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Tuesday, 15 August 2006
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The Day Before the Next- Part I, A Story to Tell
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It was dark, and the rain that had been pouring for the last hour only made it worse. The mist from the sea by my homeland of L’Anguille brushed up against my face, my hair dancing with the wind as it flew past me, out of my eyes. I turned to see what was behind me: a ruined castle… crumbled beneath chaotic feet… and burnt to the ground. Its rule over the small city by the Northern Sea had fallen. Who knew how long it had been like this.



Thunder roared and lightning flashed lighting up the fields, the sounds of the waves crashing strong against the cliffs below. The lightning flashed again… you could see something come out of the shadow, they were 2 crosses. I walked into the ruins and picked up a piece of wood. It was inscribed: Marcel. I only stood there amongst the wreckage, thinking to myself, remembering the past.


Day Before the Next - Part I, A Story to Tell


"My life, they asked for my life... in a tale. My memory is as horrid as it is and they ask for my life on parchment. Is it not absurd to ask for such a thing before one's passing? I guess if the Duke really wishes to have the tales written out for ages to come, to add to the stacks of tales, politics, history, and such to his basement scrolls, possibly never to be read again. Oh what official businesses one must go through these years... the world is changing, then again it's always been this way. Where to start, though? Where- ah, yes, here. The year is 1529..."


The sword before me glimmered in the midday light. I swung it left to right and followed through, jabbing forward with it. Each blow was parried by the sword wielded across from me.


"Ah Jean, you are getting better." Dante said, his thick brown hair being thrown back as it intruded his face. His deep green eyes looked upon me with great potential.


"Thanks, Dante." I replied with much due grace.


My brother, Dante, was only a good 18 years of age now. My idol, he had fought in all sorts of places that Man was not deemed to see. He was a strong, serious, but sensitive man. He turned around and signaled me with two fingers to follow him. I was but 15 at the time, unknowing what the future held for one Jean Marcel, but ready to embrace it with all the force I had as an errant.


"Good morning father, mother." Dante said aloud as we walked towards the keep.


My father, Duke Alexander Marcel of l'Anguille, was an inspirational man. Time and time again he fought the inevitable hordes of Chaos in all of its forms, he had slain the fell ratmen of the underworld, and he had traveled to the very depths of Araby and the Zombie swamps to quell the undead from their unholy lives. He had kept l'Anguille at peace for the last 27 years.


My mother, Mercedes Marcel, was a kind and grateful woman. She, unlike any other, kept our family together in times of war and would always find a way to make sure everything was okay. My parents loved each other greatly and with a care that could not be described to the dear readers. One thing that separated her from most women, though, would be that she was a Lady Knight. My father met her during the end of a war in the Marches of Couronne, her skill has never been met by her opponents yet, and a truly amazing person, one I would like to say I'm proud to call my mother.


Walking into the open spaced heaven of stone, I asked Dante when I could fight alongside him in the future, his only response being "In time." I guess it was intended that I had to ‘grow up' first, even though I had just earned my steed not too long ago. But it was not to be too disappointed of, although I could only think that it should not be of age that judges your time of readiness, but your maturity. One who shows a great level of calmness and courage in battle is dubbed mature, I figured.  


Last Updated ( Thursday, 21 October 2010 )
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