Author: xXMethereaperXx PM
Martin Light, an warrior in a city of scholars, not smart enough for the Analycts of Arcanum, not old enough to be accepted into the guard. He has, however, found a place he belongs. The Hellions, a group of mercenaries with a dark secret to hide.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Romance - Words: 4,273 - Published: 01-28-12 - id: 7783717
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This will have only slight resemblance to the game, but the cities, and classes will be nearly the same. There will also be a lot of artist original stuff, such as an all new class i'm using, as well as a reference to the real world in general.
If you are truly dedicated to the game and don't like originality... please don't read. If you'd like to hear a decent story, continue if you'd like.
Okay, Dual is really Twin City, but I had originally wrote this for FictionPress and had to change a lot. Now that I had request the category and that it's up, i'm gonna upload it here.
Also, if you wanna know my character info, It's: methereaper, Celebrities – Arbiter.
My guild is: ScumOfTheEarth
My Clan is: Anarchy United!
Alright, let's get to it.
Chapter 1: Duel in Dual
"... and then appeared the Hellions, stopping the beasts in their tracks. The might of the Hellions proved too much for the invaders who cowered in fear at the mere sight of Sylvester of clan Reaper. Then the great mass charged forward, screaming, 'Justice for all!'"
Twin Cities: History of Dual
The day started as well as it could have. The sun was shining, and the inhabitants of the city of Dual were going about their day. In the center of the city was the large square of alabaster, affectionately named 'The Valley', for this was the beginning of the path to the Arena, the site of the famous, 'Duel in Dual'.
The 'Duel in Dual' was a celebration of the founding of the great city. It began with reciting the founding story of the city, and the war that engulfed the country like a flame. Every year an emissary from the clan of Reaper would attend and pay respects to the fallen heroes of the arena, a large coliseum that remained from the days of Hector the Horrible.
Hector was a tyrant who would force those who were under his rule to fight until only one remained living. Men, women, children, Hector cared not who died for his amusement. The Reaper clan were the first family to speak out against him, and payed for it with their lives, many executed by decree. The surviving members fleeing, promising revenge.
And today was the starting of the celebration.
Back to the square of the city, the raised platform was occupied by the choir who would be playing at the event. The director waved his baton at the children, many of whom were fairly in their teens, indicating where the weaknesses were and when to change tune. A large part of the weakness was one young man who stood in the back row.
He stood with his lute, strumming the notes as best he could. He lacked the ability to match his art with that of the assembly. Solo, he was fine, a prodigy, but in a group as big as this, he was unable to focus.
He stood considerably taller than the entire group, and was built more for physical labor than fine arts. His hair was darker than the group's combined, and by far the longest. His face was that of a prince and possessed no emotion, his eyes answering any question. He was a barbarian in a city of scholars.
"Stop, stop all of you!" shouted the director.
The band lowered their instruments and awaited the usual rebuke.
"Solomon, you need to trill on the third bar, Samuel you too."
Two young men nodded and strummed their own lutes and quietly repeated the notes.
"Stephine, you're not playing the right notes, check your song book."
The girl nodded and lowered her flute to flip several pages in her book.
"Martin," the director said with a sigh, "Come here, my boy."
The boy un-hooked his instrument from his sling and approached the director who placed his hand, affectionately, on his shoulder. Being only sixteen, the boy stood eye level to the middle-aged director.
"Why don't we arrange something else for you?"
The snickers from the procession behind him were quieted by the few proud enough to call him friend.
"It's a shame you're too young to take the entrance exam for the guard. You would be a proficient warrior."
Martin held the gaze of the director, who lost the ability to continue doing so.
"Very good, now go talk to Chancellor Shepard about a change of schedule."
Martin nodded once more and began to walk down the path to the arena. Footsteps behind him caught his attention. He turned to see the closest things to friends following after him.
Martin smiled and waited for his companions, "Hey, Torvald."
Torvald was several years his superior and had already passed the exam for the guard. His sister, Claire was trailing shortly behind.
Claire sighed angrily, brushing her auburn hair out of her delicate face, "Who cares what those fools believe, I say they were out of tune."
Torvald laughed, "Yeah, who needs'em? Whole choir is full of upper class snobs."
