Title: A count without power
by pricey from Nottinghamshire | in writing, fiction, characters
The count with no power.
France- Paris, 1498.
The one who called himself Murlock began to toss and turn in his straw bed, becoming uncomfortable in his late slumber. It was 2:16 AM, and the lights of the nearby docking village flooded their way through the reinforced steel window bars. If you listened carefully, you could make out a strange howling sound emanating from within the depths of the Mountains, far off to the east. This is what Murlock heard. This is what Murlock always hears.
Chapter1 - No Cure, Count?.
Spain- Jamos, 1482.
The village of Jamos: a truly magnificent settlement. The year was 1482, and the cool Spanish breeze filtered its way through the many houses that were scattered throughout the massive village.
The Church spire stood tall amidst the flock of Pigeons that were circling around it. The fifty-four-year-old-man that called himself Murlock strode to his bedroom window. He could see the local children playing in the village square, and their parents watching them cautiously through their protective eyes.
Evil is upon us, no?
As the count of Jamos, Murlock was responsible for the well-being of all its inhabitants. Recently, a tropical disease ascended on the village and caused mass corruption. This was a hard and sudden blow for Murlock. Everyone looked up to their count in times of need, and this was one of those situations where everyone was in need of assistance. Murlock was accustomed to the pressure. He did not know at the time what to do, but he encouraged his people and kept a brave face as the situation continued.
Three months passed, and half of the population was now dead. The magnificent village of Jamos was now just a breeding site for the disease. Murlock's son had unfortunately fallen victim to the disease. Now this is when Murlock came to face the true reality of the situation. What the hell can I do? Keep letting my people die?. My own son DIE?!
Chapter 2 - The man at the middle.
Paris, France, 1498.
A collosal boot collided with Murlock's jaw, and he fell back onto his knees, crippled with pain.
"Une très mauvaise idée, monsieur". Remarked the enormously obese French guard, as he chuckled indignantly to himself. "You are a very stupid' person, Murlock, am I right?"
The seventy-year-old-man spat at the fat guard.
Fist after fist pounded into Murlock's skull, and after a few minutes of beating, he drifted into unconsciousness.
A short opening for a potential story I would like to write, involving the past life of a now criminal count of a medieval Spanish village. His rise to wealth as a knight and the problems he faced, and much more regarding his quest for the true meaning of life.
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