RuneScape Forum Archive | The Nature of Sin

Cyun

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~ Chapter Seven ~

Bishop Aubury Norman watched the sun dip behind the folds of the crimson bleached clouds, streaked across the sky. The ground below was murky and blurred against the bright depths of the setting sun, and silhouettes of branches twisted and punched from the horizon like gnarled talons of the earth.
He was late.
Norman turned from the window and sat down in his armchair, looking towards the heavy back church door. He was sat in the Bishop’s quarters, a sectioned off small room attached to the side of the church. It was richly decorated to the point of it looking sickly and over indulgent, cluttered with chipped pots and stained expensive cloths. Norman sighed. It has been over a month since he last came at dusk, he hoped it was the last, the boy smelt like dirt. It was a shame the poor believed more so than the rich. He heard a creak of the wide front church doors echoing behind the door, until they thudded shut alarmingly, which sent ripples in the glass of wine that Aubrey clutched. Footsteps drew closer, pattering on the cold stone until the person reached the door. Cecile McKinnon's gaunt face peeped through the crack of the door in the half light. “Bishop.”
“Welcome, boy. Sit.” Norman watched the boy hesitate, then step inside the jumbled room. He did not sit down however, but stood awkwardly looking at the floor. “So you have come once more.”
“Aye, Bishop. I, I am not seeing any… change.”
“What?”
“You said that the non-believers are to blame.”
“And?”
“Well… Denfowl went to London a few days ago to find work. He was a non-believer yet there has been no immediate change.”
“You have avoided mentioning Winifred.”
“Ah. Yes. Unfortunate.”
“No it is not, is it?” Cecile’s skull like face lifted at this and his bulbous eyes flashed pearly white at the Bishop uncertainly. He stared for a while.
“No it is not.” He said at last.
“Yet you say that these events have not helped your outcome, like I foresaw.”
“That is correct.”

16-Jun-2012 22:21:51 - Last edited on 16-Jun-2012 22:51:23 by Cyun

Cyun

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“Hm.” Norman dipped his thin lips in the ruby wine, but did not swallow for a while in thought. "Is she still out of service from the Duke?"
"She is, I fear she will not be returning."
"Still covered in those ugly buboes?" Cecile winced and nodded. The Bishop fixed his gaze at the skeletal boy on his doormat and cleared his throat.
“There needs to be much less of them in the village for the Lord to see us in his light. Two is too few.”
“I see.*
*This troubles you, does it not?*
*My brother has died, and my mother is dying-”
“No, I do not mean that. It troubles you to hear that you need to do more of the deed in which you have already so reluctantly done.” Norman could almost feel Cecile’s heart thumping at his tight ribcage from across the room.
“Do… more, Norman?”
Norman cackled, with is turtle-like thick tongue wagging in the back of his mouth. “We both know that you murd-“
“Please Bishop – I did not know what to do, my brother was on death’s door – I was desperate – I did not set out to kill, only to steal. I stole the food from a cargo, but Winifred saw me, and… What you said, it crossed my mind to… You mustn’t tell anyone – Please… Please Bishop!” Cecile pleaded, edging closer to where the Bishop sat, reaching his filthy fingers towards the man.
“Quiet boy!” Norman barked harshly, as the reek of the boy grew as he neared with his grubby hands. Cecile stepped back again and calmed somewhat. A rook scuttled across the windowsill, tapping the window with it's sinister hook.
“What you did was a sin”
“I-“
“-But it was necessary, the Lord will forgive.” Again the rook ratted loudly with it's beak. Norman ignored it.
“Yes Bishop.”
“However, if you want your mother to live till harvest… The village needs more ridding of filth.”
“…Yes, father.”
“We do not want your brother sharing with your dead mother in that small, shallow grave do we now?*
*No, father.”