Martin raised an eyebrow, "I am still part of the choir."
"Well, obviously not you,"
After a brief laugh, the group began the trek to the downtown district of the city.
"Did you hear the news?" Torvald asked while they walked, his sword clinking against his raiment.
Martin shook his head while he undid the strap for his formal cap and unbuttoned his dress shirt, "What news?"
Claire blushed, "Now's not the time."
Martin stopped, "Tell me?"
Torvald smiled, "My own sister has been accepted to the academy."
Martin opened his mouth to speak but found no voice.
Meoldy sighed, "I leave the start of winter."
Martin hung his head a moment then faked a smile as best he could, "That's great, i'm really happy for you."
Truthfully, Martin felt sick. His greatest dream was to leave the city and be accepted to the Analycts of Arcanum, the greatest college in the whole country, but now it seems that dream was just that, a dream.
Torvald, noticing the shift in Martin's demeanor, he cleared his throat and turned to leave, "Well, I have to get to role call, Good luck with Shepard."
Martin waved as Torvald walked down the path that led to the second city.
Claire began walking East into the rural district, "I have some errands to run, we'll all meet before the festival today! Outside the gate!"
Martin nodded and yelled, "Until then! Sura be with you!"
Heaving a sigh, Martin continued his trek down the empty road to the arena, which loomed over the city, an reminder of the past or an omen of the future.
In a large room of stone and layered brick, a man stood at the large window, the shade drawn to the side, allowing a breeze to roll in. He surveyed the magnificent sight of the central Hellion compound, the home base of the many smaller chapters across the continent.
His eyes were watery and surrounded by black bags, a sign of another sleepless night. His yellow hair was disheveled and greasy with sweat. His aching body prevented him from standing to his full height, forcing him to lean against the wall for balance.
The dreams plagued him like an illness, even as he gazed at the beauty of nature, the lush rolling grassland, the dense forest, and if he squinted, the city of Dual, it's twin towers of alabaster and onyx piercing the sky.
It was the same dream he'd had every year, a week before and a week after this very day. Now, what day was it? He was sure it held an important meaning, but it slipped him as of this moment.
The dream however, he remembered as if he had lived it.
He is leading a group of Hellions through a dark city, devoid of life yet flooded by blood. The streets were stained red, but on they marched, his typical group yet there was a difference in their mood, a feeling of hopelessness hid behind their re-assuring smiles.
He knew exactly where to go. He led his group into the city's temple, he was unaware of the god of the temple, but it's statues depicted a women shrouded in shadows, an artistic masterpiece but bone chilling nonetheless.
Lastly, the door. A large monstrosity of iron and wood, it appeared as if an army of men would be able to budge it. Despite it's foreboding appearance, the door swung inward as if it was adrift in the great ocean.
The group quickly files in, the archers scanning every corner, every crevice for an threat. The warriors filed in next, weapons drawn. Then his daughter, her hands enveloped by flame, her eyes flashing with anticipation.
The door instantly slams shut, sending the low thudding sound throughout the chamber. A maniacal cackle splits the air, drawing the attention of everyone. The figure of a man appears, cloaked by an anomaly not entirely of this world. He is wearing a mask that covers the top half of his face, exposing a fanged grin dripping of blood.
He speaks, but his words are garbled and indistinguishable. Whatever he had said has done it's job, causing the party to advance forward. The end of the dream...
amidst the attacks, the figure looses a blade that soars clear of the more experienced fighters and with a speed comparable by only an beast of the abyss, finds it's mark in the chest of his daughter.
As always, the blood brings him back to reality, never finding the fate of his remaining family.
"Sir Ulthor," the voice repeated.
He quickly wipes the sweat from his face before turning from the window, "Who is it?"
The door opens and in walks an frail looking servant, a small dagger dangled from his belt where a scroll of parchment was tucked safely, "Profario,"
"Yes, good. Come in."
The servant obeys and walks to the end of the large desk that was cluttered with the remnants of envelopes and countless papers.
"What have I to do today?"
Profario removed the scroll, "Today is the anniversary of your daughter's birth,"
"Yes, sir," he replied with a nod.
