literature

Umbra Chap. 1

Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

“Hold, civilian.”

The command was given by a man armored in dark silver mail to a black cloaked figure. The soldier gestured toward the stranger with his spear. “What business do you have here?”

The cloaked figure looked up from the ground, clearly glaring with his body language if not with his eyes.

“I am a hunter, here to buy supplies,” the young male spoke flatly from beneath his hood. The soldier stared him down, testing his mettle. Not believing the foreigner’s claims, he held out his armored hand.

“Papers,” he demanded. Exhaling sharply from his growing annoyance, the cloaked man rummaged about beneath his cloak before snapping a small book out in front of him. The soldier took the object with a look of warning to the stranger, turning his attention to the writing inside.

“Name: Axel Caine,” he read aloud. Behind him, a scrawny man with thick glasses searched his large book of criminal documentation. After a moment of sifting, he snapped the tome shut.

“Clean,” the man chimed. The soldier grunted in response, as if he was itching to run the man through regardless.

“Place of birth: Belburne,” he muttered, glaring into the shadow of the hood. “Belburne? Where is that, mate? Off the coast of your own imagination?” The soldier laughed cruelly at a joke that was ultimately unamusing.

“No, more like on the west coast of Highmoor,” the man deemed Axel said. “Not very up to date on your geography, are you? They’re much better at greeting strangers there. Might even welcome your hulking hide, but that’s a stretch.”

At this, the soldier sneered and spat at the man’s feet. “You’re talking to the royal guard. Watch your tongue, boy, else your greeting will be an all-expenses paid night in the keep,” he hissed, shoving the small book against the man’s chest. “Welcome to the damn capital.”

Pocketing the book again, Axel bowed sarcastically as he walked past the gate guard, pushing into the dirty streets of the city. He wove around the throng of people with ease, clearly practiced in these crowds. In no time at all, he had made it to the city square. Vendors had their stands set up so close to one another that a rat could hardly find its way between them. There were woodworkers, fishermen, blacksmiths, potionsmasters, and various other practices as far as the eye could see, bookended by a pub on one side and an inn on the other. Beyond either of these checkpoints, the streets were open in comparison to the crowded square.

Weaving through the crowds swiftly, a single figure ran into the cloaked man from the side, causing three sets of legal papers—ones like those he had offered up to the soldier at the gate—to fall from his cloak. With a curse, he stopped and collected the dropped belongings with great speed, glancing around the crowd to see if anyone had noticed. A small sigh of relief died in his throat when he turned to see who had caused the trouble in a huff, but they were gone.

“Whatever,” he growled under his breath, continuing through the crowd until it thinned out. Where he was headed, most people steered clear of. The shady end of town, rumored to be the heart of black market operations, was a place where every man with a bad bone in their being could fit in and find safe haven. No criminal would be arrested here because every man here, give or take a few, was a criminal himself. Even the royal guard did not dare hang around this end of the city for too long. The shady people that lived here knew how to fool an army into thinking that they were significantly outnumbered. In truth, the army had the strength in numbers, but they would never know it. A little deception in a crowded alleyway made the mighty machine of men seem like a multitude of mice.

With a quick check behind him for followers, he slipped into a slim opening between two buildings, coming out on the other side into a long and dark corridor. As he walked down the stretch, he pulled his hood off, shaking his head to rearrange his organized disarray of jaw-length black locks. After walking for a while, the corridor opened into a pub, which was crawling with the scum of the city.

“Ah, Soryn, mate!” cried the barkeep, drying a shot glass for him as the man made his way to the bar. “Been a long time. How are things?”  The rotund man with a short, earthy brown beard set the glass down in front of him, filling it with a copper liquid that carried the potent scent of liquor.

“Oh, you know. It’s always fun trying to get into the city, with all the—” he waved his hand in the air to try to find the words, “timing it right to get a different watch than last time and giving them forged papers that they haven’t seen yet,” he shrugged, throwing the copper liquid down his throat.

“Ah, come on, mate. In comparison to the lot here, you haven’t even committed a crime yet, and last time I checked, you aren’t really planning on committing one anytime soon,” the barkeep presumed. Soryn smirked as he tossed back another shot, shaking away the bitter afterbite with one sideways jerk of his head.

“True, but it’s always good to practice just in case I happen to slip up or get caught coming in here. If this place is discovered, they won’t care that I’m a supplier in the black market. The fact that I hang around here would be enough to get me arrested. Dealings in the black market would just be the icing on the cake.” The barkeep pursed his lips.

