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The Nature of Sin

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Cyun

Cyun

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*How desperate had I gotten? to try and lure a filthy peasant like him. I should be awed by a whole town; men should be flocking towards Me. I mean look at Me! But no. My infernal father, the old fool, keeps Me up here ‘safe’*. She cracked a bone between her teeth, and sucked the marrow furiously, splatting gravy upon her white dress.
In the distance a muffled scream sounded, but the gushing of water below drowned out the needle noise. The birds fled.

14-Jun-2012 15:52:40 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 16:00:23 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
~ Chapter Five ~

For the next few days since the spectacle, old wives and even some of the men were gossiping over fences about Winifred’s horrific tragedy. Only when the Ulric came stomping through did the village recede silent. For many years now England had been free from Viking invaders, and only in the southerly tin rich Cornwall was there any news of conflict. This resulted in many men and women inexperienced on the battlefield, and they had little to talk about except the rising cost of carrots and the odd birth or death. For many people, this was a complete shock to their everyday lives and the wave of talking often repeated itself like the rising tide in a rippled ocean.
“Terrible, terrible it is” Odin said wheezily. He sat upon a wooden stool near the spitting fire. “poor Ulric.”
“How did this happen though? The scoundrels Ferewin mentioned intended on stealing his load, but what on earth would Winifred have which was valuable enough to kill her for?”
“It’s a good question my son, I wouldn’t get too involved though.” Odin said. “Keep your nose clean. We don’t want any trouble with these people”
“I’d like to know why these people are slaughtering seemingly mindlessly, though…”
“Because they are vile murderers - there really isn’t much to it. I don’t wish to delve into the minds of these animals.” Odin sighed, and looked up at Ranulf standing in the pantry. “Don’t be going asking questions Ranulf.”
“I won’t father.”
“Hmm.” Odin stared at Ranulf with his small grey eyes, their depths like looking into two cloudy infinite skies. His old face sagged with the years of time and odd wiry silver hair sprouted like dead trees from his wrinkled scalp. “I don’t like this either. Something’s amiss in Ashdown… like a draft of wind carrying strange scent. I can feel my bones, Ranulf, I can feel them-” A thunderous rapping on the door broke his rasping, and he and Ranulf stared at the door.

15-Jun-2012 09:32:47 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 23:02:35 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“I’ll get it, sit down - no sit down father.”
“That blasted Taxman!” Odin growled, brandishing his knobbly stick. Another drill on the door sent dust sweeping to the dining room.
“Yes! Yes!” Ranulf cried as he undid the lock, and pulled the door open. “Mr Drüzzelastôz.” There stood a crouched man, dressed in a formal black robe with a glinting Christ’s cross swaying from his horizontal neck like a pendulum. His pasty white face leered behind a thin black beard and lank greasy long hair, and his wicked black eyes gave a strange sensation to Ranulf as if he were about to fall into their abyssal tunnels.
“Moof azide boy!” He spat with his thick German tongue, swiping long bony fingers pushing Ranulf’s chest into the wall as he hobbled inside. He walked with a peculiar limp on his left leg.
“Odin!” He yapped, disappearing round the corridor into the dining room. “Odin!”
“What is it this month, Lewis?” Ranulf entered after the Taxman, and stood watching the two of them cautiously.
“Nein!”
“Nine pieces! Why that’s outra-” Odin stirred, showing his teeth.
“Nein! No! No! Itz every veek now.”
“On what demand?!”
“Ze Duke’s orderz, Odin, Duke’s orderz.” Lewis Von Drüzzelastôz grinned, showing his yellow gums. "Itz to pay for ze Church’s benefits to Ashdown-upon-Ryhne and itz peoplez – ze Decree of Christian Protection.”
“What!? We don’t have anything to do with that blasted Christ God!” Ranulf cried.
Lewis laughed awfully, oozing a gut wrenching smell from his disgusting mouth.
“Zya, but ze Bizshop prayz for all ze peoplez of ze town for zere good velbieng and health.”
“The slimy git!” Odin stamped.
“Now drei piecez, pleaze” He scowled towards Odin, jingling his brown satchel full of gold. Odin groaned and fetched his money pouch from under his matress. While out of the room, Lewis inspected the mound of deer meat left from Ranulf’s hunt.
“Vat iz zis?” He inquired to Ranulf, whose heart seemed to have dropped like a lead weight.

