Updated 'Corothe' scenes

So, as I was typing up that terrible old story of mine, I kept going back and saying to myself, I wonder what would happen if I tried to rewrite this scene. Or this story. So I did. Just a little bit. Not enough to make anything of it, but enough that I wanted to share with you what might have happened if Corothe were written now.

I wrote two separate scenes. First, I wrote a new beginning and then I wrote an updated version of the scene where Corothe and Hood/Nash are guarding together. Keep in mind there's not much of a plot that surrounds it (Okay well there is, sort of, I mean honestly, you couldn't expect me to not think of something better than what it was, really!)


First scene, AKA the new beginning.

The night was a hunter: cold and unflinching. And as the figure moved in and out of the shadows, night's talons grasped his body. The freezing air sucked much of the life from the figure's lungs, but the man had something to keep him going.

In the doorway of a bright and noisy pub, another man stood, opening his pocketwatch, staring at it for a few seconds, then closing it. Night cloaked this man's face, but his eyes were filled with apprehension, with fear.

"Waiting for someone?" came a soft voice from the darkness beyond the pub.

For a moment the waiting man stood as still as stone, then, as the first man - clad in a dark cloak with a cloak that covered most of his face - came into the light, the waiting man sighed in relief. "Na-" he began, but the other man quieted him.

"My name can no longer be spoken. You would do well to forget it, Lasir."

Lasir's face turned toward the pub, and the light of the windows made his tired face look a thousand years older. His wrinkles became rivers, his eyes, fathomless. "Indeed, indeed," he murmured, then turned toward his companion. "What do you suppose we call you, then?" added Lasir, curiosity painted over his features.

"The men I traveled with took to simply calling me Master Hood." The man now known as Hood laughed at the confession. "They believed I was a thief on the run."

It was Lasir's turn to laugh. "How smart they are!" he mused. "Come, Hood, it is like Death out here. I have booked us a room here for the night. It's a decent place, and extremely private."

Hood looked up at the sign above the pub that read The Bloody Griffin and frowned. "I trust your judgment, as always, Lasir. let us go in." No one paid any attention to the two companions as they made their way through the pub and up the stairs. Most here had seen too many hooded men to concern themselves with another, and Lasir, an older man wearing traveling clothes was not the least bit out of place.

A warm fire was burning in the hearth of their room. To Hood's delight, a large pot of something delicious smelling boiled over the fire, and a table with two places set sat in front of it. "This smells wonderful, Lasir. You can't even begin to imagine what I've had to eat on my journeys. None of the men in my company were much cooks. They were under the impression that it is solely a woman's job."

"And that has been the downfall of many men, to be sure!" Lasir exclaimed heartily, ladling stew into two bowls. "Come, let us eat and forget our troubles, at least for the time being."

"Forget our troubles?" Hood asked, both amusement and incredulity thick in his voice. "If only we could." Still, he ate, and although Hood could not truly escape his troubles, for the time being they were at bay. However, the moment the final spoonful of soup was eaten, the atmosphere in the room turned serious, tense and more than a little fearful. "Now, Lasir, please explain to me what it is we are doing here," Hood started, letting himself ask the one question that had been burning in him ever since Lasir had told him where to meet.

Lasir sighed and sat back into his chair. "As you may well know, for much of my life I was an advisor to King Hothbart." Hood nodded. "And, as a citizen of this fine country, you know about Hothbart's lack of heirs." Hood nodded again. "However, what you may not know is the identity of the person next in line for the throne."

"And you do?" Hood asked, obviously astonished. The future ruler of the country had been the subject of rumors and gossip since Hood was a boy. Lasir nodded.

"It has been my task to guard her these years. She has never been explicitly told, however, she is a smart young woman. She must know by now who she is, and why she has had such intense training all of her life."


"Oh yes. Fighting, the mystic arts, divination, history, politics...she is a master in all these subjects."

"This woman sounds might. I assume she is a frightening sort?

Lasir's gaze turned wistful. "Oh no, no, she is one of the kindest girls I have ever met. They both are - her and her sister."

Hood was quiet for a moment. "You sound like you truly care for them."

