Fan Fiction ❯ Journey of Hope ❯ Journey part 11 ( Chapter 11 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: VegetandAru 
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Fantasy / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.17.2004 | Updated On: 12.17.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 156 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Fantasy / Adventure | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 12.17.2004 | Updated On: 12.17.2004 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 156 | Status: Completed
Journey of Hope
Written by VegetandAru (lord of the underworld)
Everything is my own, Please be nice as far as criticism goes, however if you do have something about it that you don't like then don't flame, just tell me about it if you would.
This was written quite a few years ago now, but I just stumbled across it on my hard drive and I've began to patch it up, it's still not finished but I'm working on it.
Yours VegetandAru (vegetandaru@yahoo.com)
<o0@0o>
'To the world you may be one person,
But to one person you may be the world'
(anonymous)
Written by VegetandAru (lord of the underworld)
Everything is my own, Please be nice as far as criticism goes, however if you do have something about it that you don't like then don't flame, just tell me about it if you would.
This was written quite a few years ago now, but I just stumbled across it on my hard drive and I've began to patch it up, it's still not finished but I'm working on it.
Yours VegetandAru (vegetandaru@yahoo.com)
<o0@0o>
'To the world you may be one person,
But to one person you may be the world'
(anonymous)
<o0@0o>
"Where are you going?" Trayant stopped in his tracks on the upstairs landing at the sound of the blonde's voice, he winced internally at the icy tone in Zak's voice, still feeling bad about leaving him earlier that day.
He turned to look at him, face showing no sign of his hurt, although when he talked, his voice wavered uncontrollably.
"I'm going out, I'm going to prove to you that something is going on Zak."
"Let me get this straight, you are going to sneak out in the middle of the night and snoop around in our host's private property to try and prove that he is the fault of this city. Have you any idea how rude that is, it's disgraceful, especially after he's already done all of this ," he gestured around the room, wildly, taking in the common area they were in and the two doors that led off to separate bedrooms with his hands. "For us! I can't believe you Trayant!" He sneered at the other boy, folding his arms across his chest in an arrogant gesture.
"I've told you time and time again," Trayant's voice was getting louder with each word he spoke and although he was looking at the floor, away from Zak, the blonde could still see his eyes, squeezed shut and the way his jaw was clenched, in near fury, trembling with not very well concealed anger. "That there is something going on here, I'll find it out and I'll prove it to you okay, so just you carry on with your pitiful accusations because I know that I'm right Zak."
"Yeah; well; good luck with that." The two boys turned on their heels, and each stalked off their separate ways, Zak heading towards the room he had been given and Trayant out of the commons, out onto the landing outside.
Trayant had left his shoes back in the commons, unwilling to make any unnecessary noise during his explorations. Slinking off down the left corridor, he peered into each empty room, before moving on, keeping to the shadows in order to try and conceal himself.
It wasn't long before he stumbled across the library.
It was a grand old room, all in deep wood, with a large fire place taking up the entire of one wall. Pushing open the door, Trayant closed it silently behind himself, and peered across the spines of the ancient books, stacked with obvious care onto the various countertops and covering the wall to ceiling bookshelves, which covered the remaining three walls.
Three lush and well used armchairs surrounded the fireplace, an book was even left open on top of one, and on the hearth rug in front of them, stood a grand low coffee table in a gorgeous mahogany wood, glossed with an almost silvery sheen and covered in spread out newspapers.
The whole room was covered in a thick layer of dust.
Trayant scowled to himself, after all, one could not essentially be a scholar without having a deep running respect for books and of the written word, and he really could just imagine curling up in one of those soft chairs with a book and maybe a drink, in front of that fire. However it was most obvious that the splendid old room was now left unloved and unused, obviously the current owner of the magnificent room, had no special love of it.
His frown deepened. The poor books, being locked away like this, never to have been touched in so many years, and if you cleaned the dust off them, then they would be in such good condition too.
He walked over to the coffee table, reaching down to pick a still half full mug of some sort of once hot beverage, from off one of the newspapers. Whom ever had last been in here, and obviously left in a hurry.
Trayant picked up the newspaper in his other hand and scanned over the the front page with a critical eye. Certain words, jumped out at him from their place on the page, and moving his gaze back up to the top of the article, he read it over again, this time looking at it in more detail.
The first thing he noticed the date.
This newspaper had been written some fifty years ago. The second thing he noticed was the way the writer had made references to the more than strange way that Gibbin's inhabitance had been acting as of late.
And the third and final thing that Trayant noticed were the claims of a plan to other throw none other than the lord of Gibbin.
The lords name was not Parron.
He threw the paper quickly away from him along with the mug of cold drink, which smashed on the floor and seeped with a brown stain over the newspaper, which lay dishevelled on the library floor, pages astray and the front page facing upwards.
Crouching back down shakily, he reached out a trembling hand and picked up the wet, brown front page, peering intently through dark eyes, at the blurred black and white photo under the main text of the article.
Squinting down at the photo, and attempting to wipe away the drink stain with still unsteady hands, he made a valiant attempt to make something out of the blur.
And finally, under Trayant's, scrutinising gaze, the picture seemed to give up hope of hiding it secrets from the boy, and seemed yo almost cave in under the look he was giving it to reveal a somewhat strange looking image of a vaguely blurred young man.
"Parron."
He ran from the room and the door slammed, a page turning in the breeze.
Unsure of where he was heading but running in haste all the same, he turned left then headed down a corridor, up the next then took a right, swiftly followed by another left and a sudden change up a small side corridor, before stopping to the sound of voices.
No, it was just one voice, chanting something in a language that he didn't understand. He made his way quickly down the corridor and pressed his ear to the door the voice was coming out of.
Aha! It wasn't just any old voice, it was the voice of one Parron, so called Lord of Gibbin.