Profario regarded the scroll once more, "You have yet to make a choice for the emissary to Dual."
Ulthor blinked for a moment and returned to the window, "Is it here already?"
"Yes, sir. Shall I give the task to Timothy?"
Ulthor contemplated the situation, "Is it not seven in the morning?"
"Yes, the sun has only recently risen."
He nodded slowly, "Have we any contracts due today?"
Profario returned to the scroll, "No sir, you postponed all agreements in the sake of Alma's birthday,"
"Ah yes," Ulthor replied, remembering, "Prepare a carriage, we shall attend in person. If we hurry we should arrive in time for the opening ceremony."
"Who will accompany you?"
Ulthor turned and walked to a nearby cupboard and began setting out his clothes, "Lucien, and Relette. I believe they are the only ones who would enjoy such an event."
"Well, Alma of course," he said with a slight chuckle.
"Has the emissary arrived yet?" asked the nervous chancellor as he paced the courtyard.
Torvald stood at attention, wearing the ornate yet ineffective armor for the ceremony, "No sir Shepard, Neither has word of a delay or cancellation."
Shepard nodded, wringing his felt cap between his hands, "How is security?"
"We have double guards posted at the entrance to the city, as well as marksmen in the towers and the battlements surrounding the arena. We are as prepared as we can be."
Another nod was the chancellor's reply, "And Martin?"
Torvald smiled, "He is preparing sir,"
Martin quickly enters the one roomed shack he calls home and lifts his mattress to reveal a small skeleton key tucked inside a small burlap satchel. With this key in hand, he crossed the room to where a tall cabinet stood beside a solitary window, showing a view of the home beside his own.
He pulled off a section of the door to reveal a keyhole which he unlocked with the key. Instead of swinging outward, the door dropped to the floor and teetered against the wall. The contents were few, but precious. His most prized possessions were included among the treasures.
Reaching in, he removed the slim, stringed instrument and plucked a few strings to check the tuning.
Pleased with the sound of his treasured keepsake, he set it beside his formal performance jacket before returning to the cabinet.
Kneeling down, he began to shuffle through a large satchel containing many illustrations and portraits. A metallic clink echoes briefly, causing him to pause for a moment. After catching his nerve, he removed two objects, both covered in rust and gouges from unknown battles.
These, and several pictures, were in his possession when they found him.
The objects were a matching pair, possessing a handle much like that of a sword, except a steel tube encased in a rolling rectangle jutted out at a ninety degree angle.
There was a small button that when clicked caused another strange object containing several more strange objects to fall from the bottom.
Beneath the rust and the scratches he could faintly make out a word, mgloc.
He researched the word but could find no information on it.
He did know, however, the sound the objects make.
On one of the rare instances he was allowed out of the city, usually on a delivery, he had taken the objects with. He had flipped a switch he found and looked down the tube. Unsure of what happened next, something exited at an immense speed and sliced open his left ear. The sound that came after was similar to that of a large pot being struck with an hammer, only several times louder.
He twirled them once then clinked them together, causing another echo to fill the room for several moments. After a deep breath, he slid them into the back of his belt, just as the voice had commanded.
He quickly pulled on his jacket and ensured it would cover his concealed weapons. After tying on his cap and picking up his instrument, he nervously began his trek to meet the Chancellor.
The carriage rolled into the square and stopped short of the Chancellor. The door opened and the group inside began to file out.
The first out was a short man who braced himself with a staff. He wore a bright blue robe adorned with glyphs and runes. Beneath a feathered hat was a plump face with thinning brown hair. He yawned loudly, revealing a bored demeanor with small hints of excitement.
Pushing him aside while sighing out of relief for the trip to be over, a moderately tall woman stepped and stretched happily. Her hair hung to the back of her shoulders, and was an dark auburn, showing signs of being altered from a different color.
Two ornate daggers dangled loosely from her belt. Her clothes were likewise ornate, embroidered with velvet as soft as the roses they resembled. Her top was sleeveless, with thin lengths of puffy fabric connecting to silver bracers on her wrists.
Ulthor steps out and is immediately greeted by Shepard.
"Sir Ulthor! Had I known you would be attending personally, I would have made better arrangements! We were worried when no emissary arrived."
