The hand that we are dealt.

[Master Chris]

This is the prologue and first chapter of a story I've been working on. It's in what I remember 'second person perspective' to be. I should point out that although some characters share their names with those from Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' the story itself is not a retelling or my own interpretation of said play. If there are any cases of addiction, do feel free to contact the 'Fan-Fic-Addict-Centre' so that we may help you through it.

Prologue:

Laertes gleefully interrupted us:

"Quite the dilemma you're in, aren't you? Well I have an idea Titus, how about you decide by flipping your precious coin like you always do? Ha!"

With that, he turned and departed. After a moment of confused silence I turned to Titus and asked:

"Well, what do we do now?"

With his eyes closed and an expression of frustration upon his face, Titus ran his thumb over his golden dubloon slowly, thinking the situation over. He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the coin, as if hoping that the answer lay in the coin itself. He suddenly blinked, snatched the coin into his palm, and his charismatic smile returned. He looked at me and spoke:

"He doesn’t know it yet, but Laertes is right. I'm going to do what I've always done, trust in Lady Luck. Heads we save Ophelia, Tails we go after Laertes."

Titus sent the dubloon spinning with a flick of his wrist. The dubloon cartwheeled into the air, flashing briefly once per rotation as it caught the light and reflected it at us. The dubloon slowed as it reached the apex of its trajectory, begun its descent. Titus let the dubloon drop to the ground, where it bounced several times before resting on its edge, neither heads or tails! I gasped in shock, and looked to Titus for answers. He smiled and nodded knowingly before speaking in a voice both soft as well as full of grim determination:

“My dear Rosencrantz, do not be alarmed. This is exactly the hand I expected Lady Luck to deal us. On one hand you could say that the coin has not landed on heads or tails, or you could, as I have, interpret it as having landed on both heads and tails equally.”

I dropped my gaze to the floor, looking upon the slowly gyrating golden disc. It was a perplexing outcome, indeed. Did Titus truly expect it to happen? Even today I do not know whether Titus had, by some deft sleight of hand, manipulated the toss or had truly trusted in fate to deliver him the answers he sought. I snapped my head up and returned Titus’s gaze:

“You propose to both rescue Ophelia as well as stopping Laertes from finding the last fragment of the Seal, even though it’s impossible to do both?”

Titus replied instantly, having expected my question:

“You’re wrong, it’s quite possible to do both. So, in reply to your query, good friend, yes we’re going to do both.We’re going to stop Laertes and save Ophelia at the same time!”



Chapter The First:

I don’t know how long we spent just sitting there, we three. The weather was perfect, a mere whisper of a breeze tempered the heat of the sun as we sat on that grassy hill. Those aromas one associates with a summer day virtually bombarded us, each smell taking its turn to suffocate our noses in delightful sensation. The birds chattered to one another, too quickly for mankind to comprehend. The waterbed whispered long lost secrets to those who would take the time to listen. In the distance one could hear the toil of a farmer and his workhorse, both tenderly tending to their fields. All the while we sat there, gazing up into the sapphire sky. Our eyes following the meandering paths of bright white clouds as they lazily made their way to wherever they intended to go, it didn’t matter whether they ever actually got there or not. Those were the days of innocence, those white, fluffy clouds we saw represented nothing of the storm clouds that gathered on the horizon.

Titus held a coin up to the heavens, rotating it slowly as he critically examined its features. For years he had held that coin close to his breast, never parting with it, never spending it. Although, he couldn’t have if he had wished to, for it was a coin minted by a civilisation long deceased and was not recognised as valid currency.

Titus spoke to us, without taking his eyes off of the golden disc:

“You know, Laertes, Rosencrantz, I think life might be a bit like this dubloon of mine.”

He paused, still organising his thoughts. We didn’t dare interrupt him at times like these, Titus had always been one for profound quips. He continued:

“There are always two sides to everything, it always comes full circle in the end, and once you set things spinning you never know how it’s going to turn out.”

Laertes grunted, not in insult but merely because he felt too lethargic to speak at the time. I didn’t contribute because I was not willing further to defile the relaxing summer atmosphere with more of the clumsy and ungainly words that were issued from the mouths of men.

Ever since Titus had found that dubloon, that was what the historian who had examined it proclaimed it to be, he had based all of his major decisions in life upon a tossing of the coin.

