Yuku free message boards

Silently preparing himself for the onslaught of ogres making their ascent in the tower after the group, Bashear continued to add fuel to the raging fire inside him. His lame right hand gripped the only thing it was capable of holding. A dagger. It was finely crafted and worthy of being in his possession but the touch of jealousy would always be present. His left hand held the prize, the scimitar passed from generation to generation on his mothers side. The more he honed his skills, the more he became one with the blade. He was so near the peak of his skills from when he was tossed out of Castillo and he could only get better from there. All those who had wronged him in his life would pay on his return, starting with the unfinished business of his father. The events of that day were never buried in the back of his mind. He didnt want to forget, he never wanted to lose the reason he was fighting across the world. All for the chance to return and exact his vengeance.

The story was recanted in first person, as if he was gazing in the mirror at someone completely different telling the tale of his fall. In a way he was different but in others, he had remained the same. One deep breath and the words came into his head.

I come from a long line rooted in the sea but centered now on land. My family, surname of Galvani, has lived in Castillo on the isle of Gosling for quite some time. We may be merchants now but our blood is still thick and tainted with the pyrate lineage as most long standing families in this city. To be ashamed would be to deny myself. The sound of the waves lapping against the ship or even the smell of the oncoming storm stirs my blood but I am not presently in Castillo but on a ship for from there. Cast out of Castillo against my will by the Al'izer, a group of well breed offspring of the merchants in this town who take it upon themselves to say who may stay apart of this society. It has been five long years. Enough time for me to realize although I enjoyed the lavish life I had there, I despised what my family had become. Never to be considered completely stupid, I have cast off my family name and gone with my mother's maiden name of Santiago. I introduce myself as that name and that name alone. My first name is only known to my closest friends and they I have not seen me in those long five years. Who's to say they're still alive.

I remember those last months well and I should have seen my demise coming but I was cocksure. After all, I had defended myself many times on the Sinner's Circle. I take my sword play seriously, practicing every morning. While never stocky in build, I made up for it with my speed often nicking an opponent on the cheek just to show them I could. I didn't mind spilling blood but it's quite frowned upon and being cast into the Torch, while highly unlikely with my status at the time, did not seem like a good choice. So toyed with my adversary until they muttered something about how silly the argument in the first place. I would agree and say we should discuss our matters in a more civilized manner over a couple of pints, his treat of course.

I kept myself well groomed. I shaved every morning and if my hair reached my shoulder, it was cut promptly. Bathing, of course, was a necessity. I indulged in perfumed oils and lotions to keep my skin softened. My mother would often joke that my up keep was more than her own. She was probably right but at the time I was only sixteen and my brothers were still alive. I changed much after their passing.

Tragedy, after all, seems to be my family's boon. I have two dead brothers to prove it and a mother I haven't seen for quite some time. One brother was lost to the seas, we still do not know what took out the ship he was on. The second was killed in a brawl on the docks. I know what happened there. I saw it. The burning piece to that puzzle is that the one who did it will never receive the punishment befitting of the crime. His father shipped him out before the law got its talons into him. It was as if they knew I did not have the ambition to follow in my father's footsteps and they took out every avenue my father had to pass the business on.

My father was partial to parties and often dragged me along for posterity. My mother had long left him for the mainland, wanting nothing more to do with his ruthless business practices after the death of two of my brothers. Her departure really didn't matter to him. It did, after all, give him the opportunity to be with whatever flop-house whore he brought home from these parties and I guess I was his last legitimate 'heir'. With my mother never declaring legal separation with my father, he could never have anything but a bastard child with the many harlots he bedded. Perhaps he thought I would give into the allure of the merchant's call and go rushing to his side. I think not. Whores came a copper a dozen and many fine ladies came calling to my bed thinking they were the next Ms. Galvani.

