Selisilia- Part One: The Right Man

The follwoing is my idea completely, but is not original. It is based as a cronoacle for a book that I am currently writing. A friend asked me not to post it or any other book I've thrown together on the conditions that someone will steel my ideas. So insteed of that, I've desided to get people here into it so I could get the satisfaction of letting people enjoy it. Feel free to comment or review.(The locations are the same, it just takes place thirty years before the events of my book.)



  The Estian Empire was one of the most neutral countries in the world. Others would say that it was the most useless. Yet when you live in a place of any kind, you feel the need to feel pride over it, to protect it, and to make it the most powerful thing in the world.

              -Selisilia, East Side(District), "Delicious Dancers" brothel. 1662BC.

  "Welcome master Daslle, Miss Fruawa is upstairs waiting for you," said the rent girl, smiling oddly inosently. She must have been no older than fifteen.

  "Upstairs? In her office?" asked the man. His name was Veltiar Elianet Daslle, a five star mercenary and a veterian of a moltatude of hits. He'd killed nearly seven hundred men now, but he'd lost count at six hundred. He looked at the young girl dressed in a thin gown with tired eyes, and very uninterestingly. He wasn't much like a pedophile, unlike most of the washouts that visited the brothel.

  "Mmm-hmm," she said quickly, ready to return to work. Veltiar often wondered what madness these children had been so desperate to aviod to become what they were now had been, but then again, he didn't need that on his conscience.

  He headed upstairs to greet his childhood friend after the girl had been called over by an overweight nobel. Upstairs was the only place to escape from the sounds of the ever alive brothel, and Veltiar enjoyed the quiet moment as the first he had in a month.  He almost fell asleep while standing before a door down the warm hall opened and a young blonde girl poked her head out. Veltiar recognized her as Laira Canton, Miss Fruawa's assastant. Her face lit up at the sight of Veltiar.

  "Oh! Master Daslle, please come in. Miss Fruawa has been waiting for you."

  "So how is the old bat?" the mercenary asked, causing the girl to blush. She obviously wasn't use to her boss being refered to so casually, and didn't know how to respond.

  "Old? Who said that I'm old?" Jenine Fruawa entered the hallway as Laira retreated back into the room. She wasn't old, but wasn't young either. She had long black hair and wore a seemingly expensive red and orange colored dress that had no sleeves and went down to he ankles. She stopped in the hallway, "Well if it isn't Veltiar Daslle."

  "You requested me," he said bluntly.

  "Yes, but I didn't expect you to come." She turned around and motioned  for him to follow, "This way." The two travled halfway down the hall and into he office. It was a wide, warm, cozey area. Circlier steps casscaded down into a ring filled pillows, and a table sat it the middle. On it was a bottle of Ocure, a very expensive Kiulorian wine. And that nation was famious for wine, and they drank it there with passion and for the flavor. Here in Selisilia you'd find it in blood-bars, places that hosted shows and displays of beggars, mostly children, flogged, tortured, or even boiled alive. There, people drank the wine only to get drunk.

  "Please, make yourself comfortable."

  "Looks expensive, is there this much money in whoring?" Jenine shot him a look that said be careful. They usual teased each other on the unexpected profesions they had each found. Jenine originally had wanted to be a herbelist, and Veltiar a cheif. They usually laughed at each other's jokes, but sometimes it got close to being to much.

  The two sat in the circle, and Veltiar tried hard to be a gentleman and poor his friend a drink. "Thank you," she said.

  "You're welcome. Now to the task at hand," she sat up in his spot.

  "Yes," she took a sip and set the drink down, "I've learned more of the party. It will be at the Curtana Caslte, on the west side."

  Selisilia was broken up into four districts, or sides, as most natives said. The east side was home to the wreches and washouts of the city. Drugs and prostitution was its ways, and murders or rapes was a daily occurance. The streets were always outlined in taverns, brothels, blood-bars, and fight clubs.

  The west was just the opposite. It housed mansions, and homed two casltes. There, lived the upper class. Docters, laywers, entropeneurs, and dukes.

  In between was the north and south districts. The north was dead, nothing but the ruins of old decaying building and war. It was the victom of the barbarian attack seven years ago. They only made it that far before the underground: mercenaries, assassins, and gangs, actually helped Selisilia's week military force. However, the city's government never cared to rebuild the place.

  The south was where the city's big businesses laid. It was the heart of the city, and the only thing now that kept it alive.

  Jenine continued, "The is sure to be gaurds, though. And not the fat, lazy ones, but those handsom young lads that have been in wars."

  "You know a lot of this, huh?"

  "Some of the customers tend to brag."

  Very well," the mercenary stood, "what is the time of the event?" Jenine looked disapointed suddenly, "Are you so eager to leave? You just arived?"

  "Jenine, what time?" he repeated. She sighed and drank some more of the wine, "Tommarow at eleven 'o clock. The biship is sure to attened," she drank the rest of her drink and refilled it.

  "Jenny, it's not that I don't want to stay, I just can't in this business."

  She looked like the little girl Veltair remembered deffending from the "takers." She gave up on the drink and looked at him, "Why don't we ever talk anymore?"

  "It slows us down and people tend to die."

  "Well, fine then, go. Remember you can always stop by, the girls like you."

  "Even though I'd never rent one," he said with a grin, just happy to hear that someone liked him. He walked out and into the hallway, passing by Laira, but she followed him, "Oh, master Daslle?"

  "Yes madam Canton?" he said, still walking.

  "Don't call me that! It's Laira," she wined, Veltiar laughed. He then commented, "You know, you don't have to call me 'master daslle' all the time. I'm not the damn duke of riches you know."

  "Sorry, I'm used to it." that hurt Veltiar inside, it was true that Laira was infact one of the rent girls here. She was only fourteen years old, but probably knew more of those matters than he did.

  He thought, 'Why is this shit even legal?' Soon, Selisilia would have the right leader, the right man. No matter how many people would die, they would get to him, they just had to find out who he was.

    -Part two coming soon. Rate and comment.