NOTE: This was the first ever story I have written. That was 12 years ago, I think. The grammar may still be rough around the edges.
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SYNOPSIS:
Battlesmith Lysander BlackMoney is a PVP champion- no stranger to hazards. But when his brother, Theophilus BlackMoney dies and bequeaths him a wealth of assets- including a stunning array of very expensive and extremely rare headgears- Lysander finds he's in a very tight and very deadly sort of spot.
Because someone is on his tail. Someone who wants the fortune Lysander is only now discovering. And this dangerous, unknown foe is determined that Lysander will not live long enough to enjoy it.
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Fortune is a great deceiver. She sells very dear the things she seems to give us. - Vincent Voiture, Blacksmith
I INHERITED my brother's life. Inherited his assets, his business, his enemies, his pets, and his mistress. I inherited my brother's life, and it brought me fortune; but it nearly killed me.
I was twenty-five at the time, a good-for-nothing blacksmith, and still hobbling about on makeshift crutches owing to a serious disagreement with a raging minorous. If you've never felt your ankle explode, don't try messing with those walking pounds of muscle. As usual, the injury had been done by the half ton weight of the minorous' gigantic feet descending squarely on my boot on the solid brick floor of a Morrocan pyramid.
Two days after this, while I was reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that I was going to miss at least two weeks of leveling up and with them possibly my last chance of entering the Annual Pronteran PVP Fighting Contest (I still needed 20 experience points to qualify), I opened the flimsy wooden door of my rented room at the Morroc Inn for the tenth time that morning and found it was not, as I'd expected, another friend calling in to commiserate.
The person standing outside my threshold was a woman. She was garbed in a very plain, brown dress overlapped by a milky-white apron at the front- the all-too-familiar regalia of the Kafra Messenger Service.
"Mr. Lysander BlackMoney?" Her voice was clipped and polite.
I wearily nodded in assent.
"Right." She was both brisk and hesitant. "We have you listed," she said, taking a cursory glance at the piece of parchment she held in her hands, "as your brother Theophilus' next of kin."
Those three words, I thought with an accelerating heart, must be the most ominous of the language.
"Your brother is at the St. Grunewald Infirmary," she went on.
At least he was alive, I thought numbly. Barely alive. Once a patient is brought to St. Grunewald's, it simply means the patient's chance of recovery is nil.
"And the Healers think you should be told."
I said slowly, not wanting to know, "What happened?"
"He was involved in a serious accident," she said. "He has suffered multiple injuries. The Healers have tried to revive him but he's still unconscious up to now."
"I'll be there at once," I said. I thanked her, not knowing what for, and slowly closed the door, taking the shock physically in lightheadedness and a constricted throat. He would be alright, I told myself. But was I believing a lie? Please God, I hope not.
I shut out the anxiety to concentrate on the mundane practicality of travelling about a hundred and fifty miles across country-from the dust-ridden Morroc town where I lived, to the lofty Pronteran capital-with a crunched ankle. Damn that minorous, I thought angrily. Being pounded by its gigantic feet at a time like this doesn't really come handy.
I was still on a pensive mood when a loud bang reverberated around the obscenely naked walls of my bare-backed room. A thick pillar of smoke rapidly formed near the old, dilapidated four-posted bed. A few seconds passed and the smoke trailed away, revealing a fine, chiseled figure of a youngish man. The figure spun around three times before stopping abruptly. He landed on his feet shakily, clutching the corner post of the bed for support.
"Apologies 'bout the smoke, sire." An ear-splitting grin spread across his clean-shaven face. "Guess I'll have to practice a little bit more," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Stupid cutbacks! Have to do the messenger service service too! They just COULDN'T get anyone else... Anyway, I'm here to fetched you, sire."
My brows furrowed. "I beg your pardon?" I asked, my voice showing some irritation. In normal times, I would have knocked his brains off for intruding the privacy of my room and appearing in such an unorthodox fashion but my broken ankle prevented me from doing so.
"Ooops!" that ear-splitting grin again. "Sorry, forgot to introduce myself. Ranulf Flaherty. Healer-in-training at St. Grunewald's."
St. Grunewald's? Nothing could have happened by now, I thought, trying to convince myself.
With an obvious nervousness in my shaky voice, I asked "Is he alright? My brother, I mean..."
"...uhm... that's why you need to come at once, sire," he abruptly replied. The stupid grin slashed across his face vanished and was replaced by a deeply anxious look.
He's trying to conceal something, I thought wildly, at the same time, dreading what it could be.
The healer-in-training fished out a shining blue gem from the black leather pouchbag dangling on his side. "If you're ready sire, I could cast a warp." His gentle voice awoke me from my stupor.