“Either way, don’t burn all your bridges before you have to, Soryn. This ‘practice’ just might end up getting you in trouble,” he warned. “Speaking of your black market dealings, though, your buyer left another order.” With that, he slipped a piece of paper in front of the young man.

“He didn’t have the spine to deliver it himself?” Soryn grumbled. “Let’s see now. Three vials of dragon’s blood, a dragon fang, three claws, and a hide. Damn, he isn’t asking much. And he’s only paying me ten thousand! Fat chance,” he snapped as he set his glass down less than gently. The barkeep raised his hands in surrender.

“Oi, mate. Don’t shoot the messenger. I only delivered it. You got beef with the one who made the order, take it up with him.” He went to pour another shot to distract the man from his frustration, but Soryn waved him away.

“I can’t do all of that for ten. Twenty maybe, fifteen at the least, but ten? He’s a fool.” He then slid off the barstool and dismissed himself, entering the hallway again and grumbling the entire time about his cheapskate clientele.

“Hey, you,” a deep voice grunted from the entrance of the corridor. Soryn paused and turned to look over his shoulder. “You’re the one those leisure classers are talkin’ about, aren’t you? ‘The Dragon Hunter.’ ”

Soryn turned on his heel to face the interrogator. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He did not have the time to react before his interrogator had a fistful of his shirt, hoisting him up onto his toes in a threatening manner. At this proximity, Soryn realized that the man stood a head taller than he did.

“Don’t lie to me, stranger. I heard your conversation with the bartender,” he growled, desperation veiled badly by the brutish demeanor. Soryn grabbed at the man’s hands in an attempt to force him to let go; he stopped when he saw deep purple spots branching up onto the man’s hand, badly concealed by a long sleeve. When looking at his face, he could see the deep purple starting a climb up his neck as well. “You have what I need. You know where to get it. Give it to me; I’ll pay you.”

Soryn’s brows furrowed. “Don’t bother. It wouldn’t do you any good,” he said evenly. A muscle in the man’s jaw flexed as he gave Soryn a single rough shake.

“I said I’d pay you! Isn’t that enough?” His voice was rising now.

“I’m not worried about the money. It’s not what you want, alright? Put me down.”

A growl rumbled in the man’s throat. “You don’t get it, kid. I’m dying.” He craned his neck to reveal the darkness that marred his skin on his left shoulder. “It was just a simple retrieval. Pick a pocket, that’s all I had to do. But the item that the job poster wanted was evil. I’ve been to all the healers in this damned city. They said it’s a curse. They said they can’t help me. Please, you’re my only chance. I —” He stopped, jaw clenched in remorse. “I’m not ready to die.”

Soryn sighed heavily, easing the hand that reached for his dagger.
“Look, I want to help, but I can’t.” Now driven by desperation, the man threw Soryn up against the wall, making him grunt in discomfort.

“Don’t be so cruel! Don’t you understand, you brat? I’m going to die!” Soryn hardly allowed the man to finish his loud assertion before he drew his dagger and pressed the sharp tip against the man’s stomach.

“I said, I can’t help you. Put me down.” His voice was still even, though clearly strained by his own building impatience. A silence fell over the nearby tables, all of them alerted by someone drawing a weapon in their safe haven. The new audience looked on as the desperate man slowly lowered his captive to the ground, swallowing audibly. Soryn exhaled slowly, sheathing his dagger again. “It’s not a matter of keeping you from a cure. I just know from experience that it will not give you the result you’re searching for.” The man fell to his knees and placed his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking in fear. Unable to watch the man fall apart before him, Soryn turned and resumed his exit, pulling up his hood again before entering the light of the city streets. "If you knew, you'd thank me."
This is a sample of Soryn and Claudia's story, if any of you were curious! :iconlachoirplz:

I promised jamestmattingly a piece of my writing around Christmas...and it's been seven months. Sorry it took so long! Here's a portion of the piece I've been working on a lot recently! Hope you like it! 

Any feedback would be much appreciated!



All characters, locations, and plot details of this story belong to SeekeroftheLeviathan and me, Naragirl007
Stealing is wrong. Steal from either of us and I will hunt you down~ <3
© 2014 - 2024 Naragirl007
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jamestmattingly's avatar
Oh and p.s. sorry for the late comment. Never had time to read it till now! :D