RuneScape Forum Archive | The Nature of Sin

Cyun

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~ Chapter Two ~

Morning light broke through the drizzled stone clouds, splintering honey coloured dawn onto the frosty village below. Coldness still held its sharp heels within the air though, and Ranulf felt its icy onslaught deaden his fingers as he grappled with his satchel. Ranulf was off to the centre of town to fetch some breakfast for him and his father. It was a brisk morning, but the thawing bright sun felt like he had just dipped into a warm bath. It meant that spring was here. The continuous cycle of the earth had started once more, as the warmth and birth strained free of the bitter shackles of the white, black and winter to release its glowing rise of new life of bud green and buttery yellow.
“Oi! Watch it boy!” He had walked straight into a bulking, beefy man, his hairy hams grasped round a bundle of metalwork. The tower of iron hid his face. As he lowered his load, Ranulf recognised him as the local Smithy, Ulric. “Oh, it’s you. Better watch where you’re going Odinsson. Could’ve knocked ye bloody” He boomed along the awakening street. His craggily beard and shaggy black hair was bristled with silvery patches, and his wide face, heavy brow and broad nose reminded him of a bull.
“Yes Ulric.”
“Now away with you, Norman wants his spire reworking.” Ulric said stoutly. Ranulf could see his embitterment and acidity through his face when he mentioned Norman. Ranulf stepped aside, and skimmed a look in thought to the glooming church in the distance.

13-Jun-2012 21:55:24 - Last edited on 13-Jun-2012 22:02:15 by Cyun

Cyun

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Aubrey Norman was the village Bishop. A man of god. He ran the village church and enforced Christianity upon its citizens. The reaction to the church was varied. Many of the families staying here lapped to his words like a ravenous kitten upon a dish of cream. They were in awe of him. They prayed and worshiped and devoted their lives to the adoration and the pleasing of the Lord. Some accepted it through poverty – a hope to a better life and a way of justifying their righteousness despite their outcome of lack of wealth and education; that bound them to a confidence through faith of their sacrifice to the religion that ensured that they would be paid for their efforts. It gave them hope that the injustice; as one man has and the other has not; would be reckoned.
Families like the McKinnon*s, were blinded. They were blinded by the glory and gilded hope that brought balance as they wallowed in hardship, disease and poverty. However, their desperate faith hid the harsh reality of the fact that the strong and rich survived on the weak and poor, which ironically was reflected through the very Church itself.
Aubrey Norman was incredibly rich. The Church was incredibly rich. Filthily rich. This was due to the stagnation of a warless and isolated position of Ashdown. Beyond Leofore woods were an expanse of foetid swamp, stretching up to the roaring cliffs on the edge of this land. Visitors came very little, and only then they were noblemen wishing to address the Duke. This lead to a number of years whereby the Vikings and the Scots did little warring in these parts and preferred to do battle on better and more prosperous land. If the Vikings ever caught the wind of the ocean and birds that such a mound of wealth were pocketed away in this obscure little bit of land, it would be a very different story.

13-Jun-2012 21:56:53 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 17:58:53 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Along with the Duke of Ashdown, Duke Leofore, they ruthlessly drained the small village of its wealth, money as lifeblood to the pumping glory gory heart that was the church in the centre of Ashdown. Battering and callously sucking taxes from the families. And then, to rub salt into the wound, Norman had actually asked for payment for the protection from the church on the villages inhabitants!
Ranulf scowled, sniffing the icy morn air as he neared the Bakers. He was having none of it. Like his father, he remained deaf to the poisonous hot air that came out of that twisted man. Still, as members of the Village, they remained under the law of the land from Duke Leofore and were bled dry with his taxes. He had only briefly actually seen the Duke three times in his life, but he had seen his wicked, troublesome daughter many times too many. He and her lived one-and-half miles away, over the other side of Ryhne, in his small castle up on top of a craggy rock, overlooking the running river.
He had reached the Bakers. A waft of the glorious aroma of freshly cooked bread and pastry caressed his numbing nostrils and filled his lungs with heart filling loveliness. It broke away his thoughts and a smile eased upon his face. As he went to the door, it swung open, revealing a greying man, wrapped in a stained apron and flour dusted his rosy cheeks and settled upon his overgrown eyebrows that grew out to the side of his face.
“Ah Ranulf. How nice to see you back. Wiglaf is inside, he can serve you” The Baker said, smiling at him and then went to heave a laborious sack of powder from the wall. He stepped inside.
A sudden warmth spread over him as glowing ovens radiated a sweltering heat from the far corner. Behind a counter sat his dearest friend, Wiglaf, who was the son of the Baker. Wiglaf was built as strong as an ox from the long days kneading tough dough, and he had a split stubbly chin and red hair that hung limp with sweat. He had the gloomiest expression on his face.