16-Jun-2012 22:32:20 - Last edited on 16-Jun-2012 23:00:41 by Cyun

Cyun

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

The rook flew off, batting its acrid black wings upon the glass. Norman sat up and brushed down his dress, then placed his empty cup on the mantelpiece by a fallen figure of Christ, with his face down upon the cold rock. The Bishop stared into the labyrinthine veins in the marble. It reflected his small watery eyes, like glowing coals in a furnace. He turned.
“Be careful. Many of the village despises you.” Norman said bluntly. “Any more… missing villagers will increase suspicion. The missing cargo has already worried Ferewin the Baker.
You do not need to rid the entire village of the heathens. Once they see a trend some will convert to the Christ-god.” He glanced at the empty collection tray by the side of his desk. Income has been meagre. “More will attend the ceremonies; I shall give you a list of who attends.”
“Thank you father.” Cecile rotated towards the door in leave.
“Oh and Cecile?”
“Yes?”
“Odin and his meddlesome son are the ring leaders of the defiance. Stay weary of their noses and their eyes, and if you can… Kill them.” Cecile nodded silently, and dashed out his door. The Bishop went to reach for his empty cup, but wavered and picked up the crucified Christ, kissing it, and then setting the figure upright and facing forwards into his flabby chest. The Church slammed with a bang in the dead of the night, like the sound of a gavel condemning a man to hang.

16-Jun-2012 22:38:52 - Last edited on 16-Jun-2012 23:00:21 by Cyun

Cyun

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

~ Chapter Eight ~

The thick ghostly mist engulfed the rows of wooden docks that dotted across the river Ryhne, so that only the very nearest neighbouring posts could be seen near to where the fisherman sat. Hazy, flickering torches lined each dock, which spread a small warm orange glow in the murky sea of mist that chilled the old bones of the hunched fisherman. He chewed upon a straw of corn and watched the sluggish waters in which his line listlessly waver through the inky blackness. The man was Ernest Cruikshank, the village’s head fisherman upon the river, and he huddled alone upon the damp dock waiting for a bite. The trees behind him made no sound except for the occasional bead of water from the mist slipping off a leaf and plopping into the puddles.
Ernest had been wounded severely in the hip in the Battle of Tettenhall a few decades ago, as a foot soldier fighting alongside Edward the Elder against the Danish. They won the battle, but Ernest had been skewered on his right side into his hipbone by a spear. The damage mostly healed, but ever since Ernest had to walk with a limping hobble and often used his shortest rod as a walking stick. The pain itched away at his muscles as he sat here in the icy mist upon the dock. He retired early and set off north to the wild countryside to see if he could make a less stressful living.
A rhythmic crunch of pebbles upon the path to his side alarmed him, and he gazed into the fog with his old lizard-like eyes. A dark figure began to ease from the milky void, his steps growing and his shape materialising and taking shape as he neared. A chill ran through Ernest’s spine, and he decided to wobble up from his seat.
“Who approaches?” He said shakily. He did not know why he was so nervous.
“Oh, Cruikshank, evening.” A husky voice sounded from the mist, the face just starting to become recognisable. “It is only I, Wiglaf.” And up he came, and sat down upon the rotting boards upon the dock. Ernest sat next to him slowly.

17-Jun-2012 16:20:50 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 18:09:09 by Cyun