15-Jun-2012 09:34:34 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 23:03:40 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“Our food.” He replied through his stiff jaw.
“Ver did you get zis?”
“Jutlands' Butchers across the road.” He said slowly.
“Iz zis so? I did not see any of zis loferly deer in iz Butchers ven I vent to collect earlier today.”
“It was the last cut.” Ranulf said, his ears pounding.”
“Hmm…” Lewis looked at him with his hollow eyes. “Do you know of ze punishment for keeling von of ze Duke’s deer in iz forezt?” The Taxman brought his face close to his and Ranulf nearly fainted from his revolting stench.
“No."
"Ztrung up to zee nearezt tree for ze crows.” Lewis whispered, eyes shining in glee. Suddenly Odin walked back into the room and Lewis quickly stepped back from Ranulf and looked longingly at Odin’s hands. Odin reached into the small money bag and, pulled a handful of small round medallions.
“One, two, three.” Odin said as he placed the gold into the talons of the Taxman. “Now get out of my house you wretched cod-piece!” Odin spat, and returned to his stool by the fire, glaring at Lewis. The Taxman just cackled, tipping the coins with the rest.
“Vank you very much, Herr Godvinzon, I’ll report your voul behafiour to ze Duke.” And with that, the Taxman wobbled back to the door and shouted a “Haff a good day!” before slamming the door behind him, sending another cloud of dust into their eyes. Ranulf and Odin sat quietly for a moment.
“You shouldn’t have insulted him.”
“Ah, well maybe your right son. We’ll be alright.”

15-Jun-2012 09:36:05 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 23:04:19 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
~ Chapter Six ~

Ranulf sat on the crooked stone step at the front of his house, squinting down the track of Darwin Road. It was mid-afternoon, but the frowning loom of angry plumes leered in the west and turned the earth shaded, intimidated and still, yet expectant. Everything looked threatened by the clouds and the lack of warmth from above. Pallid walls and placid stalls stood about, counting the minutes till the liquid nails hammered downwards upon them, and the raging claps and rumbles of thunder shook their foundations. Not a soul drifted the streets but late washerwomen scrambling around the houses bundling cold clothes in their flabby limbs. They shut the doors with distant slams behind them in almost unison. Ranulf sighed and threw the pebble he had been handling absentmindedly across the mud, it landed in a squelch. He got up, and went to make for his door, which glowed molten around the rim from the fire within.
A pitter patter that Ranulf regarded as the becoming of the storm grew louder and odder, and he stopped on the pavement listening for a brief moment. An abrupt, but late, realisation came to him that it was actually clatter of footsteps around the corner just as body pounded into him, causing Ranulf to slop into the sludge, the body toppling over his legs, but regained balance and sped on down the street. He saw the face for a flashing moment, in a teary hot flushed face. It was Cecile McKinnon.
“Cecile!” He sprinted on into the other street. “What was all that about…” Ranulf shook his head and patted down mucked clothes. A faint cacophony of scuttling and rattling upon metal fell vociferous in but a few seconds, and soon the onslaught of the storm had begun. Lightening forked down upon the small bald hill away south, sky shooting to kill. The resounding boom of the ireful purple face above came soon after the echoes of light that flickered in its dense pillars and halls of cloud. He went inside.

