Collection of Random Writing

Short Story 1 - Rebirth

I wrote this while listening to a documentary about the Roman Empire at it's height. It's a mess, but it's a nice mess. I think.

As the fiery orb of the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the magnificent city of marble and gold glimmered with a final burst of light. The air hummed with the melodies of music and joyous laughter as revelers from every corner of the empire joined in the celebration of the sun god's festival. But not all were filled with merriment. In a secluded villa on the outskirts of the city, a group of stern-faced men and women made their final preparations for a deed that would shatter the empire's foundations. These were the conspirators, led by General Marcus Aurelius, a valiant hero of countless battles and the most trusted commander of the emperor. They had pledged an oath to overthrow the tyrant who had brought ruin and dishonor upon their beloved realm and to revive its ancient glory and honor. They knew the perils and the outcomes of their actions, yet they had no choice. For the sake of their empire and their own souls, they had to act tonight.

The villa's cellars echoed with the clink of chains and a resounding thud as the heavy door shut. Guards stood watchful, ready to apprehend any who dared to flee, while within the chamber, two small groups waited anxiously for the general's arrival. Two women, young and fair, garbed in humble peasant attire, stood quietly, with nothing but their golden tresses setting them apart from any other commoners. Yet, there was something strange and exotic about them. One of them clutched a small bundle beneath her cloak- the dagger with which she hoped to dispatch her captor. Beside them stood a young man of average height, slim, broad-shouldered, with swarthy skin. A sword hung at his side, concealed within his cloak's folds. Though he stood silent and unmoving, his eyes tracked the movements of those within the room with an animal's intensity, waiting impatiently for the meeting to commence.

Ten individuals now occupied the cellar, apart from the two guards, all bearing scars of torture- disfigured faces and bodies, swollen limbs and broken bones. Only one was completely unmarked: Jainíriel, seated upon a wooden chair, her wrists and ankles bound by heavy chains that vanished into the shadows beyond the scant glow of oil lamps. She looked so frail, so helpless, that one might feel a twinge of pity for her. Almost.

At first glance, she seemed just another pawn, exploited by her kidnappers to fulfill their shadowy patrons' wishes. Yet if any empathy existed in that grim chamber, it resided with the others, waiting to meet their demise- a young girl in tattered rags, weeping silently for mercy; a captive attired in the uniform of a Roman soldier, striving to remain calm in the face of unbridled brutality; and a man with a scarred face, a blackened eye, and a bandage around his forehead, perched alone on a stool, scrutinizing the faces of those around him as though attempting to recall something. These three would perish ere the meeting's end. A guard standing near them observed them with detached interest. Eight remained in the cellar, and one more hour until the first would be dispatched. As usual, the fate of the rest hinged on how carefully the target was selected.

General Marcus Aurelius, one of the most powerful members of the Emperor's Council, strode confidently into the chamber, flanked by his adjutants. His staff wore the regalia of their office—cloak, belt, and boots—and their dignity made them seem like heroes even to those among the conspirators who were reluctant to take action. Yet they shared the same basic beliefs: That the decadent empire was dying and must be replaced by some better system. And that it should do so soon, for there was much work to be done before there was peace and order again throughout the world. When they spoke of the plan that they had spent the past months perfecting, the words "new order" always accompanied the phrase "imperial rebirth." They did not yet have a name for what they planned to create, but they called it the New Order, with hope in its future glory. At the moment, however, none of them mentioned it aloud, for their attention was focused on the task at hand. The time for talk was over. The fate of the empire and the lives of those in the room rested on the success of their mission.