Cyun

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“I had a strange feeling just then. I am glad I have someone to talk to my lad.”
“A strange feeling Cruikshank?”
“Aye, as if… never mind. My old war memories playing tricks upon me again no doubt.* The man stared across the gradually moving water of the Ryhne. “This damn mist, I can’t even see the other side of the water!”
“It is rather eerie. I’m sorry to have frightened you like that.” Wiglaf said, picking apart a piece of weed.
“Oh don’t worry about that m’lad. Takes a lot to frighten me.” He said waveringly. “What brings you up this way of the river Wiglaf?”
“Oh. Just fancied a walk, I’ve not been sleeping all too well since recent events.” Wiglaf said, with a great sigh.
“Hmm, I’ve heard about that. Poor Winifred. I’m sure Ulric must be devastated.”
“Aye. He wants to avenge her.”
“Hm?” Ernest quizzed, poking his wrinkly neck nearer towards Wiglaf.
“I said he wants take his revenge!” He replied, a bit louder, compensating for the half deaf ears of the fisherman.
“Bah, good fer’im.” Ernest nodded in approval. “It’s about time someone did something around here, rather than just letting the dratted duke and his bishop walk over us. Much too hard on my hip for me though.” He said glumly.
“You better not have the Bishop hear that.” Wiglaf chuckled. “I’ve heard from the boys that he has spies all over the village – informing him about who’s doing their Christian duties and who is not.*
*Oh really? Well if I see one I’ll give the man a mighty good clobber with my rod, and see what the Bishop thinks of that.”
“Ha! Thats what I want to see.* Wiglaf smiling at the fire in the old dog. “Theobald Ramsdale reckons that Cecile has something to do with it.”
“Who?”
“It’s Baldric McKinnon*s eldest.”

17-Jun-2012 16:25:06 - Last edited on 18-Jun-2012 22:10:33 by Cyun

Cyun

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“Oh, yes I’ve seen the skinny fellow skulking around a lot just lately. Unfortunate family though. Look like a bunch of freshwater eels they are so underfed. Feowyn told me about Baldric’s youngest passing away.”
“Mhmm.” Wiglaf felt in two minds about the family. He hated the lot, but the sad events that seem to always happen to them makes him feel guilty about thinking any wrongs about them.
A branch snapped violently behind and Wiglaf came out of his thoughts.
“You’d best be on your way my lad, your father will worry. Especially in said times.”
“Aye, Cruikshank, I suppose I must. Good luck with the trout.”
“Thank you my boy, and thank you for the company.” With that, Wiglaf disappeared down the path into the mists again.

Cecile McKinnon heard the muffled voices of the old fisher and the Baker’s son talk loudly from the foggy riverside. He was hid in a depressed hold in the woods behind, and leant upon a gnarly tree. His clammy hands clutched something heavy underneath his clothes. Sweat dripped from his pale brow despite of the frozen wet night. He breathed slowly, closing his eyes and looking up to the canopy, trying to relax his sporadic heartbeats. Blood rushed in his ears and he felt them hot to touch.
“I said he wants take his revenge!” The voice of the unseen Wiglaf on the other side of the trees. Cecile thought about this deeply, his mind whizzing about what it could mean and who he was talking about.
*Winnifred. Her husband the Smithy… That would be the last thing he would want, a raging muscled man seeking for his wife’s killer. Oh god what if he finds out… I can’t do it again. No. He won’t find out. How could he? There were no witnesses to either the Cargoman’s death or her’s. I need to focus.* His thoughts turned to his bedridden dear mother, falling very sick, and little Phillip’s crude rock to mark where he lay.
*No, I must do this.* He concluded at last.

17-Jun-2012 16:28:09 - Last edited on 17-Jun-2012 16:44:11 by Cyun

Cyun

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

An approaching set of feet thumped down the path near to where he hid. It was that vile Wiglaf. His hands clamped upon the object which he held. That sinner. The pig. He had the urge to spit at his face as he walked by. Then when he did come to his tree where he was concealed, he had an overwhelming urge to murder Wiglaf instead. Wiglaf walked by round the corner into view of the village gatehouse before he stepped out onto the path. *I'll get you.*
Ernest was alone once more, and this was his ticket. Cecile pulled out the heavy thing from under his top and a huge steel hammer menacingly glinted in the flickering pathway torch. He crept out from the line of trees. Opting to make a surprise attack, he decided to sidle upon the muddy grass beside the stone path, giving his tread a lighter sound. Slowly the hunch backed shape of the old atheist fisherman was visible.
Now Cecile’s heart pounded so fast he thought he could hear it beating. He stopped breathing as he edged towards the knotted back of the fisherman, staring out across the water peacefully. Cecile was now right behind him. He stared at the corpse-to-be.
He lifted his jarring hammer with both hands, pointing to the sky, and then swung with all his strength the head of the steel bulk upon the ancient skull that splattered glittering scarlet blood upon Cecile’s cheeks and clothes. A bone breaking crack and a thud and Ernest crumpled to the wood stone, dead, oozing a puddle of advancing black blood across the boards until it reached the rim of the small dock and plopped into the gently moving river, leaving a trail of cloudy crimson swirling in the Ryhne until it dispersed and was nevermore.
Cecile breathed heavily as he stood spotted in hot blood, staring down at the body. He dropped the clunking hammer to the floor. A loud scrabbling and sniffing came from the dense canopy and the beasts within the undergrowth.