15-Jun-2012 14:42:07 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 14:50:37 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“Phillip is dead, Mr McKinnon. I am sorry.” Aubrey Norman stood in the gloomed room lit by the pale face of a small still boy poking out form his bed sheet, like the ghostly shimmer of the moon at the dead of night.
“My boy!” Another man, Baldric, the father, whimpered; face down into his son’s tiny, bony hand. “My boy!” again, quietened now in the slow sobs as steaming tears streamed from his small red eyes and trickled into his black frizzy beard. His knobbly stained Tanner’s hand giant-like clutching the skeletal fingers that slipped from the bed. In the other room were screams like agony coming from his mother, bent on her bed, clawing at her scrunched mattress and banging the crumbling walls with boiled hands. Sat in the darkness in the corner of Phillip’s room sat Cecile, pulsating and quaking with fury and anguish against the dusty floorboards, listening to the cracking of thunder like blistering whips. Slow pained moans ruptured from Cecile’s curled lips, and his watery eyes glowering forwards into thought.
“All we can do now Mr McKinnon is to release his mind to the heavens and his body to the earth.” Aubrey said over the batter of the storm outside and the screeches of Joyce in the neighbouring room.
“Where will you... bury... my son?” Baldric McKinnon said, looking up from his child and to the pink faced Bishop silhouetted against the ram-shackled window.
“Ah well…” Aubrey scratched his chin as if it was a matter of awkwardness. “The graves in the Churchyard a full.”
“You dug up old Gideon Craven’s bones only last week to fit the Duke’s cousin in!” Baldric gestured towards the church through the walls.
“Well you see, the privileged must be set abo-”
“Where will my son be buried?!”
“I shall find a place, Mr McKinnon but it should have to pay to remove an already rested body.”
“We don’t have the money, Bishop Norman, as you know it, please!” Baldric cried kneeling before the broken bed.

15-Jun-2012 14:49:36 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 23:05:38 by Cyun

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“It will be sorted in time.” Norman snapped. “Now let me see the boy.” He walked towards the face and reached his hand into the bowl of liquid that had been set aside. “De profundis. Si iniquitates.” He reached his hand out and splatted the pearly face with holy water.
Cecile punched the floorboards beneath his curled state, sending streaks of crimson blood smacking on the wood.
Phillip McKinnon starved to death.

15-Jun-2012 14:50:16 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 22:46:59 by Cyun

Yam42

Yam42

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An interesting story so far, to say the least. There are a few grammatical errors and typos here and there, but that's something that a bit of proofreading can easily solve.
There was one thing that bothered me (and no, it's not what you think it may be):
In your first post, you say the town is called "Ashdown-upon-Rhyne", yet in later posts, you spell "Rhyne" as "Ryhne". I think you may have just made a typo by accident. I'm probably just making a mountain out of a molehill (improper spelling is a pet peeve of mine, which is why I avoid other forums like the Plague), so don't feel too worried by it.
Are you typing this on the forums as you go? If so, I recommend typing in a word-processing program. Once you've finished typing, you can proofread, as well as use the "Word Count" tool (or something similar) to discover how many figures your story is in length. You can then use that knowledge to reserve the requisite number of posts, then copy-paste your story into them, making the writing process a bit less panicky.
Now, I am brought to the dialogue of the story. It is, in my opinion, very well done. It may be a bit rushed here and there, but it's meant to advance the plot, so that's perfectly fine (plus, we're all guilty of rushing dialogue, so I am in no position to judge here). The dialogue made your characters seem very human to me, something that I greatly enjoyed. I thought the tax collector's accent was a nice flair to the story, and you ensured that reading it didn't become cumbersome.
I do have one question: At the end of the chapter that precedes this post, are you implying that Phillip McKinnon starved to death?
All in all, this is another good piece from you folks across the pond!

15-Jun-2012 22:13:18 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 22:14:59 by Yam42

Cyun

Cyun

Posts: 2,389 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Hi Yam :)
The reason I do not use reserves is because I have all these chapters and two more already written up in a word processor. It means I simply copy and paste it straight from there, and there is no panic! Once I actually start writing the next chapters I will do this, as I have done with my poems.
I'll do a run through of what I have submitted and I'll check the grammar and correct those little typos in a jiffy. Thank you for the comments regarding dialogue, it is a great weak spot of mine and I will definitely work on it to make it seem less rushed. The accent of Lewis was a large doubt of mine, and I nearly did not put it in. I had thoughts that it may come across as a little silly and disrupt the tone of the story, but I am relieved that you found it a positive.
About Philip's death, I didn't realise it was as obscure. With the past tense of "starved" right after a dialogue section discussing Philip's dead body and the way he will be buried, I thought it was apparent that he had starved to death. However, I will change "Phillip McKinnon starved" into "Phillip McKinnon staved to death" to clarify much clearly.

15-Jun-2012 22:46:29 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2012 23:06:25 by Cyun

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