Okay, I've finally finished part of my new story. You guys can do all those nasty things that I've done to your stories.
Untitled
Unto the making from the mountains beyond, the wind blew east into the forest behold. Brushing back the limbs that loomed too far over, the breeze whipped forward and curled the branches aged with time. Afternoon sun glittered and danced upon the gray wood gnarled with notches and peddled with moss. Tree roots bored themselves into brittled soil, intricately arching around boulders that lay bothered in their settlement.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
A patched white doe lingered to the corner of the woods, careful to spot a quick path to safety in case of danger. Momentarily the doe grazed the lushful brush residing in the light of the sun. Delicately poking out the last of the berries, it bounded off back into the shade of the forest.
Weaving itself past islets of stone and trees, a stream unfolded along the forest’s edge. Misting the aroma of the thick wood, and softening the brisk dryness of the field beside, the brook dribbled itself beyond the unseen.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Two Blue Mourn Robins sat amongst the draping limbs of a particularly old Acorn Oak, exchanging notes in a sickle-like duet. The brightly colored of the two set the melody, trickling his song across the plain. The darker female, twiddled her signature piece filling the soundless air with her tune. The vocal chirps drifted through the woods, kissing the cheeks of wrinkled trees like how a butterfly sips nectar from a flower.
Seeking retreat of the forest, a meadow separate from its larger field, burrowed itself deep within the grasps of the trees. The surrounding wood fingered the borders enclosing the feeble pasture, slowly penetrating the soft wispiness of wheat.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
Upon the small field, two figures danced with whirling staffs, meeting each other with ear-splitting clacks! Both shirtless, spun amongst the buzzing jabs and feints, flinging dust into the air that settled upon the muscled cords that pulsated with each movement. Light danced off the backs of both boys, flickering like white flames licking a smooth oiled back. Spinning away for a time, a lean structured boy with light brown matted hair flicked his quarterstaff to pull momentum into finishing the spin. Expecting an ill-timed charge from his opponent, he dragged his point across his chest driving the opposite end into the kneecaps of the other. Unexpecting the counter thrust, the stocky blond haired boy lined his staff proportionally to his body as the attack came in at him. The point of the pole clipped the stationary stick, and bounced off into the thigh of the blond haired boy.
“That was quite a move,” gulped Peter Thopskin. Both boys were sitting next to one another, taking chunks out of a palette-sized loaf of bread. Peter, the blond haired boy was fashioning a bulbous bruise upon his left thigh. He sighed, and rubbed at it to relieve the pain. He winced as the ache splintered up through his torso, doubling over, Peter grabbed Rayne by the shoulder.
“Try not to think about it, that always helps me,” said Rayne Caldren, the boy with light brown matted hair. He wiped his forehead, clearing the sweat that was cascading down into his face. They had been training for hours, since noon.
“Well, one thing I know,” added Peter, “We certainly will take the Duel Staff Competition this season.” The contest involving two individuals as one team is to face another trying to knock one another to the ground using staffs as weaponry. Usually brutally tiring to those that participate, but rather blood rushing entertainment to those that watched.
“How pleasing that sounds, we have to keep our minds on the task of qualifying,” projected Rayne, “Also, we might have to meet Rupert and Chase in the beginning rounds.” Rupert and Chase were huge boulders of a shape, terribly hard to take down. Somehow Chase is able to flip a staff between his pudgy fingers. Each sports a heat hardened ebony staff that weighs more than a sac full of rice; not cheap ether. Getting thumped by one of those is like getting kicked by Old Marie-Jan, a cow owned by Peter’s father.
“Nah, we can take em’. All we need to do is go for their legs, like you did with me.”
“Yea, I bet if we knock Rupert a bit, Chase may do us a favor and take himself out.”
Both Rayne and Peter laughed at the thought, recalling the time Chase thwacked himself out cold in the final rounds against them. They finished the rest of the bread, and drank deeply from the pouch of water that Peter brought. He slowly stood up, and started flexing his legs. The pain softened as Peter worked out his bruise, grimacing at times to show that it still hurt. He retrieved his quarterstaff, and ran his hand over the length of it, checking for cracks. Spinning for a test of balance, he fluttered the pole into A Grinning Heart, a move he invented.
“Let me have another chance at your move. I bet it won’t work a second time,” smiled Peter.
