- Joined
- Nov 24, 2007
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- 4,382
Still doing some writing in my spare time lads, and still wanting the advice of those that are willingly giving it away, hence why I am posting this text to you today.
The pinnacle of Celon’s great success as the capital city of the Life Elven Empire; is its powerful financial systems capacity. And this in turn is all thanks to the grand “Makeshift.” A trade route system devised by brilliant engineers and technicians and elaborated by professional craftsmen. The Makeshift is a colossal road, stretching all the way from the city’s main gate, right up front to the Palaza de Celor entrance. The road is split in half by a comprehensive wall made out of white marble and rare crystallized materials. At the head of the road there is a large round tower, where the road becomes even broader and the two separate sides of the wall becomes one.
When one is to enter the Makeshift, either by chart or wagon, one will have to do so by passing a just-as-grand bridge as the Makeshift itself. This bridge mounts itself atop the snaking river of Novena and is a contraption of awe-inspiring architecture and engineering. The clockwork mechanics in the bridge helps make order of the massive amount of traders that want entrance to the Makeshift. The bridge is built in several levels, the far above level for guard posts, towers and walls to patrol. The middle level for traders entering and exiting the Makeshift split in two by a large gap leading to nothing but a watery grave. While the lowermost level are completely without oversight, and is meant for walking passengers that seek to cross the bridge with other intentions than to sell their wares.
When one exits the bridge, which is also given the name “Gateway” due to its obvious use, one enters the massive chaos of the Makeshift. This is also referred to as the “current” because when one enters the Makeshift, one rarely stops moving. Along the road on each side there are built up plateaus which contain proprieties, also referred to as “docks.” Each of these docks are owned by the state, but is “loaned” out to the person, or company, that can pay the most for keeping it. They all come with a ware house to store cargo, and a massive crane built in wood and metal to unload the cargo necessary. This is the reason why the current in the Makeshift never halts, because it need not do so. A wagons cargo will be unloaded when in reach of the dock that have ordered its wares, and each dock has its own specific marking to ensure that one dock doesn’t pick up another ones cargo.
The rising sun did little to dampen the chilling breeze that calmly made its way through Celon this early morning. The fields were glimmering with dancing sparks of light as the sun was slowly melting the rime to the song of bird twitter. Though even at an hour as rare as the present, the Makeshift was ever industrious. Cranes were chirring and creaking about, while traders were cursing and shouting as madmen.
In the shadows of a worn out and hardly standing warehouse, two silhouettes were hiding among casks and spider web. One of them was peering through the cracks of a decrepit wall, observing the figurative character of the “current” moving just beneath them, while the other was apparently trying to kill a spider with a dagger, clearly being unsuccessful. Quite suddenly there was a flicker of light in the air just outside the would-be wall. And with a short exchange of hand signal’s the spider killing silhouette disappeared.
Some instances later, the claw of a crane was moving along the side of the warehouse at a suspiciously low pace. At the very right moment, the one that had not disappeared jumped through the cracks in the wall and grabbed the crane by its rope, right above the claw. The man slid down to a wooden board which seemed to be conveniently placed right above the claw. He seemed to be comfortable with holding his position while the crane now was moving outwards, towards the “current.”
As the man passed out into the light of the sun it was quite a lot simpler to make out his exterior than previously. The man was wearing a simple singlet over an orange shirt; he also wore a half-length cape, the kind simple thieves with a knife up their sleeves uses. He had silken pants kept on place by a bandana looking belt that would fit a much larger man than this one, and thus half of it was dangling alongside his leg.
At first given opportunity the strange man flung himself towards another crane, grabbing it too by the rope just above the claw. This time, rather than sliding down, the man graciously climbed upwards and heaved himself over its wooden edge to the top of the crane. He sat down on his heels to get a better balance, and waited for the crane to start turning. As it did so, another crane was facing the one the man was positioned on, and with a daring gap between his and the other crane, the man jumped over and nearly lost his balance.
