OK, so a good ten years ago, I went ahead and created a somewhat extensive overview/gazetteer for the much maligned island domain of Nosos and its lord Malus Sceleris.
I was young(er) and dumb(er), but while I'm far from a great fiction writer, I do believe I've grown into a much more proficient one with time. So what started out as a small revision of the Malus Sceleris Story turned into a 10 page fiction. Eeeps!
I'm still planning on going beyond this mere piece of fiction and elaborating on the domain and its lord in more game specific terms and going further than the chronological end of the current story.
I don't think this is the finished product so much as a first draft of sorts. Actually, I'm a little burned out since this is the first time I've had to stretch my creative writing muscles in ages and I'm desperate for feedback.
Mind you, English is not my native language, so please be gentle.
Perhaps a little background might be of some assistance. This is the story of Malus as told by Malus to his unnamed associate, an Athasian bard whom he befriended (if Malus can be said to have time for friends) while rotting in a foreign jail. Said bard has been a stalwart ally (I'm thinking propagandist or something and possibly the one who instructed Malus in the arts of medicine/drugs), for nothing else if not the opportunity to see a world vastly different from his own.
How said bard is able to communicate with Malus is something I haven't quite worked out yet, but I'm assuming it'll be related to a ring of tongues or something.
This is the foretold betrayal of Malus - if the bard is to be caught, then he'll squeal like a pig and wrote this manuscript as a way to ensure that Malus won't get away and leave him to rot.
I'm not entirely happy with all aspects of this work. I wanted to make Malus into something of a self-made two-fisted 50's man's man with hints of a debonair, cultured entrepreneur who's not just lusting after profits but wishes to embody the spirit of urban life with an overabundant sense of entitlement. Kind of like Steve Jobs, really. Somehow, I don't feel this portrayal comes across as well as I had hoped.
I'm also putting a lesser emphasis on the changes in the land when Nosos entered RL since this isn't something I thought the bard would deem relevant.
For the sake of convenience, Malus Sceleris will be named as such in all my posts, despite the fact that his name is one of those terrible puns that were all the rage at TSR back in the day. This said I endorse renaming characters when you've hit upon a cleverer pun than the one thought up by the good folks of the Kargat.
Oh yeah, and I'm sort of wordy... anyhow, enjoy... (I hope)
The Rise and Fall of Malus Sceleris (Or, "Malus Sceleris, this is your life!")
If some men flee, others fight. This is how Malus Sceleris came to interpret his rise and, by extension, the fall of everyone else: a man standing tall against all odds; moving ever forward when others chose to fall back.
As the man looks over the land, he sees in the sprawling urban deployment but scant traces of a past that he has all but completely erased. Every road leads to a monument to the triumph of his will; every house a proud testament to a brave new world. Pity his past refuses to die and hampers the urgency of the future. It grows and creeps in the dark like weeds; ever present in the corner of his eye. His past has a heart deep within the land, far from his reach. This heart beats violently and pumps green, viscous blood to the appendages surrounding the city. It also has a voice which haunts his dreams with a mocking laughter.
Every story has to start somewhere, they say. In the strange case of Malus Sceleris, all roads lead to green. Some nights, as he lays his head down to sleep, Malus remembers. Some nights, it all becomes green again, green like the grassy knoll on which he was born; emerald, like the eyes of his father... no, not just his father, but the Green Father.
The Green father had told everyone that, once upon a time, he was a knowledgeable man with a name and a past living in a house within a city which also bore a name and a past. But times were changing and the man who would become this Green Father had grown upset with how these times had changed. Where had all the strong, hearty men and women bursting with fertility and vitality gone? Like trees drained of their sap, so too had humans been drained of their life, their blood, their soul. The man looked to his past and began the long journey back to its verdant fields of seemingly endless promise.
He was not alone on this journey as local women and men also heard this calling to repopulate and revive a glorious past tarnished so ungracefully by the petulant upstart child called progress: they would regain their lost potency, living as nature had firmly intended.
The Green Father is how his followers referred to him, although he certainly did not object. He took a barren woman for his wife and gave her a son - a miracle not soon forgotten by his already fervent disciples. As the first born child of this new world, Malus was cherished as the herald of a new (or should we say renewed) order and the future apostle of Nature's teachings.
Yet, the Green Father could not fully escape his own past and obsessions. "The calling" came to him in the form of a lucid dream, he claimed, but he would never reveal how he truly reached his eventual prognosis that the city was quite sick...
The years passed by so quickly. Eventually, the Green Father would start spending his days desperately deciphering "signs" meant to guide him toward a more profound relationship with a wondrous and puzzling Nature, taking notes and using complex calculations to properly assess the current "imbalances" and their relative harmfulness. Soon he would ignore not only his fellowship and wife's needs, but also his child's desperate pleas for a father he seemed to know through myths and tales rather than actual interaction. Few could still find wisdom and guidance in his words as their mentor often secluded himself completely, his thoughts muddled and words cryptic if not barely intelligible at that point.
Malus had been raised to become a resourceful, strong willed and able-bodied leader of men in the image of his father by a community in search of a voice, a presence to guide them, to tell them everything would be all right. Malus would have most certainly taken this path were it not for a meek, discordant voice of dissent from within the otherwise pleasantly oblivious commune.
One young girl, barely a few years the senior of Malus, had seen the wonders of the city before her parents joined the Green Father's reclusive commune. She had witnessed the splendours and charms of urban life for most of her youth and shared her stories with the Green Father's successor, the innocence of her youth adding a noticeable bias in favour of this apparently incomparable lifestyle. Alas, for this betrayal she would pay a heavy fine: disowned by the group and left to fend for herself in a world from which she had been separated for far too many years. Her parents were the first to turn away. The Green Father, in a rare act of parenthood at the time, forbade his prodigal son from ever entering the decadent realm of the urban man lest he be corrupted and fall ill like those poor souls trapped in their coffin built from mortar and bricks. The boy, upset and bewildered by the decision, tried in vain to reason with the stern man. Green eyes clouded by other matters looked down with little care or understanding at the protesting child, his mind already occupied by countless calculations and theories.
(end of part 1)
The Rise and Fall of Malus Sceleris - a first draft
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Malus' inevitable estrangement from his father reached a final crescendo as a tragic event pushed the teenage boy to finally flee from the commune and its increasingly bizarre paternalistic leader.
Never could he forget the screams he heard that day.
The beast seemed positively gargantuan in size and remorseless in its fury, with claws - oh those terrible claws - ripping through her flesh with so very little effort. Crimson stained clothes and errant eyes, her throat no longer producing any sound despite her mouth desperately pleading for help. A terrible sight for anyone let alone a young boy.
The real beast however was the one who, with a mere glare, dismissed the creature as if a wayward child; the Green Father's control now reached beyond mere human disciples to encompass even the wild creatures who shared the surrounding forest. "Nature rules that we respect the boundaries given to each of us - when breaching this rule we are punished accordingly." A thought he had so many times before shared with his flock as both a grim warning and distant observation on universal laws tightly woven into the very fabric of the world. He would not involve himself in what he deemed a Natural process, a Natural chain of events beyond his control. That the beast would attack was the result of a foolish interloper trespassing. When the beast went beyond its territory, the Green Father felt he had no choice but to act, however his wife should have known better but to provoke its wrath.
