Post by Chance on Sept 7, 2008 11:51:37 GMT -5
Chapter 5 The Rainclouds Deliver Justice
Grim saunters down an empty hallway, hands shoved in pockets meditatively. He aimlessly wanders past closed classroom doors, a slip of paper held in his hand, his book bag slung over his shoulder. “A student of my stature assigned to remedial studies. How embarrassing.”
He stifles a yawn. “If it weren’t for that damned incident at the warehouse, I wouldn’t have overslept. Now I have to find Ophelia later and apologize for missing our appointment.”
Grim’s voice echoes in the vast, empty hallway. He peers around dazedly for a moment. “Room 309…come to think of it, I’ve never gone to this part of the school before. I have no idea where my classroom is.”
For a moment, Grim spins around in the hallway, looking for a helpful student. But the entire hallway is completely deserted. He shrugs and continues walking on, glancing at the numbers marked on the classroom doors for guidance. At last, he stops at a particular classroom, and knocks on the door. No one answers.
Taking the initiative, Grim places a hand on the door and slides it open, stepping inside. At once, he is met with five guns pointed straight at him. Grim raises his hands automatically, eyes widening.
Light filters in through the windows of the Grand Imperial Palace of Orbis. Guards dressed in sparkling armor stand guard at the arched entrance of the throne room. Minstrels play a soft note of royal music in the late morning gathering.
A procession of ten men and women, adorned in fine, elaborate robes suggesting a high stature in the royal court, approach the throne where the King of Orbis sits.
“Your Highness,” a blond-haired young man introduces himself, bowing low to his king. His companions follow suit, each kneeling to the king.
“Rise, Lord Valkyrie,” King Lucida IV announces in a loud, booming voice. “I have no patience to bear with such formalities today. The Royal Intermediate Guard was not assembled for such trivial matters.”
Lord Valkyrie stands, as do his companions. They look expectantly upon their emperor, their king. King Lucida IV sits high in his throne, surveying the ten men and women gathered before him.
“As you well know, an attempt was recently made to wrest my life from me,” the King cries. “This is an act of treason! It is an unforgivable act that the Royal Family shall not forgive for a thousand years! And now, the outlaw that was responsible for this attempt has escaped the Royal Prison! It is unforgivable!”
The king pounds his fist upon his throne, generating a thunderous noise that echoes throughout the entire throne room. He sits there breathing wrathfully for a moment, before he calms down. “It is absolutely essential that this traitor be brought to justice. It would also appear that he, while the only one discovered near the vicinity of the Royal Grounds that night, may be working for a group of similar malefactors and rebels. This organization must be found, uncovered, and obliterated from existence! Do you understand me?”
“Yes, your Highness!” the ten members of the Royal Intermediate Guard respond resoundingly as one. They bow low and salute their king.
“Leave,” King Lucida IV continues irately, “and do not return until you have brought me the heads of all those responsible for this attempt upon my life.”
“It will be done, your Highness,” Lord Valkyrie replies, bowing low once more to the King of the Ossyrian Empire.
Grim stares apprehensively at the slew of guns pointed at him. He looks around the room, observing the face belonging to each of the five guns pointed in his direction. Halibel and her friend, Fayvard, are gathered in the room, standing nearest him. A tall, dark-haired man is there as well, along with a scruffy-looking young man and a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair.
Grim’s eyes come to a stop upon Halibel and Fayvard. “I apologize if I intruded upon something important,” Grim says rather calmly, “I was looking for Room 309. I suppose this is not it. I apologize for interrupting—”
The scruffy man clicks his gun dangerously. Halibel turns to her comrades. “Wait! I know him. His name is Grim. It should be okay. He’s an ally.”
The others glare uneasily at Grim. In response, Grim grows restless as well. He continues to stare at Halibel. “What is the meaning of this, Halibel? Your friends should realize that guns aren’t allowed at school.”
“Grim,” Halibel retorts, “there’s no need to play dumb.”
Grim slowly lowers his arms in response, as the others lower their guns. Halibel sighs. “You’ve stumbled upon a meeting of Rain.”