13-Jun-2012 21:58:39 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 18:02:23 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

From even a stranger’s point of view; one could tell the Bakery business was not for him. He looked so bored and miserable by the hot ovens, and would be more fitting in a job more… well, more. He sat there now, not noticing Ranulf yet, as he was staring at the floor with a dull expression, as if he were to fall asleep.
“Wiglaf! Get those sacks of grain moved now!* Ranulf imitated the Bakers husky voice.
“What? I thought you were del-” Wiglaf looked up from his slumber and saw Ranulf grinning ear to ear at the doorway. “You slack-jaw swine” Wiglaf chuckled. “After some breakfast?”
“I’m famished, what do you have?”
“Oh the usual, soda bread.” He replied glumly.
“No raisins or fennel?” Ranulf quizzed. Being a good friend of the family, Ranulf and Odin often got the odd loaf here and there left from the orders from the wealthy. At that moment Wiglaf’s father, Ferewin returned wiping sweat from his brow.
“Aye, no fancy herbs or fruit. Our cart was supposed to be delivered days ago.” Ferewin said. “It’s not been the first time, some way by Nolwick there’s been word of some scoundrels thieving our loads.”
“I passed Nolwick by the crossroads two days ago, I didn't see anything.” Ranulf replied, intrigued.
“Hmm, and a good job at that. These are not common burglars; our last deliverer was found with an arrow through his neck.” Ranulf showed an alarmed frown. He wondered if he had been in any danger on his hunting trip. Then he remembered his odd feeling like someone had been watching him in the edge of Leofore woods. He batted the thought away. “It’s not good business, lad, not good business at all. Not with that wretched Dribblezot man bleeding us dry too.” Ranulf smiled despite the sincerity of the subject. Lewis Von Drüzzelastôz was the Village Taxman, thickly accented in German and a sadistic git, hired by the Duke himself.
“All this over some raisins? They can’t be that expensive” The Baker bit his lip,

13-Jun-2012 22:00:18 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 18:04:13 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“Hmm, that they are Ferewin, that they are.” The Baker looked insulted, and turned back to his sacks.
“Serve the lad Wiglaf, serve the lad. He hasn’t all day.” Wiglaf stood oblivious looking out the window, up past the gates and over the rolling carpet of bottle green canopy of the forest, inclining towards the distant reddish crags by the running Ryhne, and at the stout castle like a speck in the drab mist of the morning.
“…Aye.” He replied faintly, until he torn his gaze and fetched some string.
“Soda bread it is then, please - two loaves.”
Ranulf said goodbye to the Baker and the bored Baker’s son and headed back to home, satchel full of breakfast and head full of what could have been. He could have been the one who was killed. He could have crossed those thieves through the forest. He sighed. How would Odin live without him; he was partially blind and deaf, he couldn’t even walk to the Jolly Raven and back any more, and hid inside the house away from his friends in the darkness like a hermit. He would surely die the next cold night without him.
...What if he had met the thieves?

13-Jun-2012 22:01:39 - Last edited on 13-Jun-2012 22:01:55 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

~ Chapter Three ~

Scream.
Its shrill, spine spiking squeal resonated deathly icy up on the edge of the forest. The black storm of birds fled, beating and squawking hollow crow cries, as they dispersed from the tree tops, leaving the woods dead. Like the shattering of glass, as quickly as it came it halted, a brief shock before a complete and utter silence, which was, in fact, as unnerving if not greater than the initial jolt in the natural.
Corpse.
It sprawled along the stony dirt paths that lead out of the forest and towards the Crossroads. She lay rigid, still warm upon the scarlet soil. An ugly, horrific slash gurgled thick black blood from her back, dribbling beads of gore down her torn dress and seeping hot liquid through the thin material. Deep within the cavern in her back, a snake of white bone could be seen within the folds of ripped flesh and nerve. Her curly nut hair fanned around her skull, with sticky red dead leaves trapped among her web. She lay face down in the earth, slipped into the void and locked in her position of death. Her face was hidden. It grew dark.

Ranulf was sat among his friends in the Jolly Raven, sipping a dripping, frothing clay cup. They sat at the bar, the room alive with joyous booms of laughter and animated, vigorous talk as the villagers drained the barrels as the night crept on. Knocks of cups and movement of oak, the smell of alcohol was deep and warm. Drunken men lolled upon the bank of the bar with blotched eyes blurred in focus, trying to coax some more amber drops from their empty mugs. Groups of elderly men sat hunched in the corner, excitedly hushing old stories and new tales, eyes wide as saucers. Ranulf sat at the front table with Wiglaf Baker, Cecile McKinnon, Harlund Sigmundsson, Theobald Ramsdale and Aldred Fisher – some of the young men his age who lived in Ashdown.

14-Jun-2012 15:23:37 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 18:06:01 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“I’m tellin’ you, Theobald!” Aldred slurred, stretching his knobbly arms as wide as he can.
“And I’m telling you, Aldred, no fish in these waters can be that size.” Theobald soberly said, slurping his drink.
“Who knows what lurks on the bed of the running Ryhne?” Wiglaf murmured, his thick ginger eyebrows far up on his head.
“Nonsense.” Cecile slithered, his drink hidden and his eyes bagged with black sags.

