tfs .:1

A long time ago in a land far, far away,
Sashimi started a story.
A story called “The Sword Called Out”… Sashimi wrote up to the second chapter, but soon abandoned it in an attempt to do other more, “productive” things.
Now having no more “productive” things to do during the summer…
To restart The Sword Called Out under a more refined, cultured, and 1337 title; The Forbidden Sword… “TFS”.

Yep, I’ve decided to resume; scratch that, “restart” my old short-lived series The Sword Called Out…

Now only if i could find out how to make those insanely cute small squiggly dots… D:, but UNTIL THEN!!!! Ill have to make do with these montrous equal signs… Well Enjoy! ^.^


TFS .:1

The boy woke to the sounds of playing children, creaking tents, and haggling women all interweaved into one. He brushed his long hair aside, stretched his arms and yawned. He squirmed back into the covers, then suddenly decided to come out. The bright Perion sun momentarily blinded him as he stepped out onto the un-covered section of the roof.

They must’ve started without me . He thought.

Smiling slightly to himself, he lightly jumped onto the ground, a small cloud of dust rose around him. Nobody noticed him, among the sea of merchants and shopkeepers. He casually strolled down the crowded streets, looking around.

Time for breakfast

He walked up to a busy food stall, and shoved a particularly heavy woman into the the main stand. She gasped in surprise, and the owner started yelling in a deep accent, while the lady tried to explain what happened. They eventually started fighting, waving their hands about. A baby was wailing in its mother’s arms. People were leaving. Nobody noticed two steaming rolls of bread and a bottle of OJ, or the teenager that had mysteriously disappeared after the incident.

After he had washed down the fresh bread with cold squeezed OJ just the way he liked it, he threw the bottle into a nearby alleyway, shoved his hands in his pockets, and continued on. Seeing as there was nothing to steal, or pickpocket, he turned the corner onto Royal Street, where only exotic and expensive items had the right to a store.

Armour, scrolls, weapons all passed by, and he knew he would never own any of these things, but he was still wistful. Wistful for another life, where maybe he didn’t have to live on a rooftop of an desolate building with other orphans, stealing everyday just to get by. Wistful that he could be one of those rich merchants son’s, always dressed in nice clothes, having servants to order around.

Sighing, he moved on, his eyes roving everywhere, until he met a stall different from others. There were no bright colors or fancy banners that were common on Royal St. It was a shabby, gray tent with an old man who was dozing in his recliner.

Maybe they had a mix up with the stall, this should be on out there with the regular bazaar, he thought.

Inquesting further, he closed in on the stall, glancing at the items on display. There was nothing special; some half-drunk potions, busted shields, and other junk . Then, he blinked a few times, then he blinked again, to make sure his eyes werent play tricks on him. It was a sword, a regular one, in a regular scabbard, with some leather for the strap. Strangely, he was drawn towards it as if it shone with a faint light. He looked around to see if anyone was staring at him, and stole another look at the sword. It was still there, calling out to him. He checked with the sleeping man, then casually snatched up the sword, slung it onto his back, and strode away.

He checked behind him every often, to see if anyone was staring at the sword, to see if anyone else was attracted by it, but no, it was just a regular broadside to them. Then, he swore he saw a policeman staring at him, eyes boring into him. He quickly turned around, and saw another cop, almost glaring at him. They couldnt be after him, could they? His heart beat faster in collaboration with the movement of his feet. They were after him for sure now, they moved after him. Cold sweat ran down his face, his hands were clammy, and he wiped them on his slightly dirty shirt. He was running now just like his pursuers.

I only took a sword, its not even a good one, stop chasing me dammit! He desperately thought to himself.

He thought to lose them in the maze of alleys, which he knew like the back of his hand. He skidded into a long and wide alley, and desperately searched for the ladder that should have been there. Should have been.

I must have missed it on that last turn!

Angry and scared, he whirled around just as the policemen came, ready to do whatever they were going to do to him, possibly kill him.

They smirked, and drew their swords and nightsticks, advancing on him.

He grabbed his sword, felt the worn leather grip mold into his grip, and fell into complete Ataraxy. He drew it, and it noiselessly came out. All of his awkwardness was gone, instead replaced by gracefullness. A power unknown before swelled into him, as he charged them, a silent roar building up in his lungs, and a surge of adrenaline flowing through his veins.


I’m sorry if its in bad quality, but you’ll have to forgive me; as this is the first time i’ve blogged in a loonnnggg timee.
Hope you liked it! ^_^


10 thoughts on “tfs .:1”

  1. Uhhhh.

    where is the mother friggin dialouge?

    Or story, to be frank. All I see is a wall of description.

  2. This is the first FF ive read here, so i dont know if its good or bad but i liked it


  3. It’s okay, I guess. Attempts at description weren’t too bad, but it reminded me of a school composition. . .

    And yeah, it’s a bit quiet without dialogue. But dialogue isn’t necessary to make things lively; it depends on your style. Wish you developed more of like what you have below.

    Nobody noticed two steaming rolls of bread and a bottle of OJ, or the teenager that had mysteriously disappeared after the incident.

    It’s not quite there yet, but yeah, it wasn’t bad.

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