From: lrdcesare@aol.com (Lrd Cesare)
Date: 14 Oct 1999 14:04:32 EDT
He didn't know, exactly, what had happened. He had been fighting, he could remember that very well indeed. The odds had been rather long. Was it in Aragon? Castille? Navarre? He couldn't remember exactly. Navarre sounded the most right, but he still wasn't sure. He knew he had been fighting in Spain. Against that dog Ferdinand who had the gall to call himself 'the Catholic'? He couldn't remember that either. He was
almost sure it was, somehow, against one of his old enemies. One of the scurrilous knaves who had driven him from Italy and forced him to seek sanctuary from old family friends and allies in Spain.
It was Navarre. He remembered now. He had been with his brother-in-law, the king, besieging Viana. Something had happened. What? A charge by the defenders? Maybe. It still wasn't clear. He remembered fighting. He had been cut off, surrounded? Maybe, maybe not. He remembered a wound. He looked down, and realized that he was without clothing or any sort of equipment at all. He was also unwounded. Very strange. Had he been dreaming? He didn't think so.
The memories he did have were very real and very clear. Just that so much was shadowy or unremembered.
Brothers. He remembered brothers. Juan? Giuffre? More? He knew there were more, but he couldn't remember their names at all. A sister, he remembered a sister too. Lucrezia? That sounded right. Yes, he was sure of it, that was her name. He hadn't always gotten along with his brothers, he knew that. He had loved his sister though, hadn't he? It was all very confusing. Why wasn't he wounded?
He took a long look around. It didn't look like anything he had seen before. The town was familiar enough, but the people were very strange. The man who passed him on the street had violet eyes? And pointed ears? What sort of place was this? Was he dead? He glanced down at himself again. No clothes, no wounds, but he remembered being wounded. Yes, that was it! He was dead! This was the afterlife! Was it Heaven or Hell, though? He crossed himself. He
would have to find out, somehow. The fellow with the pointed ears might have been a demon, he supposed. However, he was quite well featured. An angel? Very strange.
It would be important to to discover where he was. He could remember who he was. He remembered his name clearly enough. He had been called the second Caesar by some, and a petty brigand by others. He was absolutely sure that his name was Cesare Borgia.
He would also have to get clothes, a little money, and a good blade. That would probably take awhile. However, he could start easily enough. A few of the passersby seemed to be about his size. Very carefully and stealthily, he moved back down the alley, out of sight from the street. Then he waited....
TBC
((Author's note: This is a storyline post. Please don't reply on the board. Any comments, questions, or interest in the character should be expressed in email. Thanks. :) ))
The Arrival
-
DoS Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 30701
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:27 am
-
DoS Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 30701
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:27 am
From: lrdcesare@aol.com (Lrd Cesare)
Date: 14 Oct 1999 21:42:29 EDT
He had entered the strange basement arena dressed in his recently 'acquired' clothes, and wearing a rather well made hanger acquired from the same owner as the clothing. The owner would miss neither. The rather large rock had done its job very well when he delivered it to the base of the stranger's skull. He didn't consider the victim at all, he needed the clothing. So he did what he had to do.
The arena was terribly confusing. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and that didn't make things easy for him. He never really got to talk to anyone before he found himself swept up into a duel. Apparently it was an arena for some sort of gladitorial combat. Something he had not encountered before. More bizarre, his wounds had healed almost as they were inflicted. He was more and more sure that he was dead now. The healing seemed to prove it.
Yet, if he really was dead, then why did the man he took the clothing from die when hit with the rock? That made no sense. If this was either Heaven or Hell, how could he have been able to kill anyone?
It hadn't been his best fight ever. He had lost, an he had not been able to keep it close. None the less, it had been good to engage in swordplay again. If he could overcome his frustration then he would return. The exercise would be good for him as he tried to find himself a place, wherever he was.
Still, he had to answer the real question. Was he dead or not?
TBC
Date: 14 Oct 1999 21:42:29 EDT
He had entered the strange basement arena dressed in his recently 'acquired' clothes, and wearing a rather well made hanger acquired from the same owner as the clothing. The owner would miss neither. The rather large rock had done its job very well when he delivered it to the base of the stranger's skull. He didn't consider the victim at all, he needed the clothing. So he did what he had to do.
