OOC: So Voyager has asked me to write an addition
to the story. I am totally honoured that he considered me worthy,
and I hope that you all feel that I have upheld what he has worked
so hard on...
Kings Row: Essence of the Fallen
Falling, ever falling
towards the water; it rushes towards him, the cold air whistling past
his face, his hair whipped into a storm as the rush and shock of the
oxygen crushes his lungs in an iron grip… blessed unconsciousness
creeping towards him – blackness shrouding his vision, closer, closer
and now darkness. The world is silent, the sound of the water, the
air the only noises that he hears. This is his end, his failure, his
disaster succoured by this sacrifice. This Knightly thing to do…
James
winced as the bright light burned through his closed eye lids. The
sun light tearing through, waking him from his doziness. He sat up,
crossing his arms about him as he woke up from his slumber on his
families land. Off to the East lay the New Forest, a place he liked
to walk and explore to relax himself after his busy job in the city.
James Steele, city stock broker and London socialite, loved coming
back to his family’s old mansion, the horse paddocks and broad expanse
of land a relaxing change from the hectic lifestyle imposed on him
by his firm and the city he nominally called home.
His family’s money
came from owning the local steel mines in Sheffield, England, and
this money gave him the opportunities that he had taken full advantage
of – a fencing champion and Olympic representative and a Cambridge
graduate in modern economics, James had all his life in front of him,
his chances to succeed endless.
He stood up and started walking towards
the forest, wanting a last final chance to walk through the forest
before he had to head back to the capital city, his long weekend away
most definitely coming to a close.
As he entered the eaves of the
forest, the shadow of the trees blotted out the sun – the occasional
shaft of sunlight pierced the forest rooftop to illuminate a bright
path in front of him. He followed willingly; after all, he had walked
these trails for nigh on 21 years.
As he walked further into the trees
a cold chill wrapped its cloak around him, goose bumps prickled his
skin, but that wasn’t just the cold – a sense of anticipation, and
in some ways, a certain amount of anxiety consumed him. It drove the
air out of his lungs and made him breathe deep, taking in the musty
smells of the forest; the rotting leaves, the dead undergrowth, the
dew and the sap all mingling to create a texture in the air that was
palpable – a tension overcame him as he felt drawn further inwards.
He was compelled to walk further and further – his body overriding
his unwilling mind.
The towering trees spiralled high into the sky,
stretching up past the range of his eyes, the shadows hiding the tree
rooftops, giving it a wan light. The golden autumnal colours flashed
bright as he continued his exploration, his right hand moving up to
push the occasional branch from his face.
This was the furthest he
walked in the forest and he could tell it was an area that was scarcely
visited. Very little had disturbed the trail in front of him, no sign
of outside interference showed that anyone had even come near this
place.
A hidden tree root caught his foot and he stumbled, sprawling
onto his hands and knees the air knocked out of his lungs. James picked
himself up slowly and then stopped in puzzlement – underneath a massive
oak the shadowed door of a cave entrance was excavated into the earth,
digging right underneath the roots of the tree.
Intrigued, he walked
closer and saw that hewn into the surface of the entrance were rock
stairs leading down to a heavy stone door that was left ajar. Dead
vegetation lay cluttered in the doorway; a fallen branch covered half
the door.
He stepped softly down the stairs, treading carefully as
the stone crumbled and cracked – it was clearly weather worn and looked
as if it had been around for a long, long time. He dragged the branch
down, throwing it clear of the doorway and noticed a faded and weatherworn
inscription chiselled heavily into the door:
“HERE LIES SIR MARTIN
STEELE, SON OF ARTHUR, DAUGHTER OF ELISABETH AND LOYAL SERVANT OF
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, KING RICHARD THE LIONHEART”
Underneath the heavy
etching lay the Steele family coat of arms – a quartered shield showing
a mighty tower, an anvil and hammer, a rearing horse and a pair of
broadswords locked in combat around the hilt.