Ulthor looked down to regard the Chancellor, "No problem, we chose to attend personally this year. This is Relette and Lucien."
Relette bowed low and replied happily, "It is an honor,"
"The honor is all mine," said Shepard as he returned the bow.
Lucien grunted at the hand that was offered him and instead gave a slight nod.
Chancellor Shepard coughed and withdrew his hand, "Right then, is this everyone?"
Ulthor glanced back to the carriage where the final passenger stepped out.
"This is my daughter Alma,"
Her hair was short, reaching to the bottom of her neck in the longest spot, and closer to white than blonde. Her bangs hung low, covering her left eye. The eye that shown was blood red and was surrounded by a thin black line, traced by a form of ink or dye. Her skin was slightly pale as if it possessed an intolerance to sunlight.
Shoe wore an black robe that was accented with white intricate designs of a dragon in battle with a tiger.
Alma stood the height of the Chancellor and offered a fanged smile, "Pleasure,"
Shepard nervously shook her hand, taking care to avoid being cut on her sharpened nails.
"Sorry for not sending word. This being Alma's birthday, as well as her first year of training coming to an end, a showing of the horrible conditions a warrior must face seemed a proper incentive."
Shepard nodded at Ulthor's words, "Very wise."
A large cry from the arena reached the group.
"Aww, we didn't miss it, did we?" Relette asked sadly.
Shepard smiled and shook his head, "Of course not! We have trained actors sparring to keep the crowd entertained."
"When will everything start?" asked Ulthor.
The Chancellor sighed, "This year we have an musician accompanying the reading of the History of Dual. He should be here any moment."
As if on cue, Martin came running to the group, "Sorry i'm late, sir!"
Torvald grinned and punched him affectionately in the shoulder as he passed, "We were growing old waiting on you!"
Martin took a moment to catch his breathe and turned toward Shepard, "My apologies, sir, I am ready whenever you are."
"Yes, Yes," said the Chancellor, waving away his apology before turning toward their guests, "Allow me to introduce Martin Light."
Martin faced the group and bowed, "It is a pleasure,"
"Aha! I was worried there were no warriors in this town!" Ulthor said with a smile.
Martin needed only to stare upward slightly to meet Ulthor's eye level. Martin gave a cold stare and appeared ready to speak before Shepard intervened.
"Shall we head to the arena, I am sure our guests are weary from their journey."
"Come on, let's get a move on," Torvald said solemnly, giving Martin's arm a tug to get him moving.
Martin continued his stare for a moment, then turned and allowed himself to be led by Torvald.
"What's his story?" asked Lucien confusedly, showing interest for the first time.
Shepard sighed and made sure Martin was far enough ahead to not hear his explanation, "You must forgive him, he is constantly ridiculed because of his stature."
Ulthor's face fell, "I didn't mean to offend him,"
"He'll forget about it,"
"Is he a native of the city?" Relette asked as they began the travel through 'The Valley'.
"Now that is the story," Shepard started with a brief chuckle, "No father, mother, or siblings. We found him about ten years ago in the catacombs beneath the city."
Shepard nodded, "We found the entrance on the outskirts of the city and sent a group of guards inside to investigate. They said he was suspended inside an large metal structure, surrounded by a glowing light."
"Strange," Ulthor replied.
Lucien increased his pace to match their own, "Why has he not left the city? Why stay here in a place of farmers ans scholars, no offense."
"That's the million note question, isn't it? If you will follow me, I will lead you to the king's personal seating area."
Ulthor slowed his pace when he felt a tap on his shoulder, "Yes?"
"I know what I want for my birthday," Alma said quiet enough to not interrupt Relette's question of the city's towers.
"And what is that?" Ulthor asked, already knowing the answer.
Ulthor grinned and increased his pace, "We shall have him."
The crowd was roaring with cheers and applause as the guards drug the 'remains' of the actors from the battlefield.
A blast of trumpets signals the entrance of Chancellor Shepard. The crowd slowly becomes silent as he reaches the middle of the field with Martin in toe.
When silence was fully reached, he gives a quick nod to his counterpart who begins strumming and picking notes on his instrument, listening intently with closed eyes to acoustics of the environment.