17-Jun-2012 16:31:44 - Last edited on 17-Jun-2012 16:42:11 by Cyun

Cyun

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

Cecile shook his matted hair from blood and got on his fours, then pushed the fisherman over the side of the dock strenuously, he sunk into the watery void rapidly and his bulbous staring eyes bore up at Cecile as he turned over in the water and disappeared. Even though the body had vanished, those eyes seemed to still be staring at him. His calves were now caked in lukewarm blood, and he washed himself of it in the icy water.
“Out, damn'd spot! Out, I say!” He said frantically, as he tried to scrub away the red. “Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?” Cecile McKinnon said under his hot breath. With that, he then reached for the hammer, and threw that into the river. He slipped the tackle box and the rod in too, to avoid suspicion.
He made his way back in the watchful dead of night, as the fisherman’s eyes gaped at him through the murky shadows.

17-Jun-2012 16:33:05 - Last edited on 17-Jun-2012 16:41:12 by Cyun

Yrolg

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Just browsing through the story, and I've read Chapter 1. You certainly understand the importance of description in prose, but I do want to say that I, at times, thought perhaps too much emphasis was put on verbosity and not enough on substance. There is a difference between description and exposition, and moving forward I caution you to observe the distinction carefully.
The dialogue also seemed a bit, and I'm not sure if this is the most accurate term but it is the one which pops to mind, trite. I loved the sequence at the gate with one man seeking attention and the other a cynic, but I wonder at the content of the conversation. Especially with regard to the thoughts, the juxtaposition of the prolix of prose to the succintity and disregard of the dialogue was a bit much.
I do want to end with saying that there were portions of description that you pointed out wonderfully. It is, I think, merely a tendency to veer to prolix rather than a malady.

17-Jun-2012 17:18:50

Cyun

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Thank you for your comments Yrolg, they will help me as a writer of prose. I am more suited to poetry, and by submitting this ongoing story I hope to improve my writing ability through the comments I receive.
I did submit the first section of Chapter One before posting the full chapters thus far for reviewing at the Novelists' Guild for a membership application, to which I received a rank of Novelist. The feedback I received that the amount of description especially at the beginning is often a chore to read, but in this case of my writing, the descriptions were full and creative. For that reason I decided not to change the opening. For the exposition in the first section, I believe you would have to read more than the first chapter to give an accurate view. I presented a character, a theme, time period, and setting. So I do disagree with your statement on this occasion, but I respect that the wordiness of the piece does require a little too much endurance from the reader.
For the dialogue, I am disheartened by this. I did try to put a lot of depth in the style and the messages that were sent through speech. For the content of the conversation, I did try to reveal the vulnerability of Odin, Ranulf's father, to the gossip of the village, Ranulf's isolated and separate views of the villagers as well as convey some of the caring tendencies of Ranulf to his father. For the thoughts, I do not see how else I would add depth to the actual words that were put to what was Ranulf thinking. I cannot put a lengthy embellished and layered sentence, because a young adult in Britain a thousand years ago would not say or think these things. For that reason the word choice and style could not have been carried through from description to dialogue or thought.
I will take on board what you have said, thank you.

17-Jun-2012 23:00:25 - Last edited on 17-Jun-2012 23:22:05 by Cyun

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The Nature of Sin