don't want this! Rache began her struggles again in fervour, biting the hand that held the rope in the process, yelling, screaming, kicking. Anything. She attracted the glances of many a passer-by. She was silenced by cold, hard stone. The guard had brought her to a relatively abandoned and out-of-sight alley.

"Look, runt," it sounded dangerously like a threat now," Here, nobody will see us. And nobody would care what happens to scum like you. So either come quietly, or I'll force you."

Rache looked thoughtful for a moment, almost bringing a look of relief to the guard's face, and then, she seemed to have a change of heart.

"NO!" She screeched, and then restarted her endeavors in earnest," No, no, no, no!"
"D**mn you, brat," the guard hissed," You're forcing me."

A trickle of blood ran down her nose as the guard slammed her on the wall again, threw her face-down into the dirt, and placed his foot on the girl's head, before grasping her hands roughly, and tying them together. Rache's screaming was muffled by the dirt the whole time, her legs kicking up dust. Those were quickly stilled by another hand on them, and another rough coil of rope. Then, she felt the pressure on her head loosen.

"Now, come quietly, lad," the guard's voice was dangerously soft," That's the best you could do for both of us."

Rache had not given up hope yet, and as soon as her face was out of the dirt, she proceeded to scream loudly. The guard groaned, she heard, and raised a fist to strike at the curled up body lying in the dust. It hurt. A blow to the side of the head, but, still concious, and still willful, Rache continued her screaming. Another fist came. Then another. Until the guard was certain that the girl would not resist again.

[[ So, any thoughts? ]]

[Aeric Ecrai]

((I can put this into the history board if you want. I'll give you thoughts on this only if you give me your thoughts on my Golden Era Chronicles. Start with either 1 or 3, one goes with two and three is a stand alone..))

[Psy]

[[ Well, putting this in the history forum would be perfect. I only read the first one, since I got lost after that. Didn't know which one was second. XD. Well, I'll give my review for the first one.

Firstly, I would prefer it that you differentiate the paragraphs. Although it might've been a bit difficult with all that speech going on, but I admit. It wasn't easy on my eyes at all. Not a lot of white spaces. On top of that, I only grasped a few points. I assume that the 'Dragoons' are a civilization further differentiated into clans, and the 'Shadows' are another race entirely? Also, I am not entirely sure what a 'Vanguard' is. I will also make an assumption here that a Vanguard would be somebody with magical powers? Also, the relationship between Kari & Link would be a very close, if not intimate one, I should think.

The writing is good, as are most of the technical aspects of it. I remember spotting a tense error in the last post. Also, despite the atmosphere that is supposed to be there, there is no sense of urgency at all in the third post, save the last few lines. The writing is good, but your style & technique could use some polishing. If you find yourself forcing yourself to write more, then it will look forced. Go with the flow - it's not important to write down every single detail. As in the third post, instead of doing all that, the following would've served just as well.

'Link bolted for his room. His belt. His belt was there, and so was everything he would've needed. A small leather loop for the rapier, a few coins, fruit. Anything of use that he could shove into such a small pocket. His eyes rapidly scanned the contents of the desk, then fell upon the locket. Kari's locket. No. His locket that Kari gave him. He would definitely not lose that. Then, his gaze fell upon his rapier.

The fog must be getting closer... I have to hurry!

Hastening to put his belt on, and swiping the rapier in the process, he dashed from his small room to the reception chamber.'

I'm sure it isn't the best of examples, but notice the techniques. You don't need to insert unneccesary words into your text, but nor do you need to make it a technical report. Instead, note the shortened sentences that I used early on. Then, when describing the locket, the pace slowed down somewhat, afterwhich it hastily picked up. Not that your writing was bad, maybe it was just that I prefered a different style, but I can't feel the emotion behind the words. As corny as it sounds.
xDD.
Sorry for such a long and critical review. ]]

EDIT: No so much as long, but as boring. XDD

[Aeric Ecrai]

((Criticism is fine. You're right, too. The writing here is more a recollection of history, so explanations for the races really aren't applied. Link wouldn't just start thinking about his origins or something. I'm glad you read it though. You're by far better than me..))

[Psy]

Chapter 1

Prison. Oh, how she hated prison. Once in there, screaming, kicking, clawing like a maddened cat. Yet the bars kept her at bay. Oh, those blasted, rust-ridden bars that just wouldn’t give way to any of her onslaughts. She was caught for petty theft – yes – but all the same, she doubted that she’d be let loose anytime soon. A street rat. No parents, no acquaintances, and nobody who would defend her to speak of. A street rat was one that would be better left to rot in the dungeons than to be let out to cause havoc in the wide world.

But she hated that fate; hated the fact that she had no say in it; hated that her entire life now lay in the uncaring hands of the Imperial guard; hated that she was going to be left to rot with nobody knowing what became of her. With those furious thoughts burning in her mind, she threw herself on the rough straw mattress, seeking to tear the insides out of it.

