A Knight Without Fear Or Blame, A story about a knight. But you don't find out he becomes a knight Options

[TheBrume]

The topic description was supposed to say: But you don't find out he becomes a knight until about a quarter of the way through.
And I was most disappointed to discover these forums do not cater to my favorite font. Plantagenet Cherokee

Well, I've decided to try my hand at fan fiction. I shall start my fan fiction career (the size of which will depend entirely on your first impressions of my first chapter) with a story which I've been playing around with in my head a while now.

'A Knight Without Fear or Blame' is the title. I think it was Khalid ibn al-Walid first said that or maybe it was Saladin. It was one of them, but I'm rambling now.
Anyway, this story will be about an Imperial from a certain village and he… well, I don't want to spoil the story for you. I plan on stretching it out for as long as possible without killing any entertainment value it has (I'll let you decide if it has any or not) across multiple paragraphs, chapters and acts (though I think 'act' is more of a term used in drama, rather than stories but I digress).
Also, the main character 'Lucius Andronicu' (kudos if you get the referance) originally started out as 'Titus Saepio.'

Oh, and I pride myself on my grammar, spelling. But, my keyboard seems to live in order to spite me so please point out any typos.

P.S Please bear in mind I am a complete amateur at writing anything creative, poetry, prose or whatever. So be kind. But not too kind. Just don't be merciless.

At that, let's get this show on the road.
I present to you, a poor excuse of a prologue and a better (I hope) excuse for a first chapter.

A Knight Without Fear Or Blame

Prologue:

It was a clear and cold evening. The last of the suns rays had long since disappeared in the west and the people of Grimdale Moor slept soundly in their beds, blissfully unaware of the approaching threat. From the west, an Orcish war band approached, their war chief was hungry for blood and loot. To a larger, better defended town, such a band would pose no threat whatsoever. But although Grimdale Moor was town of reasonable size, the local Knights of the Hour had left their chapterhouse and gone to fight in the King's Army, leaving only a small band of the weak, incompetent or those disliked by the chapter master behind to defend the town. Grimdale Moor was an easy target to any marauding warband.


Chapter One: A Night of Grief

Lucius Andronicus awoke with a start to the sound of steel clanging on steel, wood splintering, horses whinnying, fire roaring and people screaming. Orange flames illuminated his bedroom and smoke from his neighbours burning house seeped in through the window. He quickly rose from his bed and got himself dressed, fear overtook his nine year old mind, as he did so he could hear the clash of steel grow louder, accompanied by savage cries.
As the boy pulled on his dark green cloak, the noise stopped and a broad shouldered figure burst into his room, wielding a sword. Fear quickly overtook the boy, only for that fear to be washed away as orange flames illuminated his father's face. Lucius recognised the sword, it was a long, hand and a half sword. Steel, made from Wrothgarian iron, the best in Tamriel Father had always said. He had been mending the hilt for some Knight from Wayrest who didn't trust the smiths of that city. The pommel was the head of a bear, the seal of the untrusting knight's family.

"Lucius." He said simply, a look of relief on his face, the body of a great big green Orc lay behind him, it's face covered by Father's cloak. Lucius had seen dead bodies before, despite his young age of nine. Orcs often raided the village, but never in such great numbers, and there had always been soldiers of Wayrest garrisoning the village. But now the soldiers were no more, the King had drawn them away to fight some war with Daggerfall over some distant island. But boys of nine did not concern themselves with such things, boys of nine busied themselves with climbing trees, fishing, playing tricks on the local mages and playing games with other boys of nine.
"Come, we have to leave." He said, suddenly growing more anxious as more vicious war cries were heard.
"But where?" Lucius asked as he grabbed his sling and a small bag of smooth pebbles he had collected from the nearby stream.
"Chorrol." Father said sharply as he grabbed Titus' arm and dragged him from his room. "My brother stays there, he will take us in and I'm sure they have need of blacksmiths there." The house was a blur to Lucius as he was pulled through it. It was all he could do to keep his short legs moving at a pace that would not have him dragged along the hard wooden floors. From what he did see however, Father had killed at least two other Orcs judging from the large green hunks of flesh found by the door of the kitchen.

Upon reaching the small, two storied house's door, Father set Lucius down and drew his knightly honoured user sword again. "Stay close to me Titus. Don't run off and stay away from the flames, we make for the stables." The village had a stables on it's outskirts. Or rather, the Knight of the Hour chapterhouse had a stables and their Altmeri commander was good enough to allow the people of the village to stable their horses. For a small fee. So kind-hearted of him, particularly after the village's own stables had burned down in a suspicious fire and the stable hand had been murdered. Lucius had often heard such talk as the village women washed their clothing and linens at the lake while he and his friends played Kick the Mudcrab.