Heads or Tails.

Yes or No.

There was never any ‘maybe’ with Titus, he believed that tossing the coin revealed Lady Luck’s intended purpose for him. Lady Luck was a higher diety of his own creation. It was Lady Luck who wove the tapestry of existance, she who ordained what would or would not come to be, all things happened under the watchful guidance of Lady Luck. Titus believed that Lady Luck had a starring role for him in her greatest of plays, that she would always guide him towards his destiny through the coin, and that she would never betray his faith in the coins divinity.

Laertes, on the other hand, had scoffed when Titus first began talking about Lady Luck. They had argued for hours over the matter, Titus defending his belief in destiny and Laertes refusing to acknowledge the existance of any divine purpose. The two had come to blows that day, each an equal to the other, they were exhausted long before any decisive result was achieved. Since then Laertes accepted that Titus had a right to his beliefs and kept his mouth shut whenever Titus brought the subject up.

I, Rosencrantz, younger than the others by a year, was always the ‘grey’ area between the ‘black and white’ of Laertes and Titus. In a way, I felt that I had always been in the shadow of Titus and Laertes, unable to fully blossom without my own sunlight.
However, as the middle man it was my duty to encourage both to reconcile with the other after one of their frequent arguments.

That was the way that it was, until Laertes and Titus had their greatest argument ever, which resulted a mutual and complete dissolving of their friendship. I chose to stand with Titus, he had always been the better friend to me. The spark that fueled the hatred to be was Laertes’ sister, Ophelia, a young and beautiful lady whom had captured the attentions of Titus.

That was how it was as we discarded the innocence of childhood and embraced manhood.

[Blue Aurora]

Urgh, all this old Shakespearean stuff is making me feel dizzy. :squint: :sleep:
But it's good! Try something related to action next time! :D

[Apache_Longbow]

I read about half of it, I'm too tired to read the rest but it is very good rD.

And that is in 1st person perspective.
1st person = I, we, us, etc.
2nd person = You
3rd person = He, she, they, etc.

[Master Chris]

It's only the prologue and first chapter, so do forgive the lack of action because there's more to come.

I'm seeing it as a very final fantasy-esque world, technology mixed with magic, ultimate weapons (you know, ruby, emerald, omega, and so forth), Laertes will turn out to be a lot like Sephiroth and Seifer (ie. the old friend turned evil). The coin will play a major part in the storyline, a storyline that'll knock your socks off once I get into it!

For those having problems with the names, I'll type them out phoenetically for you:

Titus: Ty-Tus
Rosencrantz: Rose-N-crants
Laertes: Lay-er-tease
Ophelia: Oh-feel-E-ah
Polonius: Pole-Own-E-us
Claudius: Cloud-E-us

Thanks for the correction on the perspectives Apache. ;)

[VO]

:) This is VARY good!!!!!

[Master Chris]

Chapter the second:


“Wake up! Rosencrantz! Get up you sloth, we’re already late!”

Were the words that greeted me as I was violently shaken from my slumber. Unwilling to release the visions that had come to me as I dreamt, I murmured in protest and hugged my pillow tightly.

“If you don’t awaken now I shall leave without you, Rosencrantz! Hmm, Heads I wait for you, Tails I leave.”

The shrill ring of a coin being struck into the air caught my ears; I did my best to ignore the sound. Then came the slap of flesh as the coin was caught in the palm of a hand, I tried to remain belligerently ignorant of the ramifications of these actions.

“Oh dear, alas poor Rosencrantz. He who missed the greatest opportunity of his life.”

I was administered a final shove before I became faintly aware of footsteps treading away from me and the booming sound of a door slamming. Finally, free of the disturbance I tried to force myself to return to sleep. Unfortunately, it was too late for me to do so, consciousness had taken hold. Eyes shut in defiance, I contemplated the proceedings. What had he meant? Greatest opportunity?

It struck me in an instant, my blood chilled in my veins as I came to a complete understanding of the matter! I threw my quilt from my bed and leapt forth, yelling as I did so:

“Titus! Titus! Do wait, I’m coming!”

I suddenly found myself face to face with Titus, leaning upon my door, a mischevious grin plastered across his face.

“Good to see you woke up after all, good Rosencrantz.”

