Author's Note: Hey, hey, hey, as they say; some more things to say, now. Firstly, I find that I have really rushed through these first ten chapters, A LOT. So, they will be comparatively shorter than my others, which will probably be LONG. I hurry because, my favorite plot twists, and new introductions, take place in Chap. 12-22, so I've been rushing off Chap. 1-12, obviously. In my hurry, I have them almost all done. But I hesitate to put them all up at once. I want to let reviewers and readers come along before the story has developed too much. I will probably update almost daily until I reach Chap. 12, when Chapters will take longer to write. Secondly, now I introduce new characters. As Jeff Heigh analyzed, I will be introducing ALL characters over the course of time, even if they don't appear till the last ten chapters (bear with me, people, we're looking at upwards of 40, I mean it this time).
Avion Jade: Thanks for reviewing again, much. I always try to make my fight scenes 'picturesque' cuz my favorite thing to do is visualize them. That's how my story is planned out; I'm imagining it like a really long CG Movie in my head. Trust me, it really does work. Yes, it's a bit bloody…and I'm afraid it gets worse. This was originally rated R, but I downgraded it for a) more reviews and b) it didn't really have many R Rated qualities. I'm glad you've played SC1, because you might not recognize my next character if you hadn't. I believe I'm only the third person on FF.net to even use this character in a story. Apparently, he's just not very popular. Well, what the hell…Onward with the stuffage!!!!1!!!!1!!!!1!!!shiftone!!!!
Jade: Heh, contemplating putting back the R Rating…after I have more reviews…Mitsu will get his day, in time. I'm saving him for later…
Chapter V – The Giant and the Frenchman
The mists were strong, wistful and careless as they floated over amber fields that spread in every direction like supple waves beneath the alighting cloak of dawn. The sun had crested a deep blue horizon, tinting the sky cool red and heating up a new day over those fields below. The sun began shining down as its form rippled up over the skyline, cresting the few hills to the side of the rider, cloaked carefully, who rode along beneath it. The great fiery vessel that arched upward along its path in the sky did not deign to look upon the rider, instead haughtily marketing itself to all others. Raphael de Sorel goaded his steed onward, his thoughts unavoidably going back to Amy as he and his mount soared onward through the makeshift path that had formed itself in the field, leaving a trail off hoof prints in the flattened stalks of crop. The Frenchman's eyes narrowed and his fine brow furrowed in a scowl as he felt a pang of regret at leaving her behind. It had been a hard choice in itself, to let Amy remain with Raphael's few loyal compatriots, who had promised amply to tend to her and keep in good health in his absence. 'It was the choice I had to make,' he thought, 'I could not have her come with me, she would hate sea travel, and the dangers would unnerve her. It is better this way.' And indeed it probably was. He didn't want Amy in anything remotely resembling peril, since he wouldn't be able to stand seeing her afraid. She had been afraid once, but was not now.
The city of Le Havre loomed in the distance, though looming was not necessarily the word to describe it. Small, neatly cordoned roofs speckled the distant area, lacking of tree or natural beauty. It was not as dazzling as Rouen, or perhaps Paris in its regal splendor, but possessed a quant gentility and still bore the title of a bustling thoroughfare. It was a port city, the fluttering sails of ships visible behind the bare façade of houses and buildings. The harbor was the main attraction, filled with ships of varying sizes for varying needs, cruising vessels, frigates, sloops, barques, and all manner of vessel that rode the waves. It was a veritable cornucopia of necessary transportation for Raphael de Sorel. In the old days, Raphael de Sorel could've bought a ship easily with the surplus fortunes of the Sorel family, but those days were passed and driven from the front of the Frenchman's focused mind, as sharp and acute as the rapier in his belt after years of training. Now, Raphael no longer burdened himself with weak thoughts, those of his father, his brothers, his mother, his family, the picturesque Chateau de Sorel, still nestled in the lush countryside of Rouen not a great distance from where he rode this very day. He missed the looming spires of alabaster, the stained glass windows placed by his ancestors long dead, the sparring rooms where he and his teacher fenced the day away. But, as he told himself, that was in the past.
Within Le Havre, the quiet that had been so aptly present evaporated. People where everywhere, on ailing mule and noble steed, on dingy wagon or part of any grand caravan that wormed its way through the claustrophobic streets, all around Raphael. The buildings were overshadowed alone by the crowds that pulsed and flowed over them as waves would. Great brimmed hats, spiky helms, and every sort of flourishing headgear littered the roads like a graveyard brimming with statuary headstones, but Raphael was not deterred as he kicked his steed forward, working his way through. At the dock, some of the hustle and bustle flailed madly before disappearing altogether. Just before Raphael reached the harbor of Le Havre, he found himself locked inescapably in a surging tidal mass of people, who seemed to have no idea what they were doing whatsoever. He managed to ford the proverbial river of people and found himself walking down eerily empty wharfs with the varying vessels moored to them. After abandoning his horse at the harbormaster's rickety old shack on the waterfront, Raphael managed to appropriate a list of ships bound for his destination; India. After chartering the vessels, and looking over their visible statistics with a number of solemn nods, Raphael wormed back through the slight crowd swell, and towards the south bound vessels, which seemed to be unavoidably smaller than the others.
