Brood: Hello all and welcome to my second large story, "The Castle of the
Shadow Games."
Zutsokaki: Run while you still can!
Brood: Ahh, for you who don't know him, this is Zutsokaki, my co-host and takes the term "SIDEKICK" to a whole new level.
Zutsokaki: Hurry! Go! Before the story starts!!!
Brood: *sighs and clicks "post"* Enjoy! Myotsimon13, this one's for you, baby!
CHAPTER ONE
~*~
Long ago, in Ancient Egypt, items of great power were forged. But you know of that tale already, of the great battles and the courageous Pharoah that saved the world by sacrificing himself.
The Millennium Items, believed lost, and holding more than one ancient spirt within their golden walls, lay dormant for many years.
Tales of the power they weilded, however, pressed onwards through time.
Future generations of Egyptians, long since conquered and reconquered by offending nations, listened to these tales with bated breath....Macedonians caught wind of these tales and hardly dared dream such power be hidden somewhere in that Nile land of gold and gods, and Alexander the Great himself led an expedition to wield this power, but to no avail.
Once the Queen Pharoah Cleopatra, last of the Ptolemies and last Pharoah was dead, the new owners of Egypt, the Roman Empire took these tales and debated them. Some believed it old Egyptian superstition. Who was to believe a tale three thousand years old? But others said that these items and their power may have been the reason for the long prosperity of their land. A half-hearted expedition was launched, but once again, circumstances were not in their favor.
As time passed and power passed from one nation to another, empires fell and rose, and new orders sprang up. These tales, now twisted with time and retelling, were nearly lost as there were few left who dared to remember.
The year was now 1343 A.D, and our focus now turns far north of Egypt and it's occupiers.
~*~
A travelling minstrel stood in the torn, yet somehow peaceful city of Constantinople. This city was basically all that was left of the Byzantine Empire, and was currently, and had been for a while, under off and on again attacks by the Ottoman Turks.
And he had journeyed this far, through the countless dangers, from his Mother Land of England, just to hear a story.
He pulled his battered and moldy travelling cloak around his face and body a bit tighter as the night settled in. Once he had convinced the guards he wasn't a Turk spy, he wanted to look for the person who could tell him this story. But the realization that he was in the city that he had strived to come to had settled in with the night, and he knew that part of his quest was over, and subsequently, he felt more weary than he had in a long time.
The man tugged on the rope that was attached to the muzzle and neck of a weary and small horse and together they trudged along into the darkening streets. People were leaving markets and disappearing into pubs or side streets, making their way to huts or homes.
Soon enough, he came to a pub that looked slightly quieter than the usual loud pubs, and tied his horse up on a pole, and walked inside.
His entrance was inconspicuous enough, striding through the small groups of drinkers and singers, gossipers and traders, and the occasonal bar wench or waitress. He stopped at the front counter and waited to be recognized by the bartender.
The bartender paused and studied him when he did finally notice the traveller.
"An englishman. I recognize your people on sight. What brings ye to this falling city?," the bartender said in accented english.
"Travel and leisure my good friend, simply some leisure time. Hoping to hear a few good histories and songs of this city on my stay...."
"Ye sure chose a hell of a time to visit our city. Ye must be a desperate man for a story indeed if that's all you're here for."
"Just curious my good man, simply curious. Do you have lodging for a weary traveller this eve?"
"I haves me one good room and one worse. Depends on yer money."
The minstrel showed him enough money for a simple room, and was led to it by a busty blonde in a low cut corseted garb (Obviously trying to make a few extra coins for the night), and he threw his cloak on the chest beside the low bed, paid the girl to feed and water the horse, and fell over onto the bed for the night.
In the morning, collected his things, washed up and paid for a large roll and a mug of ale to wake him up. Then he took his horse and began his inquiries.
"Do you know of any storytellers around here?"
He was met with many different responses.
"Stories!? These days?"
"You're a few coins short of a purse, young man."
"Why are you interested in a story right now?"
"Ah'll tell ya a story if ya buy me a pint o' ale, m'boy!"