Yet, somehow, she had ended up falling asleep.

It was all a bad dream. It was a bad dream. Everything was a bad dream. When I wake up, everything will be better.

Not that it would be particularly inviting to wake up either. It was an in-between measure between sleep and wakefulness. There was no focus in the vision as mind sought to bring body back to the pleasurable escape that was sleep. Sleep – a flight from reality, where all fancies may take hold. Yet the body was tensed. It refused to relax to the inviting lull of unconsciousness; the jaws of obliviousness. No. Even as the mind tried to relax, flesh thwarts it at every turn. It was a horrible, ironic, and twisted paradox.

Sleep. Unconsciousness. Was there any difference really? It was just one was by choice, and the other done in more creative mannerisms. A body required sleep to survive, yet the more one slept, the less one’s chances of survival were, whilst unconsciousness was merely another one’s way of saying you required more sleep. Or was it? Is drifting into unconsciousness – one way to describe sleep, and another to describe fainting from a blow – really that sought after? It was like a drug that threatened one into addiction, or water. Yes. Water could make one drown, and then…

I caught myself, and my eyes shot open to the drab, gray ceiling that greeted me every morning. Bits of it was chipping away, and cracks ran through it in a spiderweb pattern. Sometimes, I wonder if the whole ceiling will fall on me one day. I must admit, I wouldn’t have be too surprised, nor at a loss, if it did. Several times, I’d seen several small bits of rock fall from it and hit the ground. It didn’t bother me too much anymore, yet the scratchy bedroll did.

I rolled on my side. The roll was more straw than cotton, with bits of straw poking out randomly at every place. It was an infernal bedding area, if there was any, but there wasn’t anything else that could make do. Besides, I was an adaptable sort of person. There was precious little else here I could make do of either, save a table in the far corner of this rectangular room, a stool, and a bucket for whatever else. Anything other than those slipped past my gaze.

Not that I had the money, nor the means, to go into the city and buy anything new. No. That was denied to me every since I was thrown in the dejected prison cell in a forgotten corner of the Imperial city prisons with naught but the clothing on my back. It was useless to complain – words were a weak thing, and I cared not for wasting my breath. All the same, I found myself wallowing knew-deep in self-pity. No matter how sharp my rebukes are, and how much I attempt to salve my aching conscience, the past always catches up. Memories were so intangible.

To grasp them, and contain them, would be like grasping the wisps of smoke where once stood a gate to oblivion. It was hopeless, pointless, and beyond my meagre means. I sat up, regarding the small cottage room before me. It was not the prison that I had escaped from, yet it bore a passing resemblance to that vermin-ridden hole. Three years was a long time to remember something as trivial as rats, yet no new ones were there to push the old ones out. I groaned.

There was no reason to get up, yet it was from no inclination of mine that I did, heaving myself off the floor, and then shaking my stiff limbs loose. I wondered how I looked at the time – if I were to take a peek at a mirror, I would see someone I scarcely recognized. My ruffled, knotted, black hair was loosened far beneath my shoulders, the hue of my gray-blue skin seeming ashen. Even my previously stick-limbs had turned into a mere skeleton with skin stretched precariously over it.

At least they fed me in the imperial dungeons, if on a fairly droll diet. Yet I doubt it was that aspect of it that forced me to leave. No. Rather, it was the stale atmosphere. The act of doing nothing; being nothing – it was enough to drive me mad with frustration. Even so, I could not answer why. I felt myself staring at the food without an appetite, even as my body wasted away, and when the guard finally stopped in to look at me, I turned on him with all the fury I could muster.

My eyes turned to the Imperial short-sword placed under & behind the table. It was rusted & caked with dried blood – a legacy of what I had left behind. I didn’t know why I kept the item with me – the damning evidence of what I did – yet for some reason, I could not let go of it. I sighed – there was little in the room that I could use to occupy myself. Then I remembered the little wooden bow I had made for myself.

“Hunting, huh?”

I spoke for the pure pleasure of hearing the words. Living without the company of another human being for the long span of thirty-five months meant that you needed to find your own companionship. Unfortunately, I know nothing about how animals think, and nor did I wish to provide for another mouth. And so I remained for such a long period of time – just being. Sometimes, I wonder. Is it much different than the prison sentence that was passed on to me? There were even other human companions then.

Oh, how I wished I could turn back time then. Go back to before I had chosen, on that fateful day, to plunder innocent’s purses when that guard was about. Go back to before they had forced me into the mouldy old cell. Most importantly, go back to before I became what I told myself I would never be. I felt my teeth grinding. It took deep breathes for me to calm down.

“Hunting it is.”

And there was no argument to that. I unhooked the bow from the peg I had forced into the creaking timber, along with a couple of hand-made arrows. At least there was something to do.




[[ Yay! First person! I'm not familiar with the style, though. Let's see how things turn out from here. ]]