The ever stoic patriarch again hid behind a mask, concocting a new past - a better past - to distance himself from the world, to eschew his own responsibilities. If only his son had not overheard the bitter words exchanged the night before by his parents. If only he didn't already know that his mother had failed to deliver a second child following his own miraculous birth. Perhaps then the boy's fate would have differed. Perhaps then, his already so tenuous faith would not have been so violently shaken...
As the Green Father left the boy to his own devices, ignoring his child's hateful curses, others from the commune arrived, alerted by the bloody screams of one of their own. While they tried to console the grieving, angry boy, their refusal to accuse their leader of ill will frustrated Malus who soon left them with little more than what he could carry and his own sudden desire for self-determination.
If he was wrong then he would immerse himself in wrongness! The city would now be his new home.
Urban life proved challenging and his experiences as many as they were troubling, after all, the passage from golden child to street urchin - from prince to pauper as fairytale insist - is a rare one and may, in a not completely understandable manner, slant one's perception of humanity quite negatively. His eyes saw humans in their vilest and most desperate forms; in his darkest hours, the return to an easy life under his father's dominion seemed tempting, but his recurring nightmares reminded him of the reasons behind his initial resolution. He would not be proved wrong. And, as it were preordained, hope just arrived in town, disguised, as it always is, in the form of a unique opportunity for mutual profit.
A local band of ruffians, mostly orphans born out of shameful unions or rebellious spirits unwilling to live in fear of adults, met with the new arrival to ensure that proper diplomatic relationships could be established. The boy agreed to the terms of the diplomatic envoy, however unfavourable they may have been, acknowledging (at least for now) the apparently superior political weight of the ruffians. Their negotiator was quite experienced and offered strong arguments and, especially, strong blows to further his group's interests. All of Malus' worldly possessions would now belong to the ruffians, indeed, his very life would become a private good to be bartered and traded as the group saw fit - and uses for a healthy young boy were plentiful in such a bustling city. In return, he would be allowed to survive, and possibly even thrive, if he proved himself useful. A fair trade for them to be sure, however, it also doubled as an important lesson in political economy and power for the boy.
Still refusing to yield to his father's beliefs, he taught himself how to read and write - both signs of proper urban life - along with a few other important life skills such as stealing, lying and most important of all, seizing opportunities and playing the odds. Confident and determined as he was, the upstart wasted no time in taking over the crooked teens, leading the older more thuggish boys to incarceration while fermenting revolt among the younger ones with promises of more food and less beatings, not to mention the freedom to act as free agents. All this for a very meagre price: their assistance. The idea of lessened corporal punishment proved particularly popular.
Eventually, the boy grew and moved on to a more legitimate form of theft and generally roguish behaviour - trading. And a master trader he would soon become. If anything, Malus was a fast learner and an especially motivated one, moving from pilfering goods to smuggling them and ultimately to selling them himself. Malus understood from his earlier and less successful attempts at this new career that, unlike the common rogue, the trader's skill is that of doing in broad daylight what the thief does from the shadows and, more importantly, with the explicit consent of the opposite party.
(end of part 2)
Never could he forget the screams he heard that day.
The beast seemed positively gargantuan in size and remorseless in its fury, with claws - oh those terrible claws - ripping through her flesh with so very little effort. Crimson stained clothes and errant eyes, her throat no longer producing any sound despite her mouth desperately pleading for help. A terrible sight for anyone let alone a young boy.
The real beast however was the one who, with a mere glare, dismissed the creature as if a wayward child; the Green Father's control now reached beyond mere human disciples to encompass even the wild creatures who shared the surrounding forest. "Nature rules that we respect the boundaries given to each of us - when breaching this rule we are punished accordingly." A thought he had so many times before shared with his flock as both a grim warning and distant observation on universal laws tightly woven into the very fabric of the world. He would not involve himself in what he deemed a Natural process, a Natural chain of events beyond his control. That the beast would attack was the result of a foolish interloper trespassing. When the beast went beyond its territory, the Green Father felt he had no choice but to act, however his wife should have known better but to provoke its wrath.
The ever stoic patriarch again hid behind a mask, concocting a new past - a better past - to distance himself from the world, to eschew his own responsibilities. If only his son had not overheard the bitter words exchanged the night before by his parents. If only he didn't already know that his mother had failed to deliver a second child following his own miraculous birth. Perhaps then the boy's fate would have differed. Perhaps then, his already so tenuous faith would not have been so violently shaken...
As the Green Father left the boy to his own devices, ignoring his child's hateful curses, others from the commune arrived, alerted by the bloody screams of one of their own. While they tried to console the grieving, angry boy, their refusal to accuse their leader of ill will frustrated Malus who soon left them with little more than what he could carry and his own sudden desire for self-determination.
If he was wrong then he would immerse himself in wrongness! The city would now be his new home.
Urban life proved challenging and his experiences as many as they were troubling, after all, the passage from golden child to street urchin - from prince to pauper as fairytale insist - is a rare one and may, in a not completely understandable manner, slant one's perception of humanity quite negatively. His eyes saw humans in their vilest and most desperate forms; in his darkest hours, the return to an easy life under his father's dominion seemed tempting, but his recurring nightmares reminded him of the reasons behind his initial resolution. He would not be proved wrong. And, as it were preordained, hope just arrived in town, disguised, as it always is, in the form of a unique opportunity for mutual profit.
A local band of ruffians, mostly orphans born out of shameful unions or rebellious spirits unwilling to live in fear of adults, met with the new arrival to ensure that proper diplomatic relationships could be established. The boy agreed to the terms of the diplomatic envoy, however unfavourable they may have been, acknowledging (at least for now) the apparently superior political weight of the ruffians. Their negotiator was quite experienced and offered strong arguments and, especially, strong blows to further his group's interests. All of Malus' worldly possessions would now belong to the ruffians, indeed, his very life would become a private good to be bartered and traded as the group saw fit - and uses for a healthy young boy were plentiful in such a bustling city. In return, he would be allowed to survive, and possibly even thrive, if he proved himself useful. A fair trade for them to be sure, however, it also doubled as an important lesson in political economy and power for the boy.
Still refusing to yield to his father's beliefs, he taught himself how to read and write - both signs of proper urban life - along with a few other important life skills such as stealing, lying and most important of all, seizing opportunities and playing the odds. Confident and determined as he was, the upstart wasted no time in taking over the crooked teens, leading the older more thuggish boys to incarceration while fermenting revolt among the younger ones with promises of more food and less beatings, not to mention the freedom to act as free agents. All this for a very meagre price: their assistance. The idea of lessened corporal punishment proved particularly popular.
Eventually, the boy grew and moved on to a more legitimate form of theft and generally roguish behaviour - trading. And a master trader he would soon become. If anything, Malus was a fast learner and an especially motivated one, moving from pilfering goods to smuggling them and ultimately to selling them himself. Malus understood from his earlier and less successful attempts at this new career that, unlike the common rogue, the trader's skill is that of doing in broad daylight what the thief does from the shadows and, more importantly, with the explicit consent of the opposite party.
