RAGNAROK: STAND IN LINE
By: MiNZ SydeFX
Disclaimer: I do not own Ragnarok Online.
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Prologue: The Downfall of Sucsamad
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Blacksmith Androch Forlorn awoke slowly to an unfamiliar territory. Dazed, he surveyed the area around him. He wondered where he was. The air reeked strongly of decaying flesh.
Realization swept over him. He was inside the infamous Orc Dungeon.
His thoughts whirled, struggling to recall what happened earlier. He felt his cheek throbbed in protest. All he remembered was the vicious blows that repeatedly rained down his body.
The world crashed around him as he heard footsteps. He glanced up to see Orc Lord, with eight of his men, ambling towards him. The rotund orc leader grabbed him roughly by the hair.
"How do you wake the dancer?" The dungeon boss demanded gruffly.
Androch cringed. His breath was sickeningly warm on his face. He painfully shook his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The green beast sneered. "Blacksmith of Sucsamad," he roared. "I'm warning you. Your life depends on your next answer."
With a wave of his hand, the orc archers aimed their arrows toward Androch.
"I suggest you answer truthfully." He gestured to his minions. "Or I'll assure your death."
For a while, the blacksmith felt his brain freezing. He did not want to believe that his life would end like this. Driven by purpose, every action he pursued was deemed worthwhile. He had noble plans – to forge better weapons, to further serve his guild and country and to spend more time with his family and friends. He had no intention of leaving this world just yet.
But if he would choose to live, and give in to Orc Lord's demand, then the lives of his comrades would go to waste.
He cannot possibly live with that. His conscience would not allow him.
Death has its own purpose, he thought. And if the same purpose would uphold everything he had worked so hard to achieve, so be it.
Androch faced the orc leader with new found determination emanating from his eyes. The orcs will learn nothing from him. That he promised.
"Sleep tight, dancer Prissy Éclair," he whispered to himself. "Your secrets are safe."
Beside him, Orc Lord was dumbfounded. He swore he saw the blacksmith's lips move. He tugged at his hair carelessly.
"Could you repeat that?"
Androch grinned. He would play him for a fool if it was the last thing he did.
"I said," he paused mischievously, smirking wider. He drew his middle finger up to his face.
"GO TO HELL ASSHOLE!"
Expectedly, Orc Lord did not find his sudden outrage amusing. The latter gnashed his teeth and clenched his fist. He glared at him, then to his minions. Androch could only wonder if death from arrows would be quick. Suddenly, his mind willed itself to remind him of his passing life. Unforgettable scenes of his existence flashed vividly before him, reminding him that although he had not lived life long enough, his stay on this world had been meaningful. He had etched to his family, friends, weapons, guild and city everlasting pride countless of times.
Today was one of those times – and his last.
In a moment, the familiar sound of arrows being released echoed in the dungeon.
And thousands of miles away, someone's sword cracked.
A/N: Yay! There goes my first Ragnarok fic! So, how did you find the prologue? Comments and suggestions are most welcome.
REVIEW PLEASE!
By: MiNZ SydeFX
Disclaimer: I do not own Ragnarok Online.
= - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = -
Prologue: The Downfall of Sucsamad
= - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = -
Blacksmith Androch Forlorn awoke slowly to an unfamiliar territory. Dazed, he surveyed the area around him. He wondered where he was. The air reeked strongly of decaying flesh.
Realization swept over him. He was inside the infamous Orc Dungeon.
His thoughts whirled, struggling to recall what happened earlier. He felt his cheek throbbed in protest. All he remembered was the vicious blows that repeatedly rained down his body.
The world crashed around him as he heard footsteps. He glanced up to see Orc Lord, with eight of his men, ambling towards him. The rotund orc leader grabbed him roughly by the hair.
"How do you wake the dancer?" The dungeon boss demanded gruffly.
Androch cringed. His breath was sickeningly warm on his face. He painfully shook his head.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The green beast sneered. "Blacksmith of Sucsamad," he roared. "I'm warning you. Your life depends on your next answer."
With a wave of his hand, the orc archers aimed their arrows toward Androch.
"I suggest you answer truthfully." He gestured to his minions. "Or I'll assure your death."
For a while, the blacksmith felt his brain freezing. He did not want to believe that his life would end like this. Driven by purpose, every action he pursued was deemed worthwhile. He had noble plans – to forge better weapons, to further serve his guild and country and to spend more time with his family and friends. He had no intention of leaving this world just yet.
But if he would choose to live, and give in to Orc Lord's demand, then the lives of his comrades would go to waste.
He cannot possibly live with that. His conscience would not allow him.
Death has its own purpose, he thought. And if the same purpose would uphold everything he had worked so hard to achieve, so be it.
Androch faced the orc leader with new found determination emanating from his eyes. The orcs will learn nothing from him. That he promised.
"Sleep tight, dancer Prissy Éclair," he whispered to himself. "Your secrets are safe."
Beside him, Orc Lord was dumbfounded. He swore he saw the blacksmith's lips move. He tugged at his hair carelessly.
"Could you repeat that?"
Androch grinned. He would play him for a fool if it was the last thing he did.
"I said," he paused mischievously, smirking wider. He drew his middle finger up to his face.
"GO TO HELL ASSHOLE!"
Expectedly, Orc Lord did not find his sudden outrage amusing. The latter gnashed his teeth and clenched his fist. He glared at him, then to his minions. Androch could only wonder if death from arrows would be quick. Suddenly, his mind willed itself to remind him of his passing life. Unforgettable scenes of his existence flashed vividly before him, reminding him that although he had not lived life long enough, his stay on this world had been meaningful. He had etched to his family, friends, weapons, guild and city everlasting pride countless of times.
Today was one of those times – and his last.
In a moment, the familiar sound of arrows being released echoed in the dungeon.
And thousands of miles away, someone's sword cracked.
A/N: Yay! There goes my first Ragnarok fic! So, how did you find the prologue? Comments and suggestions are most welcome.
REVIEW PLEASE!