He commented as much neutrality as he could muster. I scolded him, yet to take in the humour of the situation:

“You dog! How could you trick me in such an underhanded fashion?!”

Without speaking a word, Titus kept on smiling at me, his eyes still sparkling with mischief. After a few moments of this Cheshire Cat treatment I admitted defeat and started laughing, Titus joined in a moment later. It took a few moments to compose myself, that accomplished I spoke:

“Titus, I thought you had left without me.”

To that, Titus replied:

“I tossed the coin and it came up Heads, Rosencrantz, so I waited for you, although I did hasten your awakening with a dose of subterfuge. Do forgive me, but we are in a hurry.”

I nodded while at the same time as searching for my garments. As they always did, my clothes had, under the cover of night, hidden themselves as best they could. It was a game I played with them, neither side ever actually acknowledging the existence of the game but it was always the same day after day. Titus suggested once that I neatly fold my clothes the night before so as to make locating them in morning that much more simple. I tried to explain to him that it defeated the purpose of the game. Truth be told, Titus never really grasped the concept no matter how hard I tried to explain it. As it had always been, I found what I was looking for. Victory was mine! Better luck next time, garments! I thought to myself. Now wrestling with my shirt I kept the conversation going:

“Remind me, Titus, where exactly in town is the enlistment office?”

Hidden behind a veil of fabric I heard but did see Titus as he replied to my question, a hint of challenge in his voice:

“By the post office, you know that very well, Rosencrantz.”

“Of course, I was merely testing you. Lady forbade you to forget, yes?”

Titus, pleased with my reference to Lady Luck, agreed, while I kept struggling with my shirt:

“Indeed, my dubloon did show me the path, I have nothing to do but follow it.”

Having finally freed myself from my would-be cotton captor my head emerged, as the turtle’s does. Titus, eager to depart, kicked my shoes towards me and remarked:

“Here. I’ll distract you no longer. I’ll wait for you at the front door, try not to return to your bed or I shall truly leave without you.”

A few minutes later we were on our way to the enlistment office. Once every three years the Imperial Legion passed through our town looking for new recruits. It was considered a great honour to be accepted into their ranks and there used to be great competition between the youth of our town to see whom would be awarded a place in the highly selective Legion. A year ago, Titus had put the issue to the dubloon and since that day we two had been working towards being accepted by the Legion. Countless hours were spent in exercise, many more hours spent in the town library devouring all the knowledge we could (for the high standards of the Legion means no uneducated man could be accepted). Always pushing both of us as far as we could stand to bear, Titus never let go of his ambition. I tried to keep up but his determination and stamina meant that it was always he who finished first in our races. Titus always consoled me however:

“Don’t worry, Rosencrantz. By now we both are surely more than worthy of the Legion, think of how much you have improved in so short a time and be proud, my friend!”

He was always a charismatic person, nothing would ever stop him from smiling. A few well chosen words and a caring pat on the back was all I ever needed to go the extra distance. Titus was destined for greatness, Lady Luck or not. At least, that’s how I saw things at the time. Both of our perspectives changed for good, however, the day we went to enlist.

(Heh, that's the second chapter done. It's only 80% or so to my liking, I wanted to fit some action in somewhere. Do bear with me as the story progresses. It's a bit slow but please remember that I hope to make this story about 100,000 words long and thus have a lot of space to fill.)

[Master Chris]

A Brief Interlude: Ophelia’s Prophecy.

"Under the ice, Phyrus does sleep.
The broken seal bids her return.
The universe as one shall weep,
When the world of man does burn.

The Seal, now shattered.
Seven fragments scattered.

The first, under the ground.
Never to be found.

The second in the sea,
Just like number three.

Four lies with the dead.
Where man dares not tread.

The fifth, touching the sky
On a mountaintop high.

Six is watched by sentinels without death,
Skin of stone and fiery breath.

The Seventh is entrusted to a guardian unaware,
The fate of mankind lies in his care.”

Laertes had watched in horror as his beloved sister, Ophelia, had spoken those words at the stroke of midnight the night before he was to enlist with the Legion.

He had been stirred from his slumber by the sound of footsteps passing his bedroom door. At that point he had been merely curious as to the source of the disturbance and had gotten up to find out why his sister was up and about in the middle of the night. In a few distance consuming strides he had caught up with his sister, clad still in her night gown:

“Ophelia! Why are you up at such an odd time of night?”

