Post by forevergeek on Jun 17, 2009 15:33:27 GMT -5
Well here we go again. This story is still very much in progress and is a constant source of stress in my life, but I just cant seem to let it go. I'm currently posting all updates on my deviantart page www.posiechan.deviantart.com, but I decided I'd start posting here as well.
For those who dont know, I call it revised because this is an updated version of the story I began writing last year. If you havent started reading this epic adventure yet, this is the place to start. It's what I consider to be the advanced re-telling of Karyn and James's epic adventure... Enjoy
----------------------------
Chapter 1 :: Blood and Thunder
Daniel was in pain. That’s all he knew. His head was pounding, his heart was throbbing, and it felt as if someone has stuck his leg in a blender. Rain had soaked him to the core, his now heavy clothes adding to the weight of his injury.
The pain emanated from a huge gash cut out of his right thigh. He had gone searching for adventure, for authenticism, and of course he had found it. Naïve as he was, earlier that day he had decided to visit East London’s most vicious slum, the Old Nichol. It was only 25 minutes' walk from Westminster, nestled between Bethnal Green and part of Shoreditch. A bit of off-the-tracks tourism for the real feel of London. This in mind, he headed east.
Suspicions confirmed, the Old Nichol was probably the closest to hell Daniel had ever encountered. He had arrived to a maze of rotting streets hemmed in by bleak buildings that might as well have been on a different planet. Daniel passed down narrow, muddy streets, skirting pools of filthy liquid and the carcasses of dogs and cats. No grass grew in the dark and putrid labyrinth. The narrow canyons of blackened brick tenements blocked out the sun and all color was leached away except for the dull grays of smoke and soot. I was hard to believe he was still in London.
Eyes watched him greedily through broken windowpanes as he traversed the streets alone. Daniel immediately regretted his lust for adventure. He had been there no longer than twenty minutes but already knew the weight of his decision. Turning on his heel, he quickly paced away from the filth toward Boundary Street, which marked the border of the slum.
He didn’t get very far.
A man, cheeks almost hollow from starvation, appeared from the shadows. He was shouting madly and wielding a knife, foam forming in the corners of his mouth. A bitter bile rose in the back of Daniel’s throat as he realized the man’s condition. He was suddenly hit with a rush of sensations: quick pulse, hot skin, trembling muscles. His body was being mobilized by fear. He bolted the opposite direction, but not quick enough. By time his body had resolved to run, the skeletal man was already upon him, the blade inches deep in his thigh.
Daniel staggered back in pain. The knife withdrew, flakes of rust and his own blood flying off the blade. His attacker was coming in for another blow, but not before Daniel could push him to the ground. Now writhing in the mud, the man continued to yell, his words rarely forming complete thoughts. With his handkerchief tied firmly against the wound, Daniel limped away as quickly as he could manage, cursing himself all the while. He couldn’t believe he had done something so stupid. He had acted on an impulse. It was beyond foolish, especially in his particular situation. He had to get back. Not to Westminster, but to his own time. He had no trust in the doctors of 1876.
Pain surged through Daniels body as he struggled to keep moving. Each step was a testament of his will, the gash being several inches deep. He could hardly move his leg and quickly developed a permeating limp. The tendons—or what remained of them—screamed as his foot caught on the cobblestone and pain flooded his brain with angering thoughts. The white handkerchief had turned a frightening shade of ruby, only adding to his panic. What a way to end a vacation. He had been enjoying a very placid two weeks before his thrill-seeking personality kicked in. Daniel felt like a fool.
By the time he made it back to 24 Harrow Road’s grand estate, he was falling apart. He was feeling light headed, and was hardly able to stand as thunder shook the world around him. Quietly sneaking around the perimeters of the mansion, Daniel slipped into the backyard, his wound throbbing. Mud suctioned his leg to the ground and rain flooded his sight, only adding to the struggle. Being sure to watch for any staff, he passed the garden pavilion and headed to the very furthest boundaries of the perimeter, which was deeply overgrown with trees. The master of the estate was out this night, obliged to attend the new Lycum theater debut. Shakily, he unearthed his Polaris Outlaw 525 ATV from its hiding spot deep within the trees and shoved the key into the ignition, rain flooding his sight all the while.
It quietly rumbled to life, the custom exhaust substantially quieting its engine. The gauges twitched, begging for action. Daniel glanced at the ring on his right hand, its off-yellow tint invisible in the darkness. It was cracking, having almost reached the end of its life. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he revved the engine twice before kicking the machine into gear. The rumble of the motor sent another spasm of pain through his leg, only encouraging his escape. With that, Daniel sped forward, the vehicle ripping muddy tracks in the ground.
