So first off, for the explanation. Let me explain something to you folks. I have the attention span of a very very very tiny shrimp. I literally have a folder on google docs labled 'maybe later' that has about 60 stories in it. From one word, to twenty pages. Either I'm not happy with them, or I just don't have time to write, or whatever. But my main rule is, once I post a chapter, I HAVE TO FINISH IT. It's just plain rude to give the people what they want, get the addicted, and then not give them anymore, isn't it? I hate it when it happens to me when I'm reading after all. The only time I've EVER broken this rule is when I wrote Revolution. Don't ask me why, I just hate that story with a passion now. That's why it's not on my blog. I don't want anyone to read it and ask 'When are you going to finish it?' because I'm not. Ever. EVER. So stop asking >.> I love you all, but it's not going to happen.
The reason I bring this fact up, is so that I WILL continue this story. My next story (to replace APR. I'll have one more story to introduce to you guys since I finished Geist too.) is pretty epic (If I do say so myself) and I don't want to have it disapear into the void that is the 'maybe later' folder. So, I'm giving you guys the first two pages of said story. Just an introduction to the characters, a little teaser if you will. You don't have to read this, because when I do post the full chapter, it will have this part. So you can wait, or for all you impatient mofo's out there (and I know that's 99.9999999999999% of you, don't hide. you're out there.) you can read it now and torture yourself even more. ;) What else would you do on a Sunday night? So I present to you. Unnamed story #1 (Just letting you know, I name my stories about four seconds before I post them. Hehe.):
Titus lifted the bag of chicken feed onto his shoulders, and set the other one on top of that. It piled high above him, and his muscles strained against the already small tunic he wore. He waved goodbye to the general store owner and began carrying the feed back to his farm.
He had been born a farmer, and he would die a farmer. His father had died only two months ago, and had left him the farm to care for. He did so begrudgedly, caring for the horses and chickens as he was told.
He didn’t particularly enjoy the labor. In all honesty, he wanted to be a soldier for the king's army. It was what he had dreamed about since he was a child, but he couldn’t just ignore his father's wishes and leave the farm. He had thought about hiring some farm hands, and so maybe he could be a soldier for the nearby town. It wouldn’t be exactly what he wanted, which was to travel all across the land serving his king, but it would be close.
But of course, he could hardly afford the bags of feed he needed. Much less the farm hands it would take to run everything when he was gone. The one thing he didn’t mind was the fact that he was the breeder the king bought all his horses from. The noble steeds served the highest ranking guards well, and if any were ever injured or sick, they were brought to Titus. He was known as the kings Stablemaster and he was proud of it.
He cut open one of the bags of feed, and sprinkled a fair amount on the ground and the dozens of chickens flocked together and began pecking at the food. He put the bag in a safe spot, and went to check on the horses.
He had just recently announced that six new horses were ready to be sold, and that they would be fine steeds for his majesty’s army. He expected word from the king any day now, and was sure that the horses were well groomed and fed every day, just in case. He just finished brushing down the final horse, when a messenger arrived, bearing the king’s emblem.
“Orders from his majesty.” The thin man handed Titus a letter. he opened the stained piece of paper and read quickly. He had never really gone to school, and was taught at home, so it did take him a few minutes to read the short letter. But he was happy with what he read. The king requested his best horse, and it was to be delivered to a foreign land as a present to their ruler. But best of all, it was to be delivered by Titus himself.
The king agreed to hire stable hands to care for the farm for the month or so Titus would be away. He wanted to show the other monarch how much he honored his friendship, by not only bringing him an amazing steed, but by having his most trusted and faithful stable master deliver it.
Titus beamed at the letter and folded it neatly into his pocket. He was excited, and knew it wouldn’t take him long to answer the king’s call. He told the messenger this, and moved quickly to saddle the horse, and gather what little he had to bring for the trip.
Titus sat astride the horse that was being delivered to a neighboring lands king. The horse was black, with a single white stripe down its nose, right between its eyes. It was a beautiful horse, and would make a fine present. Titus brought with him only gold, and a few extra tunics to change into.
He rode out of the town that he had never left before, and began his new adventure.
Areli sat still while the prince strapped the muzzle over his mouth. The crudely bent metal formed a protective cage around the soft pink lips and surprisingly perfect white teeth. The prince removed the chains that bound his wrists, ankles, waist, neck, and chest. Each set of chains falling to the ground with an all too familiar ‘clink’. The collar around his neck was attached to a chain lead, and a pair of chain cuffs were slapped over his thin wrists. Areli stood at only just under five feet. His thin form wasn’t uncommon among slaves, and the long hair that fell into his eyes was badly in need of a cut. The only particularly unusual thing about him, was the long hair that fell into his eyes, was white. He was only a young 18 summers old, and hadn’t had time to even grow into the cheap tunic he wore. But his hair had turned ghostly white when he was ten.
The prince tugged on the lead and Areli followed him willingly. His bare feet made a small slapping sound as he tried to keep up with the princes long strides. The stone floors of the palace halls were cold. He looked up with wide eyes at the prince, who pulled him along coldly. The princes once beautiful face was now scarred and mangled to the point where he was forced to wear a mask all day. He was never a vain man, and it didn't bother him much. But he did have his days. Areli had quickly grown used to the princes moods, after he was first brought to the palace.
He had been enslaved when he was six. His parents had gotten lost when they had ventured from one kingdom to another, and he was the only one to survive. After a week of wandering through the woods, he had been found and was taken to work in the fields that day. On one of his rides through the palace, the prince had spotted him. Caked in mud and sweat and tears. He brought him to the palace and had the filth washed away until only a small boy stood. The prince was sixteen then, ten years older than Areli. It was clear the boy wasn’t fit to work in the fields and the prince had demanded that he would be kept as his personal pet.
Only after the first night in the palace did the prince realize what he had gotten himself into. It was made very clear that night that Areli was very, very...sick.