“Halibel!” the dark-haired man growls urgently. “What do you think you’re saying?”
“It’s okay,” Halibel replies, “he can be trusted. From the moment I first saw him, I had a feeling he’d find out about us somehow, one day. And it’s happened. He’s useful, he can help us.”
“Help you?” Grim repeats. “I’m sorry, but you five appear to be engaging in some sort of illegal activity. I won’t rat you out, but I won’t promise to help you at all in this. My sense of justice is better than—”
“How funny that you mention justice,” Fayvard interjects, “because that’s just what we’re about.”
“Grim,” Halibel says, raising her arms and gesturing at everything, everyone in the room, “you’re looking at the members of the Resistance and Intervention Network, otherwise known as Rain.”
“Rain…” The name floats out of Grim’s mouth, as he contemplates its origin, its meaning, its purpose, and those that work under its name. He catches himself pondering over the name, and quickly places a hand back on the door behind him. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I shall not bother you anym—”
The muzzles of every gun in the room point at Grim’s face once again. “Grim,” Halibel persists, “I’m afraid that now you’ve discovered us, we cannot permit you to leave. You have to become a member.”
“Forced membership, huh?” Grim sneers. He slowly withdraws from the door, striding confidently into the midst of the room. He slips in front of a chair and places himself on it. “Very well. I shall listen to your meeting, but as far as physical participation goes, I cannot guarantee my full cooperation. However, you have my word I won’t expose your doings.”
Halibel glances around the room tensely. “Well…as for introductions, Grim, you already know me and Fayvard, here. This is Rile Lesters,” Halibel says, pointing at the scruffy man with the gun. She turns to the girl next to her. “This is Kathryn Newbellows, and—”
“My name is Edgar C. William,” the dark-haired fellow introduces himself in a deep, contemplative voice. Grim recognizes him immediately as the leader from the previous night, codenamed Macbeth.
“This is all very good,” Grim answers smugly, “but what exactly is the purpose for the existence of this covert organization known as ‘Rain?’”
“To carry out justice,” Fayvard replies, his eyes furrowed darkly. All of a sudden, his complexion completely lights up. “As we all realize, the Ossyrian Empire fails to acknowledge its fealties to its people nearly enough.”
“I see,” Grim retorts, “so you act as a renegade law enforcement system that the Ossyrian Empire has failed to establish. While I concur with you that justice finds no sympathy in this twisted world the Ossyrians have created, your bloody demonstration last night was overly exorbitant.”
“Sometimes disobeying the laws is necessary in order to carry out justice,” Edgar, the leader, announces. “If we were all to become sheep and follow Ossyria, they would win.”
“Yeah,” the man named Rile agrees, “I’m sure ya ain’t t’only one to have beef with the Ossyrians.”
“All right then, I see your case,” Grim answers, “however, I still do not agree fully with your fundamental approach to solving the issue of ‘justice.’ I believe it is wrong to shed blood without a strongly justifiable reason.”
“If you do not agree with your ideas, then I ask that you leave,” Edgar suggests. “It would be meaningless for us to hold you prisoner here. In fact, it would be considered a liability to our cause.”
“R-Really?” Grim responds, jumping to his feet. “You trust me enough to leave here freely?”
“Edgar, are you sure about—” Halibel protests hastily.
“Yes, you shall leave here if you do not agree with our propositions,” Edgar continues. “However, should any word of our existence get out because of you, we will promptly take your head.”
Grim’s composure rapidly returns, as he places a hand on the door once more. “Hmph, don’t worry, you have my word. I wouldn’t dream of exposing your little secret to the world.”
“Very well, then,” Edgar growls, as Grim slides the door open. “Then we shall continue with our discussion regarding the trade routes of the manaine smugglers.”
The door slams shut with a sudden bang, but Grim remains inside the room still. He stands silently, fuming, for a moment. Then, he turns around ever so slowly, staring Edgar in the eye. “Manaine smugglers, you say? Let me tell you what I know.”
