Wow, it's been a while. Hopefully the two people who are keeping up with this story remember who everyone is, but if you don't, just take a look through the blog's archives and recap what you missed. I don't really like writing action sequences since I'm not very good at them, but I suppose a good tale needs some exciting moments every now and then. This scene was originally supposed to be a lot shorter - Landover would just knock out the guard, quickly dispatch two more, then kill the traitor. The part would then go on for two more scenes that I've decided to fit into and expand upon in Part 3 instead.
By the way- "Hierophant" is here interepreted as"One who brings religion to others" (Greek: ta hiera, "the holy," and phainein, "to show."), but in terms of The Wheel, it's something like a personal hitman / bodyguard. All of the ranks in The Wheel's army are either direct religious positions or have religious connotations.
EPISODE 3: THE FIRST GATHERING PART 2
The guard fell flat on his back, the force of Landover’s blow breaking his nose and sending his crumpled form to the ground. The impact of body on floor sent out a surreal shockwave through the room, not only of sound, but of force. Books on a shelf shook and fell, papers slipped out from a folder and onto the floor. A vase tumbled, smashing into thousands, too many thousands of pieces. Landover turned, looking over his shoulder. The elevator had been sent down to a lower floor. Someone might be coming up to the penthouse shortly, so he would have to be quick. He removed his Hierophant’s pistol from its shoulder holster. Moving on, he floated onward into a long hallway, as if he were being pulled by an invisible force.
The hall made a turn to the right, and continued on for some time until ending in a closed, ornate door. Intricate geometric patterns, recalling the religious art of a past era, covered its entirety. The door blew open inwards, revealing a well-kept, stately office.
The traitor himself. The bastard traitor to the Wheel. While in his previous life he held a position of some stature to his lord, today he was not given the honour of a name. The traitor’s desk was filled with papers, all probably detailing his heinous acts, whatever they may be. In a direct insult to the nation, it was flanked by two flags of The Wheel. The area was well lit, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. An old styled grandfather clock stood against one wall, with the rest of the office equally reminding one of those of politicians or statesmen. The traitor himself sat, smug in his treachery, leaning back in his chair. Two suited men, more gorilla than human, flanked him.
“So he’s sent you, has he?” The traitor barked, smirking. “You still follow that old man? He’s insane, you know. I bet you don’t even know why you’re after me. He calls me a traitor! Hah! He’s farther gone than I am.”
Landover did not respond. As a Hierophant, Landover was pledged to defend his Lord’s honour whenever it was brought into question – but he knew the time for words was over. This conflict would be solved by other means.
One of the gorillas moved to draw his weapon, but Landover already had his at the ready. Lightning-quick, he aimed and fired, the Hierophant’s pistol launching a beam of superheated light at the man, casting a pale blue glow as it disintegrated skin, fat, bone, brain tissue, and then the same in reverse order. The gorilla dropped to his knees, his right arm still twitching towards his holster while his left moved to clutch at his forehead, his eyes dancing wildly inside his head. He collapsed forward, convulsing.
The remaining bodyguard had in the meantime drawn a dagger from within his suit, and was currently closing the distance between himself and Landover at a remarkable rate. Landover twisted to fire, but the ape was on top of him the next moment, tackling him to the ground. The pistol was flung from his hand as Landover concentrated entirely on preventing the bodyguard’s knife from entering his kidney. The ape roared as the traitor cackled behind his desk, amused at the spectacle. Landover attempted to knock the guard off with his right hand, but the gorilla saw it coming and held it down. His right arm pinned and his left using all his strength holding back the dagger bearing wrist, Landover kneed the guard, a sharp movement straight to the testicles, made possible by the gorilla’s large size in comparison to the Hierophant’s. The gorilla went somewhat limp, allowing Landover the freedom to twist slightly to the right and release the guard’s wrist from his grip. The bodyguard’s right arm (and the knife it it) fell downwards, harmlessly jutting into the floor.
Landover struck the guard across the face, then pushed him off. He rolled to the right, attempting to find where his pistol had fallen, but was forced to do a quick jump backwards. The gorilla had recovered remarkably quickly and had hopped forward, slashing with the knife. Landover hopped back twice more, avoiding two more slashes.
The traitor was still greatly interested in the fight, his eyes sparkling and his mouth curled upward in delight. The bodyguard and Landover were now pacing around each other in a circle, around and around. The grandfather clock struck four: deep, powerful noises. The guard lunged at Landover, his knife-arm outstretched. Landover nudged slightly to the right, then grabbed the guard’s arm just ahead of the elbow. Striking the guard with his free hand, Landover then smashed his caught arm with it, breaking the bone. The gorilla cried in pain, the knife dropping to the ground, landing with an unceremonious clatter. Releasing the now useless arm, Landover took the gorilla’s head in his hands and snapped it – a simple flick of the wrist. The body dropped.
The traitor was now leaning over his desks, eyes bulging and teeth gritted. The situation had changed much faster than he had expected it to. Landover calmly found, then picked up his pistol as the traitor fumbled to bring out a firearm from within his desk. By that time, however, the barrel of the Hierophant’s pistol was now aimed right between the traitor’s eyes. Sweat poured profusely from every pore in his face. Landover stood, and was silent.
“Y… you don’t know what you’re doing!” Yelped the traitor. “Killing me… it won’t accomplish anything! Your lord… the imbecile… don’t you see he’s lost it? He’s mad and if you follow him blindly like this than you’re twice as mad as he! Listen to me – don’t do this!”
Landover listened to the traitor’s impassioned blabbering, then pulled the trigger.
---
“Sir?”
Landover awoke.
“Sir, we’ve arrived.”
He rubbed his eyes. A marine was saying something, somewhere far away.
A dream of a memory – that’s what it was. His past returning to him through his subconscious. He thought about it some more. A dream, though, not a memory. The two, while overlapping, did not go hand in hand.
“Arrived where?” Landover asked.
“Sir.” Said the marine. “We’ve arrived at Ostra.”
No comments:
Post a Comment