Much like his business I wanted nothing to do with these pomp and circumstance parades he called parties but I went under threat of loosing my inheritance. The business I did not want but the money and women... I had lived in comfort too long to give that up. So while at the parties I tried my best to anger my father enough to be sent on some errand (also known as sent home for the night). I usually waited until midway through the party and would act half in my cups. I wasn't but I had been swimming in spirits enough to act pretty convincingly. I generally had a lady escort, with a couple of her bodyguards, to take me home. Once there she dismissed her guards and I did my best to hide the grin on my face.

His goal at these gatherings was to introduce me to the high and mighty of Castillo so I knew who I could turn to when I was in need of assistance. One such man was Captain Nocello de Levell. Father had dealings with thugs and brigands in his days and the Captain was very good at his job. My father thought it a good idea for me to join the city guard so I understood the value of the status he provided for me. City Guard? Was he mad? Give up my sword play for that silly stick they wave around? Again, I think not. I was beginning to think de Levell was getting wind of the Sinner's Circle when I tipped my glass to one of my 'admirers'. His cheek was still swollen from the cut it received. If he saw any more, he never pursued it.

The sad part about having to deal with some of the ins and outs of my father's business is I actually started to have a knack for it. Unlike my father, I did not like smoothing things over with a few words. I called it as I saw it. One particular instance my father was entertaining another merchant he wished to partner with to increase both of their gold-lined pockets. Cromwell I knew wanted the deal desperately. Unbeknownst to my father the man had been scheming for quite some time to partner up with another man my father despised- Foucault. With this union slipped in, my father would have no choice but to play nice on the playground with Foucault. While it would please me greatly to see my father played like a fool I knew that it would harm my lifestyle as well. Mustering the 'wonderful' tactic I employ with ease, I asked Cromwell how he could speak so eloquently with his lips pressed firmly around Foucault's pizzle stick. My father turned the most brilliant shade of crimson and personally escorted me from the room for a severe tongue lashing. I let my father bark until he grew hoarse and then smiled cockily, telling him all I knew of Cromwell's plan. Needless to say I had the rest of the day at my pleasure.

But to the morning where the winds changed direction. I was relaxing with a book at the luxurious fountain in the center of the district my Father's house resided in. I never did refer it to my home. It was just a place to rest when I felt the need. The sun was high and felt warm against my skin. In the Merchant District, you usually didn't have to worry too much with unruly people but just the same I never left home without my compliment of weapons, especially my prized scimitar. A shadow passed over me, blocking the glorious sun that bathed my face and lightened the pages of the book I was enjoying. The bump into my foot was no accident either. I casually looked up and saw the person I had given the laceration on the cheek to just a few nights ago.

Leaning back on the marble of the great statue's surroundings, listening to the splash of the water coming out of the conch shell the barely clad lady held on her slender shoulder, I acknowledged his existence with just a look before returning to my book.

"It isn't over, Bashear." He said in an even tone.

"Really?" With an exaggerated move, I licked my thumb and turned the page in my book. "I would say the mark on your cheek and the pints we had would say different."

He kicked at my foot again and I, with a very annoyed expression on my face, closed my book. My finger marked my place as I looked him over again. "I suppose this is some bout of idiocy you have, James?"

"Besting me in a little unimportant sword dance does not give to rights to my lady friend." His knuckles were white and his hands were being held at bay from grabbing is sword by what little will he had left. "Isabella is mine."

"Then I best pray she doesn't scream my name out in the heat of passion while with you. Good that you have told me this, James, so I may warn her tonight." My cocksure grin was back and beaming on my face.

"You had best meet me tonight at the appointed spot to sort this out. Do not expect me to back down this time, Bashear." His face was nearly red from anger. I reveled in it.

"I don't intend to, James. This time I won't drink before the match. It obviously dulled my wits the last time. You are dismissed. Shoo." I waved him away like he was some servant and he left in a huff. A chuckle escaped my lips. Looks like I'll be leaving for the mainland tomorrow morning until James death blows over. I really should visit my mother's side of the family tree after all.