This escutcheon meant
a lot to James – it was the relic of his lost father and mother, and
the only tie to his family he had left. This estate was an empty land,
no one living in the mansion and no one occupying the land. It was
the way James wanted it – left exactly as he remember it, no stone
turned, no room changed. It was his living reminder of what he had
lost most bitterly in the cowardly attack by the Neo Nazi’s proclaiming
themselves as the “Fifth Column”.
His head fell as his hand laid itself
on the coat of arms – the stone rough underneath his fingertips. He
traced the lettering, mouthing the words softly. He never knew this
tomb existed, and most amazingly of all, it was still undiscovered;
the dust lay undisturbed inside the doorway.
He leaned heavily on
the door; it creaked alarmingly as the stone hinges groaned under
the unexpected movement. James pushed harder, using both hands and
bracing his feet, driving the door open as his sinews tightened under
the strain.
The door collapsed heavily, the loud crash as the stone
split up the middle sundering the forest’s quiet as birds called loudly
as their rest was disturbed. James dusted his hand as he stepped over
the threshold, placing his feet softly as the awe inspiring tomb lay
in front of him.
The echoes ceased and the atmosphere grew quiet again,
the sense of unease grew on him again; the goose bumps returned as
his breath shortened, adrenalin pumping, muscles tensing and mind
spinning as he took in the cobwebs in the corners of the tomb, the
dust on the floor and the painted relief on the far side of the room.
The tomb was roughly 30 metres square with a huge stone coffin in
the middle of the floor, a bench at either end of the final resting
place. The ancient tomb seemed to dull all sounds as James took a
few tentative steps in side the doorway. Drops of water slowly trickled
down from a crack in the ceiling and echoed through the musty atmosphere.
It was the only noise to be heard – the forest outside had hushed
down to its normal silence…
“It was about time you showed up!” a loud
voice echoed in the darkness. James jumped in fright as the voice
broke the silence and an apparition appeared in front of him, a man
dressed in baggy trousers down to his knees, rags wrapped around his
shins and stout boots covering his feet. On his chest and shoulders
lay massive scarring; burns, lash marks and various other torture
implements were exhibited on the chest of what James could only describe
as a ghost, an apparition from the depths of Hell.
“Yes indeed, you’ve
arrived later than expected, but at least you’ve filled out nicely
– you’re not as thin as the last Steele, that’s for sure.” The ghosts
‘eyes’ looked at James as if he were sizing up a piece of meat, gazing
much further than the surface – he felt like he was being examined
underneath a microscope.
“What you don’t realise James, is that you’ve
already been here before. And you know it, but you don’t remember
it. It’s quite a conundrum, no? I am known as Rite of Penance, I am
the guardian of the sword, the keeper of the secret and the steel
behind the Steele’s.” He smiled wanly at his joke, and then shook
his head as he took in James’ incomprehension.
“You’re here because
it is the time of your Penance James, it is time you atoned for your
past; and your future. It is here that we shall test you, it is here
that we shall measure you, and it is here that we shall decide if
you are of the true blood line…”
“The… the true what?” James exclaimed.
“The true blood line,” Rite said, “the true blood of the hero.”
James’
disbelief overrode his shock at the apparition. He scoffed at the
idea. “The true blood of the hero? What hero? The world doesn’t have
heroes, it’s full of thugs and violence – no one is here to save anyone
any more. Its survival of the fittest and my parents are prime examples
of that!” He clenched his fists as the wounding memories reverberated
inside him again. A burning sensation welled up in his chest as the
vision of his parents gunned down in front of him, bullets riddling
their bodies as they stood in front of him, his father snarling defiance
as the shells ripped into his body. He saw his father regain his feet,
rush one of his attackers and grapple him; baring the Nazi to the
ground. His mother kneeling in front of him, shielding him from the
violent attack.