"Indeed. They lost their parents at a young age. They have told me many times that I am the father they never had."

"...Touching." Hood did his best to keep his sarcasm out of his voice. "As much as I enjoy this story, Lasir, I must ask...what does it have to do with us and our task?"

Lasir laughed. "Of course, my apologies. You must excuse us old men, Hood, for we so much enjoy living in our pasts." Lasir's noted that Hood's shoulders relaxed. If he could see Hood's face, Lasir assumed it would be looking bashful. "This young woman has extraordinary skill and power. I believe she and her sister would make excellent additions to our party. In fact, I would like this woman to carry the relic."

Hood was very quiet for a long time; Lasir was sure he had offended the young man. "You know I would never question your judgment, Lasir, but-"

"Then don't question it." Lasir's tone was steely. "I have received approval from Hothbart. She is more than capable, thanks to her training, and out of all of us, she is the least likely to be carrying it. The man we seek to avoid does not concern himself with young women."

"Then make her sister carry it! This young woman is to be our queen! What if she is killed?"

"Her sister is an Alchemist. Quite skilled in the art of potions-making, but not in fighting. She knows not how to defend herself. No, Hood, it must be Corothe."

"And you insist on this."

"Yes." Lasir stared at the fire for some time. "Let me ask you this, Hood. Is it her that you object to...or would you object to anyone besides yourself guarding it?" Hood was quiet. "You'll know I've made the right choice when you meet her."

"I hope, for your sake," Hood answered, "You have."

That was the new beginning. And here is the scene with Corothe and Hood. For some reason, the both start off with "The night..." because I guess I'm really unoriginal. You'll have to excuse it.

The night was warm as Corothe and Hood parried with each other, some ways from camp, in order to not disturb the others.

It had been long since the days when Corothe and Lasir had practiced together; long since the days that Lasir had been able to defeat her. Now she was eager for a true partner, and Hood was proving himself a worthy companion.

"Have you ever thought," Corothe begin, a look of concentration painted on her face, "That you might be more conspicuous with the hood?"

Hood made a noise quite like laughter. "And if one of you are caught, you will be useless, for you know neither my name or my face," he explained.

"I suppose you are right," she conceded. "Unless they catch me, and I am found, and the relic is found...then it is all for naught, eh?" She grinned, then shrugged. "Either way, the disguise is doing wonders for your reputation," Corothe couldn't help but add. Hood's head rose. She could tell he was interested. "My lord, you cannot pretend to be ignorant of Tanal's admiration of you. I am convinced your mysteriousness only adds to her interest."

"You sound as if you don't approve of this...interest."

"And you sound as if you don't believe it is exists," remarked Corothe, as they mirrored each other's footsteps. "No...it is not that I disapprove...it is that I'm not so sure writing love poetry about a man we know neither the face nor the name of is a productive use of her time."

"Tanal is a romantic. Surely there is no true evil in that."

"Surely no," Corothe responded, sarcasm biting in her mouth. "But there is evil in making a mockery of the rest of the group's efforts." There was bitterness creeping into her tone. "Forgive me," she added hastily. "I do not meant to be so careless and cruel about my sister. I love her."

"And is she the only person you will love?" Hood's voice held amusement.

"What do you mean?" Corothe asked.

"Well...do you plan on ever falling in love?"

Corothe laughed. "You certainly are a man!" she said after a moment.

Hood stopped fighting, and Corothe mimicked him. "Excuse me?"

"Only a man would ask whether or not one plans on finding love. Most women know that love cannot simply be planned," Corothe explain.

"And would you count yourself among 'most' women?" questioned Hood.

Corothe nodded after a moment. "I would, yes."

"Then some part of you is romantic yet."

They were quiet for a moment before Corothe thrust and checked Hood on his shoulder. It was the tiniest of taps, but she still had bested him. "First rule of fighting, my lord. Never let your guard down."

"indeed, my lady," said Hood, laughing. "Indeed."

Hope you enjoyed!

(PS: If you didn't read the old version of Corothe - one of the first stories I ever completed, written at age 10 or 11 - you can download it here. It contains both the terrible story and my snarky commentary)
September 20th, 2010 at 04:20am