(end of part 2)
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
He continued to learn at the hands of older, more experienced traders and their sons - most born of many wives scattered across the realms, lost boys and their secret societies - the various aspects of the master trader's art (such a delicate and delightfully subtle occupation is nothing if not an art). He learned of human nature and how to exploit it. Of course, he also felt the cruel lash of the whip when caught in dubious situations or with forbidden goods. He even made a few daring escapes from foreign prisons due to "unfortunate misunderstandings" with local law enforcement. But through it all, he shed the mantle of the prodigal son of an obsessive man, following his own path and catching a glimpse of certain great universal truths that had so far remained obscure to him. The triumph of the individual will was to be his way: everywhere greatness could be found in mankind, Malus saw the work of strong, unyielding individual wills focusing on their own individual needs and their own individual survival.
Yet Malus dreamed of green almost every night, green stained with rich crimson...
A local trader made a striking claim one fine day. A foreigner had stolen his business through underhanded means, although Malus insists that he was merely doing to him what he had been doing to other local merchants - providing competition. Boldly encroaching upon a long-established cartel and the economic dictatorship of parasitic aristocrats with their simpering smiles and weak-kneed defence exposing their lack of fortitude and talent should have been seen as a favour to all, sadly, a swift, one-sided trial and prison term were the end results of his perfectly justifiable ambitions. Idiots, all of them, unable to understand that he could bring a revolution to the land if they would only listen.
Incarceration is an interesting experience, especially when a man spends enough time confined between stone walls and iron bars, uncertain comrades with shifty eyes as your only chance for interaction. Will you sleep through the night or will your mind be forever imprisoned in the land of dreams as your blood quietly forms a pool on the dusty floor?
Time loses all meaning in jail. The body grows old and the mind dulls yet all other signs of time's passage remain all but invisible. A few fortunate souls are given luxuries and write diaries to remind themselves of who they are, as prison life tends to wash away history and personality. Of course, some strong willed individuals - minds filled with rage, passion or ideals - patiently wait, making full use of their time to plot their eventual exit.
His cell mate proved to be a voluble stranger from a strange land. So strange, in fact, that Malus thought the sun and rough treatment had taken away his sanity. Perhaps this is why he so carelessly told the story of his life, reaching as far back as his memory allowed, to his sole companion: any man able to invent such a vividly improbable universe of perpetual deserts, salt flats and seas of silt where lanky feys run through the sand and fearsome dragon-like kings rule with life-devouring magic - especially one so suspiciously fluent in local languages - would likely pay little attention to a much more mundane story, at best humouring a man desperate for basic human interaction out of compassion (or boredom).
With a knowing smile, his cell mate declared "I could betray you. Information is my trade AND my sin."
A shocking statement made with no hint of malice or humour; not even a hint of sarcasm or derision, neither in his voice nor his slender, satisfied face. Malus hit him first with a hard right hand, and then a knee firmly planted in the falling man's stomach, drawing blood from the man's nose and mouth. He could feel the warm blood as it trickled down to his fingertips and then the floor. They gazes met for a few seconds. Sweat beads slowly dripping in complete silence.
Then he started screaming.
The urgency in his voice sounded so genuine... so cowardly... The guards rushed into the cell block while yelling and cursing. All around, inmates rose from their sleep to eagerly witness the spectacle; a rare distraction in a life of never-ending sameness.
It worked. The young ruffians who schooled Malus in the ways of urban survival for troubled youths often shared tales of daring escapes from captivity and thumbing their nose at authority figures; childish and naive retelling of possible events clearly marked by self-aggrandizing fibs. Yet the trick worked. Grinning through a swollen jaw and bloody nose, he pricked the burly guards rendering them apparently unconscious, or dead, or at the very least so incapacitated that they suddenly fell to the ground with a muted thump. The two men escaped, freeing a few other inmates to ensure suitable confusion and chaos to cover their tracks. A simple yet effective trick does not always require gullible victims. In some cases, sheer temerity alone can blind a man. Brilliant acting aside, Malus couldn't help but be wary of a man who possessed such potent substances with him (and more importantly keep them safely hidden) and yet could spin a yarn as well as any bard.
Malus, the man who would become Nosos' richest citizen, devoted more and more time to finding less and less adventurous means of becoming not only wealthy, but a paragon of unchained individual will and urban superiority. As enjoyable as the life of a bold nomadic trader might be, he yearned for stability and constant growth only a cozy urban setting could offer. Furthermore, all those years spent in jail or evading potential jailing were taking their toll. On what would be his final world scouring adventure, he secured technology and advancements in various fields with the intent of using these as bargaining chips in the less advanced kingdoms and realms. Much as he had done with the naive youths in the makeshift thieving guild, he would bring urban sophistication and civilization in exchange for financial compensation and power. One desert empire he visited had achieved considerable skill in medicine and their knowledge would certainly be worth a king's ransom in certain areas.
(end of part 3)
Yet Malus dreamed of green almost every night, green stained with rich crimson...
A local trader made a striking claim one fine day. A foreigner had stolen his business through underhanded means, although Malus insists that he was merely doing to him what he had been doing to other local merchants - providing competition. Boldly encroaching upon a long-established cartel and the economic dictatorship of parasitic aristocrats with their simpering smiles and weak-kneed defence exposing their lack of fortitude and talent should have been seen as a favour to all, sadly, a swift, one-sided trial and prison term were the end results of his perfectly justifiable ambitions. Idiots, all of them, unable to understand that he could bring a revolution to the land if they would only listen.
Incarceration is an interesting experience, especially when a man spends enough time confined between stone walls and iron bars, uncertain comrades with shifty eyes as your only chance for interaction. Will you sleep through the night or will your mind be forever imprisoned in the land of dreams as your blood quietly forms a pool on the dusty floor?
Time loses all meaning in jail. The body grows old and the mind dulls yet all other signs of time's passage remain all but invisible. A few fortunate souls are given luxuries and write diaries to remind themselves of who they are, as prison life tends to wash away history and personality. Of course, some strong willed individuals - minds filled with rage, passion or ideals - patiently wait, making full use of their time to plot their eventual exit.
His cell mate proved to be a voluble stranger from a strange land. So strange, in fact, that Malus thought the sun and rough treatment had taken away his sanity. Perhaps this is why he so carelessly told the story of his life, reaching as far back as his memory allowed, to his sole companion: any man able to invent such a vividly improbable universe of perpetual deserts, salt flats and seas of silt where lanky feys run through the sand and fearsome dragon-like kings rule with life-devouring magic - especially one so suspiciously fluent in local languages - would likely pay little attention to a much more mundane story, at best humouring a man desperate for basic human interaction out of compassion (or boredom).
With a knowing smile, his cell mate declared "I could betray you. Information is my trade AND my sin."
A shocking statement made with no hint of malice or humour; not even a hint of sarcasm or derision, neither in his voice nor his slender, satisfied face. Malus hit him first with a hard right hand, and then a knee firmly planted in the falling man's stomach, drawing blood from the man's nose and mouth. He could feel the warm blood as it trickled down to his fingertips and then the floor. They gazes met for a few seconds. Sweat beads slowly dripping in complete silence.
Then he started screaming.
The urgency in his voice sounded so genuine... so cowardly... The guards rushed into the cell block while yelling and cursing. All around, inmates rose from their sleep to eagerly witness the spectacle; a rare distraction in a life of never-ending sameness.