Halibel watches Grim incredulously as he voluntarily returns to his seat. “Why…why the sudden change of heart?” she murmurs.
“Allow me to introduce you to a student,” Grim begins, a smug smile playing about his lips, “by the name of Darius Thomason.”
The handsome man with golden locks of hair stands outside the imperial palace, staring at a grand, elaborate fountain in the middle of the court. He holds a bronze meso coin in his hand. Mumbling something under his breath, he flips the coin into the pool of water below.
“Lord Valkyrie!” a voice shouts at him from across the court.
Looking up, the man named Lord Valkyrie identifies one of his comrades approaching him. “What is it, Lord Easter?”
“Will you be departing on our mission now?” the darker-haired Lord Easter inquires, as he reaches the hearing range of Lord Valkyrie.
“Of course,” Lord Valkyrie retorts. “I figure I shall scour that island of filth, Victoria. If his Highness’ assassins are anywhere, I would guess they would be hiding there. I doubt they would dare show their face in Ossyria.”
“Assassins trying to take his Highness’ life,” Lord Easter grimaces, “and he’s ordered us on a search and destroy mission to eliminate these traitors. It’s all very similar, isn’t it? I mean, to what happened four years ago…”
“Yeah,” Lord Valkyrie agrees, rather grimly, “not since four years ago have we had this kind of trouble. I don’t like it. That is why we should hurry up and find his Highness’ attackers. Right?” Valkyrie attempts to put some sort of smile on his face.
“Right,” Lord Easter agrees.
Distantly, the sun begins to fade behind the rolling hills where the vast Ellinian forests once stood. A host of shadows now darken the courtyard connecting the many disjointed buildings housing the student dormitories. Ophelia stands in the middle of the court, her bag held close to her side as she waits patiently for someone to arrive.
“I’m glad you waited for me, Ophelia,” Grim announces his arrival from afar. He steps into the middle of the enclosure.
Unbeknownst to either of the two students, a pair of eyes belonging to a third person watches them from behind one of the marble columns supporting the immense, elevated ceiling. As Grim glances over his shoulder, Darius Thomason slips behind the pillar and out of view.
“Grim,” Ophelia whispers softly, “where were you this morning?”
“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” Grim responds, “I have no excuse for my absence this morning. I just hope you’ll show me now what you wanted to show me this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Grim,” Ophelia says, her voice barely audible.
Grim opens his mouth to reply, unpleasant surprise overwhelming him. “But, Ophelia—”
“Silly Grimey,” Ophelia suddenly cries, her voice rising to a pitch that echoes throughout the court, “you’re gonna have to wait till tomorrow morning if you wanna find out! And you better not be late or absent this time, okay? Or else then I’ll really get mad.”
Ophelia pokes Grim playfully between the eyes, before skipping away from him. Grim turns around, surprise clearly etched in his face. He holds out a hand, glaring after Ophelia’s retreating back. “O-Ophelia…!”
“Tomorrow morning, Grimey!” Ophelia shouts cheerfully.
“What…just happened?” Grim murmurs perplexedly, watching as Ophelia disappears into one of the girls’ dormitory buildings.
Behind his pillar, Darius closes his eyes pensively, the little light from the sun filtering into the courtyard creating a darkened, aging effect on his facial features.
Somewhere far away, where no humans wander, runs a secret facility of science. The Ossyrian royal family’s crest is painted on all the walls. Several masked scientists in white lab coats gather around outside a massive testing stage, which is enclosed on all four sides by huge glass walls for observational purposes.
They scribble on clipboards as they watch their assistants set up an enormous apparatus within the confines of the testing stage. “Prepare Formula A1E for experimentation. Begin taking notes as soon as Test Subject B211 enters the experimental field,” a voice booms through a loudspeaker. A single human being, his hands bound behind his back, wearing nothing but rags, is escorted onto the stage.
With a shout, the assistants evacuate the testing stage running. A loud gasp of gas escaping sounds, and all of a sudden, the testing stage fills with a thick green gas.