By the time it was mid-afternoon, he was beginning to feel a bit perturbed. He, as a minstrel to the King of England himself, had always been interested in tales. Then he heard a whisper among old men that people in these regions knew a great tale of the lost lands of Egypt, where great tombs that reached to the sky, and awesome cat statues lay in the sun. Never before these whispers had he ever felt such a great need. He knew that he had to hear these tales, for never before had anyone in his guild heard any such oddity.
And he needed a vacation. The constant warring between England and the Franks was really tearing apart his home, and had already lost an older brother to the war. Of course, when he got closer to Constantinople, he realized that the last of the Byzantines weren't faring much better.
Finally though, it seemed that the Lord had decided to reward the minstrel for his odd efforts.
"Pardon me, kind lady, but could you please tell me of any bards or storytellers here in this city of yours?" He had stopped an old woman, her hair gray and frazzled, sticking out in clumps from under her excuse for a shawl. Her nose was crooked and fairly long, she sneered at the young man.
"Bards? Storytellers? I only know of one such person, and he is my grandson. He was taught many mysterious tales by his father, my son- in-law...." She gave off the very aura of creepyness, but the minstrel could forget that.
It suddenly felt as if the weight of his own horse was off of his back. "Good, good lady, can you please take me to your grandson? I am a travelling minstrel...."
"Yes yes yes, I figured that. Come with me, but be warned, he won't simply tell these tales for other minstrels to use."
"Does he know any of forgotten lands or mysterious powers?" Those were the main whispers of the old men in the dark corners of England. This was what he was after.
"Why, I think he knows one......"
After saying that, the crone fell silent. They walked along the populated streets, most making way for them due to the horse. After about ten slow minutes, they stopped outside of a small and shabby hut. The old woman opened the door and motioned for the man to tie up his horse and come inside. He did so, and stepped into the dark and dingy room.
Following her farther, he came to a dinner table, made shoddily and encircled by four equally shoddy stools. There was a single loaf of bread in the center of the table, and the man's stomach growled as he realized he had had nothing since breakfast that morning.
"Grandson! Come in to see your Granny!!"
A young man's voice called back from the back of the hut. "Grandmother? You're back from running errands early..." A teen boy with long blonde hair and a dirty face and tunic walked out from what only could be the bedroom of the house. He immediately noticed the stranger standing next to his grandmother. "Did you bring a guest for us, Grandmother?"
"Why yes my boy, I did. He has traveled a long way for an oddly simple purpose, and I think you should indulge the man."
"Me? What can I do?" His brown eyes narrowed in confusion, and he sat down in a stool, grabbing for the bread.
"NOT until dinner, boy!! Honestly, no brain in that head of yours, just like your father...."
"Sorry Grandmother......" He tilted his head downwards, blonde hair falling into his face.
"Now boy, he wants to hear your stories."
At this, the young teen's head shot up. "My stories!? You mean the one of the games?"
"I would suppose that would be the one, sonny."
At this, the minstrel spoke out of confusion. "Wait....I heard that he knew stories of mystery and of forgotten times and power!"
The old woman looked at him. "You'll see where games come into this."
The young man looked him up and down. "Why do you want to hear these stories, englishman?"
So he was pegged as english even by a young teen. Oh well. "I am a minstrel for the King of England, and master of tales. I heard old men speaking back in my mother land of these tales that you seem to know, and for some reason, I knew that I had to come and hear these. Could you tell them to me?"
The young man stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know if I should, but I'm urged to as I haven't told them in such a long time."
The minstrel held his breath.
".............I've decided. I'll tell you my story. I was told this by my father, and he told me that every word was true. You may not believe it or not, but he said it was all true, and most of it IS unbelieveable."
The minstrel broke out into a great grin. "Thank you good boy. Pray tell, may I have your name before you begin?" He sat down in the stool across from the boy.
"Why yes, certainly. My name is Joseph Wheelman."
~*~
Brood: Wheee!! Three guesses as to who the kid is!!
Zutsokaki: Weeeelll....I could NEVER guess at all!!!
Brood: I thought so. Everyone review nicely for me please and tell me how you liked it! More familiar faces coming soon! I'll be using dub names for just about everyone, since nobody in this is going to be living in Japan, so NYAH! LOL! I hope you all liked this, more soon!!!