"The year is 2112!" Shepard calls out, beginning the story, "Hector the Horrible gains the throne during the rebellion of Riviera!"
Once the echo dies down, he continues, "After stealing the throne from Riviera Rontola, he increased taxes substantially, built the dark tower, and enacted the Dastardly Doctrine, changing the punishment for any crime to the death penalty in the arena!"
"Hooray!" yells the princess over the roar of applause, "Go Martin!"
Martin tunes out the story and focuses only on his playing.
'Twenty seconds,' said a gruff, angry voice.
Martin doesn't need to look around him to know the voice is coming from within him.
'Until the story is over?' Martin thought.
'Behind you,' the voice yelled.
Martin snapped his eyes open and swung his instrument like a club. The wood found it's mark against the skull of an attacker who was already in a full swing toward the Chancellor.
The impact sent him tumbling off course while also knocking the blade from his hand.
Martin quickly crossed the short distance to reach the man who was reaching for his blade.
Martin kicked the blade away and with a clench fist, began repeatedly hitting the attacker. His fists were too untrained to do any damage, but they succeeded in casting the man into a daze.
Removing the weapons from his back, Martin swings them downward with a yell, knocking him unconscious.
Shepard is yelling at him, but he is unable to hear with the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The faint plod of footsteps reaches him in time to show a similarly clothed attacker rushing him.
Mere feet before reaching him, the figure slows his steps and growls with pain. A glowing spear of blue light was protruding from his back, but after a moment it began to dissipate into a pile of ash.
Lucien appears to Martin's side and quickly grabs the pile of ash.
"Well done," was all he said.
Martin takes the next moment to survey the field which changed from an nearly empty lot to an rampaging stampede of bodies.
There were blood red robes moving this way and that, each bearing the crest of a serpent. To combat this number of attackers, guards were dropping from the audience. Behind him, the Hellions were likewise dropping in, too eager to control the desire of a heated battle.
"Well," Lucien began, dropping the ashes into a small pouch, "How much you have left in ya?"
Martin slid back the top of his weapons, "Enough."
Ulthor had been talking to the king, but quickly turned to face the field. The chancellor had turned and quickly began backing away to where a group of guards were waiting.
"Sir, we're under attack!" yelled Torvald as he burst into the seating area of the royal family.
The king nodded and rose to his feet, "Yeah, I suppose so, come along Sarah."
The princess nodded and stood from her seat, "What about Martin?"
Torvald held out his hand, "He can take care of himself, we need to get you and your father out of here."
"To be continued," Ulthor casually said with a wave.
"Will you be joining the fight?" the king asked with a calm countenance.
With a shrug, Ulthor turned to watch his companions leap off the edge of the stone wall, "I planned on it."
"Watch over Martin,"
Ulthor gave a small bow and swept his hand to the side. Once the king and his escorts had begun their dash for safety, Ulthor turned to his daughter.
"Watch over the Hero, make sure he doesn't do anything drastic."
Alma nodded and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was standing amidst the battle.
"Where did you come from?" Martin yelled while lowering his weapon.
"Stay behind me!" Alma yelled while waving her hand towards the attackers nearest them.
As the men went flying, a loud roar came rapidly approaching her. Alma quickly shifted her stance and prepared to defend herself.
However, before the man crossed within twelve feet of her, his face disappeared, leaving a red mass of flesh devoid of any resemblance to that of a living being.
The roar was loud enough to cause her to cover her ears. The flash was bright enough to cause her sight to go blurry.
Martin stood holding a strange object that was belching smoke.
"Are you all right?" Martin asked as he began to step forward.
Alma pointed in the direction behind him, unable to speak.
Martin was unable to turn quick enough to avoid the attack. A large man in a hoodless robe resembling the attacker's swept his leg to the left, causing Martin to stumble backwards. Swinging a hammer attached to a long pole, the man pushed him onto his back.
"Feel the quake of death," he yelled as he lifted the hammer over his head, "Martin Light!"
As the hammer swung down, Martin ceased to think and felt the cold embrace of unconsciousness sweep over him.
Alright, there's the first chapter. Thanks for reading!