Rayne got up to face Peter; adopting a semi open stance his father had taught him. Before he started, he noticed the lighting had changed dramatically, darkening at the edges of the forest. They both knew better than to stay out on the festive night of The Watering.
“We should get back,” exclaimed Rayne, “Susy will have my head if I’m late for my first ceremony date.”
“Oh blooded’ newts!” shot Rayne, “I totally forgot, I need to help choose my sister’s dress!”
Peter grabbed for his shirt, and slammed it on as Rayne ran to go get the bag that contained their lunch. They were just about to leave, when the emptiness was interrupted by a woman’s scream. It shot through the nerves of Rayne, tearing apart the festive moment residing there.
The shriek came from the other side of the forest, where the Stronvery Brook flows between the field and wood. The sun had already started departing, warming only the tops of the trees. Peter looked to Rayne, expecting a heroic rescue like in the old folk tales. Rayne thought, waiting for the next scream, but none came. He made up his mind; the festival would have to wait. Burn me for doing this! Susy will kill me!
“Come on! It came from in there!” yelled Rayne. He dove into the forest, in the exact opposite direction of the village. He heard Peter crash in next to him, swearing as he ran through a Spiny-thorn bush. Rayne hopped a fallen tree, and continued to sprint in the direction from where the scream came from. He started to feel the soreness of the afternoon training earlier. Burn me! This had better be good!
Both of them exploded out of the woods into the stream, panting and hastily looking around for the commotion. Just then, another scream drew their focus up stream. Two, dwarf-sized creatures were upon a white horse and a woman. Brandishing their looted swords at the reining beast, one had the reins and the other the woman’s hair. She screamed again, snapping the trance Rayne was gripped in. He splashed upstream, yelling to draw attention. Peter was on his heels, spraying water everywhere. Rayne was already onto the creature containing the woman; swirling his staff he smacked the hand holding her. The thing screeched and darted back, licking it’s bruised fingers. Rayne pulled the woman behind him, shielding her from harm. The creature looked to its partner for help, but noticed it also was entangled with an opponent, Peter. Smacking its lips, the creature’s yellow eyes noted the simple staff Rayne had. It flew at Rayne, heaving its sword at his chest. The flash of light caused by the glimmering sword was met by a dark brown blur. The sword glinted to the left; Rayne went with it, spinning his quarterstaff and smacked it away. Seeing the opening, Rayne let his forward movement turn a Maiden’s Call driving the creature back with a flick at the chin, and repetitive strikes at the insides of the arms. It dropped its blade, and spun off squealing, holding its arms to itself.
“Blooded thing!” Peter shouted, “It threw its sword at me as it ran away!”
Rayne looked quickly to Peter; he was yelling at the twin creature breaking away. Peter was bleeding from somewhere on his head, but didn’t seem bad. But it will have to be looked at by an herb woman.
“Oh my! Your hurt!” the woman expressed to Peter. She quickly took out a cloth from somewhere at her waist, and rinsed it in the stream they were standing in. She padded Peter’s forehead, wiping away the blood that was oozing from the wound.
“I’m fine!” Peter still shouted, pulling away.
“No you’re not! Now stand still,” she protested. Peter flushed in the face, clearly embarrassed from raising his voice at a woman. His eyes found Rayne beneath the working arms of the woman; Rayne urged him to cooperate. Dumb-stricken, Peter seemed lost in the act, not knowing what to say. Rayne nodded his head, trying to imply a conversation for Peter to start.
“Sorry for yelling,” Peter thumbed, “Oh, and I think your pretty.”
“Why thank you,” she flattered, “You’re not so bad yourself. I envy the woman that finds you her husband.” Peter flushed a darker shade of red; Rayne too blushed at the thought. He quickly busied himself, looking at his rescue. She wasn’t pretty; she was astoundingly beautiful. Her golden brown hair fell to her waist, cascading into folds of glitter. She wore a pale green riding dress that fit shapely her womanly features. She was clearly a woman; her torso narrowed and flared out at the hips- Burn me for thinking this! If Susy caught him looking at another woman like this, he’d never hear the end of it.
“There. All better.” She turned, allowing Rayne to look at Peter. He snorted with laughter at the cloth wrapped around Peter’s head. It looked like Peter got himself tangled in mother’s laundry, all top heavy near the hairline. Peter sheepily smiled. Rayne nearly fell over, shaking in laughter.
