This is finally getting started, and it's quite different from what it was before. This was actually very easy to write; usually I have to fight for this kind of chapter length. 3 pages is usually my limit, but this is 5 pages, or there abouts. Considerably better than usual. Originally, the Sparrow of this story was a tomboyish woman, but after sitting in my head for awhile, Sparrow became a rather Lupin-y acting man. Lupin is my favorite character in Harry Potter, and when I imagine Sparrow talking, I hear David Thewlis. A chapter going this fast is usually a good omen. I hope I can keep this up.
The sun beat down on Bowerstone, and the residents were steaming. The once lively place was now slowing under the unbearable heat; children didn't play in the streets; parents moved as little as possible. Vegetables spoiled in the heat, cheese smelled horrific and beer became too hot to drink. It hadn't rained in weeks, and the residents of Bowerstone were beginning to worry.
A few miles away from the town, in the region of Bower Lake, in the forest just off the trail to the Gypsy Camp, on the porch of a small shack, a man sat in a chair, dying. Or at least, he thought he was.
His light brown hair was matted with sweat, streaked with grey, and tied back into a tail. His young face prematurely lined and pale. He was thin and somewhat sickly looking, though his clothes, however light, hid ropy muscles. A sword that had beautiful rainbow shimmers running up and down it and an ornate crossbow lay close to his chair, and while his position was somewhat awkward and his eyes were closed, his hand occasionally twitched towards his weapons, as though itching to use them.
"In the name of the Light, Blanca," he muttered to his dog, which was lying next to the chair, whining pitifully. The great golden mutt seemed even more miserable than his master, covered as he was in fur. His master flung his arm over his eyes, tired. Even if a Game Master came to collect right now, Sparrow wouldn't be able to get up. He'd just sit and stew. "It's like the world turned into a Samarkandian sauna." The dog barked lazily. "Pity there's not a frost spell I could use."
The man stopped and looked up at sound of footsteps came from down the trail, and with a sigh, Sparrow picked up his crossbow and got it ready.
A rotund man in clashing colors was coming up the trail, looking winded and peeved. Sparrow smirked.
"Hero!" The Game Master gasped. "I know you live here to get away from me!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Horace." Sparrow said pleasantly. Horace eyed the crossbow wearily.
"You owe me nearly one hundred thousand gold, Sparrow," the Game Master said.
"Really?" Sparrow asked with benign interest.
"Yes, actually."
"I had no idea. Unfortunately, I'm not really in a position to pay you back right now."
"And when will you be in a position to pay me back?" The Game Master asked angrily.
"I don't know." Sparrow said. "I honestly thought that saving the world was sufficient to pay off debts."
"It most certainly is not!" Horace snapped. "Not when you owe nearly-"
"One hundred thousand gold, yes, yes." Sparrow said wearily. "Unfortunately," he loaded his crossbow. "You're trespassing."
"What?" Horace asked blankly.
"Horace, we're friends, right? Good friends?"
"I suppose so, Sparrow," the man said cautiously.
"Then you know just how devastated I'd be if I had to shoot one of these bolts through your head." Sparrow said, taking aim. Horace ran down the path and out of sight.
Sparrow chuckled and scratched Blanca behind the ear. "I sure hope he doesn't get heat stroke. He's a good fellow."
Again, the clomping of feet on the ground found the Hero's ears, but these weren't the footsteps of a debt collector. This was probably a dozen armored feet, tromping in unison.
Sparrow stood slowly, crossbow at the ready, and a low growl came from Blanca as the dog rose onto four legs.
Guards wearing grey suits emerged from the hill, armed to the teeth and quite menacing. They reminded Sparrow vaguely of the Spire guards he'd fought a few years ago, before the fall of Lucien; they had the same distantly dangerous look about them.
"Hello, Sirs," Sparrow said lightly, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not meaning to be rude, but would you mind telling me why you're here?"
"Lady Grey requires your presence, Hero." The leader of the troop drawled.
"Really? And why does Lady Grey have the authority to command such a heavily armed troop to bring in an old Hero like me?" Sparrow asked, his voice still light, but dread sinking into his bones. He remembered helping the grave digger named Victor bring back the one called Lady Grey, and feeling as though he'd made a mistake. That feeling was coming back.