Tipping forwards and regaining his balance, with the plan to run over the top of the crane he suddenly made an unexpected and unwelcome acquaintance with an offensive fist. The man fell over the edge of the crane and barely saved himself by grabbing onto a rope hanging along the side. He could hear the throat of his would-be attacker being cleared.
“Pardon that inconvenient encounter dear fellow, I might have misplaced my hand there for a moment, are you alright?” the attacker said rather arrogantly. “Oh I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” The man hanging in the rope uttered with great effort. “You don’t say? I might just have to fix that.” The attacker said and unsheathed a knife from his belt, walked over to the edge and grabbed the rope the other man was so desperately holding on to. “You might want to not do that, you know.” “And why is that?” The attacker replied while toying with the rope. “Well, I am more than certain the crane maneuvers won’t be too happy about it!” “Ah… Seems that might just be an expense I’ll have to live with now, eh?” And as to enforce his statement, the attacker cut over the rope.
The man swung downwards with the rope in an angle, and with gracious style he pulled himself upwards and swung himself towards a cargo net carried by another crane. He grabbed it with both hands and struggled to keep a hold of it. He took a small peek over his shoulder to ensure that his attacker was sane enough to not follow him, and he could see no proof of pursuit. He stood up and leapt away to another claw, this time the claw carried nothing and the man cached the rope in such an angle that it started spinning around in circles, timing his jump thoroughly he let go and heaved himself at the right moment to hit the top of another crane.
And so it continued with elegance and grace as if the man was performing a work of art. Taking more daring moves at every turn, and maneuvered his way through this jungle of cargo, cranes and claws. In the end the man heaved himself onto a small wagon driven by only one man.
“Pardon me, dear fellow. You won’t mind me tagging along for a little while will you?” The man just arriving fluidly whispered. “No not at all, in fact, I love it when strangers suddenly jump onto my chart in the middle of the Makeshift!” The Wagoneer replied. And then they both laughed for a brief moment. “Now Chance. Have you kept your eyes on the target?” The arriving man said. “No, for I have had such a delicate and complicated task of shadowing one single wagon moving among a hundred others, unlike yourself Khaine fleas-in-the-blood Lifeheart.” Presumed to be Chance replied.
Without a word Chance started moving his chart towards a larger wagon they had been so indirectly tailing. When they were nothing short of one wagon between themselves and their target, the opposed Wagoneer looked up and caught a glimpse of Khaine, as a reaction to this recognition he started stirring his wagon further away. “Shit, seems we’re not going to get to them the subtle way anymore.” Khaine said under a breath of curses. “Thanks to your fucking disability to keep a low profile, I’d say.” Chance hissed. “Now then, shall we?” He added, indicating with his head for them both to move.
Without any more words they threw themselves onto the wagon on their left. They continued to move from wagon to wagon seeing as the Wagoneer of their choice was quite handy at maneuvering through the Makeshift and had already made a decent distance. But the work of fast moving, skillful acrobats was by far the greater advantage. Before long they were both in the air jumping for their lives onto the wagon they wanted. Upon landing Chance conjured a small metallic card in his hand and graciously flung it right into the neck of the Wagoneer, killing him on the spot.
They disposed of the body by simply heaving it over the side of the wagon. Then Chance took up the mantles and Khaine took a last look around before he submerged into the private rooms of the wagon.
“Carto? Carto! What is this all about?!” The man sitting inside uttered franticly. “He is no longer of your concern, Jorealla. And you are going to want to choose your words wisely, unless your chosen words intend to give you the same fate as your compadre.” Khaine whispered while he walked in. “Khaine, by the…” Was all the man had time to say before a throwing knife hit him in his good arm, rendering him unable to draw blade. “If you intend to survive the last few minutes of your trip out from Celon, I suggest you start using them to your advantage.” Khaine hissed.
Jorealla growled at the injury, but did little more to express his dismay at the situation. Khaine sat down and folded his arms. “Now then, considering your willingness to live and all; tell me of your mistress: the duchess of thieves.” Khaine whispered.