Santiago smiled, his eyes but slits. James was a fool to think any woman would remain loyal. It seemed a growing disease on Castillo for joined couples to find other means to peek their interest in the bedrooms. Never satisfied with what they had, always looking for something more. Even his own mother had her share of men showering affections on her. She found it faltering and nothing more, a far cry from most on the island. In a way James should have thanked him. If a woman could not stay loyal to her man before a ring was placed on their finger, what makes a man think a simple gold band would prevent it from happening? Perhaps the vows they share? Santiago snorted. All but words that held no weight. Hollow as the belief that true love exists.

It was after the altercation with James that Santiago thought it time to speak with his father about the mans lecherous behavior. The words they shared were a low murmur, as if Santiago was reciting a poem from one of the numerous books he read over the years.

What happened to your mother is of her own making. She choose to not make time for me. His father slammed his pen down and stared hard at his only son. The boy would not let the matter go even after Rusogeth made it perfectly clear it was none of the boys business. How he spent the money was of no consequence to the woman he married. He had no time for someone who did not take care of his own desires and wishes.

Time for you? Have you attempted to make time for her? How many nights did she sleep alone because you were out doing as you please? How many times did I see her stand quietly in the corner because the attempt to converse with you fell on deaf ears? All because you were too busy entertaining your friends? You treated her as a bed warmer and nothing else. She did not ignore you as much as you did her for your own selfish needs. By the gods you disgust me! Have you no thought but for yourself? Marriage is not a woman lying at your feet with a snap of your fingers, it is mutual respect for one another. To hold on when things begin to ravel to make the bond strong again, not running into the arms of whatever tart gives you the time of day. You had unconditional love and you threw it away for someone who would fall at your feet and worship you. You pathetic old man. The shame is not only my mothers to bear but mine as well. I hope you rot in the deepest reaches of hell when you die.

Rusogeth shot up, deftly smacking Bashear across the cheek. You forget your place.

The sting in his cheek shocked him. Even after all these years his father still had not lost his touch but it did it not cow Bashear. He stood tall against his father, staring at him defiantly.

I know my place, Father, and it is not here. Bashear swung around and strode out of the parlor but was stopped short by Prerl. Bashear looked at him questioningly but realized why the man stood in his path. The saddened expression in his eyes said it all.

You will keep yourself to the house, Bashear. His father walked over to him, squeezing his shoulder painfully. Bashear whipped around, his hand reflexively going to the spot his prized should be.

I am not yours to control. Do not assume you can treat me as you do my mother. Another slap came, snapping Bashears head to the side. His eyes were liquid fire as he stared his father down. Rusogeth back-handed him again and Bashears cheek became a violent shade of red but still he refused to back down from his father.

If it makes you feel more a man, father, hit me again. Let the rage of your shortcomings as a husband and father be your fuel. Let the fact that you let the only woman who truly loved you through all your faults fade away.

The two stared at each other for minutes, Rusogeths hand itching to slam into Bashear again but it was he who backed away from the contest. Bashear pushed past Prerl and bolted up the steps. His father might be a coward at heart but the help around the house would impede Bashears exit from the house. Love him or hate him, Rusogeth reigned supreme in this house. It mattered not, Bashear had no where to be until sunset. Until that time he would seethe on the minced words exchanged with his father and prepare for the demoralization of James.

Santiago looked at Val. Her massive form even larger from the potion she had sucked down. If only she saw the beauty of her shape as Santiago saw it. She was nothing and everything he loved about women. Fire and passion for life and thrill it gave you. She was the one woman he lusted after and never wanted to be intimate with at the same time. Perhaps, he realized, Val was a woman above his licentious ways and was meant for someone who would hold her on a pedestal in the glory as she was, not what they wanted her to be. All women, he mused, should be held in that regard with the exception of those who sold their bodies to the lustful men with coin. Too little, too late Santiago learned his lessons in life. The casualness in which he gained friends ultimately contributed to his downfall. His enemies had always outweighed those he trusted to guard his back. Santiago knew he and his father were not finished with their argument but to lay that conversation to rest would mean he would have to find his way home. Not bloody likely at this moment, not with ogres bearing down on the group. They were almost upon the group and Santiago filtered through the memory of his last day on Castillo Island.