It worked. The young ruffians who schooled Malus in the ways of urban survival for troubled youths often shared tales of daring escapes from captivity and thumbing their nose at authority figures; childish and naive retelling of possible events clearly marked by self-aggrandizing fibs. Yet the trick worked. Grinning through a swollen jaw and bloody nose, he pricked the burly guards rendering them apparently unconscious, or dead, or at the very least so incapacitated that they suddenly fell to the ground with a muted thump. The two men escaped, freeing a few other inmates to ensure suitable confusion and chaos to cover their tracks. A simple yet effective trick does not always require gullible victims. In some cases, sheer temerity alone can blind a man. Brilliant acting aside, Malus couldn't help but be wary of a man who possessed such potent substances with him (and more importantly keep them safely hidden) and yet could spin a yarn as well as any bard.
Malus, the man who would become Nosos' richest citizen, devoted more and more time to finding less and less adventurous means of becoming not only wealthy, but a paragon of unchained individual will and urban superiority. As enjoyable as the life of a bold nomadic trader might be, he yearned for stability and constant growth only a cozy urban setting could offer. Furthermore, all those years spent in jail or evading potential jailing were taking their toll. On what would be his final world scouring adventure, he secured technology and advancements in various fields with the intent of using these as bargaining chips in the less advanced kingdoms and realms. Much as he had done with the naive youths in the makeshift thieving guild, he would bring urban sophistication and civilization in exchange for financial compensation and power. One desert empire he visited had achieved considerable skill in medicine and their knowledge would certainly be worth a king's ransom in certain areas.
(end of part 3)
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
He returned a bitter but well travelled man. He had seen the worse of humanity and been blackmailed by every "friend" he ever made on these winding trading routes except, perhaps, for the one who openly told him that he could, at any time no less, betray him. He had been punished, incarcerated and threatened in more cities than he cared to remember, having learned much about not only trading but life itself. He could now speak the languages of oriental civilizations and had seen men spill blood for a handful of coins. He had engaged in secret trysts with the wives of thieving princes and warlords (oh, but for the sweet charm of exoticism, what would some men pay). Power held no mystery to him and he would put this knowledge to very productive use.
With the help of his astute and talented friend, he laid out an incredibly simple yet profitable scheme that would yield benefits (albeit somewhat less than what he and his said friend would reap) to many of the involved parties. Some would receive more than others and some might even stand to lose in the trade - we can't all be winners now can we? Trading is also the art of creating and maintaining delicate balances.
He had heard in his travels of a most horrible and virulent plague which struck numerous cities near his former home. Faith alone could no longer suppress the ravages of this sweeping wave of disease and the more rational minds had simply not yet gathered enough knowledge of the human body to combat this unseen menace. Malus claimed to be able to cure (with a certain degree of success) the symptoms of the diseased; their boils and mutilated skin could be healed - for a price. While some considered him a heathen, one desperate mayor gladly dispensed the required monies for a cure. What are a few golden coins when your entire citizenry is being decimated? Besides, such cures are the product of a distant metropolis where the sun is ever cruel and every bit of life hardened by this condition, how could anyone doubt their effectiveness? To bring a mere ounce of this fabled resolve and constitution would be costly, perhaps beyond what a city of this standing could afford, however what choice did they have?
Obviously, the estimate provided by the canny and worldly master trader included a certain level of inflation which would discreetly add to his own personal fortune. The mayor took credit in his stead, bringing himself closer to the Gods in the eyes of the masses over which he ruled. Healers and would-be doctors studied the remedy, gaining better understanding of medicine. Many rich families saw the bans on local trading lifted as news spread of the miracle cure allowing them to roam freely and engage in commerce once more. Word spread that the city of Nosos had fully recovered thanks to a miraculous cure from a faraway realm and soon, other rulers and mayors were suddenly much more willing to purchase. Most of the city would be saved with the exception of those poorer souls whom the various political leaders deemed expendable. While the mayor felt he had but little option but to pay, one cannot fault him for his efforts. The price was perhaps overly high but not so much that a city would fall into abject poverty in return for the health and well being of all, but humans will be humans and greed ever present. As always, some would without a doubt lose in the trade...
With healthy finances and a small following of awestruck merchants and traders, Malus established himself as a minor economic force, preaching to his followers the virtues of a strong will and careful observation (and exploitation) of subtle patterns. His steadfast ally would use his skills to act as his eyes and ears about town, reporting sensitive information about all things political and economical. More importantly, Malus wished to learn of the whereabouts of an old acquaintance.
In the meantime, the fiery eyed young entrepreneur entered the nearby forest in order to reunite with another figure from his past.
The disciples were few and far between with many of the females visibly pregnant. Asking quite bluntly for a figure he knew had a near-God like status among the remaining faithful seemed quite forward of him, to the point where none dared to speak, often with eyes glaring as if he were a threat to their sanctity. It used to be a peaceful commune of desperate men and women seeking a means to elope to a fantasy world under the tutelage of an all-knowing paternal figure. Now lacking the direct guidance of the Green Father, they behaved like lost souls trying to keep a fading dream alive as dawn approaches. Yet, one man welcomed him, and with a heavy sigh, explained in short order that the man he sought no longer truly existed. If a repentant son wished to make amends for sins past, then he should know that such matters are of little concern to he who was once his, and possibly everyone's, father. The man had recognized him immediately, having spent as much time raising the boy as his mother and some of the other original members; more time, in fact, than the boy's progenitor. This new brood belonged to the loins of he who was once the Green Father: the Father of old died and left the Beast in his place, explained the disciple. Malus simply asked to be taken to his father, no matter what the man called himself now or what the faithful believed his purpose to be.
No rational, or perhaps no strategically sound reason could serve as an explanation for Malus' sudden decision to meet his estranged father. Nothing - financial or otherwise - could be gained from this as Malus knew more than anyone of the folly that seized his father's mind so long ago. To his ever faithful companion he eventually explained that he needed to ascertain himself of some potential illnesses stemming from the wholly unsanitary and unsafe living conditions of the cult - pestilence can spread so easily if not kept in check.
Whatever his justification may have been, he found the man... well, at least something that resembled him. The caked blood from a half eaten fish dotting his filthy beard with brownish red and black and the feral, lazy eyes that seemed to be only half aware of that which they saw is all he cares to remember. The son casually returned to the city. Once more he would dream of green and crimson; the dormant nightmares returning after this ill-fated reunion. But from his dreams a plan would begin to take shape - an ultimatum, in a way - one that could possibly end these nightly bouts of terror saturated with green.
The girl looked pale and weak, obviously one of the less fortunate survivors of the plague which he had cured. Her skin had that deathly pallor and odd bluish pockmarks stained with brown and black. In her eyes, vague memories seemed ever on the verge of returning - if only her mind had not been ravaged by hardship and illness. She hardly believed a single word he told her, but what did she have to lose at this point?
The Beast could not resist the scent of a new woman, of new opportunities and a duty never ending. The irony would probably be lost on his now deeply instinct driven mind, proposed Malus, and he would take her as he had all the others before to be the bearer of his and Nature's blessings.
Barely a week later, he would return to his birthplace, in his hands a vial containing his ultimatum. This time, however, no one opposed his presence for no one wanted to approach the dying man-creature that moaned in agony and frothed at the mouth in the middle of the clearing. It was the Beast: that filthy, haggard looking man who reeked of rotten meat and sweat. It was his father. Malus spoke to him in a clear voice that resonated with confidence and conveyed a serious, if not altogether cold and neutral tone to the attempted conversation. "Your body has grown weak. Swallow this... swallow the medicine of that which you renounced and you'll be well again. Don't be so stubborn, there isn't much time." said the young man as he deposited the small vial near the Beast. Leaving the primal man to his decision, no doubt with full knowledge of the deteriorated state of his mind, he once more returned to the city of Nosos, only this time with an unusually satisfied smile on his face.