No response met Laertes’ senses, his sister continued to walk blindly forwards. Placing his hand upon her shoulder Laertes spoke again in a voice more demanding than before:

“I expect an answer sister. What reason have you for such queer actions?!”

Without warning Laertes found his hand suddenly thrust from Ophelia’s shoulder but no movement of hers suggested Ophelia had been responsible for it. Laertes, an brief sensation of numbness creeping along his arm, exclaimed is surprise:

“What is this? Ophelia? Ophelia?!”

At that point Laertes realised that his sister’s eyes were shut, the impression of blissful dreams wafted across her visage as she continued to walk through the darkened rooms of her home.

“I’ve never before known you to sleep walk. Should I wake her? What do they say about those who take to such peculiar behaviours?”

He paused a moment, watching Ophelia as she walked out of the door and into the night.

“Eh? I remember closing that door earlier, and yet did not see her open it either.”

Laertes hurried after Ophelia after stopping to grab a pair of coats and slip his feet into his boots. Worried about his sister, Laertes ran up to her and wrapped one of the coats around her neck and made as if to fasten it around her neck:

“Here, I’ll not let you traipse about in the cold without a cloa-Woah!”

As he had tried to button the cloak to her throat Laertes had, again, found his touch repelled from Ophelia only stronger in effect than the previous time. A blinding flash later, Laertes found himself lying on the ground, his sister a faint ghostly figure in the distance, quickly fading into the black night.

Running in order to keep her in sight, Laertes, heedless of his own safety, barreled forwards in a desperate attempt to catch up. However fast Laertes did sprint, he found Ophelia’s pale figure drawing away from him even though it appeared that she was only walking with a solemn stride. For some time this continued until Ophelia approached the edge of the town and entered the nearby forest.

As the pair made their way through the forest, Laertes noted the distinct lack of noise around them. It was as if the inhabitants of the forest had, by universal accord, chosen to remain in silent vigilance of the siblings as they proceeded further and further in the woods.

Laertes, drawing ragged breaths, found himself on his knees, unable to pursue Ophelia any longer. In between gasps for air, he called out to her in the vain hope that she would awaken at the sound of his voice. After a minute or so of this, Laertes found himself able to resume walking. Once he had pulled himself back onto his feet his was presented with the impossible task of tracking his sister, who was long gone. His eyes straining as he tried to spot her, Laertes clenched his fists into balls of white frustration.

Yet, it was hopeless.

Sorrow engulfed him and Laertes found himself unable to stand under his own weight any longer. Leaning against a nearby pinetree, Laertes tried to hold back the tears that were creeping forth, his was throat constrictingly tight, and he felt a wave of despair break against him. The pitch black darkness closed in and surrounded him. In a choking voice Laertes called out her name, each time less loudly, as even this futile effort began to die itself:

“Ophelia….Ophelia…….Ophelia…..”

Laertes finally stopped, at the end of his tether. Silence rushed in to the void left by his words. Still the current of bleak darkness flowed and ebbed around him ever drawing itself closer to him, hungrily attracted to his sadness.

Without warning the black night was pierced was a brilliant emerald glow, as the green light brushed against Laertes, he found his strength and stamina renewed, the despair washing away in the bright light. Pushing himself away from the tree previously supporting his weight, Laertes squinted at the origin of the green glow.

“I feel as if I were summoned hence, mayhaps Ophelia lies nearby.”

Hope began to flourish within his breast. Laertes, with ever growing enthusiasm, strode towards the light and willed that it to be that Ophelia was soon at hand.

A deep rumbling met his ears as Laertes continued forwards, a sound he likened to that of an earthquake. Strangely enough, his suspicions were surprisingly close to the truth. For as he arrived in a clearing Laertes was presented with the image of the very earth itself moulding itself into the shape of an obelisk. At the very peak of this earthen tower, Laertes saw both the origin of the green light as well as his sister.

“Ophelia!”

The figure, silhouetted by the emerald glow, was Ophelia. At the sound of his voice she turned and, in a voice that was not her own, recited the prophecy. As soon as she had concluded with:

“The Seventh is entrusted to a guardian unaware,
The fate of mankind lies in his care.”

