Chapitre 1: Chapter 1
Click. Clat.
The noises of the music muffled by the wooden floorboard above him, a child who couldn't have been above the age of 11 was shuffling underneath the local tavern. He seemed to be in search of something, the shimmering of silver catching his attention as he quietly crawled his way towards it. The silver coin that shimmered in the darkness had come into view as he reached for it, his rough fingers tracing around the coarse edges of the coin. His face seemed to have been dirtied, a craggy aesthetic depending on who's looking. But his face was one plastered with joy. The boy had tan skin and messy, wavy black hair. The dirt was on his face, giving him a war-like visual but of course, he was just a kid when it came down to it.
It was as if this simple find had brightened his day up beyond belief. But why? Well, it was simple, the coin had done exactly that; lifted his spirits up to the moon itself. He crawled around in the rough area underneath him, the slumrat searching for more shiny items to appease his appetite. His eyes darted from one section of the small space underneath the tavern to the other, quickly shifting his body to grab the coins that had slid through the fair sized cracks between the floorboards. The laughter and chatter, mixed in with the music had drowned out the noises of him shuffling around but even without those combinations, the dirt and his soft movements had made him too quiet to be heard.
The constant, heavy sound of footsteps above him were beginning to get to the slumrat, his head beginning to pound at the noise. The vibrations of the dozens of individuals above him, all dancing and moving around were rattling the child. He looked at his hand, seeing his collection for the night. Six bronze coins and two silver coins. In fact, he had even found one gold coin! What a steal! A cheeky grin plastered across the face of the youngling, satisfied with his earnings for tonight. This could atleast supply him a loaf of bread for tonight, something for him so he wouldn't go starving.
Quietly, the boy made his way out of the floorboards. A loose metal grate that had been the access point for this area allowed some of the street lights to pierce it's way in. The slumrat quietly pressed against it whilst gripping between the spaces. This allowed him to quietly open it, sliding out before placing the barrier back where it belonged. It was a starry night today, the glimmering stars coming out for a visit. The moon gave a spotlight onto the streets infront of him where crowds of people were gathered dancing. The soft music brought a smile onto the child's face as he made his way down, pocketing the coins he had so earned.
Not long after, the boy had bought himself a loaf of bread with the biggest grin on his face, stretching from ear to ear. He hummed himself the tune he had heard in the tavern. He was in an exceptionally good mood now. It seemed nothing could ruin his positive outlook right now. Of course, that wouldn't last for long. The child had accidentally ventured into the darkness, the slums of the Brevell Kingdom. Within the walls there are three unsaid rules; Number one: Don't tip a brothel. Number two: Don't wear a mask. And number three: Don't go to the slums. Unfortunately, he ventured into an area where two of those rules were already broken.
His attention wouldn't come to this until he bumped into a man. This caused an abrupt stop to his humming. His eyes opened to face the man he had bumped into, a man who did not look like he belonged here. He was equipped with a swell haircut and a cleanly shaven face. He wore a white shirt with a black aristocrat waistcoat and a red scarf tucked into the waistcoat. A small bag had fallen from his pocket, gold coins spilling out and causing the boy's eyes to widen in awe. He was about to ask who this man was before he was filled with a pain in his lower half.
Silence. It was pure silence coming from the individual who had attacked the child. This was not the man in the waistcoat, no he had simply watched. A man in a black frock coat had somehow snuck behind the child without his knowledge, stomping down on the back of the knee. This caused the child to let out a yelp of pain, falling down to one knee as the man behind him had brought a dagger to his throat, about to slice when the well dressed man raised his hand, causing the man in the frock coat to stop his action. The blade was still against his throat, the child able to see his reflection in the shiny weapon. It was here he also saw the man in the frock coat, wearing a dirty white mask that held no emotion on it. It was empty. However, it held a blue tint on the lips and around the eyes. It struck fear into the child's eyes, afraid to gulp in case it would press the blade deeper.
"Tell me boy, what is your name?" The man in the waistcoat asked. His voice was deep and menacing, yet a comforting and charismatic hint in it.
"I don't have one."
"A child who bears no name?" The man in the waistcoat asked himself, giving a quiet chuckle as he looked up and made eye contact with the man in the mask. "
Very well..." He said, making a flicking motion with his wrist. The man in the mask nodded, shifting his blade away from the child's throat and into its sheath. He lifted the child to his feet, bringing him over to who, the child had now come to the conclusion, was his master. "
A child with no name. You'll make a fine addition." He said, chuckling as he turned his back and motioned to bring the kid with him.
"I see it in you." He said, not facing the child. This caused confusion as the child tilted his head, wondering what he meant.
"Potential. You have the heart of a warrior, a ruler." He explained, grinning as he faced away from the two.
"From now on, you will be known as Ulric. Ulric de Montfort." The boy's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Ulric? He liked it... A small, mischievous grin appeared on his face as he was taken away. He should have been scared, but he couldn't help but be excited.
As the trio had left the scene, there was only one piece of evidence that they were there in the first place. A fallen loaf of bread, soon to be put waste by the rain.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone