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OOC: This piece will be split up into parts, as I, as the author, believe that keeping such a set of information to take in and IC knowledge to learn about certain characters and events should be arrayed across different parts, in order to retain an easier form of reading, and hopefully interest.
I have also been messaged by a few people who have complained that my use of the English grammar is wrong, and many of my complicated (By purpose) sentences don’t make sense. In my style and form of writings, I prefer for things to be as such - With many hyphens, and dashes as some call them, and commas, rather than keeping pieces overly-simple. While I do understand that it is important to use a mixture of such-complicated sentences and phrases, and simpler sentences and phrases - This is genuinely my preferred style of writing, and I hope it would not be taken as an offence, for me to say that I try my best to keep my pieces as fun for me to write, as I would hope they are read. Though, it is worth stating that I have taken the constructive criticism, hopefully - it would seem, well and am seeking to further improve the way that I write such works, and create simpler, easier to read and understand pieces in the near future. All criticism is welcome, as long as it is constructive (As I have received so far, and would like to thank those who have noted me on such points).
END OF OOC
A Duel in the Maze,
Part One.
A sword, of great length and width - Nigh the very size of the man who wielded it, of whom himself was taller than the average man, was at the chest of a thinner, more slender body beneath it. A gruff sound was heard, one that could resemble that of a man trying to speak through many layers of sweat, and the muffled helmet that he wore, of which - If one were keen eared - could resemble that of a full-plate helm with naught for vision except two tenderly-crafted slits, which were less than a single inch thick, and two inches tall. The sound itself was a voice, a rough, pain-hewn voice - One that not only possessed a tired feeling - But may also inflict that weariness onto those who would be cursed enough to hear it, 'Well. Well, well! Indeed -', a pause and a sudden, and rather strong, array of breathing began - It sounded like the very fanatics that had stopped to watch, and thus stayed to watch, the events that occurred; Like hooting, roaring, but it was definitely breathing - One could tell, the voice was tired, starved of air. '-- Ugh, indeed, this is a mighty find... So fast, so foolish, and so... Weak.', at this - The great-sword was pressed down, in a thrusting motion, strange as it was to note how awkward it must be to hold a sword nigh your own size, a tremendous size, facing downwards upon a limp body beneath it. It was pressed enough to send pain rippling through the body on the ground, but not enough to pierce through what little protection that said-body had, a cloth shirt. Suddenly the voice sounded less tired, and more mocking, one could tell that a grimace was on the very face that the voice emanated from, under the helmet, 'Now... I believe it is due time to put an end to this, once and for all... Die now.', as simply and bluntly as those words had been said - The actions after, had taken place. A sudden scream, one ragged and full of pain - As blood began to pool about the body on the ground, and shrieks were heard in the crowds that watched...
But that is of a later date. It began, much earlier - On a Monday, nigh three weeks ago, should one base that from the morrow of that day - four weeks, it was mid-day and the sun was high in the sky, boasting it's grandness for all the world to see. In a, rather tight, house - Of sorts, depending on one's definition, though this was most definitely -not- a "home" but rather a "house"; A small, damp dwelling that occurred to be under the ground. This "house" was clearly well-kept, well-kept in the sense that, though under-the-ground, and not very cleanable, it had been a tight place. Which meant well-kept, in the mind of it's owner, of whom was Hidharan Alkfreith. Haran had quite the revolutionary mind for changes and alterations to the normalities of society, to one person - The hobbling hole that Haran dwelt in, full of all it's pests and with a lack of space, was to Haran: A grand house, not home to be clear, of which would be a haven, of sorts, to any who could fit within it's tight walls. To a "normal" person of society, in Bree-Town, what might be a "home" and a "house", were to Haran: A place you want to be in, and a place you're forced to be in. To the "average" man, or woman, or child, or elder, whom walked the streets above his house, not home -again, coin and gold. To Haran: Foolish and Idiocy. But indeed, this place was well-kept, in his mind, and thus, as he saw it, it was - Whatever others may think, or say, let them think and say it. He cared more about what he thought. What he said.
In that house, not home, there lived an unimaginable amount, of which held a great deal of facts that would bolster the impossibility of it. There lived twenty-eight, in Haran's house, not his home - Not his underground un-kept space - His house.
Reoderric, the eldest after Haran, was, is, twenty-eight years of age. A number that matched that of the population, in this house, not home, house, had kept a muscular stature, he had no beard, and his bushy hair was short, and ginger, while his eyes were green - A pale green, nigh close to a strange colorless color of which we know not, his voice was often heard, invited or not, and it usually carried an odd sound with it - Powerful and unforgiving, yet painful and remembering. He was a short man, of only five foot one, and, through his ego-ridden personality, he deemed himself to be of the strongest-build, Aefger, through his comic personality, deemed it to be of the shoddiest-build.
Aefger was, but three months younger than Reoderric, and had also seen twenty-eight name-days, he was of an average height, being five foot seven, and he kept, unlike Reoderric, a beard. Though a shaven-one, of a goatee style. It shared the color of his long, unkempt, hair - A peculiar reddened brown, like that of heartwood, or perhaps a light chestnut mixed with a pale red... His eyes were also green, yet brighter and more contrasting than Reoderrics - Far more saturated and noticeable, they were of a pitch-green, blatant to the sight of others. Aefger's eyes were perhaps the brightest eye's of all those that stayed in this house, not home, house.