The blinding green light extinguished and the earthen obelisk began to crumble. Fearing for his sisters safety Laertes screamed:

“Ophelia! Ophelia!”

With a visible shudder and a high pitched scream, Ophelia returned to awareness. Suddenly, the tower violently fall in on itself, taking a screaming Ophelia with it. Laertes ran forwards, braving tumbling chunks of rock. Thankfully, Laertes was able to pull his sister from the raining dirt and cascading stone before she was buried along with it. As quickly as it had begun to topple it was gone, leaving no trace of there ever being an obelisk in that clearing.

Wiping smudged dirt from her pale face, Laertes tried to comfort his sister, who was trembling with fright. Dried blood, the colour of rust painted her lips and chin from where it had freely run from her nose, her grey eyes were dilated with shock and her mouth moved as if it were forming words unspoken. Laertes tended to her, stroking her matted hair and calming her down with soft, reassuring words. At last Ophelia regained control of herself:

“Brother! Oh, I’ve had the most disturbing nightmare. You were in it, as was I, father, and even Titus and Rosencrantz. There was death all around us, brother. Everyone was dead except you. Then it all changed, suddenly you were the only person who was slain. I fear for you life, Laertes.”

Laertes shock his head in disbelief:

“Do you remember anything about someone called Phyrus? Or something about seven fragments of a seal?”

Ophelia shook her head slowly, as if it were the first time she had heard any of this. She brought her hand up to wipe some grime from her cheek when she noticed she was clutching something. Ophelia opened her hand and let a necklace drop onto the ground. Ribbed with gold bands was an shining emerald attached to the necklace. Laertes had seen this and he picked the necklace up and examined it, clods of dirt were stuck to the emerald and had wormed their way in between the links of gold.

“What’s this? Ophelia? Where’d you find this?”

As puzzled as Laertes was, Ophelia was about to reply when she felt her mouth move of its own accord:

“The first, under the ground.
Never to be found.”

Laertes brushed some of the dirt away from the emerald, and as if responding to his touch it glowed faintly.

“What do you think it means, Laertes?”

Ophelia asked, worry in her voice.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s best that we return home, get some sleep, and figure it out in the morning.”

Ophelia blinked and looked about and shrieked, only now realising she was in the middle of the forest at midnight.

“What are we doing here?”

“You don’t remember? I found you sleepwalking and followed you all the way out here.”

“Oh.”

Was all Ophelia could manage as she turned things over in her mind, nothing was making any sense at the moment. She allowed herself to be hefted onto her feet by Laertes and walked beside him as they wandered home. However, so exhausting had her ordeal been that it wasn’t long before Ophelia had to be carried home in her brother’s arms, the emerald necklace around her neck. Laertes looked at his sister, her face a pale green in the emeralds glow, and whispered softly:

“I do regret having to have to leave you after such an experience but tomorrow I must enlist and join the Legion. Sleep well dearest sister, for when you wake I may be gone.”

(I must offer profound apologies, seems that the fonts, text spacing, and text sizes didn't survive the copy+paste over from Word.)

[Bean]

Very Good, I really like it, Its something that when I started I didn't think I would get into it, but it seems I have... :D

[Blue Aurora]

Nice chapter.... :cool:

[Master Chris]

Nice to know you like it, guys. I certainly thought the brief interlude was better than chapter 2. I think it may be prudent to reveal some of the details of this world I've sculptured with my words.


The Legion:

Founded several hundred years ago this elitist agency has been an independant but loyal arm of the government. In many ways it a small microcosm of the very society it seeks to protect. Some even say that the Legion has more than a minor influence on government policy. Within the Legion there lies an infrastructure similar to a society.

The purpose of the Legion is to maintain order within the boundaries of the nation and defend the people from incursion, be it internal or external in origin.

There are three echelons within the Legion:

The Admiralty, the Officer corps, and the Citizens/Soldiers.

The Admiralty: Obviously the head of the Legion, the Admiralty is the highest class a Legionaire can aspire to. It is here that the great strategic decisions are made, as are other matters of great importance settled. Not only must he have proven himself in battle but a potential member of the admiralty must be more intelligent, cunning, and cultured than his lesser brethren if he wishes to join their hallowed ranks.