Father cautiously pulled the heavy Wrothgarian Pine door open and peered outside, Lucius caught a glimpse of a Legion Destrier, a man in bronze coloured Armour mounted atop it, slashing his sword at the Orcs who surrounded him and his steed, armed with swords, one or two with spears. They were kept at bay by the horseman's sword and the horse's hooves, it looked like more than one Orc had been foolish enough to move to the rear of the animal. The man was Samuel deBrume, the second in command of the Legion garrison at Oxvale Borough, to the south west. A kind man who was visiting the town for unknown reasons. He had often saved the villagers from extortion by the corrupt Order of the Hour, much to the chagrin of that order.

"Stay here, Lucius." His Father rushed to help the man, he slashed his sword across the back of the nearest Orc, attracting the attention of two others.
Lucius placed a smooth white stone in his sling and swung it around his head for a few moments before releasing it and sending the projectile hurtling towards a bulky Orc armed with a long halberd. The stone struck the Orc in the side of the head and sent the beast down to the ground, dead. An excellent shot.
Father said nothing about not using my sling.
He had never killed an Orc, though it didn't feel any different to killing a rabbit or that hawk.
All animals are the same anyway I suppose.

By the time Lucius had downed another two Orcs, the small skirmish was over and a total of twelve bodies lay at the feet of the warhorse. Thankfully, neither Titus' father nor Samuel deBrume was one of them.
"You have my thanks, Caius," Lucius had rarely heard his father called by his first name. Most called him 'Andronicus' or 'blacksmith'. Even Mother had called him 'darling' rather than Caius, "You should leave this village," the soldier looked to Lucius and smiled, though it was difficult to see in the dim light. "I shall escort you to the-" he was interrupted by war cries sounding the approach of yet more Orcs. "Go Caius, take your son, I shall deal with these beasts." At that, he was off, charging his bay Destrier into the green mass. Father wasted no time in heeding the man's words.
"Come Lucius!" He called, Lucius ran after him. Not even looking to see if the Legionary was still alive.

"You did well, son." He puffed as they approached the gates of the corral. The stable itself was burning and the horses were frightened by the flames, several had jumped over the fence and fled into the distance. Lysa, Father's white mare was still there however, being saddled by another villager.
"Hey! Stop! That's my horse," Father drew his sword and entered the pen.
"Try and stop me fool. I was here first." He in turn picked an axe from the ground and moved towards Father, crossing the corral and passing near the stable itself, there was a tremendous crash and part of the stable building came down on top of the man and those horses who were still stood too close. Lysa, thankfully was not one of them.
Wordlessly, Father mounted the horse and pulled Lucius up to sit in front of him. They galloped off on the road leading south-west. The flames of their former home illuminating their path.

Lucius said nothing, sobbing silently for all he had lost. He even thought he heard his father crying on a few occasions. But that was impossible, Father never cried, not when he hit his hand with a hammer while repairing the Chapel roof, not when he cut himself while working. Never.
But they had nothing. No clothes, no home, no food. Nothing but the shirts on their back, Lucius' sling, Father's sword and their horse. They would never reach Chorrol with what they had with them. They had to go to Wayrest

*******

Addendum (well, I think this is what an addendum is anyway): The story starts in the year 412 of the third era, late Sun's Dusk (November). There will be a date in every update from chapter eight onwards.


This post has been edited by TheBrume: Jan 31 2012, 09:43 PM

[TheBrume]

Acadian Thanks, I wasn't really sure that I had the right pace in that chapter.

Grits Well, let's just see.

Chapter Nine: Present From The Start
First Seed 3E 413

Lucius' eyes flicked open to the sound of somebody singing a song which he hadn't heard before. He could barely hear the words. His vision was hazy and his eyes hurt from the light. After a few moments, he opened his eyes just a little, he saw a plump woman with dark hair shuffling around the room within which he was lying on a rather comfortable bed. Upon closer inspection, the woman was a dark elf and she was the one who was singing, he could make out some of the lyrics.

What shall we do with Staff of Chaos?
What shall we do with Staff of Chaos?
What shall we do with Staff of Chaos,
When it is brought together?

Give it to a champion to save the Emperor,
Give it to a champion to save the Emperor,
Give it to a champion to save the Emperor,
Then he shall save our Empire!

Lucius tried to speak, in hopes of having the woman stop, but his words emerged as a hoarse croak, he found his throat was painfully dry. The woman did not have a bad voice, it was surprisingly deep, but Lucius didn't want to have to listen to her. She turned to look at him, she studied him for a moment, then burst into a wide smile.

Ho, ho and up he rises,
Ho, ho and up he rises,
Ho, ho and up he rises,
Early in the morning!

Lucius croaked again and the singing stopped. The woman kept smiling and ambled over to somewhere to Lucius' right, his eyes did not follow her. Instead, he scanned the room. It was quite warm and well lit, although plain. The walls were of a grey stone and the floors were a dark wood, clearly well walked upon.
His bed was a narrow thing, though wide enough for him to stretch his arms out a little, with cream coloured sheets. It was surprisingly comfortable. On his left was a shuttered window and a small brown chest of drawers. Ahead of him, Lucius could see some cabinets up against the wall. There was also a fireplace directly ahead of him, a nice fire was crackling away happily, no doubt it was the source of most of the heat and light. For the most part, the walls were unadorned except for a large black tapestry above the fireplace, emblazoned with a red dragon. The Imperial Dragon.
To Lucius' right, the woman was pouring a glass of water from a pewter flagon. A few feet behind her was the drab stone wall.