(end of part 4)
With the help of his astute and talented friend, he laid out an incredibly simple yet profitable scheme that would yield benefits (albeit somewhat less than what he and his said friend would reap) to many of the involved parties. Some would receive more than others and some might even stand to lose in the trade - we can't all be winners now can we? Trading is also the art of creating and maintaining delicate balances.
He had heard in his travels of a most horrible and virulent plague which struck numerous cities near his former home. Faith alone could no longer suppress the ravages of this sweeping wave of disease and the more rational minds had simply not yet gathered enough knowledge of the human body to combat this unseen menace. Malus claimed to be able to cure (with a certain degree of success) the symptoms of the diseased; their boils and mutilated skin could be healed - for a price. While some considered him a heathen, one desperate mayor gladly dispensed the required monies for a cure. What are a few golden coins when your entire citizenry is being decimated? Besides, such cures are the product of a distant metropolis where the sun is ever cruel and every bit of life hardened by this condition, how could anyone doubt their effectiveness? To bring a mere ounce of this fabled resolve and constitution would be costly, perhaps beyond what a city of this standing could afford, however what choice did they have?
Obviously, the estimate provided by the canny and worldly master trader included a certain level of inflation which would discreetly add to his own personal fortune. The mayor took credit in his stead, bringing himself closer to the Gods in the eyes of the masses over which he ruled. Healers and would-be doctors studied the remedy, gaining better understanding of medicine. Many rich families saw the bans on local trading lifted as news spread of the miracle cure allowing them to roam freely and engage in commerce once more. Word spread that the city of Nosos had fully recovered thanks to a miraculous cure from a faraway realm and soon, other rulers and mayors were suddenly much more willing to purchase. Most of the city would be saved with the exception of those poorer souls whom the various political leaders deemed expendable. While the mayor felt he had but little option but to pay, one cannot fault him for his efforts. The price was perhaps overly high but not so much that a city would fall into abject poverty in return for the health and well being of all, but humans will be humans and greed ever present. As always, some would without a doubt lose in the trade...
With healthy finances and a small following of awestruck merchants and traders, Malus established himself as a minor economic force, preaching to his followers the virtues of a strong will and careful observation (and exploitation) of subtle patterns. His steadfast ally would use his skills to act as his eyes and ears about town, reporting sensitive information about all things political and economical. More importantly, Malus wished to learn of the whereabouts of an old acquaintance.
In the meantime, the fiery eyed young entrepreneur entered the nearby forest in order to reunite with another figure from his past.
The disciples were few and far between with many of the females visibly pregnant. Asking quite bluntly for a figure he knew had a near-God like status among the remaining faithful seemed quite forward of him, to the point where none dared to speak, often with eyes glaring as if he were a threat to their sanctity. It used to be a peaceful commune of desperate men and women seeking a means to elope to a fantasy world under the tutelage of an all-knowing paternal figure. Now lacking the direct guidance of the Green Father, they behaved like lost souls trying to keep a fading dream alive as dawn approaches. Yet, one man welcomed him, and with a heavy sigh, explained in short order that the man he sought no longer truly existed. If a repentant son wished to make amends for sins past, then he should know that such matters are of little concern to he who was once his, and possibly everyone's, father. The man had recognized him immediately, having spent as much time raising the boy as his mother and some of the other original members; more time, in fact, than the boy's progenitor. This new brood belonged to the loins of he who was once the Green Father: the Father of old died and left the Beast in his place, explained the disciple. Malus simply asked to be taken to his father, no matter what the man called himself now or what the faithful believed his purpose to be.
No rational, or perhaps no strategically sound reason could serve as an explanation for Malus' sudden decision to meet his estranged father. Nothing - financial or otherwise - could be gained from this as Malus knew more than anyone of the folly that seized his father's mind so long ago. To his ever faithful companion he eventually explained that he needed to ascertain himself of some potential illnesses stemming from the wholly unsanitary and unsafe living conditions of the cult - pestilence can spread so easily if not kept in check.
Whatever his justification may have been, he found the man... well, at least something that resembled him. The caked blood from a half eaten fish dotting his filthy beard with brownish red and black and the feral, lazy eyes that seemed to be only half aware of that which they saw is all he cares to remember. The son casually returned to the city. Once more he would dream of green and crimson; the dormant nightmares returning after this ill-fated reunion. But from his dreams a plan would begin to take shape - an ultimatum, in a way - one that could possibly end these nightly bouts of terror saturated with green.
The girl looked pale and weak, obviously one of the less fortunate survivors of the plague which he had cured. Her skin had that deathly pallor and odd bluish pockmarks stained with brown and black. In her eyes, vague memories seemed ever on the verge of returning - if only her mind had not been ravaged by hardship and illness. She hardly believed a single word he told her, but what did she have to lose at this point?
The Beast could not resist the scent of a new woman, of new opportunities and a duty never ending. The irony would probably be lost on his now deeply instinct driven mind, proposed Malus, and he would take her as he had all the others before to be the bearer of his and Nature's blessings.
Barely a week later, he would return to his birthplace, in his hands a vial containing his ultimatum. This time, however, no one opposed his presence for no one wanted to approach the dying man-creature that moaned in agony and frothed at the mouth in the middle of the clearing. It was the Beast: that filthy, haggard looking man who reeked of rotten meat and sweat. It was his father. Malus spoke to him in a clear voice that resonated with confidence and conveyed a serious, if not altogether cold and neutral tone to the attempted conversation. "Your body has grown weak. Swallow this... swallow the medicine of that which you renounced and you'll be well again. Don't be so stubborn, there isn't much time." said the young man as he deposited the small vial near the Beast. Leaving the primal man to his decision, no doubt with full knowledge of the deteriorated state of his mind, he once more returned to the city of Nosos, only this time with an unusually satisfied smile on his face.
(end of part 4)
-
Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Everything changed that night. Not just or Malus, but for Nosos as well. He described the feeling to his puzzled associate as "something not quite right: a turn of the stomach and a chill down the spine; a cold, amorphous mass swallowing you... no... not just me... but the world itself... it's quite scary..."
Shaken, the former world faring master trader spent months barely living, a foot always planted in, it would seem, another world. Then one morning his eyes opened and looking through a window in his modest house, he declared a war on what he termed "parasitic weakness" and would from then on, and with renewed vigour, devote himself to reshaping Nosos in the image of his ideals.
Malus argues that his passion had never rescinded and that he was merely contemplating his next move. Yet his last moments spent in the company of a dying father - estranged or not - and the subsequent "changes" in Nosos clearly affected him. Something happened yet it seemed as if only his "outsider" associate noticed.
Malus' dreams no longer plagued him - on the contrary, each night would bring visions to him, visions of what he and Nosos could become. He imagined hardened traders scouring the land for new opportunities and exponential, limitless growth in production - these would be the times of plenty where anyone with a strong will and skillful ways could live in opulence as if a king. The world belongs to those who are willing; to those who are able; to those who dare. The world of his dreams belonged to men like him and Nosos would be the shining example of the unstoppable virtue of the human will unchained.