The Officer corps is the agency which puts into motion those decisions made by the Admiralty. The Officers are also those commanders who take into their hands the tactical decisions made on the battlefield. Officers are also those Legionaires who take non-combat roles within the Legion. For example, those people who choose to research and construct new technologies for the Legion to use in both war and peace. Also included in the classification of officer are those artificers (mainly women) who create works of art that inspire, and entertain the people. Writers, Poets, Actors, and so forth are seen as important members of the Legion's society and are accorded positions worthy of their importance. For, is it not worthy to inspire a man to fight like a wolverine for his honour, family, and righteousness?

The Citizens/Soldiers are the workhorses of the Legion. By no means looked down upon by their compatriots, these men and women are the bread and butter of the Legion. Not necessarily defined as those who actually engage in combat, a Citizen/Soldier is he/she who performs the mundane tasks the Legion requires. From tending to crops, caring for children, repairing or constructing weapons, tools, or even accomodation to actual combat roles. While they do reside upon the lowest rung of Legion society, these people are far above the vulgar commoners of outside, mundane society.

For you see, the Legion is not just a machine of war but a sort of elitist society. Within the Legion's homebase, a great citadel resting upon the mountain Terreat, live the families of the Legionaires; their wives and children to be exact. It is here that the women grow crops, assemble weapons and ammunition, repair damaged machinery, and perform the duties of maintaining the Legion. It should be noted that the composition of most of the Legion's arts, be they written, painted, or acted, are composed by the women of the Legion (most specifically the female Officers). Nor are women treated as inferior beings to their male counterparts. They too, as the Legionaires are, are of high pedigree. Intelligent, hard working, and cultured, the wives are the Legion are seen as equals to the soldiers, without their tireless efforts the Legion would be without food, ammunition, and other logistic necessities. The women and children of the Legion are seen as more precious than the lives of its own Legionaires.

A Legionaire may introduce an outsider woman to be his bride (The Legion must keep an influx of fresh genes otherwise it would stagnate). However, as the Legionaire soldiers themselves must, she must pass a series of tests if she is to be accepted as worthy material. She must be intelligent, cultured, willing to work, and of suitable 'physical stock'. The Legion accepts no man of inferior pedigree and, understandably, expects this standard of the 'fairer gender'.

Class differences do exist within the Legion. The Admiralty lives in the more comfortable accomodations than the other classes. That is not to say that the other classes live in abject poverty. Everyone within the Legion is provided for. As the motto goes:

"If thou ist prepared to give thine life for the Legion, the Legion shalt give itself to thou in turn."

It should also be noted that there is no inherited positions within the Legion. A man or woman must earn their position through their own merits. It is quite common for the progeny of an Admiral to serve as Soldiers or Citizens their entire lives, heedless, no shame is felt by either party. To serve the Legion in any capacity is honour enough.

All the children of Legionaires, regardless of their parents rank, are educated together. Every child is infused with a desire to put the Legion before their own wants, to respect both their superiors as well as their inferiors. Once a child has started to enter adulthood they are subjected to the very same tests that outsider recruits are required to endure before they are allowed to become fully fledged Legionaires (do note: the term Legionaire refers to both genders). While most succeed in passing these tests (a childhood of almost military-esque regime and indoctrination ensures all bar the weakest are worthy) those who fail are cast out into the world (once again, regardless of their parents rank).

In war the Legion is tenacious, vicious, and merciless. Seeking to end conflict quickly and efficiently, no moral dilemma is faced when the option of using biological or magical weapons presents itself. Generally, the Legion prefers to keep the commoners out of combat but under dire circumstance it has been required. The scientists of the Legion constantly research new and effective manners in which to bolster the fighting strength of its relatively few Legionaires. Because the Legion is so selective in accepting new recruits it has never been a particulary numerous agency. Thusly, it is important that each Legionaire is utilised to his or her full potential, and that that potential is increased by superior weapons, support, and so forth.

Regarding magic, the Legion takes a utilitarian approach. Magic is used as an aid for Legionaires in combat. Every Legionaire recruit is required to take a 'probing' test by one of the Legions mages. Those who are identified as magically active as well as having passed the recruitment tests are inducted into the Legions ranks of mages. Mages are distributed across all three ranks. With a single mage within the admiralty, many mages within the Officer corps, and a fair few within the Soldier/Citizen class.

[Master Chris]

Chapter the Third: My name is Legion.


