scorched Writing Sample
It didn’t take George long to find his way out of Anatole and down the winding staircases that led him into the shadowy world of Dismas. He was a criminal at heart, after all, and Dismas was the lawless black heart of the strange new land he’d found himself in. If he was going to make a living while he was here, then this was the place to start.
He didn’t like what he saw. There were plenty of criminals in Tortall, from petty thieves to highly skilled assassins, but the majority of them weren’t lawless criminals. (And the ones that were wholly lawless rarely survived for long.) It was the job of the Rogue - his job - to maintain order and punish disobedience. It was a violent world, yes, but he worked hard to make sure that it was a fair world as well. The members of his court were safe and content and always received their share of what was owed to them. In Dismas, it seemed to be every criminal for themselves.
Worst of all, from the moment he’d stepped into the cavern he’d experienced an unnerving blindness. That was the only word for it. It was as if some unseen force - the same unseen force that had snatched him from Corus, perhaps, or another entity entirely? - had blindfolded him, cutting him off from magic that George had relied on for as long as he could remember. He was still quick, of course, and he was still well armed, but, without the Sight and the edge that it gave him, he felt vulnerable as well.
In a great many ways, George was out of his element. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.
After exploring the three districts nearest to the arena, he made his way into an inn and ordered a drink from the old man behind the bar. It wasn’t the Dancing Dove and the barkeeper certainly wasn’t Old Solom, but George struck up a conversation with him nonetheless. Whatever his feelings about Dismas, he had things that he needed to learn. And learn he did. He learned the bare bones of the organised crime network that stretched out above and below ground. He learned about the mischievous spirit that wandered in the tunnels, teasing unwary explorers who got a bit too close. Most importantly of all, he learned that there was no single figure sitting at the heart of the tangled web of criminals in the city. No leader. No ruler. No Rogue.
He finished his drink and set his mug down on the surface of the bar.
You’re a damn fool, George Cooper, he thought to himself. It’d take more than you to clean up this godsforsaken place. You’re good, but you’re not that good. Setting up a business in Dismas would get you a knife in the back long before you find a way home.
He needed to get back up to the surface and the sunlight. He turned and walked away, but he didn’t manage to do it without looking back once or twice. Not just because he was nervous, but because, as shadowy and brutal as it was, Dismas did have a lot of potential. It just took a certain sort of person to see it.
He didn’t like what he saw. There were plenty of criminals in Tortall, from petty thieves to highly skilled assassins, but the majority of them weren’t lawless criminals. (And the ones that were wholly lawless rarely survived for long.) It was the job of the Rogue - his job - to maintain order and punish disobedience. It was a violent world, yes, but he worked hard to make sure that it was a fair world as well. The members of his court were safe and content and always received their share of what was owed to them. In Dismas, it seemed to be every criminal for themselves.
Worst of all, from the moment he’d stepped into the cavern he’d experienced an unnerving blindness. That was the only word for it. It was as if some unseen force - the same unseen force that had snatched him from Corus, perhaps, or another entity entirely? - had blindfolded him, cutting him off from magic that George had relied on for as long as he could remember. He was still quick, of course, and he was still well armed, but, without the Sight and the edge that it gave him, he felt vulnerable as well.
In a great many ways, George was out of his element. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.
After exploring the three districts nearest to the arena, he made his way into an inn and ordered a drink from the old man behind the bar. It wasn’t the Dancing Dove and the barkeeper certainly wasn’t Old Solom, but George struck up a conversation with him nonetheless. Whatever his feelings about Dismas, he had things that he needed to learn. And learn he did. He learned the bare bones of the organised crime network that stretched out above and below ground. He learned about the mischievous spirit that wandered in the tunnels, teasing unwary explorers who got a bit too close. Most importantly of all, he learned that there was no single figure sitting at the heart of the tangled web of criminals in the city. No leader. No ruler. No Rogue.
He finished his drink and set his mug down on the surface of the bar.
You’re a damn fool, George Cooper, he thought to himself. It’d take more than you to clean up this godsforsaken place. You’re good, but you’re not that good. Setting up a business in Dismas would get you a knife in the back long before you find a way home.
He needed to get back up to the surface and the sunlight. He turned and walked away, but he didn’t manage to do it without looking back once or twice. Not just because he was nervous, but because, as shadowy and brutal as it was, Dismas did have a lot of potential. It just took a certain sort of person to see it.