Hello. Some of you may know me. Others may not. To the latter, I'll make this brief: You may call me Scamall. Back in early 2012 I discovered the forum that you are currently browsing, and decided to try my hand at contributing stories of my own, having enjoyed various works in the month or so it took to reach that decision.
Over the course of that year, thanks to some major slips in my schedule, the story was completed. I wrote two more over the course of the next year. I had always planned it to be a trilogy, but for some reason the world kept building itself. I had to make more. I took a break sometime around October, the excuse being to rewrite my first story. It didn't work when compared to the world I'd made, the characters, for the most part, were poorly written, and the story as a whole was not up to par, especially when compared with my second story (damn, am I proud of that one).
To make a long story short, things got in the way, and I lacked the initiative to shove them aside. This is my fault. Now, I'm here, taking a breath and deciding to just sack up and do it. I'm rewriting the first story I posted here, and with it I shall bring in another bunch of tales to boot. I'm going to take this as seriously as I can, and I will finish this, even if it lasts until the Core cracks open.
So, with that melodrama out of the way, I bring you the retelling of my first written story. I hope you enjoy, and that you let me know what you think. My skills might have dulled in the last few months.
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===Prologue===
“God, is it always this hectic around here?”
The Knight sat down next to the watchman, flask in hand with piping-hot powdered soup.
“Mm?” the watchman replied, momentarily dropping focus on the outside world to gaze at the speaker. “Oh, yeah. Was a lot worse a few days ago. So many clueless kids running around, scared out of their wits. People got hurt, trampled. No one died, thankfully. Since then, they’ve been thinning out somewhat, heading north.”
The Knight’s brow furrowed. “North? Why’s that?”
“New around here, aren't you?" the watchman chuckled. "Eh, the powers-that-be are building some big town for us all to migrate to out of some old mining station. ‘Least that’s how I heard it. People still gotta stick around here, though. Never know when some poor sod’s gonna come crawling out of the bushes.”
The Knight glanced out into the wilderness. Something caught his eye. He stared hard at whatever it was, until it reached the bushes, rustling noisily. Panting could be heard from behind the shrubs. The watchman drew his pistol, prepared to shoot the potential threat, before a hand shot out of the bushes and began clawing at the ground. Another hand followed, working with each other to drag a head and torso out into the open. Legs kicked behind the shrub, until one injured Knight came fully into view.
“Speak of the devil, eh, mac?” the Knight said.
The two of them ran out to retrieve the injured Knight, who was muttering indistinct words in a delirious fashion. The watchman picked him up and put his arm around his shoulder, before heading back to the camp.
“Poor lad’s starving. Looks like he’s been attacked, too. Wonder how long he’s been out here?”
“His rations should have lasted him for a while,” the Knight said. “We’ve only been here a few days.”
"Yeah, well," the watchman said. "We barely know the half of what’s going on here on this planet. C'mon, gimme a hand with him."
The Knight put the injured man's arm around his shoulders, helping the watchman bring him into the camp. A few Knights lounging around took notice and began talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. A few guards on patrol shot a surprised glance before dismissing the sight. Finally, the two arrived at a medic's tent with the injured Knight in tow.
"Hey, doc!" the watchman shouted. "We got wounded!"
The medic stuck his head out of the tent, nodding expectantly at the sight of the injured Knight. He stepped out of the tent before gesturing to the entrance.
"Put him on one of the beds. What happened?"
"Hunger and one hell of a beating, by the looks of it. We found him crawling around outside."
"He'll live. I'll keep him here a day or two, then he should be fine."
"Thanks, doc. C'mon, kid, let's get him inside. I gotta get back to my post."
The pair carried the Knight into the tent, resting him on the bed. The medic walked over, nodding in farewell to the two as they left the tent. As he gazed down at his new patient, he noticed a peculiar X-shaped silver amulet being worn around his neck, with an amethyst embedded in the centre.
"Hmm," the medic muttered. "Wonder what your story is?"
With that, he left to gather medical supplies to treat his patient.
Several days on, and the doctor’s patience was wearing thin. Since his newest patient’s arrival, he hadn’t spoken a word, which made identifying him rather difficult. He was starting to think that his name carried some shady history. Several other patients had come and gone, quite a few of them asking about the mute, but the medic merely shrugged the questions off and continued about his business. He called him a mute despite the fact that his vocal chords could clearly function; he spent the remainder of his delirium mumbling incoherently before he regained his senses and shut up, but even that was getting annoying. Today was the day he was to discharge the patient, having kept him fed and sheltered for the last few days, and he decided that the time was as good as any.
“So, you’re good to go, Mister ‘Cross’,” he said with feigned enthusiasm.
The patient responded with look of puzzlement. The doctor shrugged.
“Hey, not my name,” he lied. “Word around the camp is that some mute with an 'X' ‘round his neck is taking up space in here. If you won’t give me your name I’ll have to contact the authorities and they’ll conduct a background search. I’m sorry, but it’s standard procedure.”
The patient nodded slightly, but his eyes showed more annoyance and sarcasm than one might have expected, easily seeing through the lie. The doctor faltered, idly shifting his grip on the clipboard he was holding; he was the one venting his frustrations about the mute to his co-workers.
“So, you’ll need to sign the form and you’ll be free to go,” he said. “Be sure to grab a pack of rations on the way out.”
He produced a pen, holding it out expectantly. To his surprise, the patient took it, seizing the clipboard and holding it close to him, tilting it upwards just enough to obscure his scribblings from the doctor’s view. The doctor tried to peer over the edge to get a glimpse of what he was writing, as it was taking longer than a standard signature, but quickly backed down from a stern look from the patient.
The patient stood up from the mattress, stretching his arms with the clipboard still in hand, not-so-subtly waving it in the doctor’s face. He then relaxed, handed the clipboard to the doctor, and wordlessly left the tent.
The doctor smiled in spite of himself. Perplexed at the patient’s provocative behaviour, it was small comfort to know he had outlasted the man’s act.
That is, until he glanced down at the form.
The doctor’s smile vanished quickly as he read what was in the name slot.
Scribbled there where the patient’s name should have been was one word: Cross. A note scrawled at the bottom of the page read: “Nice one, doc.”
I like, will be watching for more!