Near dusk, I easily slipped out of my home and turned the streets to the park that held the Sinner's Circle. It was named this only by the ones who used it. A nice plot of land in the middle of a lovely park void of trees, those of our station used it to settle disputes. The city guard never came here. They never had a reason to since the gates were locked tight near dusk to bar entrance. That hardly stopped us from our fun. Climbing easily over the wall, I found the spot with practiced ease. I was a little surprised to see James there waiting. Leaving as early as I did, I had hoped to beat him there but no matter. I thought it odd at first the way he was dressed. A bit drab wearing black if you ask me and wearing it did not improve his odds just because the sun was setting. In hindsight the black suited him. Perfect color for his funeral. James stood there in a fighting stance.

"About time, Bashear. I thought for sure you had tucked your tail and left."

"Mmm." I remarked. "Running is like conceding defeat over a few pints. Not my style." I pulled my scimitar free. "But it is dreadfully hot tonight, don't you think?" As I said this, I pulled a vivid pink kerchief from my tunic. Isabella's to be exact and I dabbed my brow with it. This did exactly what I thought it would- send James charging towards me in a fit of rage. This gave me all the play I needed.

As he came by, I lifted his blade with mine and pivoted on my foot. My scimitar deftly sliced into his back. Not a deep cut, just one long enough to sting. I planned to take it slow with James. It was what he deserved for not keeping his feet moving when he walked away from the circle in the first place. He cried out and staggered forward but turned around and brought his blade up again, staying where he was this time. I took the two paces in so our blades crossed. Letting steel grate against steel, I caressed his blade teasingly with my own. He came at me with a short sequence of thrusts and cuts, I parried them with ease.

"It is a shame you will not be walking away from this, James, but I do have a reputation to uphold and the chance of walking away is only given once." I came at him and he managed to block some but I scored hits across his midsection and that famous cheek again. Even mired in his panic, he still shot a retort at me.

"It will be I that walks away, Bashear. I will show you the true meaning of pain and you will never hold my Isabella in your arms again!" He came at me again but as I prepared my standard parry/thrust, he rolled on the ground and came up behind me. I spun around quickly and brought my sword to bear, hitting cold steel. Cold steel that did not belong to James. I was surrounded by what I now know where members of the Joy Boys. I should have known James would cheat to win.

"Gentlemen." I nodded curtly to them and started to clash blades with the one closest to me. He was considerably more skilled than James but not out of my bounds. Still I knew he was scoring hits and to make matters worse, some of the others were closing in as well. I started making my cuts count, driving my scimitar as deep into their flesh as I dared but a sharp pain in my neck drove me to my knees. I quickly tumbled forward amongst the whirling blades. Getting back up I faced my foes and my eyesight waned. Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs, my hand went to the pain in my neck and pulled away a small dart. I heard the distinct words 'good night' roll from one of their lips as I fell in a heap to the ground. Some sort of poison I can only imagine but it did the trick.

The next thing I knew I was on a ship called the Grey Goose owned by the vile Captain Morgan. James had paid handsomely to get me out of Castillo and on a ship sailing away at top speed. Out on the sea I learned the art of trying a knot, swabbing the deck and the lash. The things I had become accustomed to were gone. No longer could I shave on a regular basis or keep my hair trimmed just so. My skin, usually a healthy glow, was cracked and burned from the sea, salt, and sun. My life had changed in the blink of an eye and what was lost I knew I would have to do without for a very long time.

My rich brown hair now hangs well below my shoulders and I keep it in check with a faded blue scarf. I acquired a small pair of scissors to keep my beard trimmed to a reasonable length so it does not become a haven for lost food particles. As for the baths I enjoyed? One becomes dull in the nose when out to sea for many months. It was on the ship of Morgan that I cast my real surname away and became Bashear Santiago. Somehow I knew I would make it back to Castillo an the further removed I was from my past life, the easier to stalk the shadows it would be.