“Do you suppose, Titus, that Laertes will also attempt to join the Legion, today?”

I asked, as we jogged towards our destiny. Titus nodded and replied:

“Of course, did you not notice the grin upon Polonius’ face over the past few days? He is bursting with pride over his son’s intent to follow in his footsteps.”

Puzzled over something, I asked Titus another question:

“Polonius was once a Legionaire, I know for a fact that one is a Legionaire for life. Why then, did Polonius leave the Legion?”

Without replying immediately, Titus kept jogging, I could see that he was churning the matter over in his mind. We continued a fair distance before Titus finally answered:

“I remember once hearing that Polonius was the son of a Grand-Marshal within the Legion, but upon his coming of age, he was found wanting and was expelled from the Legion before he even became a Legionaire. Then, here on the outside, he lived a meagre life, married and had two children before his wife died. Apparently, he has great expectations for Laertes. I never took it to be truth, however, as it came from the forked tongue of a drunken upstart. Yet, now that I think about it, perhaps that is the truth. Does that satisfy you, Rosencrantz?”

“Indeed, Titus, indeed.”

By that time we had arrived at the enlistment office, a recently erected tent had ensnared a crowd of people. We were on the periphery of the gathering and stood upon our toes in order to observe what was happening. A pair of armed men, no doubt Legionaires, were standing guard at the entrance of the tent. Their black metal armour reflected the morning sun with dazzling brilliance, each man held a ceremonial pike with a relaxed demeanour that suggested that ritualistic parade was not the only thing the pikes were capable of. Neither man moved, his face hidden from view by an opaque visor that betrayed nothing to the observer.

Without any noticable cue from inside the tent, the guards smartly saluted and moved away from the entrance, their pikes held in perfect parallel to one another. With theatrical poise, a robed man stepped forth from inside the tent, squinting at the sudden brightness, a youth from the town at his side, I knew the lad’s face but could not place a name to it. The man spoke in a booming voice:

“It is with great pride I declare that this boy has passed the first test, this town has produced a crop of young men to be proud of indeed. Is there not another fledgling looking to spread his wings and join the Legion? Step forth and proclaim your intent or wait another three years!”

I nudged Titus and whispered:

“Just in time, Titus, that’s our cue.”

Upon that note, Titus waved his hand in the air and yelled at the man:

“Here are your newest recruits!”

The crowd, as one, turned to look at us, Titus, the tall, brave, and fearless and I, Rosencrantz, his loyal comrade. Slowly the people moved to either side as if to grant us passage to the tent, the robed man strode towards us and took each of our hands in turn, his previous companion no longer in sight:

“Ahh, good good, more young men willing to test their worthiness. I wish you both the greatest of luck in these matters. I shall take each of you into my office and take down your details before administering your first test. It is one of words and numbers, my lads, the Legion will adopt no simpleton, you know.”

We both nodded, we were prepared for this, having trained both our minds and bodies for this. The man wrapped his arms around our shoulders and angled us towards the tent, as we walked I felt the hands of townspeople reach out and touch me, this was accompanied by softly spoken words of encouragement. The man asked:

“Which of you shall venture first into my tent?”

Titus looked at me before nodding, we had discussed the matter previously and had agreed that in such circumstances it would be he who would go first. He replied:

“I, Titus, shall be the first.”

With a hearty chuckle the man slapped Titus on the back and guided him into the tent. As soon as he had disappeared from view, the two guards stepped back into place with mechanical precision, forcing me to take a few stumbled steps backward in surprise. I paused a moment before turning around and facing the crowd still gathered before me. Garun, a farmer I had known for my entire life emerged from the crowd, took my hand and shook it with fervor:

“M’boy, I knew ye ‘ad it in ye to join de Legion! To fink dat you was only a wee babe not so long ago and now, now yer a strappin’ lad off to ter Legion! Yer parents would be proud, so would yer Aunty Freya!”

At the mentiom of her name I remembered the tears Aunt Freya had shed when I told her I was following Titus and joining the Legion. Unfortunately, I never got to find out if they were tears of sadness or pride.

