Untitled HoND Fanfic

Untitled HoND Fanfic

The ceremony following the burning of the cathedral of Notre Dame was indeed one that would satisfy the heavenly spirits. The wicked Judge Frollo had been punished finally, dispersing apart in his firey grave as God himself smited him, and the heroes to be revealed was more or less the hunchback. The crowd cheered in enthusiasm shown once before at the Feast of Fools towards Quasimodo and his friends, free to be relieved of the burden of Frollo; but also realizing, that the gypsies would no longer be left in the dark catacombs beneath the city. Clopin smiled broadly, placing down the little girl as she gave a final wave and ran off to join her parents in the celebration. He stayed behind, lifting himself up onto a flagged pole, crossing his ankles together gracefully. He watched as Quasimodo, Esmeralda, and Phoebus made their way with a new kind of smile on their face through the city of Paris.

However, not everyone was as loyal to the celebration in the city. High above all of the roofs of the meager town were eyes that watched with a deep disgust. They gazed from the Palace of Justice\'s towers, the orange spheres glinting with both revenge, and confidence that a king would show when taking the crown. His tightened jaw loosened into a sly smile, one Frollo himself would be capable of. Farceur was not a pleasant man, now that his mentor was dead, and the folk cheered about as if it was a prize to be freed of such...in his mind, a wonderful beast. Frollo was indeed a beast, but he was not one so cruel against Farceur\'s cheek. His eyes narrowed, thick eyebrows plummeting forward with his bangs, and he stood taller, as his shadow cast a intimidating glow on the female behind him. Two large silver bars, the length of her arms were constrictingly tight against her shoulder blades, the ends giving way to fourteen various metallic cords, each individually cutting off from the other like blood veins to specific joints in the body. Her hair swung low, a cord wrapped around the back in a double ponytail of black and gold, while the front bangs dangled loosely in white. Her hands were wrapped in orange leather gloves, each thicking at the ends into a large silver claw. The same were her boots, and the tiger-striped design kept going into a long tail creeping from a chain belt. The rest of her body was naked, kept covered only by silk in radiant colors of purple, orange, yellow and blue. They draped double over her important features, while leaving the more exposed with only one sheet of color placed about.

Farceur\'s clothing was nowhere near as vibrant, for he kept his wardrobe as expensive, but not as noticable as Judge Frollo. He turned to her, and she stood still, unwavering, not even her breath was to be sounded by the bells that were draped across her chest. He smiled a cruel smile, one she knew well, and from behind her own mask of magenta whiskers, the only thing unmatched to the rest of her clothing, she narrowed her own eyes towards his, seething, yet at the same time respecting. She was a gypsy, but was against her own kind, betrayed as she was told by him, left to die because of her...unnatural feverish behavior. He grasped a hold of her chin, and raised it upwards towards his lips.

\"Frollo\'s commands will still be given. Tell the army to attack Paris, and leave not one gypsy or harboring fool alive.\" Her eyes glinted in approval, and he wrenched her face away from his, turning her around. She made her way towards the yellow light of the doorway, when his rasped voice stopped her. She turned her head slightly, the metallic side of her mask reflecting him towards her pupils. He was back at the windowsill, grinning down at his target as it bounced towards the crowd, making its way to the front to meet the heroes. His teeth clenched, and his fists gave a clear sign of irritation. \"Bring him to me.\" He smiled as she lunged at the door, speeding down the stairs with confidence tightened cords.

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Sheezyart Home Entertainment and Fleurpaw Studios Presents...

A HoND Fanfic...

Clopin

Rattlecat

(>.> It\'s Untitled for right now.)

Chalupa

Puppet

Melle

Victor

Music by Riverdance

Based on Characters created by Victor Hugo

Story by Rattlecat

Loved by Chalupa, Melle, Victor, and Clopin lovers

Produced by Rattlecat

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The dogs howled, launching themselves in pairs over the hills, the caravans and carts careening after them, held on only by the harnesses. Thick clods of grass flew through the air, mixed with dirt and water as the horses neighed in irritation from the long run. The gypsies had grown weary of their travelling, but their determination did not fail them as they hussled, now fourteen miles out of Paris, heading towards the cities of Dieppe and Le Havre. They were to split in the forks of the dirt paths at the passage gates of St Denis and Complegne, in order to destroy a solid path of tracks to where they had headed as a group. From there, they were to meet in two packs at Dieppe and Le Havre, and travel together to the city of La Baule on the northeastern border of the Bay of Biscay. Paris had been purged by the armies of Farceur, whom banned them from ever returning. He had plundered the houses and streets, filling them with guards until no woman, man, or child could return home safely. The Court of Miracles had been revealed, and vanquished within a night. Four thousand gypsies had been lynched, slayed, and murdered in masses during the three fatal days of attack, and the remaining were to follow the routes that would bring them once again to a city of freedom.

