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#1  [S] Couldn't think of a decent title. EDIT: Aw hell, the title is supposed to read "Couldn't", not "Could". I hate 1:45 AM. I seriously hate titling things before they are finished, and since this isn't (and may never be) I had a hell of a time trying to think of what to call it. So I figured I'd just be truthful and go with that. Anyway, yeah, as said above, this may never be finished. It's two chapters in a random story I just started thinking about one day, and I wrote it as much to just write something as to make a lasting story. So we'll see where this goes, eh? This passage is rather long though, so be ready to devote some time to reading it. Hopefully the length won't discourage people from reading it. If you want I have attached the word file for the two chapters, so you can download it and read it in chunks or what have you. As per usual, feel free to tear this apart, as long as you clearly state your reasons. Think a passages sucks? Explain why. Think I need to improve in an area? Let me see an example of what improvement would be. Don't be afraid of hurting my feelings, I wouldn't post this if I didn't want feedback of all kinds. Plus I suck at proofreading my own work for some reason, so yeah, feel free to point out any mistakes of that kind also. Now, with that crap out of the way, let us begin. Chapter 1 Crap. How had the time passed so quickly? Julian turned away from the clock that told him it was a quarter to twelve. He really needed to get home, especially with the recent curfew that had been enacted. Well, according to that he should have been home roughly two hours ago, but the government was always slow to adapt to the curfew changes. When it had dropped from midnight to eleven it had taken almost three weeks for them to fully enforce it. Tossing down his hand of cards, Julian rose from his chair, grabbing his jacket as he did. His friend Reynold Jundar looked up at him, his green eyes filled with concern. “Hey man, you sure you should be going out now? Why don’t you just crash here for the night, get home tomorrow?” Julian had considered that, but he quickly dismissed it. He shook his head, smiling. Reynold was always the one who made offers like these, trying to look out for others. It was a nice sentiment, but one that typically led him to take almost no risks and generally be a predictable and somewhat boring person. “Nah, that’s alright. Thanks for the offer Rey, but I’ll be fine. You know how long it takes for the Hands to get used to these curfew changes.” The Hands were the branch of the government that enforced the law. Though they preferred the term of “law keepers” or “officers of the law”, everyone knew they were merely enforcers of whatever the government deemed necessary. “Julian’s right Rey. We’ll both be fine.” That was Francis Daer. He too had risen from his seat, placing on his hat. Francis was much more a man after Julian’s heart, someone who knew the little ways to get around the ever encroaching rules and regulations the government was placing upon the people and was not afraid to use them to his advantage. Hell, he dealt in plenty of black market goods, so he really couldn’t be any other way in his line of work. He gave a brief nod to Reynold, and then motioned to Julian with a shake of his head. “Come on; if we’re going to go we may as well get a move on.” Nodding, Julian walked with him towards the door, waving to Reynold as they exited the abode. The air of that night was nice, a cold breeze from the west helping to stifle the heat from the summer day that was still rising from the cobblestone beneath the pair’s feet. Julian and Francis walked quickly together for a bit, as they both lived on the west side of Droven. As they talked quietly Julian could not help but think about the city they were in. The capital of the nation of Evon, it housed nearly a quarter of the country’s population within its walls, a staggering eight million people. Connected by a vast network of streets, as well as divided by the River Kihn, the city was touted as one of the most efficient in the world. Sometimes efficiency is overrated though, the benefit of a greater curse. The country was run by a fascist government; though unlike others it did not try to hide that fact. Rather it portrayed itself as a blessing to the people, a means by which they would live greatly and obtain what rightly belonged to them. Of course, some sacrifices must be made at first they said. Apparently after a hundred years or so they still needed to be there, but hey, eventually things will be great, at least according to them. The ruling party called itself the National League for the Betterment of Evon, though most referred to it simply as “The Body”. It was at this point, shortly after crossing over the Kihn that the two men would have to part ways. After a brief exchange about plans for the morrow, Francis walked off toward the north part of this side, while Julian continued west. Without Francis to talk to the whole city seemed much quieter. There was apparently no one else out at this hour, and the sounds of the city were few and far between; the creak of signs for various establishments, the whistle of the winds through the streets, and Julian’s own footsteps were all that could be heard. At least, all Julian could hear. For now. It wasn’t until he was nearing his home, within sight of 241 Juna Ave., that Julian heard the sound of footsteps behind him, clacking against the pavement quickly. Not that this mattered, for as soon as he heard this sound he was grabbed from the side and forcibly dragged into the nearby alley. Thrown to the ground, Julian looked up, the fear he was trying to ensconce clearly visible in his eyes. They had found him. The Hand had been formed some time ago, a few generations now probably. No one really knew exactly, like most things involving the government their job was to keep their inner workings a secret. Everyone knows fear begets control, and