Constructive Criticism is dearly welcome.
The Makeshift
The pinnacle of Celon’s great success as the capital city of the Life Elven Empire; is its powerful financial systems capacity. And this in turn is all thanks to the grand “Makeshift.” A trade route system devised by brilliant engineers and technicians and elaborated by professional craftsmen. The Makeshift is a colossal road, stretching all the way from the city’s main gate, right up front to the Palaza de Celor entrance. The road is split in half by a comprehensive wall made out of white marble and rare crystallized materials. At the head of the road there is a large round tower, where the road becomes even broader and the two separate sides of the wall becomes one.
When one is to enter the Makeshift, either by chart or wagon, one will have to do so by passing a just-as-grand bridge as the Makeshift itself. This bridge mounts itself atop the snaking river of Novena and is a contraption of awe-inspiring architecture and engineering. The clockwork mechanics in the bridge helps make order of the massive amount of traders that want entrance to the Makeshift. The bridge is built in several levels, the far above level for guard posts, towers and walls to patrol. The middle level for traders entering and exiting the Makeshift split in two by a large gap leading to nothing but a watery grave. While the lowermost level are completely without oversight, and is meant for walking passengers that seek to cross the bridge with other intentions than to sell their wares.
When one exits the bridge, which is also given the name “Gateway” due to its obvious use, one enters the massive chaos of the Makeshift. This is also referred to as the “current” because when one enters the Makeshift, one rarely stops moving. Along the road on each side there are built up plateaus which contain proprieties, also referred to as “docks.” Each of these docks are owned by the state, but is “loaned” out to the person, or company, that can pay the most for keeping it. They all come with a ware house to store cargo, and a massive crane built in wood and metal to unload the cargo necessary. This is the reason why the current in the Makeshift never halts, because it need not do so. A wagons cargo will be unloaded when in reach of the dock that have ordered its wares, and each dock has its own specific marking to ensure that one dock doesn’t pick up another ones cargo.
The rising sun did little to dampen the chilling breeze that calmly made its way through Celon this early morning. The fields were glimmering with dancing sparks of light as the sun was slowly melting the rime to the song of bird twitter. Though even at an hour as rare as the present, the Makeshift was ever industrious. Cranes were chirring and creaking about, while traders were cursing and shouting as madmen.
In the shadows of a worn out and hardly standing warehouse, two silhouettes were hiding among casks and spider web. One of them was peering through the cracks of a decrepit wall, observing the figurative character of the “current” moving just beneath them, while the other was apparently trying to kill a spider with a dagger, clearly being unsuccessful. Quite suddenly there was a flicker of light in the air just outside the would-be wall. And with a short exchange of hand signal’s the spider killing silhouette disappeared.
Some instances later, the claw of a crane was moving along the side of the warehouse at a suspiciously low pace. At the very right moment, the one that had not disappeared jumped through the cracks in the wall and grabbed the crane by its rope, right above the claw. The man slid down to a wooden board which seemed to be conveniently placed right above the claw. He seemed to be comfortable with holding his position while the crane now was moving outwards, towards the “current.”
As the man passed out into the light of the sun it was quite a lot simpler to make out his exterior than previously. The man was wearing a simple singlet over an orange shirt; he also wore a half-length cape, the kind simple thieves with a knife up their sleeves uses. He had silken pants kept on place by a bandana looking belt that would fit a much larger man than this one, and thus half of it was dangling alongside his leg.
At first given opportunity the strange man flung himself towards another crane, grabbing it too by the rope just above the claw. This time, rather than sliding down, the man graciously climbed upwards and heaved himself over its wooden edge to the top of the crane. He sat down on his heels to get a better balance, and waited for the crane to start turning. As it did so, another crane was facing the one the man was positioned on, and with a daring gap between his and the other crane, the man jumped over and nearly lost his balance.