He was gone.
For those who dont know, I call it revised because this is an updated version of the story I began writing last year. If you havent started reading this epic adventure yet, this is the place to start. It's what I consider to be the advanced re-telling of Karyn and James's epic adventure... Enjoy
----------------------------
Chapter 1 :: Blood and Thunder
Daniel was in pain. That’s all he knew. His head was pounding, his heart was throbbing, and it felt as if someone has stuck his leg in a blender. Rain had soaked him to the core, his now heavy clothes adding to the weight of his injury.
The pain emanated from a huge gash cut out of his right thigh. He had gone searching for adventure, for authenticism, and of course he had found it. Naïve as he was, earlier that day he had decided to visit East London’s most vicious slum, the Old Nichol. It was only 25 minutes' walk from Westminster, nestled between Bethnal Green and part of Shoreditch. A bit of off-the-tracks tourism for the real feel of London. This in mind, he headed east.
Suspicions confirmed, the Old Nichol was probably the closest to hell Daniel had ever encountered. He had arrived to a maze of rotting streets hemmed in by bleak buildings that might as well have been on a different planet. Daniel passed down narrow, muddy streets, skirting pools of filthy liquid and the carcasses of dogs and cats. No grass grew in the dark and putrid labyrinth. The narrow canyons of blackened brick tenements blocked out the sun and all color was leached away except for the dull grays of smoke and soot. I was hard to believe he was still in London.
Eyes watched him greedily through broken windowpanes as he traversed the streets alone. Daniel immediately regretted his lust for adventure. He had been there no longer than twenty minutes but already knew the weight of his decision. Turning on his heel, he quickly paced away from the filth toward Boundary Street, which marked the border of the slum.
He didn’t get very far.
A man, cheeks almost hollow from starvation, appeared from the shadows. He was shouting madly and wielding a knife, foam forming in the corners of his mouth. A bitter bile rose in the back of Daniel’s throat as he realized the man’s condition. He was suddenly hit with a rush of sensations: quick pulse, hot skin, trembling muscles. His body was being mobilized by fear. He bolted the opposite direction, but not quick enough. By time his body had resolved to run, the skeletal man was already upon him, the blade inches deep in his thigh.
Daniel staggered back in pain. The knife withdrew, flakes of rust and his own blood flying off the blade. His attacker was coming in for another blow, but not before Daniel could push him to the ground. Now writhing in the mud, the man continued to yell, his words rarely forming complete thoughts. With his handkerchief tied firmly against the wound, Daniel limped away as quickly as he could manage, cursing himself all the while. He couldn’t believe he had done something so stupid. He had acted on an impulse. It was beyond foolish, especially in his particular situation. He had to get back. Not to Westminster, but to his own time. He had no trust in the doctors of 1876.
Pain surged through Daniels body as he struggled to keep moving. Each step was a testament of his will, the gash being several inches deep. He could hardly move his leg and quickly developed a permeating limp. The tendons—or what remained of them—screamed as his foot caught on the cobblestone and pain flooded his brain with angering thoughts. The white handkerchief had turned a frightening shade of ruby, only adding to his panic. What a way to end a vacation. He had been enjoying a very placid two weeks before his thrill-seeking personality kicked in. Daniel felt like a fool.
By the time he made it back to 24 Harrow Road’s grand estate, he was falling apart. He was feeling light headed, and was hardly able to stand as thunder shook the world around him. Quietly sneaking around the perimeters of the mansion, Daniel slipped into the backyard, his wound throbbing. Mud suctioned his leg to the ground and rain flooded his sight, only adding to the struggle. Being sure to watch for any staff, he passed the garden pavilion and headed to the very furthest boundaries of the perimeter, which was deeply overgrown with trees. The master of the estate was out this night, obliged to attend the new Lycum theater debut. Shakily, he unearthed his Polaris Outlaw 525 ATV from its hiding spot deep within the trees and shoved the key into the ignition, rain flooding his sight all the while.
It quietly rumbled to life, the custom exhaust substantially quieting its engine. The gauges twitched, begging for action. Daniel glanced at the ring on his right hand, its off-yellow tint invisible in the darkness. It was cracking, having almost reached the end of its life. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he revved the engine twice before kicking the machine into gear. The rumble of the motor sent another spasm of pain through his leg, only encouraging his escape. With that, Daniel sped forward, the vehicle ripping muddy tracks in the ground.
He was gone.
Excellent, Posie! Can't wait to see what happens next! ^^
!!!!
thanks guys! 