Next: Nostalgia – 6 Slipping
Grim saunters down an empty hallway, hands shoved in pockets meditatively. He aimlessly wanders past closed classroom doors, a slip of paper held in his hand, his book bag slung over his shoulder. “A student of my stature assigned to remedial studies. How embarrassing.”
He stifles a yawn. “If it weren’t for that damned incident at the warehouse, I wouldn’t have overslept. Now I have to find Ophelia later and apologize for missing our appointment.”
Grim’s voice echoes in the vast, empty hallway. He peers around dazedly for a moment. “Room 309…come to think of it, I’ve never gone to this part of the school before. I have no idea where my classroom is.”
For a moment, Grim spins around in the hallway, looking for a helpful student. But the entire hallway is completely deserted. He shrugs and continues walking on, glancing at the numbers marked on the classroom doors for guidance. At last, he stops at a particular classroom, and knocks on the door. No one answers.
Taking the initiative, Grim places a hand on the door and slides it open, stepping inside. At once, he is met with five guns pointed straight at him. Grim raises his hands automatically, eyes widening.
Light filters in through the windows of the Grand Imperial Palace of Orbis. Guards dressed in sparkling armor stand guard at the arched entrance of the throne room. Minstrels play a soft note of royal music in the late morning gathering.
A procession of ten men and women, adorned in fine, elaborate robes suggesting a high stature in the royal court, approach the throne where the King of Orbis sits.
“Your Highness,” a blond-haired young man introduces himself, bowing low to his king. His companions follow suit, each kneeling to the king.
“Rise, Lord Valkyrie,” King Lucida IV announces in a loud, booming voice. “I have no patience to bear with such formalities today. The Royal Intermediate Guard was not assembled for such trivial matters.”
Lord Valkyrie stands, as do his companions. They look expectantly upon their emperor, their king. King Lucida IV sits high in his throne, surveying the ten men and women gathered before him.
“As you well know, an attempt was recently made to wrest my life from me,” the King cries. “This is an act of treason! It is an unforgivable act that the Royal Family shall not forgive for a thousand years! And now, the outlaw that was responsible for this attempt has escaped the Royal Prison! It is unforgivable!”
The king pounds his fist upon his throne, generating a thunderous noise that echoes throughout the entire throne room. He sits there breathing wrathfully for a moment, before he calms down. “It is absolutely essential that this traitor be brought to justice. It would also appear that he, while the only one discovered near the vicinity of the Royal Grounds that night, may be working for a group of similar malefactors and rebels. This organization must be found, uncovered, and obliterated from existence! Do you understand me?”
“Yes, your Highness!” the ten members of the Royal Intermediate Guard respond resoundingly as one. They bow low and salute their king.
“Leave,” King Lucida IV continues irately, “and do not return until you have brought me the heads of all those responsible for this attempt upon my life.”
“It will be done, your Highness,” Lord Valkyrie replies, bowing low once more to the King of the Ossyrian Empire.
Grim stares apprehensively at the slew of guns pointed at him. He looks around the room, observing the face belonging to each of the five guns pointed in his direction. Halibel and her friend, Fayvard, are gathered in the room, standing nearest him. A tall, dark-haired man is there as well, along with a scruffy-looking young man and a young girl with shoulder-length brown hair.
Grim’s eyes come to a stop upon Halibel and Fayvard. “I apologize if I intruded upon something important,” Grim says rather calmly, “I was looking for Room 309. I suppose this is not it. I apologize for interrupting—”
The scruffy man clicks his gun dangerously. Halibel turns to her comrades. “Wait! I know him. His name is Grim. It should be okay. He’s an ally.”
The others glare uneasily at Grim. In response, Grim grows restless as well. He continues to stare at Halibel. “What is the meaning of this, Halibel? Your friends should realize that guns aren’t allowed at school.”
“Grim,” Halibel retorts, “there’s no need to play dumb.”
Grim slowly lowers his arms in response, as the others lower their guns. Halibel sighs. “You’ve stumbled upon a meeting of Rain.”