The only one that managed to pique Raphael's curiosity was the largest one, still small by ship standards. It was more a mess of riggings and ropes and hooks strung along every square inch of it. It's magnificently white sails rippled majestically in the oceanic breeze. Upon the brow, the smooth wooden visage of a mermaid, her scaly aquatic tale curled onto the deck, could be seen peering out at the sea in front. On the other end of the vessel, on the carved oaken wall of the captain's quarters, the words 'Marie Rose' were carefully etched and painted, though the prominent green was dulled now. Considering the vessel, Raphael headed slowly up the gangplank, watching some sinuous men go about their business aboard. Suddenly, he found his face filled with another face, one with scratchy stubble, a sagged eyelid, a thick brow, and long, unkempt black hair.
"Good day, sir. If yer lookin' fer a ship, this'll be the one fer you." roared the fellow, projecting a supply of saliva into Raphael's face. Grimacing in disgust, Raphael stepped back and rubbed his glove on his wet nose, snarling inaudibly at the vulgar oaf who berated him.
"I'm not in the ship market, mister?"
"Rush, sir, William Rush," confirmed the man, "but you can call me Bill." Raphael, listening to the slurred speech of the man, looked him over as well. He wore dull green leather as a waistcoat, a tattered undershirt, hanging breeches to big for him, oversized hunting boots, and wore a vile smile on his rustic features. "Very well, Bill. Though I have not the funds to buy such a 'magnificent' ship, I believe I will book passage on it. This vessel is bound for the south, yes? For that is where I must go, and if that is not this ship's destination, I will find other transportation."
"Yes sir, it is. Bound right south and right around the very tip o' the dark lands." Raphael new that the man meant 'Africa' when he said 'the dark lands.' In fact, the Frenchman guessed that this idiot didn't even know that he was talking about a continent called Africa. "Indeed. Well, this shall do just fine; this ship for the voyage, and this gold for the ship." Raphael coolly extracted a small, creased purse from his frock coat, sifted in his gloved hand for a moment, listening to and allowing Rush to hear the noise of jingling coinage within. Throwing it up and catching it in his hand, Raphael de Sorel plopped the entire pouch onto the cracked skin of Rush's open-palmed hand. "Thankee, sir." grinned Rush, showing yellow teeth. "You'll be wantin' to go get settled, find some quarters, and get some food or drink."
"Yes, I think the last one is most appealing. Where exactly could I get some of that food and drink?"
"The mess hall is belowdeck. You'll like the cook, trust me. Just don't bother the regulars."
Dutifully, trying to dismiss this man, Raphael marched icily past him and across the tangled ropes that covered the deck, dodging past a number of surly sailors. He found the small, low door that led below, hunched over ignobly, and crawled through it, heading down a flight of rickety stairs into a small, candlelit room with some shivering rays of sunshine peeking in through glass windows. He was in the equivalent of an onboard pub. The room rocked gently as Raphael walked through the vague light and plopped himself on a weak stool in front of the bar. There were only two other men in the room. One, who Raphael didn't even look at, was the grizzled old bartender, who was busily polishing the insides of some rusty, dented tin tankards. The other, who the Frenchman's eyes turned to and could not peel away from, was the giant man sitting next to him on a grossly undersized stool. He was huge, literally, bulging healthy muscles and wearing little but some fur and tanned leather. His chest was bare, but for a belt strung across it, and his head was a mess, covered with uncombed hair that stuck out every which way and an untrimmed beard on his chin. He looked almost savage as he nursed and empty mug and laid his bulky hand on what looked like the head of a moose or some animal Raphael had never seen. The head, which was in fact that of a buffalo, sat, hollowed out as a grotesque helm.
Raphael de Sorel finally tore his gaze from the hefty man. "Hello," murmured Raphael at last to the bartender "I'll have something to drink, please." The vulgar face of the bartender lit up and glanced at him, shooting him a careless look. "Ale or grog, mister." He said wearily. "Ummm…ale, I suppose." stammered Raphael, searching his frock for more gold. "Roight." Responded the bartender, still unemotional, as he poured a supply of frothy liquid into a dirty mug and slammed it on the bar. Before Raphael's hand could get the mug, though, that surly hand belonging to the other man curled its mighty fingers around it, pulled up the tankard, and emptied its contents into the man's gaping mouth.
"Excuse me, I do believe that was mine." protested Raphael, swiveling to face the man. "Mine." Snapped the other man bluntly, not turning his head from the now empty mug and licking his lips of froth. "Sir, I'm very sure that was my ale you just drank." protested Raphael, his brow forrowing. "My ale," more curtness from the brute, "not yours. Don't bother me." Raphael, pulling his hand ignobly from the bar, got up. "Monsieur, I do not take thievery lightly." For the first time, the huge man's head turned to the dwarfed Frenchman. His grizzled, wholly serious face bore an oddly devilish grin as he too stood, looming like a tower over a hut above Raphael, "Really? I don't take rude little bastards lightly."