Yet, there was always a glimmer to be found in the eyes of the others whom stayed at this house, in this house, not home, house; Such as the eyes of Jorric, who's eyes always had a faint, yet keen, glimmer of laughter - A look that was shared with by his face, though gaunt and jolted with, regarded as a curse by himself, rather pointed cheekbones and a thin jaw, his face perhaps resembled closer to a skull... But there was still a great deal of joy to be found in his face, slightly strange and sickening to the soul - But that sickness would soon be cured when his voice was heard, a grand voice - One that people would be accounted on being worthy of, Jorric was a singer, untrained, but he could sing many songs - From the drunken songs of his, to those of slower and more meaningful vocals and words, and thus those who would stay in Haran's house, not home, house, would take it as a mission to listen to one of Jorric's songs or chants, and an accomplishment to have done so... Jorric was twenty-four, and the younger brother, by blood, to Vangen. Vangen shared the same facial features of Jorric, and was only three years older - His voice, was much different however, much, much different. He held, rather kept, no voice, not anymore atleast - While his brother could swear that Vangen was once a singer, as the like of Jorric, he was now, but a mute.
To be a mute, was, is, rather an intriguing thing. While you pay with lacking one thing others keep, you are yet still paying - And are gifted with something most people would lack, humility. To understand when you are wrong, to comprehend the in-comprehendible, by normal means, and to know when you should flee to fight another day, instead of dying to be remembered another day. Vangen had, however, something else that the majority of the others in Haran's house, not home, house, did not. Infact, some may spark to state that it was something that the majority of the others in Bree did lack.
Vangen could read.
Vangen could write.
Being completely literate, and quite articulated with his words, after his apparent loss of a tongue, the twenty-seven name-day man, still ripe with youth, could, and would, write poetic pieces, and stories of different myths and fantasies. It was often the sound, commonly barred by some form of curses from the voice of Reoderric, that filled Haran's House, not home, house - The reading of such a legend, or poem from Vangen's own hand, printed on paper and still wet with ink.
'Death is darkness. And darkness is life.', repeated again and again, and again, by a certain figure - Tall, commonly draped in black leathers and a cloak that could send strange thoughts into the minds of curious wonderers, as it resembled a raven, the hood of which had been "beaked" as it blocked the grim person's face. 'Death is darkness. And Darkness is life.', the voice would come, often, and constantly, from the tall figure. One of which was strangely slender, agile, yet at the same time - Was the great height of 6 foot five. This one, was called Garrithan. Though his age unknown, as most would fear even to talk to him, one could strike a guess that certain hardships have aged him past his name-day, and that he looked older than one of his winters would. 'Death is darkness. And Darkness if life.', the words were strange and ominous, though they were words, words that were constructed by a strong voice, one that could strike fear into "lesser" people's hearts, "lesser" hear meaning lesser in a person will against fear and the like.
Hidharan never liked to deem one person lesser, or greater than another. 'Equality in death, and thus equality in life...' he used to say, and still does - At that, '… And so - If any of you, deem yourselves lesser than another here, or greater - Then you may leave. Pack your things and leave with all due haste, for every sword, and spear, and mace, and knife here will be at your back.', he had once said after addressing a fight that had broke out between Reoderric and Beogrunth.
Beogrunth, an interesting name - And should one be as interpretted into a generalized society, as Hidharan had been, they may think that the name "Beogrunth" would be the name of a large, ugly, yet fierce man. Whom possessed a great strength, like that of a giant - Whom never spoke much.
Yet, should one understand how false that society could be, is being, as Haran - They may, would rather, know that the name "Beogrunth" belonged to a small, average-looking, yet weak man. Whom possessed a great pettiness, like that of an ant - Whom spoke much. Far too much. Beogrunth was a striking youth of sixteen, he had never seen a person die, and had never lifted a weapon, or a book, or anything for that matter. Should Haran be in the mood for "honesty", he would say that Beogrunth had many uses, but should he be in the mood for true-honesty, untainted, untwisted, then he would, rightly so, say Beogrunth had but one use, speaking. Beogrunth's voice was uninteresting, and could bore a man to death, faster that an axe, and this Talking of his, was useful - It could be used to gain the gossip, of late, and the general conversations would be entered, and thus passed onto Falledric. Falledric was an esteemed boy of eighteen, named the youngest, through his petty and immature actions, yet he wasn’t the youngest by age, whom acted as a steward for Haran, in that he helped him read letters, and tended to his need, a 'Glorified servant', as called by Garrithan when he wasn’t repeating: 'Death is darkness. And Darkness is life.'; But, unknown to most of the other inhabitants of Haran's House, not Home, House, Falledric was infact entrusted with controlling certain aspects of Haran's House, not Home, House, such as his office in the spy-master field. Where he shared secret knowledge, learnt by different means, with Haran...