Zutsokaki: Run while you still can!
Brood: Ahh, for you who don't know him, this is Zutsokaki, my co-host and takes the term "SIDEKICK" to a whole new level.
Zutsokaki: Hurry! Go! Before the story starts!!!
Brood: *sighs and clicks "post"* Enjoy! Myotsimon13, this one's for you, baby!
CHAPTER ONE
~*~
Long ago, in Ancient Egypt, items of great power were forged. But you know of that tale already, of the great battles and the courageous Pharoah that saved the world by sacrificing himself.
The Millennium Items, believed lost, and holding more than one ancient spirt within their golden walls, lay dormant for many years.
Tales of the power they weilded, however, pressed onwards through time.
Future generations of Egyptians, long since conquered and reconquered by offending nations, listened to these tales with bated breath....Macedonians caught wind of these tales and hardly dared dream such power be hidden somewhere in that Nile land of gold and gods, and Alexander the Great himself led an expedition to wield this power, but to no avail.
Once the Queen Pharoah Cleopatra, last of the Ptolemies and last Pharoah was dead, the new owners of Egypt, the Roman Empire took these tales and debated them. Some believed it old Egyptian superstition. Who was to believe a tale three thousand years old? But others said that these items and their power may have been the reason for the long prosperity of their land. A half-hearted expedition was launched, but once again, circumstances were not in their favor.
As time passed and power passed from one nation to another, empires fell and rose, and new orders sprang up. These tales, now twisted with time and retelling, were nearly lost as there were few left who dared to remember.
The year was now 1343 A.D, and our focus now turns far north of Egypt and it's occupiers.
~*~
A travelling minstrel stood in the torn, yet somehow peaceful city of Constantinople. This city was basically all that was left of the Byzantine Empire, and was currently, and had been for a while, under off and on again attacks by the Ottoman Turks.
And he had journeyed this far, through the countless dangers, from his Mother Land of England, just to hear a story.
He pulled his battered and moldy travelling cloak around his face and body a bit tighter as the night settled in. Once he had convinced the guards he wasn't a Turk spy, he wanted to look for the person who could tell him this story. But the realization that he was in the city that he had strived to come to had settled in with the night, and he knew that part of his quest was over, and subsequently, he felt more weary than he had in a long time.
The man tugged on the rope that was attached to the muzzle and neck of a weary and small horse and together they trudged along into the darkening streets. People were leaving markets and disappearing into pubs or side streets, making their way to huts or homes.
Soon enough, he came to a pub that looked slightly quieter than the usual loud pubs, and tied his horse up on a pole, and walked inside.
His entrance was inconspicuous enough, striding through the small groups of drinkers and singers, gossipers and traders, and the occasonal bar wench or waitress. He stopped at the front counter and waited to be recognized by the bartender.
The bartender paused and studied him when he did finally notice the traveller.
"An englishman. I recognize your people on sight. What brings ye to this falling city?," the bartender said in accented english.
"Travel and leisure my good friend, simply some leisure time. Hoping to hear a few good histories and songs of this city on my stay...."
"Ye sure chose a hell of a time to visit our city. Ye must be a desperate man for a story indeed if that's all you're here for."
"Just curious my good man, simply curious. Do you have lodging for a weary traveller this eve?"
"I haves me one good room and one worse. Depends on yer money."
The minstrel showed him enough money for a simple room, and was led to it by a busty blonde in a low cut corseted garb (Obviously trying to make a few extra coins for the night), and he threw his cloak on the chest beside the low bed, paid the girl to feed and water the horse, and fell over onto the bed for the night.
In the morning, collected his things, washed up and paid for a large roll and a mug of ale to wake him up. Then he took his horse and began his inquiries.
"Do you know of any storytellers around here?"
He was met with many different responses.
"Stories!? These days?"
"You're a few coins short of a purse, young man."
"Why are you interested in a story right now?"
"Ah'll tell ya a story if ya buy me a pint o' ale, m'boy!"