The arena was terribly confusing. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and that didn't make things easy for him. He never really got to talk to anyone before he found himself swept up into a duel. Apparently it was an arena for some sort of gladitorial combat. Something he had not encountered before. More bizarre, his wounds had healed almost as they were inflicted. He was more and more sure that he was dead now. The healing seemed to prove it.
Yet, if he really was dead, then why did the man he took the clothing from die when hit with the rock? That made no sense. If this was either Heaven or Hell, how could he have been able to kill anyone?
It hadn't been his best fight ever. He had lost, an he had not been able to keep it close. None the less, it had been good to engage in swordplay again. If he could overcome his frustration then he would return. The exercise would be good for him as he tried to find himself a place, wherever he was.
Still, he had to answer the real question. Was he dead or not?
TBC
-
DoS Archive
- Archivist
- Posts: 30701
- Joined: Mon Feb 16, 2004 8:27 am
From: lrdcesare@aol.com (Lrd Cesare)
Date: 18 Oct 1999 13:42:20 EDT
A few days later, having found suitable accomodations for himself at a local inn with the ridiculously grand name of 'The Red Dragon', he decided to shelve the question of whether or not he was dead. Whether this was the next world or not, he would obviously need to keep himself in funds while he was here. He quickly dismissed looking for someone else to 'borrow' money from as he had his clothes, blade, and purse.
First of all, street mugging would not furnish the sort of bankroll he desired. Second, it was far too risky. Getting caught would be a very real possibility, and he was not a professional mugger. Merely a gifted, if ruthless, amateur.
He was qualified for mercenary work, but he had no plans to be a common soldider and no reputation here to allow him to be more. Wherver here even was. For all he knew, the way wars were waged here was so different as to make his skills useless. He would have to find out. The possibility of such work would give him the chance to carve something out for himself. However, he would need funds and connections to raise the force and backing that would be
necessary.
He would have to start small then. He had no powerful friends and relatives to back him, here. He would need to learn about his new environment, discover who held the power and how secure they were, and find an oppurtunity. Until then, he would have to be able to operate very carefully. Yet still he would have to generate income.
Gambling would work. He was good with cards and dice, and he was also good at cheating. More importantly, he knew how to hold on to what he was able to win. He was sure, if he did some exploring, he would find more than a few places to excercise this trade. After all, gambling was universal.
He took some more time to consider his goals. Longterm was nothing new, he wanted money and power. There was no longer any Italy to unite, whevever he was, but there still must be some sort of power structure. Where there was a power structure, there was discontent. Eventually, when he had the resources, he would be able to exploit that.
Until then, he would make sure he survived comfortably and pleasureably.
TBC
Date: 18 Oct 1999 13:42:20 EDT
A few days later, having found suitable accomodations for himself at a local inn with the ridiculously grand name of 'The Red Dragon', he decided to shelve the question of whether or not he was dead. Whether this was the next world or not, he would obviously need to keep himself in funds while he was here. He quickly dismissed looking for someone else to 'borrow' money from as he had his clothes, blade, and purse.
First of all, street mugging would not furnish the sort of bankroll he desired. Second, it was far too risky. Getting caught would be a very real possibility, and he was not a professional mugger. Merely a gifted, if ruthless, amateur.
He was qualified for mercenary work, but he had no plans to be a common soldider and no reputation here to allow him to be more. Wherver here even was. For all he knew, the way wars were waged here was so different as to make his skills useless. He would have to find out. The possibility of such work would give him the chance to carve something out for himself. However, he would need funds and connections to raise the force and backing that would be
necessary.
He would have to start small then. He had no powerful friends and relatives to back him, here. He would need to learn about his new environment, discover who held the power and how secure they were, and find an oppurtunity. Until then, he would have to be able to operate very carefully. Yet still he would have to generate income.
Gambling would work. He was good with cards and dice, and he was also good at cheating. More importantly, he knew how to hold on to what he was able to win. He was sure, if he did some exploring, he would find more than a few places to excercise this trade. After all, gambling was universal.
He took some more time to consider his goals. Longterm was nothing new, he wanted money and power. There was no longer any Italy to unite, whevever he was, but there still must be some sort of power structure. Where there was a power structure, there was discontent. Eventually, when he had the resources, he would be able to exploit that.
Until then, he would make sure he survived comfortably and pleasureably.
TBC