that is the thing most desired by those with power. Whenever it was formed, it now stood as the embodiment of the government's will when concerning the civic laws of the land. Anything from taxes to parking tickets and responding to crimes fell under their jurisdiction. Of course, not all of the “crimes” they responded to were in actuality harmful to anyone but the administration, just as not all of the “criminals” were guilty of what they were charged with. Nevertheless, they held the power in the cities, and especially so in Droven. They had absolute control that extended to the very gates of Capital Square, where all of the actual governing supposedly happened, and they knew it all too well. There were three of them. Two carried firearms in their hands, pistols, most likely the Government Issue Firn class; medium power, medium accuracy, but very concealable and light. Like all firearms it required a trigger pull per bullet fired. Top scientists and machinists were supposedly very close to creating a weapon that could fire multiple rounds of ammunition at a very rapid pace without having to be quick with the trigger finger, but that report came every year. Still, they definitely meant business. This had to be about something other than being late for curfew, even if it was by two hours. As the two with the firearms stood stoically to the sides, the Hand who had been following Julian slowed his pace, leisurely walking up to stand in front of the frightened man. His own gun was put away, his hands empty as he addressed his captive audience. “Julian Harvey. My name is Gerald. We have a few questions we would like to ask you. I trust you will do the right thing and cooperate. If so, this should all go rather smoothly.” Chapter 2 The man was tall, maybe a little over six feet. He was dressed in the usual attire of a Hand, his blue jeans contrasting with his white button down shirt and black, unbuttoned jacket. This particular member was fairly high ranking, the red bandanna around his arm etched with the markings of a, officer of some sort. He stood calmly, his body looking completely relaxed as he explained the situation to Julian. The whole time the other two remained stock still, their guns loosely trained on their prey. “Do you have any idea as to why we’re talking with you Mr. Harvey?” Julian did his best to keep his eyes from straying down the barrels of the weapons leveled at him, doing his best to appear calm and collected. “No sir. Would you care to -?” “As I said, the name is Gerald. Please feel free to use it, as that is why I told it to you.” “Alright, Gerald. Would you care to explain why you and your men have stopped me?” “Well as I’m sure you know it is past curfew. Almost two hours now in fact. Care to explain yourself as to why you’re out this late?” “I was at some friends; time flew by, and before I knew it eleven forty-five had rolled by. I didn’t want to put my friend out so I figured I’d just run home, that’s all.” At this point Julian tried to rise to his feet. In a flash Gerald reached into his jacket, pulled out a retractable steel rod, and extended it, pressing it firmly against Julian’s chest. “I suggest you stay down Mr. Harvey.” Julian looked up, locking eyes with the man. He saw something missing within the hazel eyes, something he couldn’t place but that needed to be there. He managed to tear his gaze away and covered his eyes with his hands, massaging his temples as he did. “Is there a reason as to why you’re not letting me leave here Mr. Gerald? Surely this cannot all be because of a slightly tardy curfew.” Gerald smiled, reaching into his jacket again with his free hand. He pulled out a photograph, studied it briefly, and then handed it down to Julian. “Do you know this man Mr. Harvey?” Reaching up Julian took the photograph with slightly trembling fingers. As he looked upon it he instantly recognized Francis’ face. It looked as though it was taken while he was in the process of making a deal to sell some weapons to someone whose face was obscured. Julian’s breathing stopped as he looked back up at Gerald, finally chocking out the question. “Why- Why do you ask?” “Oh I’m certain you know Mr. Harvey. As you can see, what we have here is an illegal transaction in action. Now, we already know of your relationship with Mr. Daer here, and so we can easily connect the dots, so to speak. Now, are you willing to cooperate with us?” “Listen, me and Francis are just friends; I don’t delve into his personal –” Apparently that wasn’t what Gerald had been looking for. With a flick of his wrist he drew back the rod against Julian’s chest and smacked it hard against his face. Red spattered in an erratic pattern on the pavement below, and Julian fought back the urge to cry out. He quickly used his tongue to check his teeth, insuring that none were out of place. He could feel the blood oozing from his lower lip as he looked back at Gerald, now looking less pleased as he replaced the rod to where it had been. “Come now, I asked you a question, and I cannot tolerate lies. It doesn’t really matter now, as I’m sure we have your friend in custody already, and your failure to cooperate isn’t doing you any favors.” Julian’s mind was flying, trying to come up with any solution to the situation. All of his options involved either betraying a friend or condemning himself, and neither of those sounded very good. It was then that he heard the sound that would change his life forever. It was the sound of a cane. The cane of an old man, come stumbling down the wrong alleyway at the wrong time. The man, hunched over and covered with a large green jacket, was slowly making his way toward the four, tapping along as he went. He wore a top hat and a pair of sunglasses, an odd choice considering the time of night. Gerald looked over at him, his rod still against Julian’s chest. The two other men also turned, their guns simultaneously training in the man. Brief thoughts of attacking the three men flashed through Julian’s mind, but he