I nodded hesitantly. I was too numb to even utter a reply.
WARP PORTAL!
A PUFF of smoke paled the tightly packed room where we materialized, soliciting some angry looks from the other people inside. There was a large notice posted on the gray stone wall that read: WARPING STATION. TO AVOID ACCIDENTS, ONLY CERTIFIED HEALERS AND KAFRA MESSENGERS ARE ALLOWED TO USE THIS AREA. I shot him an accusing glare.
The healer-in-training just gave me a furtive smile, and then whispered softly, "Don't worry, I have special clearance."
He grabbed my hand and we fought and shoved our way to the exit, finally emerging into another room. This time, it was empty except for a very large wooden chest lying near the door. The healer-in-training approached the chest and lifted the lid. "Now you see, sire, this is no ordinary chest." To my astonishment he raised the base, which came up like another lid. I could see down into darkness. "There are steps. Do you see them? Go down them... and be very careful, sire. I'll follow you.."
I got into the chest (with difficulty) and lowered myself and my feet found the steps. I went down six of them. The healer-in-training handed me a candle and followed me, after shutting the lid and base of the chest.
"Where are we?" I asked. I raised the candle in the air, its yellowish light revealing a very long corridor stretching from end to end.
"This way, sire." The healer-in-training acted as though he didn't hear me, and began walking briskly. "Follow me please."
We silently tracked the dimly lighted corridor that was empty except for two Healers walking with their heads bowed down and muttering some arcane incantations.
The eerie silence worsened my feelings. It was damp and cold below and the corridor seemed endless. I had the impression of walking to my deathbed.
Suddenly we came to a halt. He motioned his hand to a richly carved wooden door in my right. "Your brother is there. I'm not allowed to come in."
I thanked him. He was about to say something but thought so otherwise, and immediately left.
With a sigh, I slowly turned the silver brass handle. I heard a soft cluck, and the door began to open of its own accord.
This was it---the moment that I was dreading for---just as in a nightmare, except that this was no nightmare but the actual moment of revelation. I was terrified of what the opening of the door would reveal. My Brother! I thought. Would I find him alive?
The door opened wide.
There were only three people inside the murky room---a person I loved dearly, my bestfriend, and the last... my enemy.
And my brother was not there.
to be continued...
=====================
SYNOPSIS:
Battlesmith Lysander BlackMoney is a PVP champion- no stranger to hazards. But when his brother, Theophilus BlackMoney dies and bequeaths him a wealth of assets- including a stunning array of very expensive and extremely rare headgears- Lysander finds he's in a very tight and very deadly sort of spot.
Because someone is on his tail. Someone who wants the fortune Lysander is only now discovering. And this dangerous, unknown foe is determined that Lysander will not live long enough to enjoy it.
=====================
The BlackMoney Inheritance
by PadrePio
CHAPTER I: The Vanishing Kin
by PadrePio
CHAPTER I: The Vanishing Kin
Fortune is a great deceiver. She sells very dear the things she seems to give us. - Vincent Voiture, Blacksmith
I INHERITED my brother's life. Inherited his assets, his business, his enemies, his pets, and his mistress. I inherited my brother's life, and it brought me fortune; but it nearly killed me.
I was twenty-five at the time, a good-for-nothing blacksmith, and still hobbling about on makeshift crutches owing to a serious disagreement with a raging minorous. If you've never felt your ankle explode, don't try messing with those walking pounds of muscle. As usual, the injury had been done by the half ton weight of the minorous' gigantic feet descending squarely on my boot on the solid brick floor of a Morrocan pyramid.
Two days after this, while I was reluctantly coming to terms with the fact that I was going to miss at least two weeks of leveling up and with them possibly my last chance of entering the Annual Pronteran PVP Fighting Contest (I still needed 20 experience points to qualify), I opened the flimsy wooden door of my rented room at the Morroc Inn for the tenth time that morning and found it was not, as I'd expected, another friend calling in to commiserate.
The person standing outside my threshold was a woman. She was garbed in a very plain, brown dress overlapped by a milky-white apron at the front- the all-too-familiar regalia of the Kafra Messenger Service.
"Mr. Lysander BlackMoney?" Her voice was clipped and polite.
I wearily nodded in assent.
"Right." She was both brisk and hesitant. "We have you listed," she said, taking a cursory glance at the piece of parchment she held in her hands, "as your brother Theophilus' next of kin."
Those three words, I thought with an accelerating heart, must be the most ominous of the language.
"Your brother is at the St. Grunewald Infirmary," she went on.
At least he was alive, I thought numbly. Barely alive. Once a patient is brought to St. Grunewald's, it simply means the patient's chance of recovery is nil.