"That is an insult." roared Raphael, his hand shooting to Flambert, "Where I come from, such things are unacceptable without retribution." He knew he should be more careful. It was foolhardy to start a fight less than an hour after boarding this vessel, but his pride spoke for him. "Where I come from you'd be long dead by now, mister." snapped the other man, grimacing openly. His monstrous hand thumped down on the bar, splintering some of the wood, and glided backward to the course wooden staff of a heavy ax that sat upon the table. The bartender, nodding knowingly as he didn't look up at the two, moved back and away, into the safer shadows of the room behind the bar. "You insolent buffoon! Are you looking for a fight?" shouted Raphael at the top of his lungs, whipping out his rapier with a flourishing gesture and a clean, swift, airy sound. The slender blade was aimed at the other man, who growled back, "You're the one looking, and I think you've found one."
'En garde!"
The two of them surged forward. Raphaels' precise and narrow rapier flying with fast jabs were easily knocked aside by the savage's massive ax blade. They battled swiftly backward, downing all four of the barstools in a minute. The large man's ax hammered with unending resolution onto the floor, splintering the slivers of wood out of the floorboards, rending the stools in half, and stabbing ruthlessly at the bar and tables wherever Raphael managed to dodge toward. Raphael was the first to attempt a flashier, less blunt maneuver. Running up the side of one stool, he leapt gracefully over its flattened top, into the air with a nimble flourish, and aimed the heel of his boot at this opponent. The boot struck home, amazingly, crashing into the enemy's jaw. But, Raphael de Sorel found his foot suddenly restricted, as he careened down and saw the still ground seemingly hovering beneath him. He looked up, to see the warrior, now bleeding slightly from cracked lips, holding him upside down. Growling murderously, the man pulled his rusty ax back, but Raphael thought quickly enough. With his free leg, he buried his toe in the man's chest, sending the two of them to the ground in a heap.
The other was up first, and yanked his ax down in a diagonal arc, which spurted up the floorboards of the pub cabin in which they fought. Pushing off with leg and foot, Raphael rolled sideways and ended up beneath a small table at the opposite end of the room. Raphael knew the next move as a chess player would predict his opponent's, and jumped out from beneath the table just as his barbaric foe's weapon cleaved it perfectly in two. Suddenly, the flat portion of the ax blade bashed Raphael's side, propelling him into the bar. As he hit it, his gut lurched violently, and his weakened body involuntarily flipped over it onto the other side. As Raphael flipped about as he lay there, nestled between bar and wall, he looked up to see a passive bartender still cleaning his mugs as the fight swirled around him. Angry and irked now, Raphael clamored over the wood and leapt again, this time to be met with the ax's handle firmly in the upper chest. The wind flew swiftly from him as he landed neatly on his behind, leaning against the bar and panting. He was up again, his rapier blazing madly, after barely a moment. Twice, his blade nicked the surly arms of his foe as they crashed about the room, spending every last ounce of their energy battling over a foolish insult and…
As suddenly as they'd began, they stopped, both tired beyond belief, sweating bullets, and reduced to stumbling about just to steady themselves. Raphael lowered Flambert, and his foe lowered the ax. As they breathed their ragged, slow, and full breaths, their eyes met, faces actually smiling.
"I must say…" said Raphael heartily in between deep breaths, shaking his head and laughing, "that was a good fight…my friend." Rock shot a dark look at him, but this time it was tempered with a very well hidden smirk. "I am not …your friend." Replied the man, his rough voice becoming a little more gently, "If you're gonna call me something…call me Rock." Raphael shot him an equally quizzical look. "That is an…umm…interesting name, good Rock." Raphael managed to muttered contemplating the monosyllabic name. He walked towards Rock, recovering his breath and holding his weakened lungs. He extended an open palm to Rock, "I am Raphael de Sorel." Rock grabbed his hand firmly in his own and shook vigorously as he set his ax down delicately. "Someday, I might tell you my real name, mister Serol."
"That's Sorel." Corrected Raphael coldly, removing his hand and pulling the barstool up to sit on. "Right, right, Sorel.Got it." Rock turned from Raphael and sat, nearly crushing the only standing chair in the room with his bulk. Raphael, still breathing slowly with consecutive breaths, looked quizzically at Rock as he slumped on the bar. "What brought you to this ship, anyway?" he queried, his fit of eternal pants ceasing. "Goin' south, needed ship." responded Rock, just as blunt and laconian as ever. "Ah, qu'elle coincide- I mean, what a coincidence." Raphael stopped himself before going off in French, "I am going south as well."
"Where too?" queried Rockm asking a question for the first time. "India." nodded Raphael, almost mocking the utter bluntness of his new compatriot. Rock grimaced, his eyes narrowing slightly as he responded, "Same here." Raphael laughed again, but more nervously. "Now that is a coincidence." The Frenchman grinned, leaning back on the stool as far as possible.
"Yes, yes it is."