The woman was still smiling, occasionally she would let out a chuckle, it made Lucius feel quite uncomfortable, it was quite annoying. "Here you go Lucius." She said as she offered him the water, still smiling. He pushed himself into a sitting position with some difficulty. He was stiff and sore and, despite having apparently been unconscious for a few days, he felt tired. The woman helped him drink the clear, cool, refreshing water. He gulped it down eagerly and the cup was quickly emptied.

As the round woman was pouring a second cup, the door opened. "Lucius! You're awake." Argentil didn't sound particularly thrilled by the fact, he sounded mostly sad. "I… have some news for you. Bad news." Lucius braced himself for the blow. "Your father, Titus. He was lost at sea during the… wreck." The blow still hit Lucius hard. He didn't know what to say. The news didn't come as much of a surprise as would be expected, he had already known his only parent was dying, his racking cough had only gotten worse and he had had trouble standing on his bad leg, Lucius simply didn't want to acknowledge the fact. He wasn't surprised to find that he was crying either.

The mage began walking toward the bed. "I don't know if you recall but your father gave you a letter before he…" Argentil trailed off. "Here." He handed Lucius a leather satchel and withdrew back towards the door. Lucius simply sat and stared at the brown bag, tears running down his cheeks.

Eventually, slowly, he pulled a letter from the satchel. It did not look like it had been in the sea. "I had too rewrite it. The ink had run on the original." Argentil explained.
Lucius unfolded the paper. It read,

My son, Lucius.

I have long given up trying to convince myself that you would never read this. And though I'm sure you do not like it, you will have to finish this journey on your own. This journey began weeks ago, when the Orcs attacked, there is much I wish to tell you about the attack and the reasoning of the Orcs. Just know that the Orcs are not as they seem, do not hate them.

You must continue onwards to Chorrol. You won't be going alone however. Two men have agreed to accompany you, Argentil and Sir Hector. I once knew Hector, he was once a good friend to me and so he has agreed to escort you to Chorrol. I did not know the Altmer, but I trust him all the same. Be thankful to these two men Lucius, make sure you never forget what they have done for you.

I have not always been truthful to you Lucius, as you probably know, I am not a native of High Rock, you were told that I moved to High Rock to become a blacksmith and it is there I met your mother. This is a lie.
I feel as if you never truly knew me. For this I am sorry, but let me tell you who I am now.

I was born in Chorrol. My mother was a hand maid for the count, my father was a man-at-arms. One day, the count was attacked by bandits while out hunting. My father saved the count's life and was rewarded with a knighthood. Your uncle and I grew up to be squires in service to County Chorrol as part of the Knights of the Oak. You might remember your mother telling you stories about them, but it was so long ago. When we became knights your uncle and I… competed over you mother's affection. She was the daughter of a Baron, an overly proud man who thought we were unworthy for his daughter. When your mother began to show greater affection for me, your uncle grew jealous. He informed her father on us. We fled to High Rock. Your uncle followed us to Grimdale Moor and tried to kill me. I bested him in battle and sent him away. I have never spoken with him since, though I have learned that he as risen high in the ranks. I can only hope that he has forgiven me and will take you in.

I hope you will be brave for my passing and that you will live a long and happy life. Though I do not know what lies ahead for you, I still wish I could have been there to see it.

I must cut this letter short, there is much I have to say, but there is only so much ink and parchment on this ship I have but one more thing to tell you.
In Grimdale Moor, I hid a journal within a chest in the basement. It will explain everything, but do not seek it out until you are older. Even when you are fully grown, I would not blame you for forgetting all about it.

At the very bottom of the letter, Lucius' father had managed to squeeze in the words "I love you," before he had run out of space.

Lucius allowed the letter to fall down to his lap. He didn't want to touch it anymore, like it was the stove in the kitchen of Lucius' old home. Father had always warned him not to touch the stove. But, as the priest of Stendarr in the village said, "Curiosity killed the Khajit." He longed to be in his village once more, to touch the hot stove again and be scolded (both by the stove and by father) for it. He wanted to walk through the village's dirty disorderly streets between the jumbled buildings again. But he couldn't. He could touch any old stove and walk through any old street, but not his stove and street. Everything in Grimdale Moor was gone. Everyone too. The priest of Stendarr, all the mages, the secret necromancer who used to give Lucius apples in exchange for his silence, the weavers, the adventurers, the fletchers, the farmers, the shepherds and the hunters. Even father.


This post has been edited by TheBrume: Feb 2 2012, 09:42 PM