“And what would you know about the matter, McKinnon?* Harlund quizzed, his long nose tipped with mead foam.
“My family has been living here since The Battle of Dyrham some 400 years ago! My ancestors fought in battles that overthrown the Viking kings!”
“If true as you say it Cecile, what does that have to do with the size of Aldred’s catch?” Ranulf smirked.
“Why, I would have thought that a fish as mighty as that would have been discovered much earlier than now.*
*Maybe not, Times change rapidly. My father was saying the other day that some of the animals dwelling in the woods and in the water now are not like those when he was but a wee lad. The Christian God has changed as much.” Wiglaf said.
“Aye, and a common bread maker would know much about natural philosophy at that.” Cecile sniggered. Ranulf sensed a disruption bubbling.
“Why, I ought to-” Wiglaf started.
“Wiglaf! Leave it be.” Ranulf patted on his shoulder. “He isn’t worth it.”
“Aye, your right my friend. They are spacious in the possession of dirt.” Cecile was about to broil, and hissed at Wiglaf.
“Easy now* Harlund warned. Aldred could be seen slumped down his chair snoring loudly, drink spilled over his front. The matter of the argument lost.
“You idle headed mouldwarps!* Cecile yelled “my father-”
“Why your father can do whatever he likes, call upon the told ‘God’ to smite me where my unsavoury behind sits!” Wiglaf roared.
“I will have vengeance for your blasphemy, Baker!” Cecile spat through his gritted teeth.

14-Jun-2012 15:25:35 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 22:59:26 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“I welcome it, you slimy malt-worm.” Wiglaf uttered.
Suddenly a thunderous clash from the door halted everyone in their words. From the darkness of the doorway stood a pale man, shaking in the night, clutching a swaying lantern. The wind howled through the pub, and the torches flickered erratically. All eyes fixed upon the terrified figure at the open door.
“Winifred - wife of Ulric the Blacksmith… She lies cold and bludgeoned south of the Crossroads!” He cried, clutching the doorframe with his white knuckles… An eruption of screams and shouts boiled from the bar like a clatter of thunderstorm. A woman near their table fell back, fainting. She toppled unnoticed into the sea crowd of uproar. Alone stood Ulric, in the corner of the room, shaking in frenzied rage and anguish, his eyes like spears upon the messenger.

14-Jun-2012 15:27:25

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

~ Chapter Four ~

Lady Sirena Leofore was bored.
Her lustrous green globe eyes gazed through her window and out over the damp hilly land, with the sound of gushing water hitting the stone of the banks. It was dusk, and a murky white mist hazed the horizon, sending Sirena to squint to see her father’s town in the distance. She watched as some birds flew past the castle tower and glided down into some chirping canopies behind. She sighed.
Her face was impeccably beautiful. A pale, slender head, resting now on curled petite fingers as she stared from the stone. Golden hair seemed to gleam from an unknown source of light, and it bounced from her scalp and softly cushioned her bent elbows upon the window sill. Her scarlet lips slightly dampened in the vaporous sky as she breathed short but not prolonged, like a whimpering dog. Her eyes were like those of a royal lioness and their sharp bottomless sea green tint struck out against the cold grey stone tower, and could have been seen vividly if a man was stood in the river far down below. Not that any men came often to the high rocks in which Leofore castle stood. Only officials and noblemen visited, passing lists of names and messages from London. How she longed to go to London. Anywhere. To meet people, to meet men. She was tired of her father, and they rarely spoke, except from the passing on the stairs or occasionally at dinner. Her father was very busy with his Duke-work. A knock at the door of her room broke her train of thoughts, and she twisted round on her chair aggressively.

14-Jun-2012 15:49:39 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 20:06:11 by Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“Come in, Joyce.” She said coldly. Her thin eyebrows angular, turning her fair face into a shadowed point. The door opened and a tall black haired man stepped through, carrying a tray of steaming bowls in his arms.
“Oh.” Sirena’s face flashed from her frown to an innocent grin, her emerald eyes glimmering in the candlelight.
“Joyce is very sick, I’m afraid.” The man said as he placed dinner upon Sirena’s dressing table. “She’s come down with something terrible, boils all over, poor thing.” Lady Sirena watched the man from her seat, smiling still, in a distant look. She did**t acknowledge Joyce’s illness.
“Why, I don’t often get men into my room you know.” She said, on the edge of the seat, fiddling with her flowing hair. The man nodded.
“I’m the stable hand, you see.* He muttered. The stable hand finished setting the table and turned to go, not looking into the woman’s eyes.
*What’s your name?” She said, standing up from her chair and looking strikingly towards the man.
“The dinner is set Lad-” The man uttered.
“What is your name!” She ordered, eyes turning dark again.
“Terence, Lady! Terence Dunn.” And he etched towards the door, looking at the floor rug, until finally whirling round and grasping the door handle.
“Wait!” She cried. The door shut with a slam. She was alone once more.
She stood there still looking at the closed door. Her eyes watered, but quickly dried. Her teeth still clenched though, and muscles on her jaw wavered under her soft skin. She glared at her roast lamb placed on the table, and she had an urge to swipe it across the room. Her stomach convinced otherwise though and she slumped back into the chair, and spiked at the meat with a silver knife.

14-Jun-2012 15:51:19 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 18:06:40 by Cyun

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The Nature of Sin