Cloud-Strider: (the PROPER) Prologue

Cloud-Strider: (the PROPER) Prologue

The iron shackles binding his wrists were cold and rusted and chafed his fair alabaster skin. He looked around his cell; the stone was a dank grey, covered in areas with a dark brown substance the nature of which he did not care to know. A straw-covered bedroll lay in the corner by a small table that was splintering and wobbly. Through the barred door he could see other cells and people lying in them, almost lifeless, as though the light wasn’t the only thing that had been sucked from the space. He had been arrested for stealing—or rather, trying to steal—an orange from Bergette’s Goodes, the general store. When the proprietor caught him, he thought he could overpower her and get away, but the short Sennaisian woman had been much stronger than she looked. The guards arrived a few short minutes later to find Bergette holding him upside-down by the ankles, his thieving hands fastened behind his back and the orange in her hand. It wasn’t exactly his best moment as a thief. After a fit of laughter, the guards asked him to pay the fine. When he revealed he had none, they carted him off to the dungeon.

In the cold prison beneath the city, other than the solemn sound of the guard’s boots against the floor, silence hung heavily in the air. Hopelessness seemed to have infected just about every prisoner inside locked in the depths. It had been decades since the last successful escape, and none were what you could call optimistic about their chances of surviving.

However, his stomach then grumbled loudly, drawing a small amount of attention to himself from the other prisoners and a guard or two. He hadn’t eaten in almost two days; the hunger was starting to get to him. For this reason, he wouldn’t give up so easily as the rest.

He stood up from the stool he’d been sitting on, short blond hair bouncing, and bounded over to the bars. “Hello?” he called out. Heads turned slowly in wonder. No one spoke in this place. What was he doing?

A guard walked up and sneered in his face. “Whatchoo want, scum?”

He smiled politely. “Why, what all prisoners want. I want my freedom.”

He snickered and spat on the floor. “Well ‘at’s some touch luck there, eh gents?”

The other guards laughed, but he turned away, hiding his continued smile.

“Oh, dear,” he groaned suddenly, clutching at his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

The guard looked through the bars, frowning. “’Ey, scamp, what’s wrong witchoo?”

The man fell to his knees and waved his arms dramatically in the air. “Oh, gods, I’m dying! My belly’s on fire! Kill me now, oh, gods…” In one particularly exaggerated motion, he dropped to the ground and lie still.

The guard furrowed his brows and unlocked the cell, stepping in and walking over to the man on the floor. “Oi, you still livin’?”

The man then swiftly jumped up, grinning, and grabbed both keys and sword from the guard. “Heh, stupid as always. Vartreis’ finest, indeed!”

The other guards then came forward, one drawing his own blade. His face fell.

“Forgot about you lot, didn’t I…”

They started in, grinning grotesquely. The one he’d stolen the keys from led the group, pulling a dagger from his belt. “You’ll ‘ave to pay for that, urchin…”

In a panic, he jumped. He leapt fantastically over them all, grinning as he thought he was reaching liberation, but smacked the side of his head against the doorframe and crumpled on the ground in the process. He groaned; he could feel blood trickling slowly into his hair as pain rang through his head.

“Toss me the keys!” he heard from somewhere apparently far above him. He craned his neck and saw a man in a nearby cell with earnest eyes and floppy, fluffy dog-ears. Maybe it was the hunger, or maybe the pain in his head, but he trusted him. When the dog-man reached his hand out, he slid the keys across the floor and to his cell door as the guards all fumbled over themselves. The man grabbed them up and stood, unlocking his cell and stepping out. He was much taller than any of them, and very solidly built; the smaller man was glad he was on his side.

“I would appreciate it if you’d let us by,” the giant man asked politely in a low voice. It wasn’t a threat at all; he was actually asking them to let him through. The small man let his head fall to the ground. This was the end of him.

But, despite the absurdity of it, the guards parted for him to pass. As the large man neared him, he could see the steep slope of his nose and the shaggy hair covering most of his face. He watched him bend down almost comically to take his arm and pull him to his feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

He started to nod, but pain seared, blurring his vision. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t think this is what you might call ‘all right’…”

He nodded and picked him up easily. He turned to the guards and said, “Thank you,” then simply carried him out of the dungeon and into the city.