By the time it was mid-afternoon, he was beginning to feel a bit perturbed. He, as a minstrel to the King of England himself, had always been interested in tales. Then he heard a whisper among old men that people in these regions knew a great tale of the lost lands of Egypt, where great tombs that reached to the sky, and awesome cat statues lay in the sun. Never before these whispers had he ever felt such a great need. He knew that he had to hear these tales, for never before had anyone in his guild heard any such oddity.
And he needed a vacation. The constant warring between England and the Franks was really tearing apart his home, and had already lost an older brother to the war. Of course, when he got closer to Constantinople, he realized that the last of the Byzantines weren't faring much better.
Finally though, it seemed that the Lord had decided to reward the minstrel for his odd efforts.
"Pardon me, kind lady, but could you please tell me of any bards or storytellers here in this city of yours?" He had stopped an old woman, her hair gray and frazzled, sticking out in clumps from under her excuse for a shawl. Her nose was crooked and fairly long, she sneered at the young man.
"Bards? Storytellers? I only know of one such person, and he is my grandson. He was taught many mysterious tales by his father, my son- in-law...." She gave off the very aura of creepyness, but the minstrel could forget that.
It suddenly felt as if the weight of his own horse was off of his back. "Good, good lady, can you please take me to your grandson? I am a travelling minstrel...."
"Yes yes yes, I figured that. Come with me, but be warned, he won't simply tell these tales for other minstrels to use."
"Does he know any of forgotten lands or mysterious powers?" Those were the main whispers of the old men in the dark corners of England. This was what he was after.
"Why, I think he knows one......"
After saying that, the crone fell silent. They walked along the populated streets, most making way for them due to the horse. After about ten slow minutes, they stopped outside of a small and shabby hut. The old woman opened the door and motioned for the man to tie up his horse and come inside. He did so, and stepped into the dark and dingy room.
Following her farther, he came to a dinner table, made shoddily and encircled by four equally shoddy stools. There was a single loaf of bread in the center of the table, and the man's stomach growled as he realized he had had nothing since breakfast that morning.
"Grandson! Come in to see your Granny!!"
A young man's voice called back from the back of the hut. "Grandmother? You're back from running errands early..." A teen boy with long blonde hair and a dirty face and tunic walked out from what only could be the bedroom of the house. He immediately noticed the stranger standing next to his grandmother. "Did you bring a guest for us, Grandmother?"
"Why yes my boy, I did. He has traveled a long way for an oddly simple purpose, and I think you should indulge the man."
"Me? What can I do?" His brown eyes narrowed in confusion, and he sat down in a stool, grabbing for the bread.
"NOT until dinner, boy!! Honestly, no brain in that head of yours, just like your father...."
"Sorry Grandmother......" He tilted his head downwards, blonde hair falling into his face.
"Now boy, he wants to hear your stories."
At this, the young teen's head shot up. "My stories!? You mean the one of the games?"
"I would suppose that would be the one, sonny."
At this, the minstrel spoke out of confusion. "Wait....I heard that he knew stories of mystery and of forgotten times and power!"
The old woman looked at him. "You'll see where games come into this."
The young man looked him up and down. "Why do you want to hear these stories, englishman?"
So he was pegged as english even by a young teen. Oh well. "I am a minstrel for the King of England, and master of tales. I heard old men speaking back in my mother land of these tales that you seem to know, and for some reason, I knew that I had to come and hear these. Could you tell them to me?"
The young man stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know if I should, but I'm urged to as I haven't told them in such a long time."
The minstrel held his breath.
".............I've decided. I'll tell you my story. I was told this by my father, and he told me that every word was true. You may not believe it or not, but he said it was all true, and most of it IS unbelieveable."
The minstrel broke out into a great grin. "Thank you good boy. Pray tell, may I have your name before you begin?" He sat down in the stool across from the boy.
"Why yes, certainly. My name is Joseph Wheelman."
~*~
Brood: Wheee!! Three guesses as to who the kid is!!
Zutsokaki: Weeeelll....I could NEVER guess at all!!!
Brood: I thought so. Everyone review nicely for me please and tell me how you liked it! More familiar faces coming soon! I'll be using dub names for just about everyone, since nobody in this is going to be living in Japan, so NYAH! LOL! I hope you all liked this, more soon!!!