Jolted back into the present by Garun’s violent handshake I nodded and smiled weakly, doubts were beginning to creep into my mind and I could not dispel them as I had done earlier. A parade of townsfolk each took their turn in shaking my hand or kissing my cheek, as befitted the gentlemen and ladies respectively. All the while I forced myself to smile politely as each well-wisher tried to convince me that I was sure to succeed when, in reality, all they did was agitate my fears even further. The final person to take my hand was Polonius, father to Laertes. With a slight hint of aggression in his voice, he tried to joke with me:

“Rosencrantz, I do wish you luck, because you will be competing with Laertes, and as such will need all the help you can get!”

As he moved away I saw Laertes watching me with an impassive expression upon his face. Though I had chosen Titus in preference to him after their falling out, Laertes had never seen me as his foe and thusly bore little hostility towards me. Laertes, caught making eye contact with me, grunted and nodded before turning away from me.

With a rustling sound from within the tent, Titus and the robed man appeared before the crowd. As before, the guards had positioned themselves accordingly. The man rubbed Titus’ shoulder and declared:

“The boy is bright enough for the Legion, he shall be admitted to the next stage of testing.”

With that, another person garbed in robe took Titus’ hand and lead him away, I followed him with my gaze until I was guided into the tent by the first robed man. As I walked into the dark enclosure, my eyes still adjusting to the lack of ambient light, I heard the guards snap back to their posts with a metallic clank of metal striking metal. The robed man sat himself upon a seat, motioned me towards a similar one, and introduced himself:

“I am Salidon, a wordsmith for the Legion, I also handle potential recruit liasons. You, dear boy, are whom?”

I replied, spelling out my name at Salidon’s request. I was then asked a series of questions concerning my history, the extent of my education, what skills I could provide to the Legion, as well as a few about my family. I explained that my mother had died in gving birth to me and that my father had soon followed her, leaving my care to his older sister, Freya. Salidon had taken this in without interjection, allowing me to explain my circumstances uninterrupted. He took detailed notes with a fine quill, the soft scratching of dried sinew upon paper repeatedly interrupted by the sound of the quill being dipped into an inkwell was surprisingly comforting. Once he had ascertained I had no more to say, Salidon produced a thin booklet, handed me his quill and spun his desk around so that it faced me. With that he said:

“Here lad, this is your first, and hopefully not the last, test the Legion requires its recruits to complete to a high standard. I cannot help you in any way, be it clarification or less innocent manners of interference. I will inform you when your alloted time is exhausted. You may begin now.”

He reached for an hour-glass from a nearby shelf and upended it, all too quickly the fine grains of sand followed one another, in lemming fashion, to the bottom of the glass. Expecting the worst, I opened the booklet and began to examine the questions.

Much to my surprise, the task before me seemed less intimidating than I thought it would be. It seemed that the time Titus and I had spent in the library had paid off. Working quickly, I breezed through the test, checking my answers twice over before shutting the booklet and resting my quill upon it. Salidon politely inquired if I was giving up already, I told him I was actually finished. Suspending the hour-glass upon its side, Salidon took my booklet and slowly examined my answers. More than once, he had referred to a thick tome for elaboration. Finally, Salidon set my completed test down, coughed, straightened his back and addressed me:

“It appears, Mr. Rosencrantz, that you have successfully completed the first test to a standard above even that which the Legion considers exceptional. I hereby congratulate you upon this success and, thusly, you are permitted to attend the next section of testing.”

Having said that he dropped the official tone he had been using and offered his hand to me, I accepted it, in shock over this unexpected result. Salidon spoke:

“Good job lad, keep this up and I see grand accomplishments in your name. The Legion could certainly benefit from such an intellect as yours.”

He stood and walked towards the tents entrance, I quickly hopped up and followed him. Parting the folds of the tent, Salidon declared my success to the crowd and asked if I were the last applicant from this town. As I was lead away from the enlistment office I saw Laertes step forward and address Salidon. It would indeed by fortunate if the three of us all were accepted into the Legion. However, that was not how it turned out in the end.

(I promise there will be action in the next chapter! Scout's honour!)

[Master Chris]

I think I shall stop updating this story piece by piece and just get around to finishing it and just add it as an attached .doc file to a single post.

Be prepared, my pretties, for the grand introduction of Guildenstern, a character whose backstory will make you throw up and soil your pants simulataneously in surprise when you find out the whole truth!

My advice? Keep a spare change of underwear handy, you'll need them.