Well folks, I have managed to get something down. I hope it works. I'll just preface the post by saying that although I have tried to keep everything as time-neutral, gender-neutral, etc., a few specifics might have slipped through (such as the odd 'he' or 'she') - ignore those when it comes to fleshing out your version of all this. Along the same lines I have made reference to a 'Temple' - but really translate that into any applicable religious (or secular) building. Likewise, I have highlighted some specific characters but most certainly there are plenty of possible other characters present.
If people who would like to delve into the scene could please send me PMs letting me know, and I will reply with my email. Unless anyone thinks things should be different, I would suggest making Sunday 20th May as the submission deadline. The first four people who PM me will be our entrants.
And without further ado, let me yield the stage to the Storyteller, who will give us 'the generic version'.
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The Storyteller smiled as the youth finished recounting a fantasy set in some mythic land. “A fine story,” the Storyteller said, “and as you have revealed to me your tale let me tell you a tale. A different sort of tale, for not all the parts are complete, but one that maybe you might wish to turn your hand to. A tale of a funeral.
“Not just an ordinary funeral, but the funeral of a Great Leader. The entire world, it seemed, had gathered to mark this Leader’s passing, but then it was said of the great metropolis that was the capital that the entire world gathered there every day, for so many different sorts called that place home. There were merchants and traders from overseas; migrants seeking fortunes or fleeing famines, wars, or persecutions; diplomats and dignitaries seeking favours and alliances; and not least the nation’s own inhabitants, bustling about their lives filled with ordinary incidents, small victories, and little defeats. And to most of these, the Leader was truly beloved.
“You see, the Leader had come to power many years previous, and at that time the Nation was in a truly terrible state. In those days the Capital was a wreck, having just been sacked for the third time in just twelve years, rich and prosperous territories had been lost, the army had been utterly defeated, and the fleet lay on the ocean floor, or had been washed up on the nearest beech. Enemies clustered in on every side, and the land seemed rotten form within: the roads were over-run with brigands and the towns with thieves. Law was fast becoming a forgotten thing.
“But the Leader changed all that – a series of feats and tricks and of glorious victories that would take me the rest of this year to relate, this year and likely all of the next! But the important thing is, the Leader did overcome these huge difficulties. The Leader reclaimed the lost lands, restored law and order, and expanding the Nation’s dominion over many places, some near, so far. By the time the Leader died the Nation’s star was rising, with the prospect of only rising further.
“No nation was richer, no city more splendid, than this country and its capital. But on this particular day the usually festive streets were wreathed with mourning colours, and the ordinarily cheerful folk went about the place downcast, for no one knew what would happen. And entire generation, or more, knew only of the Great Leader. Many wept as if they had lost a loved one, for in fact, they had. Some even said that the Divine grieved with them, for the night before there had been a storm. The rain had fallen in large, heavy drops that soaked the city, and the clouds remain grey and sombre, echoing the City’s mood.
“That may or may not have been the case, but there was one Young Officer in particular who already had cause to regret the deluge. Twice now he had fallen as he hurried through the city’s backstreets. The passing of the funeral cortege, bearing the coffin and body of the Great Leader from the palatial home to the National Temple had blocked all the common streets, as people flocked many-deep to watch it mass. And speech was of the essence. But the cobbles were teachers, and he a third time his feet skid out from under him. He rips open the knee of his uniform, his best uniform, saved for only the grandest of occasions. He pays it no heed but immediately checks he has not dropped or damaged his weapons. Satisfied, he starts to run again as a great bell toll marking the procession’s arrival at its destination.
“A great many people were already there, ambassadors and delegates, but many had also chosen or been chosen to walk behind the coffin. The Successor, not yet formally invoked as Leader, was among them. Not first among them, that place was reserved for the Leader’s Partner, who stubbornly refused all assistance as she struggled up the steps. They had been one of a kind, everyone always said. The Successor waited for her to ascend, and followed. The Partner had her own seat, to the side of the catafalque on which the coffin was placed, while the Successor sat in the very first row, on the right.
“Also in the first row, but on the left, sat the Traitor. He had a position of prominence and power, well-earned. But there was something rotten in his heart – or was there? You see, of all the questions concerning that day the most, surely, surround the Traitor. No I do not know his name – such things are now lost – but I have often speculated. But you are not interested in those, perhaps you can give me your theories when we are done. As the service began he glanced upward, to a balcony that overlooked that part of the Temple. Sure enough a drape there had been subtly re-arranged, to signify the Assassin had taken his place. Now he looked at the some of the guards which were placed throughout this hallowed place. One Soldier in particular caught his attention. The Soldier, seeing he was watched, nodded slightly, and then returned to attention. Surely no one else saw that small interaction. The Traitor tried not to sigh too loudly. All was in place.
“The music of the introit reached a new crescendo when the Young Officer burst into the front of the Temple from one of the side doors. He half-marched, half-skipped towards his own commander – the Spy Master – who was sitting in the second row, on the left side. Two of the guards blocked him. The Traitor, and many others, craned their heads to see what was about. The music made it difficult, but really, it made no difference. One of the guards was now quick-marching about the aisle, signalling to the Spy Master. Perhaps, the Traitor thought, he had been discovered. But it did not matter, it was time.
“The Traitor looked up, and stood. The Assassin used his weapon, and with a cry the Successor toppled from his seat. There was a moment’s silence, and then chaos. Another man died as the Assassin used his weapon again. But the Young Officer had broken free of the remaining guard, and now attacked the Traitor. The Traitor did not see him, did not see what killed him, as he was already trying to leave. The Assassin claimed a third victim, and now someone shouting warning, and there was panic. People fell, and were trampled underfoot. The guards barred the exit, to prevent the murderer from escaping. And now the Young Officer died, the Soldier having his own vengeance.
“Outside the city walls various units of the army had gathered. Not all of which were loyal, and in particular there was one troupe of siege engines whose commander and crew had joined lot with the Traitor. Now they released their engines against their own capital, against the Temple, as planned.
“Within, the Partner alone remained unmoved. Now there was a great clash as at least one engine founds its mark. A piece of masonry broke off from the ceiling, battered free by the impact, and crushed the Partner as it hit the ground. Another falling stone gave the coffin a glancing blow, splintering the wood and knocking it off the catafalque. As it struck the floor the Great Leader’s body tumbled clear, and went sprawling on the flagstones. From above there was a cry as the Assassin, his hideout discovered and surrounded, was rushed and pushed to his death on those same flagstones.
“It was the beginning of a new dark age.
“And that is my tale, make of it what you will. As I said, perhaps you will come up with some ideas of what happened, who was who and what was what. As for me, I’m fresh out. Let’s hear your version!”