Progress in the early years could only be described as being beyond all expectations. Merchants brought with them foreign knowledge and ideas that allowed for unexpected breakthroughs. The discovery of more efficient and productive weaponry soon made Nosos a well protected and, by many accounts, safe city - at least for some. Technological advances provided merchants with unique goods which they gladly sold for handsome sums to fanciful aristocrats looking to impress their entourage with exotic objects. Dilettantes from all walks of life flocked to the city to indulge in the spirit of boundless advancement and a burgeoning era of splendour. Precious medicines were developed and tested successfully allowing a safeguard against epidemics as well as more mundane ills.
Truly, these were the golden years. That is to say, golden years for those fortunate enough to belong to a social stratum on the rise - the labourers, artisans and others would only reap minimal benefits, of course. Malus, on the other hand, enjoyed a substantial rise in his "modest" trading house's business owing to the trade of potent remedies to seemingly ever multiplying ailments.
Then signs of stagnation began to appear. Critics would say that Nosos was a cesspool posing rather successfully as a promised land. Chaotic mercantilism, growing more bothersome, needed to be tamed and made more orderly - money lenders, bankers and merchants were all very pleased with their recent gains but their ambition grew to such a point that it threatened to turn the city into a field of battle. Already, key figures were being bullied or outright assassinated. Merchants employed thugs to threaten less fortunate rivals into closing their shop. Rumours claimed that the ruling class, however aloof they had become since the last plague, had little interest in seeing their power overtaken by upstart snake oil peddlers and petty coin counters.
And so, measures were swiftly imposed to tax the traders and seize funds from banks and money lenders. Trade would now be under close scrutiny and any such activity declared open to scrutiny and the object of arbitrary fines and restrictions. Individual traders would be required to adapt to a new, more highly regulated system of trading companies meant to simplify the administrative need to inspect and control their work.
The squalid, unsanitary living conditions of both rich and poor alike caused another outbreak of the dread pestilence. The overflowing, poorly conceived sewer system spilt forth its ill content. Waste littered the streets and houses fell into disrepair. Soot covered children played in contaminated yards. Bodies slowly accumulated and were quickly buried over previously buried dead to save time and land. However advanced Nosos had become, certain aspects of life in the city had yet to change; a shame then that the miracle cure that had once saved Nosos from doom no longer seemed to work. The people implored their leader to help them as he had once before - turning away the plague like an angel of mercy sent to cleanse the foulness. Alas, the man was among the first to die. The mayor who so callously refused to help a portion of his citizens out of greed found himself in the role of the ironic victim. Life is nothing if not poetic at times.
It should be said that this particular outbreak of the foul plague took fewer lives in all this time, but what it lacked in potent quantity it more than made up in the quality of its victims. Important names somehow snuffed out before those who lived, shall we say, more humble lives. People whose existence proved to be a linchpin for the city's power structure and economic integrity all expiring rather mysteriously at the strike of midnight during one of the famous masked balls organised by the mayor, he being the first to leave the mortal realm.
Malus alone survived this grim event, on his first recorded attendance no less. A sign of good fortune, he often responded to curious enquiries, going as far as making it a point to attend further events of the sort from that moment on.
(end of part 5)
Shaken, the former world faring master trader spent months barely living, a foot always planted in, it would seem, another world. Then one morning his eyes opened and looking through a window in his modest house, he declared a war on what he termed "parasitic weakness" and would from then on, and with renewed vigour, devote himself to reshaping Nosos in the image of his ideals.
Malus argues that his passion had never rescinded and that he was merely contemplating his next move. Yet his last moments spent in the company of a dying father - estranged or not - and the subsequent "changes" in Nosos clearly affected him. Something happened yet it seemed as if only his "outsider" associate noticed.
Malus' dreams no longer plagued him - on the contrary, each night would bring visions to him, visions of what he and Nosos could become. He imagined hardened traders scouring the land for new opportunities and exponential, limitless growth in production - these would be the times of plenty where anyone with a strong will and skillful ways could live in opulence as if a king. The world belongs to those who are willing; to those who are able; to those who dare. The world of his dreams belonged to men like him and Nosos would be the shining example of the unstoppable virtue of the human will unchained.
Progress in the early years could only be described as being beyond all expectations. Merchants brought with them foreign knowledge and ideas that allowed for unexpected breakthroughs. The discovery of more efficient and productive weaponry soon made Nosos a well protected and, by many accounts, safe city - at least for some. Technological advances provided merchants with unique goods which they gladly sold for handsome sums to fanciful aristocrats looking to impress their entourage with exotic objects. Dilettantes from all walks of life flocked to the city to indulge in the spirit of boundless advancement and a burgeoning era of splendour. Precious medicines were developed and tested successfully allowing a safeguard against epidemics as well as more mundane ills.
Truly, these were the golden years. That is to say, golden years for those fortunate enough to belong to a social stratum on the rise - the labourers, artisans and others would only reap minimal benefits, of course. Malus, on the other hand, enjoyed a substantial rise in his "modest" trading house's business owing to the trade of potent remedies to seemingly ever multiplying ailments.
Then signs of stagnation began to appear. Critics would say that Nosos was a cesspool posing rather successfully as a promised land. Chaotic mercantilism, growing more bothersome, needed to be tamed and made more orderly - money lenders, bankers and merchants were all very pleased with their recent gains but their ambition grew to such a point that it threatened to turn the city into a field of battle. Already, key figures were being bullied or outright assassinated. Merchants employed thugs to threaten less fortunate rivals into closing their shop. Rumours claimed that the ruling class, however aloof they had become since the last plague, had little interest in seeing their power overtaken by upstart snake oil peddlers and petty coin counters.
And so, measures were swiftly imposed to tax the traders and seize funds from banks and money lenders. Trade would now be under close scrutiny and any such activity declared open to scrutiny and the object of arbitrary fines and restrictions. Individual traders would be required to adapt to a new, more highly regulated system of trading companies meant to simplify the administrative need to inspect and control their work.
The squalid, unsanitary living conditions of both rich and poor alike caused another outbreak of the dread pestilence. The overflowing, poorly conceived sewer system spilt forth its ill content. Waste littered the streets and houses fell into disrepair. Soot covered children played in contaminated yards. Bodies slowly accumulated and were quickly buried over previously buried dead to save time and land. However advanced Nosos had become, certain aspects of life in the city had yet to change; a shame then that the miracle cure that had once saved Nosos from doom no longer seemed to work. The people implored their leader to help them as he had once before - turning away the plague like an angel of mercy sent to cleanse the foulness. Alas, the man was among the first to die. The mayor who so callously refused to help a portion of his citizens out of greed found himself in the role of the ironic victim. Life is nothing if not poetic at times.
It should be said that this particular outbreak of the foul plague took fewer lives in all this time, but what it lacked in potent quantity it more than made up in the quality of its victims. Important names somehow snuffed out before those who lived, shall we say, more humble lives. People whose existence proved to be a linchpin for the city's power structure and economic integrity all expiring rather mysteriously at the strike of midnight during one of the famous masked balls organised by the mayor, he being the first to leave the mortal realm.
Malus alone survived this grim event, on his first recorded attendance no less. A sign of good fortune, he often responded to curious enquiries, going as far as making it a point to attend further events of the sort from that moment on.