"And the Healers think you should be told."
I said slowly, not wanting to know, "What happened?"
"He was involved in a serious accident," she said. "He has suffered multiple injuries. The Healers have tried to revive him but he's still unconscious up to now."
"I'll be there at once," I said. I thanked her, not knowing what for, and slowly closed the door, taking the shock physically in lightheadedness and a constricted throat. He would be alright, I told myself. But was I believing a lie? Please God, I hope not.
I shut out the anxiety to concentrate on the mundane practicality of travelling about a hundred and fifty miles across country-from the dust-ridden Morroc town where I lived, to the lofty Pronteran capital-with a crunched ankle. Damn that minorous, I thought angrily. Being pounded by its gigantic feet at a time like this doesn't really come handy.
I was still on a pensive mood when a loud bang reverberated around the obscenely naked walls of my bare-backed room. A thick pillar of smoke rapidly formed near the old, dilapidated four-posted bed. A few seconds passed and the smoke trailed away, revealing a fine, chiseled figure of a youngish man. The figure spun around three times before stopping abruptly. He landed on his feet shakily, clutching the corner post of the bed for support.
"Apologies 'bout the smoke, sire." An ear-splitting grin spread across his clean-shaven face. "Guess I'll have to practice a little bit more," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Stupid cutbacks! Have to do the messenger service service too! They just COULDN'T get anyone else... Anyway, I'm here to fetched you, sire."
My brows furrowed. "I beg your pardon?" I asked, my voice showing some irritation. In normal times, I would have knocked his brains off for intruding the privacy of my room and appearing in such an unorthodox fashion but my broken ankle prevented me from doing so.
"Ooops!" that ear-splitting grin again. "Sorry, forgot to introduce myself. Ranulf Flaherty. Healer-in-training at St. Grunewald's."
St. Grunewald's? Nothing could have happened by now, I thought, trying to convince myself.
With an obvious nervousness in my shaky voice, I asked "Is he alright? My brother, I mean..."
"...uhm... that's why you need to come at once, sire," he abruptly replied. The stupid grin slashed across his face vanished and was replaced by a deeply anxious look.
He's trying to conceal something, I thought wildly, at the same time, dreading what it could be.
The healer-in-training fished out a shining blue gem from the black leather pouchbag dangling on his side. "If you're ready sire, I could cast a warp." His gentle voice awoke me from my stupor.
I nodded hesitantly. I was too numb to even utter a reply.
WARP PORTAL!
A PUFF of smoke paled the tightly packed room where we materialized, soliciting some angry looks from the other people inside. There was a large notice posted on the gray stone wall that read: WARPING STATION. TO AVOID ACCIDENTS, ONLY CERTIFIED HEALERS AND KAFRA MESSENGERS ARE ALLOWED TO USE THIS AREA. I shot him an accusing glare.
The healer-in-training just gave me a furtive smile, and then whispered softly, "Don't worry, I have special clearance."
He grabbed my hand and we fought and shoved our way to the exit, finally emerging into another room. This time, it was empty except for a very large wooden chest lying near the door. The healer-in-training approached the chest and lifted the lid. "Now you see, sire, this is no ordinary chest." To my astonishment he raised the base, which came up like another lid. I could see down into darkness. "There are steps. Do you see them? Go down them... and be very careful, sire. I'll follow you.."
I got into the chest (with difficulty) and lowered myself and my feet found the steps. I went down six of them. The healer-in-training handed me a candle and followed me, after shutting the lid and base of the chest.
"Where are we?" I asked. I raised the candle in the air, its yellowish light revealing a very long corridor stretching from end to end.
"This way, sire." The healer-in-training acted as though he didn't hear me, and began walking briskly. "Follow me please."
We silently tracked the dimly lighted corridor that was empty except for two Healers walking with their heads bowed down and muttering some arcane incantations.
The eerie silence worsened my feelings. It was damp and cold below and the corridor seemed endless. I had the impression of walking to my deathbed.
Suddenly we came to a halt. He motioned his hand to a richly carved wooden door in my right. "Your brother is there. I'm not allowed to come in."
I thanked him. He was about to say something but thought so otherwise, and immediately left.
With a sigh, I slowly turned the silver brass handle. I heard a soft cluck, and the door began to open of its own accord.
This was it---the moment that I was dreading for---just as in a nightmare, except that this was no nightmare but the actual moment of revelation. I was terrified of what the opening of the door would reveal. My Brother! I thought. Would I find him alive?
The door opened wide.
There were only three people inside the murky room---a person I loved dearly, my bestfriend, and the last... my enemy.
And my brother was not there.
to be continued...