Paquette, a healer among the gypsy population, stopped upon her white horse, and gazed back through the hoard of gypsy caravans and families, until her eyes laid upon the king of gypsies himself. His smile was no longer on his face, and he and his horse, a black Clydesdale he had found sipping water from the mills, lacked the enthusiasm others did, and the result of it forced him back behind the groups. She turned Incat around, and made her way towards him. His hair was damped down by the summer heat, yet his hat remained on, feather dropping individual hairs of itself onto the horse\'s rear, where his gloves sat, half shoved underneath the saddle. Clopin Trouillefou was very rarely seen in such a condition, only when the weather and his daily routines of puppet shows and entertainment beat him down. He was slung slightly forward onto the mane of the horse, caught between exhaustion and a heat wave of both sickening pains in his stomach and head. Paquette paced Incat around his horse, and his eyes looked at hers. She smiled and rubbed his back gently, placing her other hand behind her in a bag to reveal a cloth for him. He smiled gratefully and took it, wiping his forehead and sighing heavily. While many of the complete families were sad to leave their home, he had been hit the hardest, mostly by the decision to do so. He couldn\'t risk the capture or the slaughter that he had faced back in Paris. Some slaughtered were his friends, or relatives, and now he had nothing but their memories to ride on.

He looked from Paquette to the front of the group, where four dogs tugged about his caravan, nagging at each other at intervals. He gave another heavy sigh and laid forward, placing his whole weight above the black Clydesdale, who simply neighed in sympathy.

\"Don\'t worry Clopin, darling. You\'ll get through with this, we\'ve all had tough times to deal with.\" She continued along side of him, rubbing his back. He smiled at her, she knew not one of his best smiles, but a smile that reassured her somewhat of his condition.

\"It\'s moreso the heat that has been irritating to me, madam.\" He lied through his teeth, but his story-telling of a voice kept her captivated as well as somewhat informed. He didn\'t need anymore or anyone else catipulting depressing thoughts towards him, or each other, and found it a wise decision to keep to himself for a while. All four of their ears perked however at a cheer that surpassed the howling and clodding of dogs and horses. Clopin raised his tired eyes, squinting slightly at the signs that countered the group\'s movement. He quickly sat up with the last of his strength, and leadership instincts kicking in, he dug his heels into the horse\'s ribs and raced forward to the front of the group. Paquette stayed behind, giving a wider smile at his sudden and almost unknown burst of energy. As he rounded about the front, he saw the signs clearer, shouting out in big black letters, St Denis to the north, and Complegne to the east. He looked back at the group, and shouted towards the right to head to Complegne. He noticed the river that began to creep up out of the ground, following both roads, and hoped that the group he wasn\'t travelling with would take the same idea as his conjoured up in his mind. The water would do well in covering the tracks as they left towards their destination. As the remainder of the gypsies continued North, he lacked once again behind, waiting until most of the children passed by before his smile faded again. He tugged on the reins of his horse as Paquette caught up with them.

\"I\'m going to take the road to Complegne, Clopin. I\'ve noticed many healers in this group, so I\'ll be needed with the others.\" Clopin nodded with a smile. \"Take care my friend, and remember what I\'ve said.\" He took her hand and kissed the top.

\"Take care, madam Paquette. I\'ll see you in Le Havre.\" Their hands parted, as did their roads. Clopin waited until her horse was out of sight, before turning and trotting down the hill towards his own path. In the trees, the masked woman once seen in Farceur\'s eyes watched the groups depart. She leapt from the branches, the bars giving off a clinking sound in echo of the bells upon her breast; and landed at the fork. She gazed at the signs, snarling, turning to head back towards Paris. She would stop her victim at the gates of St Denis, for it would take them at their pace half a week to get there. She bounded opposite the path the gypsies were taking, urgent to tell the details of their travel to Farceur, and return on her hunt.