» Mon Jun 20, 2011 11:16 pm Act 1
Chapter 1: Those Little Rats
How often does one say to their harlet mother: “I know you love me because you didn’t abort me, and I too, love you.”? Ida Catherine d’Entrecasteaux did, where others did not. She did not judge, she did not look at faults to those she held dear to her heart, and for this, she was punished. Let’s follow the life of this young Breton peasant woman who grew to be something more. So, my pretties kick back in your seats as we start this unfortunate tale.
*****
Dark clouds draqed themselves low over the sleepy town of Bravil. A mixed smell of sweat, blood and sewage rose up, the horrid stench chocked newcomers and passing-by travellers. The citizens of the slum grew accustomed to it all; death in the streets, starving children, and domestic violence . . . everything unclean and unjust threw itself in Bravil. Travellers never stayed long, driven away by the town’s evil.
Not even the guards could keep control. Where was the justice system? Where were the smiling faces? Where were the pure of heart? Definitely not found here, in this slum of a city.
A young adolescent girl of about sixteen moved her way through the seething crowd, bumping shoulders and shoving those in her path out of the way. In her hands, she held a slab of mutton wrapped in a grey cloth. Enough to feed a family of four for the day, and not too many a drake spent. Finally out of the crowded market-place, Ida walked down the street, mud squelched beneath her feet and the hem of her dress was stained. She was somewhat pretty; long, dark, wavy brown hair and dark eyes. To her father, however, she was putrid. After all, Ida was not the child of her father, but another man, whom was one of her mother’s “clients”.
“Oi, lookie ‘ere lads. It’s the saucy wench’s bastard daughter. Why aren’t you doing what mother dearest did?” Mocked an icy-cold voice.
Every word was like a jab to the ribs, each syllable a fireball searing the heart. Angrily, Ida spun around, face ugly with hate. “Gah dammit, just shut up, Josiah!”
The older, Nordic blonde boy chuckled, arms crossed across his burly chest. Everything about him, his face, his voice, his laugh . . . she hated everything about the ass. More figures stepped from the shadows - Josiah’s cronies. Ida huffed, then turned from the mocking voices. His rough hand grabbed hers from walking away. Immediately, she jerked it away, shooting him a cold look. “Back off.” She sneered.
“Aw, but you’d make a great harlet, pretty lady.” Cooed the brute.
BAM!
Ida punched the brute squarely on the nose, unable to contain the anger kept bottled up for the past sixteen years. That felt good. His eyes were wide, mouth gapping in surprise. Surprise soon turned to embarrassment, which melted to anger. Josiah’s gang knew better than to laugh. But the short moment of triumph did not last when Josiah gripped Ida by the shoulders, and then threw her against the wall like a ragdoll. Dazed still, Id spotted tall shadows jumping about on the roof tops behind the brute, moving with monkey-like nimbleness. The figures dropped down, landing on the ground with a thud.
A muscular, black-haired and blue eyed adolescent Imperial boy moved about swiftly, his sights set on the brute as the pack of young men raised fists and fought.
Engel!
Engel picked up a rock fit into the palm of his hand, and lobbed it at the back of Josiah’s head with a thunk! Engel giggled at the sound it made, “Well I’ll be. You do have an empty head after all!”
Having forgotten Ida, Josiah spun around to swing his fist at the Imperial’s face. Engel keeled over, both hands over where the Nord punched him. Blood flowed from his nose, numb and throbbing. The Nord was impossible to fight. He was a bloodthirsty demon in battle; merciless and ruthless.
When Engel looked up, facing his opponent, he was in no way surprised to see the shiv gripped tightly in Josiah’s palm. This was about to get more bloody that it already was.
“HEY!” The authoritive voice cut through the shouts and insults of battle. Several startled heads looked in the direction it came from, to see guard, clad in chainmail armour with padded Bravil uniform over the armour.
The group dispersed, running in all directions like crazed ants; they scattered, hid amongst the crowds and behind alleyways. Engel grabbed Ida by the arm, leading her down the closest corridor, twisting and turning as they went; the pair crossed the bridge, over the stinking polluted water and behind a shop.
“Ok, we can stop now.” He assured, “here is safe . . . enough. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine . . . What was that for?! I didn’t need saving. Now look at what you did! I mean . . . thank you.” She felt a mix of eight emotions all at once; anger, fear, love and thankfulness.
“What? Weren’t you just about to rip my head off?” He was clearly confused, head cocked to one side.
“What are you talking about? No, I wasn’t!” Ida half giggled.
Engel nodded slowly in silence, as if he were a curious student taking in wise words from a scholar. And there, the silence stayed for what seemed to be a decade.
Damn you Engel for not saying anything! Oh, look you have pretty eyes. But your eyes are pretty every time I see them . . .
“Are you still going to sea? I will dearly miss you.” Ida asked, hoping he would answer ‘no’.
“Yes. Look, I’m sorry, but it’s what I have to do. I am but an apprentice seaman and this . . . I could become an explorer someday!”
Tell him how you feel . . . A voice urged. She ignored it. “Just promise me you’ll return.”
“I promise.” He breathed, staring into her eyes. “I . . . I’ve got to go now.” He stammered, turning and running away towards the city gates. The gate guard gave the Imperial a dirty look as he stumbled out the gates.
Sighing, Ida crossed the bridge once again, this time, alone and into her small house; the wood rotted and decayed, and inside, a fire burned weakly, giving a long, low sigh as it slowly died. An oil lamp sat on the rough table, illuminating most of the room with its dim light.
“Do you have the food?” A low, husky voice called out. Father. His presence ruined her mood.
The mutton! She’d dropped it when running from the guards. “N . . . No. I’m sorry.” Her voice shook with fear.
Her father appeared from behind the door leading to the next room. “Well, then you go back out there and get it! And if you don’t, you will spend a night outside!” He replied sharply.
“Yes father.” Came the meek reply, as she stepped back out the door. And this was when he was in a good mood. She knew he meant what he said, setting out into the cold, the sun glowed red in the westerly, as the dark clouds drew in. Little did she know, danger lurked about the corner . . .
I loved reading it! 
I'd also be glad to read the next part! 
I can't wait to see more. 