He grinned to himself only to have it whipped away by the sound of a scream. A high pitched, blood curdling, scream.
He slammed his hands over his mouth, in order to not gasp out loud in response to the broken throated yell.
Risking a glance through the fog hazed glass pane of the window in the door, he fell backwards in shock, landing with a solid thump on the cobble stoned floor and scrambling away from the door as fast as he could until he was pressed back against the opposite wall, hand still covering his mouth and head shaking back and forwards furiously in disbelieving denial, tears welled in dark eyes, and slowly slipped down, fury reddened cheeks.
If that wasn't proof he didn't know what was.
"Where are you going?" Trayant stopped in his tracks on the upstairs landing at the sound of the blonde's voice, he winced internally at the icy tone in Zak's voice, still feeling bad about leaving him earlier that day.
He turned to look at him, face showing no sign of his hurt, although when he talked, his voice wavered uncontrollably.
"I'm going out, I'm going to prove to you that something is going on Zak."
"Let me get this straight, you are going to sneak out in the middle of the night and snoop around in our host's private property to try and prove that he is the fault of this city. Have you any idea how rude that is, it's disgraceful, especially after he's already done all of this ," he gestured around the room, wildly, taking in the common area they were in and the two doors that led off to separate bedrooms with his hands. "For us! I can't believe you Trayant!" He sneered at the other boy, folding his arms across his chest in an arrogant gesture.
"I've told you time and time again," Trayant's voice was getting louder with each word he spoke and although he was looking at the floor, away from Zak, the blonde could still see his eyes, squeezed shut and the way his jaw was clenched, in near fury, trembling with not very well concealed anger. "That there is something going on here, I'll find it out and I'll prove it to you okay, so just you carry on with your pitiful accusations because I know that I'm right Zak."
"Yeah; well; good luck with that." The two boys turned on their heels, and each stalked off their separate ways, Zak heading towards the room he had been given and Trayant out of the commons, out onto the landing outside.
Trayant had left his shoes back in the commons, unwilling to make any unnecessary noise during his explorations. Slinking off down the left corridor, he peered into each empty room, before moving on, keeping to the shadows in order to try and conceal himself.
It wasn't long before he stumbled across the library.
It was a grand old room, all in deep wood, with a large fire place taking up the entire of one wall. Pushing open the door, Trayant closed it silently behind himself, and peered across the spines of the ancient books, stacked with obvious care onto the various countertops and covering the wall to ceiling bookshelves, which covered the remaining three walls.
Three lush and well used armchairs surrounded the fireplace, an book was even left open on top of one, and on the hearth rug in front of them, stood a grand low coffee table in a gorgeous mahogany wood, glossed with an almost silvery sheen and covered in spread out newspapers.
The whole room was covered in a thick layer of dust.
Trayant scowled to himself, after all, one could not essentially be a scholar without having a deep running respect for books and of the written word, and he really could just imagine curling up in one of those soft chairs with a book and maybe a drink, in front of that fire. However it was most obvious that the splendid old room was now left unloved and unused, obviously the current owner of the magnificent room, had no special love of it.
His frown deepened. The poor books, being locked away like this, never to have been touched in so many years, and if you cleaned the dust off them, then they would be in such good condition too.
He walked over to the coffee table, reaching down to pick a still half full mug of some sort of once hot beverage, from off one of the newspapers. Whom ever had last been in here, and obviously left in a hurry.
Trayant picked up the newspaper in his other hand and scanned over the the front page with a critical eye. Certain words, jumped out at him from their place on the page, and moving his gaze back up to the top of the article, he read it over again, this time looking at it in more detail.
The first thing he noticed the date.
This newspaper had been written some fifty years ago. The second thing he noticed was the way the writer had made references to the more than strange way that Gibbin's inhabitance had been acting as of late.
And the third and final thing that Trayant noticed were the claims of a plan to other throw none other than the lord of Gibbin.
The lords name was not Parron.
He threw the paper quickly away from him along with the mug of cold drink, which smashed on the floor and seeped with a brown stain over the newspaper, which lay dishevelled on the library floor, pages astray and the front page facing upwards.
Crouching back down shakily, he reached out a trembling hand and picked up the wet, brown front page, peering intently through dark eyes, at the blurred black and white photo under the main text of the article.
Squinting down at the photo, and attempting to wipe away the drink stain with still unsteady hands, he made a valiant attempt to make something out of the blur.
And finally, under Trayant's, scrutinising gaze, the picture seemed to give up hope of hiding it secrets from the boy, and seemed yo almost cave in under the look he was giving it to reveal a somewhat strange looking image of a vaguely blurred young man.
"Parron."
He ran from the room and the door slammed, a page turning in the breeze.
Unsure of where he was heading but running in haste all the same, he turned left then headed down a corridor, up the next then took a right, swiftly followed by another left and a sudden change up a small side corridor, before stopping to the sound of voices.
No, it was just one voice, chanting something in a language that he didn't understand. He made his way quickly down the corridor and pressed his ear to the door the voice was coming out of.
Aha! It wasn't just any old voice, it was the voice of one Parron, so called Lord of Gibbin.
He grinned to himself only to have it whipped away by the sound of a scream. A high pitched, blood curdling, scream.
He slammed his hands over his mouth, in order to not gasp out loud in response to the broken throated yell.
Risking a glance through the fog hazed glass pane of the window in the door, he fell backwards in shock, landing with a solid thump on the cobble stoned floor and scrambling away from the door as fast as he could until he was pressed back against the opposite wall, hand still covering his mouth and head shaking back and forwards furiously in disbelieving denial, tears welled in dark eyes, and slowly slipped down, fury reddened cheeks.
If that wasn't proof he didn't know what was.