James shook his head and cleared his throat, the memories
had risen unbidden – he certainly didn’t want them to come up…
“Did
you put that into my head? Why did you bring those visions out?” His
eyes became cold and narrow as he looked at Rite with venom.
“Because
you needed them. No heroes? Your parents were heroes, that was the
prime example. They protected you from the attack – granting you the
chance to live at the expense of their own. THAT, James, is heroism.”
Rite visibly sighed – his shoulders sagged. He appeared haggard and
tired; his body obviously broken by the vicious torture. He appeared
to have been with sleep for a long time as his body slowly solidified.
Rite sat down on the bench. His back rested on the side of the coffin.
“You have to realise that no matter what you do James, you’re ancestry
has put this blood inside of you. No matter where you go, no matter
what you do it will come back to you. This place will call for you
and will demand your attention. You have no choice James – trust me,
I’ve been in your shoes before.” The age in Rite’s eyes seemed to
show now – the depth of experience, the sights that they had beheld
seemed to speak volumes as James felt a likening for this warrior
grow.
“Will you do something for me young one? Will you come and sit
by me and let me show you something?” James hesitated at first, he
still didn’t trust that this wasn’t some trick or a dangerous game
but the look of the ghost and its apparent fragility changed his mind.
He took a tentative step and then walked boldly across to the bench
and sat on the edge, his hands resting on his knees.
As he sat down
a swirling appeared in front of the two men. Rite waved his hand through
the swirl and a picture slowly materialised. It showed a verdant park
with a colossal statue sat right in front of a wide building. The
statue was a picture of a man hefting an enormous globe – the globe
being Planet Earth.
“This, James, is Paragon City. It is a shining
light for the examples of heroism that your parents displayed and
it will become a crucial place in the future. The fate of Earth may
well depend on the right people defending this place.”
James certainly
recognised the city – his firm had donated money to the construction
of a new hospice and the reconstruction of one of the monorail stations
in a gesture of goodwill.
“But why?” He asked, “Surely one city in
America can’t decide what happens across the planet…” James felt a
bond growing with Rite of Penance. He sensed a trustworthiness and
honesty rarely found in the modern day world.
“Of course it can,”
Rite sighed. “At any one time, the cataclysm and Apocalypse of the
World could be caused by one of the many groups seeking total domination
and control. There are enormous forces at work in the world now, and
who is the average person to stop it? The world needs heroes James.
It needs people like your mother and father, and it needs people like
you.”
The picture dissipated in a cloud of coloured gas and slowly
disappeared from view, the occasional shimmer glinting in the soft
light that managed to penetrate the dark atmosphere.
“I have something
for you James.” Rite of Penance began. “It has passed through the
generations of your family for 900 years since the time of King Richard
and the Crusades. It is this which caused you to come this way today.
Did you not notice you walked a different path? You chose a different
route, you defied your normal way of thinking – and now you must do
the same again.”
“I have a task for you to complete and it well decide
what becomes of you. If you succeed, you shall know all of that which
you must know. If you fail, you will remember nothing and will continue
with your existence, and when your time comes, you will have lived
a happy life. Your family will be around you, and you will go in peace.”
“But remember this. If you fail, you will be breaking the bloodline
and your family will forever be broken and sundered. Your ancestors
will never find peace – they will be trapped on this mortal coil,
forever trapped, forever doomed.” These words seemed to shake the
tomb profoundly – a shiver coursed up his spine.
“I… I have no choice.
My family, my ancestors will never escape? I cannot, I will not allow
that! His fists clenched again, the fire igniting his eyes as the
passion overcame his reluctance. His blood pounded, the adrenalin
coursed and the desire and passion overcame him. “I will face your
task!”
The sight of James’ drive filled Rite of Penance with gladness…
He felt his old body growing young again, the strength filling his
limbs as his tiredness fell off like unlocked shackles.
“Come then!
We must travel a short way to your task… Come with me…”