(end of part 5)
-
Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
In the turmoil and confusion left by the political vacuum, Malus made a move and banded the various traders and merchants into the first incarnation of a somewhat secretive guild with the purpose of bringing order and stability to the economy of Nosos.
Instead of putting in a bid for power, Malus used his increasingly vast personal fortune and phenomenal constitution to outlive his former competitors, buying out their companies through fictional proxies, many of these represented by his silver tongued associate. Without anyone's knowledge Malus' control over the economic life of Nosos spread just as the plague rescinded. His influence would be a boon for many of his newly acquired companies and, as planned, Nosos' mercantile wars ceased following the end of the plague. Yet, some would lose more than others in the trade...
Those who once callously danced in ivory towers as peasants starved and died, were now left to beg for scraps while merchants, money lenders and all those vilified "coin handlers" were now firmly in control. The poor would still starve and die in agony, but now they had the glimmer of hope that the new rulers cared about their opinions. The king was now but a memory: a distant ruler whom none ever truly saw, even the local governor who, in times past, would make yearly rounds through the local portion of the kingdom over which he had jurisdiction had long since stopped coming. Some wondered aloud if they had not been touched by the plague themselves. Only Malus and his close associate knew the truth.
The new mayor was a "man of the people" who made bold declarations, asking for a united Nosos in these troubled times. The poor had a role to play in the great rebuilding process and the new mayor reminded them of various anecdotal cases of poor men rising to the occasion. Above all else, supporting the economy was to be the key to Nosos' future: accept whatever wage you are offered, take any work you are given no matter how difficult and most of all, and support Nosos always. "The heavens will provide when the Earth cannot." he often said with his usual agitated manners.
But through it all, Malus maintained an air of sophistication and worldliness far removed from the current political regime. He rejected the new mayor's simplistic views of the world, but recognized how they resonated deeply within the populace. Besides, this new political elite had the interest of the "commoner" in mind during public addresses, but the Merchant's Guild when deciding new policies. Indeed, the Merchant's Guild even welcomed investors into its fold, allowing a set number of important bankers and money lenders to participate in their meetings. Malus held the title of chairman - an informal term for master of ceremonies and arbiter of conflicts - a unanimous decision based on his well known and highly regarded contributions to Nosos - including the oft heard rumour that he knew both how to cure and cause the plague.
Everyone with an interest in the political affairs of the city knew of the Guild, some even suspected its true role in the decision making process, yet few really understood its origins and actual functions and even fewer cared. It seemed as if the Guild's unofficial influence was slowly being institutionalized as the mayor's council abdicated more and more control to the economic powers that be. All the better that power be in the hands of those who know how to wield it efficiently for the betterment of all.
The once arbitrary system that allowed the rich to exist as a separate entity were revoked, replaced instead with complex legislature meant to ensure equality among men. This same legislature outlined, in very dense and inscrutable terms, the “rules of engagement” of the great game of life, allowing lawyers to prosper as their services became mandatory for everything from owning land to selling wares and from joining a wife and husband to burying the dead. Yet, it would be a world where men, not beasts, ruled. These were all very necessary steps to ensure that all would be according to the dictates of proper urban life.
The splendour of the city lights, resplendent in night and day alike, which fuelled his youthful imagination never seemed so close to him...
Oh how Malus wishes the story would have ended there. What he wouldn't give for the bard to say in a carefully measured voice “and they lived happily ever after...”
It was the people. No, not the commoners, well, not just the commoners. Everyone disappointed him. Where was that fundamental drive? That untamed spirit that allowed him to rise from the filth? The strength that allowed him to shape Nosos? A few men and women exhibited occasional prowess; surprising him with their resolve and will, but it would take more than a few men and women to rebuild Nosos.
“Why? Why is the city not shining brightly? Why is the city turning on itself? They whine that they are hungry, but what have they done, what have they really done to find sustenance? They ask for medicine for their ailing children and the elderly – yet nowhere in the world is there more medicine, and better medicine at that, than in Nosos! Have they no eyes? Have they lost their senses?”
Merchants and traders were becoming complacent and lazy, letting foreign interests gain the upper hand in key trade negotiations. The land had not yet healed itself from the last plague. In such a disadvantageous position, Nosos needed firm hands and keen minds. The rise of the Artisans' Guild could have been a disaster were it not for his own intervention, surreptitiously buying out the ever vexing House of Kerr and their network of sweatshops.
Brigands and the underworld were showing more vigour than the Merchant's Guild's members themselves! Their establishment of an underground economy with information trading and smuggling of goods show the mark of rudimentary cunning and a basic understanding of the art, but remain a pitifully crude and unstable source of profits.
Nosos was Malus' city, his project, his proof that his life, his choices were not in vain. He rose from the filth to become the shaper of a city, a glorious city that should prove him right. His coffers overflowing and the Merchant Guild triumphant; the land tamed and the world his for the taking. Were these not signs that he had won? Was he not right? Was he not finally vindicated?
Unfortunately, sordid events further complicated matters. A number of lumberjacks found dead or gravely injured while clearing out a path through a nearby forest with none of the survivors able to put in words the horrors that felled their comrades. Soon, farmers reported that crops withered and died under uncertain circumstances. In the confusion, Malus thought that this might be a case of coincidental events being turned into a vast, conspiracy by superstitious men. Everyone did.
Then it happened again. A series of new constructions on as of yet undeveloped land outside the city laid to waste overnight, the soil having caved in for reasons beyond any explanation.
Malus had a stake in this: those buildings were to belong to him. It was his money, his investment being wasted. This would not do. His associate, being the only individual in Nosos that he felt he could trust, acted as a spy. The entrepreneur suspected fellow guild members of sabotage - although, it is entirely possible that he wished it were mere sabotage, desperately clinging to the illusion of foul play to remove the growing stain on his conscience.
Alas, no one could be held responsible for the events. Panic swept the city. The mayor blamed the “enemy”, petitioning for a draft. Bankers and money lenders argued that the repercussions of these events would aversely affect interest rates, nearly coming to blows with major trading companies during meetings of the Merchant's Guild. The Artisan Guild passed motions to stabilize the prices of lumber and related goods. It's not that the spy lacked competence. The guild members were certainly not corrupt, power mad Templars - not that Malus ever truly believed these odd stories. Infuriated, he took matters into his own, always competent hands.
When Malus returned in the early morning, he was pale as the snow that once covered the ground during the winter. Some might say he saw a ghost, a terrible manifestation of his fears.
His astute associate knew too much already and asked in hushed tones: "Something, you say? Wouldn't someone be more appropriate or is it too difficult to tell? So, that night... that night when you last saw him... tell me, did he live? Did he survive?"
For once in his life, Malus had no answer and remained silent. His associate, recalling legends from his homeland, suggested that perhaps the land surrounding Nosos itself now obeyed a single master and it wasn't Malus...
The nightmares returned; dreams of green and crimson forever more...
And so ends this tale of Malus' rise and fall, based, of course, on his own recollection of the events with but a scant few embellishments on my part. It is not customary for the narrator to address the reader as such, but then, this story was meant for those who uncovered my participation in the various schemes of one Malus Sceleris and seek to accuse me of crimes to which I confess being guilty. I told him so many years ago that I would betray him and, until now, despite multiple opportunities, I abstained from doing so. My reasons are my own. However, if you must know, I will admit that I would find it quite boring to imagine Malus free as I am forced to rot. Do try and jail us together, it would be just like old times now wouldn't it? Oh, such nostalgia...