“Halibel!” the dark-haired man growls urgently. “What do you think you’re saying?”
“It’s okay,” Halibel replies, “he can be trusted. From the moment I first saw him, I had a feeling he’d find out about us somehow, one day. And it’s happened. He’s useful, he can help us.”
“Help you?” Grim repeats. “I’m sorry, but you five appear to be engaging in some sort of illegal activity. I won’t rat you out, but I won’t promise to help you at all in this. My sense of justice is better than—”
“How funny that you mention justice,” Fayvard interjects, “because that’s just what we’re about.”
“Grim,” Halibel says, raising her arms and gesturing at everything, everyone in the room, “you’re looking at the members of the Resistance and Intervention Network, otherwise known as Rain.”
“Rain…” The name floats out of Grim’s mouth, as he contemplates its origin, its meaning, its purpose, and those that work under its name. He catches himself pondering over the name, and quickly places a hand back on the door behind him. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I shall not bother you anym—”
The muzzles of every gun in the room point at Grim’s face once again. “Grim,” Halibel persists, “I’m afraid that now you’ve discovered us, we cannot permit you to leave. You have to become a member.”
“Forced membership, huh?” Grim sneers. He slowly withdraws from the door, striding confidently into the midst of the room. He slips in front of a chair and places himself on it. “Very well. I shall listen to your meeting, but as far as physical participation goes, I cannot guarantee my full cooperation. However, you have my word I won’t expose your doings.”
Halibel glances around the room tensely. “Well…as for introductions, Grim, you already know me and Fayvard, here. This is Rile Lesters,” Halibel says, pointing at the scruffy man with the gun. She turns to the girl next to her. “This is Kathryn Newbellows, and—”
“My name is Edgar C. William,” the dark-haired fellow introduces himself in a deep, contemplative voice. Grim recognizes him immediately as the leader from the previous night, codenamed Macbeth.
“This is all very good,” Grim answers smugly, “but what exactly is the purpose for the existence of this covert organization known as ‘Rain?’”
“To carry out justice,” Fayvard replies, his eyes furrowed darkly. All of a sudden, his complexion completely lights up. “As we all realize, the Ossyrian Empire fails to acknowledge its fealties to its people nearly enough.”
“I see,” Grim retorts, “so you act as a renegade law enforcement system that the Ossyrian Empire has failed to establish. While I concur with you that justice finds no sympathy in this twisted world the Ossyrians have created, your bloody demonstration last night was overly exorbitant.”
“Sometimes disobeying the laws is necessary in order to carry out justice,” Edgar, the leader, announces. “If we were all to become sheep and follow Ossyria, they would win.”
“Yeah,” the man named Rile agrees, “I’m sure ya ain’t t’only one to have beef with the Ossyrians.”
“All right then, I see your case,” Grim answers, “however, I still do not agree fully with your fundamental approach to solving the issue of ‘justice.’ I believe it is wrong to shed blood without a strongly justifiable reason.”
“If you do not agree with your ideas, then I ask that you leave,” Edgar suggests. “It would be meaningless for us to hold you prisoner here. In fact, it would be considered a liability to our cause.”
“R-Really?” Grim responds, jumping to his feet. “You trust me enough to leave here freely?”
“Edgar, are you sure about—” Halibel protests hastily.
“Yes, you shall leave here if you do not agree with our propositions,” Edgar continues. “However, should any word of our existence get out because of you, we will promptly take your head.”
Grim’s composure rapidly returns, as he places a hand on the door once more. “Hmph, don’t worry, you have my word. I wouldn’t dream of exposing your little secret to the world.”
“Very well, then,” Edgar growls, as Grim slides the door open. “Then we shall continue with our discussion regarding the trade routes of the manaine smugglers.”
The door slams shut with a sudden bang, but Grim remains inside the room still. He stands silently, fuming, for a moment. Then, he turns around ever so slowly, staring Edgar in the eye. “Manaine smugglers, you say? Let me tell you what I know.”
Halibel watches Grim incredulously as he voluntarily returns to his seat. “Why…why the sudden change of heart?” she murmurs.