"The mayor of Bowerstone commands all guards in the city with absolute authority," the guard said. "Including us, the Grey Force."
"The Grey Force?" Sparrow repeated. "That's a bit kitschy, isn't it? Overly dramatic?"
"Sir, Lady Grey requires your presence," the guard said again. "Will you be coming peacefully, or will we have to bring you in by force?" Sparrow thought about it for a moment.
"Can I bring my sword?" He asked.
"No weapons," the guard said immediately. "It's regulations. No exceptions."
Sparrow had figured, and luckily he had another trick up his sleeve. "Of course. I'll just put these in a safe place then."
--
As he walked into Bowerstone flanked by guards, Sparrow got the strange impression that he was in trouble.
People were looking at him with fear, though whether it was fear of him or for him was another matter all together. As they walked towards Fairfax Gardens, the guards squeezed around him tighter, and Sparrow thought he saw, in the crowd, a very familiar woman, with red and white gypsy clothing, glowing blue eyes, and a thin smile. His jaw dropped slightly and her thin smile widened, and she waved a little.
Sparrow was hustled down the street as he tried to absorb what he was sure was some sort of freakish hallucination.
A few minutes later, they walked up the cobbled street, past the powered residents and towards the graceful spires of Fairfax Castle. The guards strode down the beautiful, rich halls to the throne room, Sparrow in tow.
Sitting at the throne was a lush woman with long blonde hair and a purple silk dress that fell on her curves tantalizingly. He knew her face was beautiful, but if he hadn't seen her before, in the basement of the Cemetery Mansion, he wouldn't have known. Now, a strange mask that was covered with intricately penned swirls and whorls, the features of the mask as beautiful as Lady Grey's true face, but colder, and crueler obscured her face. The eyes that were visible from through the eyeholes of the mask were just as strange; not Lady Grey's eyes at all. They were burning red, and they flickered like a fire with tongues of blue.
"Hello, Hero," she said. Her voice was strangely accented, and it had a certain coldness that was hidden by a unusual, false sweetness. "It's such an honor to meet you at last."
"Bow to the Queen," the guard growled.
"'Queen'?" Sparrow asked pleasantly. "I thought your title was 'Mayor'."
"Titles mean little to me," Lady Grey said. "Either is fine."
"I must admit, Lady Grey, your appearance surprises me," Sparrow said lightly. "I don't recall seeing that mask last time I saw you."
"I acquired it very recently," Lady Grey said nonchalantly. "It's of little consequence." She began playing with a lock of golden hair. "I suppose you're wondering why I've brought you here."
"Why, yes, actually," the hero said.
"Well, you see," she turned to him and her eyes flared. "I need your help with something. Just a little thing."
"Oh? What, may I ask?"
"My friends, well, brothers would be a more accurate term, are stuck in a rather inconvenient place." She examined her nails. "I need you to help me get them out."
"And how could I be of assistance?" Sparrow asked.
"Well, the gate, for lack of better word, can only be opened by a specific bloodline."
"The bloodline of the Archons."
"Exactly!" Lady Grey said happily. "You know your history?"
"I do, Queen of Blades." Sparrow said coldly. The swords of the guards were all suddenly at his throat, the whole dozen of them, and the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Lightning crackled faintly around Sparrow's hands, but no one seemed to notice.
The Queen didn't seem at all abashed. She merely surveyed the man with her strange, glowing eyes.
"Then you know who I'm talking about?"
"The Knight of Blades? And the Jack of Blades."
"Yes." She said softly.
"And I assume you have some petty reason for trying to bring them back? World destruction? Revenge?"
"Something like that, yes." The Queen said, sounding somewhat amused. "More revenge, actually. World destruction was just a fortunate by-product."
"For you," Sparrow pointed out, and the Queen laughed, the sound a horrific cross of sensual and terrifying. More than a little like her.
"So, will you help me?"
"I think you know the answer."
"Yes… Unfortunately." The Queen sighed in an impressive show of regret. "Pity. You're adorable; it would have been nice to be friends."
"No danger of that, ma'am," Sparrow said.
"So polite. You'll make a lovely vessel for Jack." And she ended their meeting with that note, making a fluid motion with her arm, and the guards dragged him away, towards the Demon Door's room.
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