knew there was no way to pull it off without dying. All this did was buy him more time to think, which he was doing furiously now. The man was a mere fifty meters away now, head still focused on the ground. A frown quickly spread across Gerald’s face, and he spoke out quickly and harshly at the stranger. “You there! Stop now and turn around. This is official business of the Government. I suggest you step back and leave before this gets out of hand.” The figure had stopped, though it didn’t turn back. He just stood there for a few seconds, the tension palpable in the air as the two Hands kept their guns on man. Then his hand moved, releasing the cane and dropping to his side as it clattered on the ground. Even Julian could see that the man’s muscles were taunt and also surprisingly large for someone of his apparent age. Gerald repeated himself, demanding that this unfamiliar person leave them in “peace”. This, however, was the last thing that would happen. Throwing off his cape, hat, and shades, the man began to quickly sprint toward the group, a cloak that had been under the cape fluttering in the wind. Reacting almost instantaneously the two men fired their weapons, the sound of gunfire magnifying in the narrow alley. As Gerald drew his gun also Julian saw his chance to escape. However, before he could move his eyes witnessed something he wholly unexpected. The man, still running at full speed, began to dash up along the alley wall. Surprisingly nonplussed, the Hands continued to fire, the two henchmen emptying their fifteen round magazines at the same time and going for the reload. The strange wall-walking man would have none of that though. Pushing off with his right foot, the man began to flip through the air. As he did, Julian saw what appeared to be the gleam of steel in his hands. Gerald’s own gun now clicked empty, and he frantically began to reload his own weapons. With the two Hands almost ready to fire again the stranger landed between them, his hands keeping the momentum of his descent and slamming into both of their stomachs, producing dual grunts of pain from the thugs. As the man stood up straight the pair fell to their knees, their own blood visible both through their fingers and on the twin daggers now held in this man’s fists. Spinning the blades quickly, he then slammed the pommels of the knives squarely against the men’s skulls, rendering them unconscious as they collapsed in a heap. By this time Gerald had abandoned his firearm and was instead swinging up at the man with his steel rod; this proved erroneous however, as it was deftly blocked, then sent flying from his hand with a few quick movements of the man’s daggers. Breathing heavily, his face sweat, Gerald stood in shock as man sheathed his weapons somewhere in his cloak with a twirl. Now fully in the light and still, Julian got a good look at his extraordinary savior. He was tall, maybe a little over six feet, and incredible well toned. His hair was short, spiked, and dyed a light blue color, the latter two attributes a direct violation of the laws promoting uniformity. His eyes shone fiercely with a strange glow, the blue iris’ gleaming from the light of the street lamp. He had some sort of clothing covering his mouth, and the rest of his clothing appeared skin tight and flexible, with the cape obscuring much of his body. He wore a bracelet of some kind on his right hand, and heavy duty combat boots supported this all. He stood silently before Gerald and Julian, his eyes darting from one to the other. It was when he was trained on Julian the Gerald made his last attempt. Moving quickly he swung a right hook at the strangers jaw, while also bringing his left fist in for a strike to the kidneys. However, the man blocked both of the strikes at once, and with relative ease, pushing back on his attackers arms and throwing his off balance. Obviously disheartened, Gerald now tried an all out assault, fight in a way that seemed, to Julian, to be well executed and likely the result of years of training. However, each of his punches, kicks, trips, and all other attacks were repelled by the cloaked man, who himself did not attack directly but dealt quick blows to any offending body parts. This noticeably frustrated Gerald, how pressed harder and harder for any successful hit, each blow resulting in another disappointing and painful rebuff. Soon his arms and legs were sore all over, and his breath ragged and rough. With a chuckle, the man finally spoke, his voice smooth and clear despite the cloth over it. “The training for Hands must be ridiculous these days. Are you seriously an officer?” Gerald responded with a kick to the head, followed by one to the abdomen. Both were stopped just short of their goal and pushed back. Completely losing it, he screamed at his tormentor. “If you’re going to beat me, do it! Stop with this toying you pig!” Though his mouth was hidden, it was obvious there was a smile on the lips of the stranger as he responded. “Certainly” With blinding speed the man delivered two punches to Gerald’s stomach. Doubling over in pain, the officer who had been in control only moments ago could do nothing but watch as the booted foot crashed into his face, the force of the blow sending his hurtling into the wall behind him. The sound of two teeth striking the pavement could be heard as he slumped over, out cold like the other two. With a shake of his head the cloaked man watched him briefly, making sure he wouldn’t cause any more problems before turning back to Julian, who by now was unsure of how to feel. For one, this man had just saved him from the Hands, which was itself quite a terrifying prospect if the stories were correct. However, there was also the fact that it was now just the two of them, Julian had no clue who he was or what he wanted, and this man could easily snap him in two it seemed. Mustering up his courage and retrieving his voice from his bowels, Julian slowly rose to face his rescuer, keeping his back against the wall. “Uh…. Thanks. I