“Allow me to introduce you to a student,” Grim begins, a smug smile playing about his lips, “by the name of Darius Thomason.”
The handsome man with golden locks of hair stands outside the imperial palace, staring at a grand, elaborate fountain in the middle of the court. He holds a bronze meso coin in his hand. Mumbling something under his breath, he flips the coin into the pool of water below.
“Lord Valkyrie!” a voice shouts at him from across the court.
Looking up, the man named Lord Valkyrie identifies one of his comrades approaching him. “What is it, Lord Easter?”
“Will you be departing on our mission now?” the darker-haired Lord Easter inquires, as he reaches the hearing range of Lord Valkyrie.
“Of course,” Lord Valkyrie retorts. “I figure I shall scour that island of filth, Victoria. If his Highness’ assassins are anywhere, I would guess they would be hiding there. I doubt they would dare show their face in Ossyria.”
“Assassins trying to take his Highness’ life,” Lord Easter grimaces, “and he’s ordered us on a search and destroy mission to eliminate these traitors. It’s all very similar, isn’t it? I mean, to what happened four years ago…”
“Yeah,” Lord Valkyrie agrees, rather grimly, “not since four years ago have we had this kind of trouble. I don’t like it. That is why we should hurry up and find his Highness’ attackers. Right?” Valkyrie attempts to put some sort of smile on his face.
“Right,” Lord Easter agrees.
Distantly, the sun begins to fade behind the rolling hills where the vast Ellinian forests once stood. A host of shadows now darken the courtyard connecting the many disjointed buildings housing the student dormitories. Ophelia stands in the middle of the court, her bag held close to her side as she waits patiently for someone to arrive.
“I’m glad you waited for me, Ophelia,” Grim announces his arrival from afar. He steps into the middle of the enclosure.
Unbeknownst to either of the two students, a pair of eyes belonging to a third person watches them from behind one of the marble columns supporting the immense, elevated ceiling. As Grim glances over his shoulder, Darius Thomason slips behind the pillar and out of view.
“Grim,” Ophelia whispers softly, “where were you this morning?”
“I’m sorry, Ophelia,” Grim responds, “I have no excuse for my absence this morning. I just hope you’ll show me now what you wanted to show me this morning.”
“I’m sorry, Grim,” Ophelia says, her voice barely audible.
Grim opens his mouth to reply, unpleasant surprise overwhelming him. “But, Ophelia—”
“Silly Grimey,” Ophelia suddenly cries, her voice rising to a pitch that echoes throughout the court, “you’re gonna have to wait till tomorrow morning if you wanna find out! And you better not be late or absent this time, okay? Or else then I’ll really get mad.”
Ophelia pokes Grim playfully between the eyes, before skipping away from him. Grim turns around, surprise clearly etched in his face. He holds out a hand, glaring after Ophelia’s retreating back. “O-Ophelia…!”
“Tomorrow morning, Grimey!” Ophelia shouts cheerfully.
“What…just happened?” Grim murmurs perplexedly, watching as Ophelia disappears into one of the girls’ dormitory buildings.
Behind his pillar, Darius closes his eyes pensively, the little light from the sun filtering into the courtyard creating a darkened, aging effect on his facial features.
Somewhere far away, where no humans wander, runs a secret facility of science. The Ossyrian royal family’s crest is painted on all the walls. Several masked scientists in white lab coats gather around outside a massive testing stage, which is enclosed on all four sides by huge glass walls for observational purposes.
They scribble on clipboards as they watch their assistants set up an enormous apparatus within the confines of the testing stage. “Prepare Formula A1E for experimentation. Begin taking notes as soon as Test Subject B211 enters the experimental field,” a voice booms through a loudspeaker. A single human being, his hands bound behind his back, wearing nothing but rags, is escorted onto the stage.
With a shout, the assistants evacuate the testing stage running. A loud gasp of gas escaping sounds, and all of a sudden, the testing stage fills with a thick green gas.
Next: Nostalgia – 6 Slipping