Tipping forwards and regaining his balance, with the plan to run over the top of the crane he suddenly made an unexpected and unwelcome acquaintance with an offensive fist. The man fell over the edge of the crane and barely saved himself by grabbing onto a rope hanging along the side. He could hear the throat of his would-be attacker being cleared.
“Pardon that inconvenient encounter dear fellow, I might have misplaced my hand there for a moment, are you alright?” the attacker said rather arrogantly. “Oh I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” The man hanging in the rope uttered with great effort. “You don’t say? I might just have to fix that.” The attacker said and unsheathed a knife from his belt, walked over to the edge and grabbed the rope the other man was so desperately holding on to. “You might want to not do that, you know.” “And why is that?” The attacker replied while toying with the rope. “Well, I am more than certain the crane maneuvers won’t be too happy about it!” “Ah… Seems that might just be an expense I’ll have to live with now, eh?” And as to enforce his statement, the attacker cut over the rope.
The man swung downwards with the rope in an angle, and with gracious style he pulled himself upwards and swung himself towards a cargo net carried by another crane. He grabbed it with both hands and struggled to keep a hold of it. He took a small peek over his shoulder to ensure that his attacker was sane enough to not follow him, and he could see no proof of pursuit. He stood up and leapt away to another claw, this time the claw carried nothing and the man cached the rope in such an angle that it started spinning around in circles, timing his jump thoroughly he let go and heaved himself at the right moment to hit the top of another crane.
And so it continued with elegance and grace as if the man was performing a work of art. Taking more daring moves at every turn, and maneuvered his way through this jungle of cargo, cranes and claws. In the end the man heaved himself onto a small wagon driven by only one man.
“Pardon me, dear fellow. You won’t mind me tagging along for a little while will you?” The man just arriving fluidly whispered. “No not at all, in fact, I love it when strangers suddenly jump onto my chart in the middle of the Makeshift!” The Wagoneer replied. And then they both laughed for a brief moment. “Now Chance. Have you kept your eyes on the target?” The arriving man said. “No, for I have had such a delicate and complicated task of shadowing one single wagon moving among a hundred others, unlike yourself Khaine fleas-in-the-blood Lifeheart.” Presumed to be Chance replied.
Without a word Chance started moving his chart towards a larger wagon they had been so indirectly tailing. When they were nothing short of one wagon between themselves and their target, the opposed Wagoneer looked up and caught a glimpse of Khaine, as a reaction to this recognition he started stirring his wagon further away. “Shit, seems we’re not going to get to them the subtle way anymore.” Khaine said under a breath of curses. “Thanks to your fucking disability to keep a low profile, I’d say.” Chance hissed. “Now then, shall we?” He added, indicating with his head for them both to move.
Without any more words they threw themselves onto the wagon on their left. They continued to move from wagon to wagon seeing as the Wagoneer of their choice was quite handy at maneuvering through the Makeshift and had already made a decent distance. But the work of fast moving, skillful acrobats was by far the greater advantage. Before long they were both in the air jumping for their lives onto the wagon they wanted. Upon landing Chance conjured a small metallic card in his hand and graciously flung it right into the neck of the Wagoneer, killing him on the spot.
They disposed of the body by simply heaving it over the side of the wagon. Then Chance took up the mantles and Khaine took a last look around before he submerged into the private rooms of the wagon.
“Carto? Carto! What is this all about?!” The man sitting inside uttered franticly. “He is no longer of your concern, Jorealla. And you are going to want to choose your words wisely, unless your chosen words intend to give you the same fate as your compadre.” Khaine whispered while he walked in. “Khaine, by the…” Was all the man had time to say before a throwing knife hit him in his good arm, rendering him unable to draw blade. “If you intend to survive the last few minutes of your trip out from Celon, I suggest you start using them to your advantage.” Khaine hissed.
Jorealla growled at the injury, but did little more to express his dismay at the situation. Khaine sat down and folded his arms. “Now then, considering your willingness to live and all; tell me of your mistress: the duchess of thieves.” Khaine whispered.
Constructive Criticism is dearly welcome.