Instead of putting in a bid for power, Malus used his increasingly vast personal fortune and phenomenal constitution to outlive his former competitors, buying out their companies through fictional proxies, many of these represented by his silver tongued associate. Without anyone's knowledge Malus' control over the economic life of Nosos spread just as the plague rescinded. His influence would be a boon for many of his newly acquired companies and, as planned, Nosos' mercantile wars ceased following the end of the plague. Yet, some would lose more than others in the trade...
Those who once callously danced in ivory towers as peasants starved and died, were now left to beg for scraps while merchants, money lenders and all those vilified "coin handlers" were now firmly in control. The poor would still starve and die in agony, but now they had the glimmer of hope that the new rulers cared about their opinions. The king was now but a memory: a distant ruler whom none ever truly saw, even the local governor who, in times past, would make yearly rounds through the local portion of the kingdom over which he had jurisdiction had long since stopped coming. Some wondered aloud if they had not been touched by the plague themselves. Only Malus and his close associate knew the truth.
The new mayor was a "man of the people" who made bold declarations, asking for a united Nosos in these troubled times. The poor had a role to play in the great rebuilding process and the new mayor reminded them of various anecdotal cases of poor men rising to the occasion. Above all else, supporting the economy was to be the key to Nosos' future: accept whatever wage you are offered, take any work you are given no matter how difficult and most of all, and support Nosos always. "The heavens will provide when the Earth cannot." he often said with his usual agitated manners.
But through it all, Malus maintained an air of sophistication and worldliness far removed from the current political regime. He rejected the new mayor's simplistic views of the world, but recognized how they resonated deeply within the populace. Besides, this new political elite had the interest of the "commoner" in mind during public addresses, but the Merchant's Guild when deciding new policies. Indeed, the Merchant's Guild even welcomed investors into its fold, allowing a set number of important bankers and money lenders to participate in their meetings. Malus held the title of chairman - an informal term for master of ceremonies and arbiter of conflicts - a unanimous decision based on his well known and highly regarded contributions to Nosos - including the oft heard rumour that he knew both how to cure and cause the plague.
Everyone with an interest in the political affairs of the city knew of the Guild, some even suspected its true role in the decision making process, yet few really understood its origins and actual functions and even fewer cared. It seemed as if the Guild's unofficial influence was slowly being institutionalized as the mayor's council abdicated more and more control to the economic powers that be. All the better that power be in the hands of those who know how to wield it efficiently for the betterment of all.
The once arbitrary system that allowed the rich to exist as a separate entity were revoked, replaced instead with complex legislature meant to ensure equality among men. This same legislature outlined, in very dense and inscrutable terms, the “rules of engagement” of the great game of life, allowing lawyers to prosper as their services became mandatory for everything from owning land to selling wares and from joining a wife and husband to burying the dead. Yet, it would be a world where men, not beasts, ruled. These were all very necessary steps to ensure that all would be according to the dictates of proper urban life.
The splendour of the city lights, resplendent in night and day alike, which fuelled his youthful imagination never seemed so close to him...
Oh how Malus wishes the story would have ended there. What he wouldn't give for the bard to say in a carefully measured voice “and they lived happily ever after...”
It was the people. No, not the commoners, well, not just the commoners. Everyone disappointed him. Where was that fundamental drive? That untamed spirit that allowed him to rise from the filth? The strength that allowed him to shape Nosos? A few men and women exhibited occasional prowess; surprising him with their resolve and will, but it would take more than a few men and women to rebuild Nosos.
“Why? Why is the city not shining brightly? Why is the city turning on itself? They whine that they are hungry, but what have they done, what have they really done to find sustenance? They ask for medicine for their ailing children and the elderly – yet nowhere in the world is there more medicine, and better medicine at that, than in Nosos! Have they no eyes? Have they lost their senses?”
Merchants and traders were becoming complacent and lazy, letting foreign interests gain the upper hand in key trade negotiations. The land had not yet healed itself from the last plague. In such a disadvantageous position, Nosos needed firm hands and keen minds. The rise of the Artisans' Guild could have been a disaster were it not for his own intervention, surreptitiously buying out the ever vexing House of Kerr and their network of sweatshops.
Brigands and the underworld were showing more vigour than the Merchant's Guild's members themselves! Their establishment of an underground economy with information trading and smuggling of goods show the mark of rudimentary cunning and a basic understanding of the art, but remain a pitifully crude and unstable source of profits.
Nosos was Malus' city, his project, his proof that his life, his choices were not in vain. He rose from the filth to become the shaper of a city, a glorious city that should prove him right. His coffers overflowing and the Merchant Guild triumphant; the land tamed and the world his for the taking. Were these not signs that he had won? Was he not right? Was he not finally vindicated?
Unfortunately, sordid events further complicated matters. A number of lumberjacks found dead or gravely injured while clearing out a path through a nearby forest with none of the survivors able to put in words the horrors that felled their comrades. Soon, farmers reported that crops withered and died under uncertain circumstances. In the confusion, Malus thought that this might be a case of coincidental events being turned into a vast, conspiracy by superstitious men. Everyone did.
Then it happened again. A series of new constructions on as of yet undeveloped land outside the city laid to waste overnight, the soil having caved in for reasons beyond any explanation.
Malus had a stake in this: those buildings were to belong to him. It was his money, his investment being wasted. This would not do. His associate, being the only individual in Nosos that he felt he could trust, acted as a spy. The entrepreneur suspected fellow guild members of sabotage - although, it is entirely possible that he wished it were mere sabotage, desperately clinging to the illusion of foul play to remove the growing stain on his conscience.
Alas, no one could be held responsible for the events. Panic swept the city. The mayor blamed the “enemy”, petitioning for a draft. Bankers and money lenders argued that the repercussions of these events would aversely affect interest rates, nearly coming to blows with major trading companies during meetings of the Merchant's Guild. The Artisan Guild passed motions to stabilize the prices of lumber and related goods. It's not that the spy lacked competence. The guild members were certainly not corrupt, power mad Templars - not that Malus ever truly believed these odd stories. Infuriated, he took matters into his own, always competent hands.
When Malus returned in the early morning, he was pale as the snow that once covered the ground during the winter. Some might say he saw a ghost, a terrible manifestation of his fears.
His astute associate knew too much already and asked in hushed tones: "Something, you say? Wouldn't someone be more appropriate or is it too difficult to tell? So, that night... that night when you last saw him... tell me, did he live? Did he survive?"
For once in his life, Malus had no answer and remained silent. His associate, recalling legends from his homeland, suggested that perhaps the land surrounding Nosos itself now obeyed a single master and it wasn't Malus...
The nightmares returned; dreams of green and crimson forever more...
And so ends this tale of Malus' rise and fall, based, of course, on his own recollection of the events with but a scant few embellishments on my part. It is not customary for the narrator to address the reader as such, but then, this story was meant for those who uncovered my participation in the various schemes of one Malus Sceleris and seek to accuse me of crimes to which I confess being guilty. I told him so many years ago that I would betray him and, until now, despite multiple opportunities, I abstained from doing so. My reasons are my own. However, if you must know, I will admit that I would find it quite boring to imagine Malus free as I am forced to rot. Do try and jail us together, it would be just like old times now wouldn't it? Oh, such nostalgia...