guess. You know, for the, uh, for taking care of those guys.” Reaching back into his cloak (and worrying Julian into thinking a dagger was coming his way), the man pulled out a small eyedropper. Moving slowly so as to not appear threatening, the man reached forward with it, using it to obtain a small amount of blood from Julian’s still-fresh busted lip. Julian’s eyes followed the path of the eyedropper as it went back into the abyss of the man’s cloak. He was now thoroughly confused and slightly annoyed at how quiet this man was being about, well, anything. He tried again to spark up a conversation, asking what was most pressing on his mind. “Who the hell are you?” Grabbing Julian’s shoulder, the man leaned in close, whispering from behind his mouth guard. “We should be going. Someone heard those gunshots and I’d rather not be here when more of these fellows show up. Come on.” With the man half-pushing Julian along the pair began to head back in the direction the stranger had come from. “My name is Tristan.” By now the man had removed the cloth from his mouth, allowing him to speak even more clearly. Tristan, Julian thought. Interesting name. Of course, he was an interesting person it seemed. “So what was that back there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m quite happy you showed up when you did, I was in a pretty tough spot. Quite a coincidence some would-“ “Do you believe in coincidences Julian?” Tristan’s voice cut Julian off, catching him off guard and causing him to lose his train of thought for a moment. He quickly recollected himself and did his best to respond, trying to think of the correct answer. “Well, I mean, I do believe in luck and chance, yes. Are you saying that this wasn’t a coincidence, that you knew I would be approached by them at that area? If so, why the hell didn’t you do anything before hand? And hold on, how the hell do you know my name?” Tristan stopped, leaving Julian to walk a few steps before turning back to face him. Looking to the right, Tristan spoke out, avoiding all the questions. “This is where we go over.” Raising one eyebrow, Julian looked up and down the wall that was to his left. It was probably a good twenty-five feet high, probably half a foot thick of stone with a two inch steel barrier on the middle of it. These city walls were built you withstand all but the heaviest attack by land, and they were perfectly smooth to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the city except through the designated areas, where guards checked I.D.’s and various other things. Julian looked back at Tristan, who was still focused on the wall. “Over that? Are you mad, or just stupid? Unless you have some sort of gizmo under that cape of yours that allows you to fly I’d like to know how we’re to get over this.” Apparently by this time Julian had forgotten what he had witnessed this man do only moments before. Turning back to face him, Tristan broke into a smile, his teeth a brilliant white that showed he had good hygiene at least. Suddenly he bolted right toward Julian, clutching him in a bear hug as he whispered into his ear. “It’s called a cloak.” With that he leaped off of the ground, landing five feet up the wall, and then pushing off of it and onto an adjacent building. After a few leaps between the two, going higher with every jump, the two cleared the walls that trapped the citizens of Droven, landing amidst the forest that lay along its western border. The moon slipped behind the clouds as the men plunged into the darkness of the trees. Last edited by Rase; 08-19-2007 at 06:59 AM. Reason: Typos and crap |
08-19-2007, 06:44 AM
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 | I would write a sentence or two describing the room here. It tends to help set the feel for the story depending on how you write it, and it can grab the reader's attention and make them more interested in what happens. This part is very well-written. You should consider moving this paragraph - it interrupts the flow of the story. The character is dragged into an alley, so you should continue the action before this paragraph, or make this paragraph earlier when you were talking about the Hands. Here, you should describe his voice, and the tone. This sentence could be said in a variety of ways, and the emotion within the voice would help make the conversation more believable. This isn't a criticism of how this is written, but in my experience, attacks like that aren't very effective, and aren't used by anyone who has had decent training. Keep it up, I like it so far. |
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08-19-2007, 09:29 PM
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| | Excellent point. Gracias. I was hoping to get some feedback there. I wasn't sure where to exposit The Hands, as I don't like long segments of back story clumped together. I figured I would go ahead and put it the way I did and see how people reacted. I'll definitely consider changing though, especially if others mention that as well. Point taken.  Again, point taken. As someone whose only experience in "fighting" is high school wrestling, I just kind of tried to picture something that would make sense. Guess it looked better in my head than it would be in reality. Gracias, and thanks for the comments. |
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08-20-2007, 03:24 AM
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 | Comma not needed Choking I'm guessing. When I see this attack I see all the possibilities. He is open to a trip or a punch to the side. He's way to open to attack. As a struggle attempt it makes sense for him to go for an easy to hit area like the side and hen while the opponent is staggering go for the face. But never straight for the face and kidney. Thats all i can think of for this chapter. Well written but some of your information is kinda scattered. |
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09-08-2007, 08:07 PM
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