“Don’t laugh,” she said, placing her hands on her waist, “It’s the least I can do for you two saving my life.” She dipped her hands in the stream to wash the blood off, and went to check her horse. Picking up the fallen camp supplies, she packed them back along the pockets in the saddle. She gathered the reins, and looked to both of them.
“Well, are both of you going keep standing there in the water?” she questioned. Watching them stride out of the stream, she stroked the chin of her white mare. It nudged into her hand, liking the touch of someone kind after the ordeal. “Do any of you have names, or do you usually go about saving peoples’ lives, and not tell them your names?”
“I’m Peter Thopskin,” grinned Peter.
“You can call me Rayne, Rayne Caldren,” responded Rayne.
“Nice to meet you two,” she probed, “Many know me as Kathline Gerner, but for your kindness, you may call me Kat. Now, is it true that there is a village nearby? Can you lead me there?"
“Oh, of coarse! There’s one right over there just before the ridge,” Peter pointed from where they came, “It’s our village home, called Stronvery.”
“Ah yes, I do recall a small village by the name you’ve mentioned,” Kat said more to herself then anyone else. She climbed atop her horse, and fussed with her dress for a moment. She flipped her hair back, and waited.
“I’ll scout ahead,” Peter said excitedly, “Rayne, you watch the horse. We don’t want it to throw off our lovely lady if it gets startled.” Peter jumped ahead, whipping his staff in a protective way, urging any who wish to match him. A bird chirped in interest, Peter responded with a flourish of complicated thrusts towards the source of noise. Kat laughed, watching Peter clumsily march around the woods hitting things. Rayne too, smiled at Peter when he attacked a fallen log that creaked. Kat’s laugh charmed Rayne’s ears, spilling pleasant giggles that tickled him.
“Do you have where guests would take for the night in your village?” Kat asked Rayne.
“Yes, there’s an inn called Merchant’s Tea that might have some room; even with the celebration of the Watering.”
“The Watering?”
“It’s a festive evening that comes once an autumn. We celebrate the times when the Old War was won, especially the driving out of the Chosen that resided here. It is said that when the Stronvery was a river, our ancestors lay siege to the village that was rightfully ours, by naval attacks. See, the Chosen use-”
“Fire?” finished Kat.
“Yes, they are born with the fire in their hearts, eager to burn and consume. Naturally, they despise water, even if they must drink it to survive. They would water themselves once a day. Once we took control of the village, the remaining Chosen were forced to water themselves until they drowned in their very displeasure; most fled the city after the Watering, never to look here again to do their heated ways.”
“Were those that attacked me Chosen?” asked Kat.
“No, if a Chosen attacked you, we would have never heard you. They use ambushing tactics, using arrows as support for the tailors. The things that attacked you, I think, are goblins.”
“Goblins?” she breathed, “I thought they were cave creatures.”
“Yes, they are. But the lot of them were driven out of the mountains with the increased gold mining. Being natural scavengers and looters, they attack the weak and alone, to take anything of value to them. They’ve nearly driven themselves extinct due to them warring amongst themselves. Every once in awhile, someone will hire them as mercenaries, but everyone knows that they are cheating back-stabbers.”
“Are we safe from them? From goblins and Chosen?” Kat asked.
“Goblins aren’t to worry about, they know better then to cross the Stronvery Brook,” explained Rayne, “Chosen haven’t been seen here for ages, probably for seven full moons now. Don’t worry, we will have you in one piece as we enter the village, not unless Peter here kills us with his clumsiness first.”
“Huh? Wha?” asked Peter, looking back from his intense feints and thrusts.
“Oh, we were just talking about how well you are scouting for us,” laughed Kat. Peter smiled and went back to his dance, now over-swinging with confidence. He nearly did a Chase when he wrapped the staff around his back, coming within inches of hitting his face. Kat laughed again, showing her teeth. Rayne watched as she giggled from Peter’s act, seeing her lips widen to show her crystal teeth. Her hair in curls, bobbled as she tossed them; still grinning from Peter’s active role in scouting. Rayne sighed. Burn me for this! Susy will never talk to me again. Burn me...
Well, there ya go! Hope you've enjoyed it... The last dialogue may have some errors in it, as I just let'er ripe! That's not where I end it of coarse, but it is a pause for now. Thanks, all comments appreciated!
-ZZAP
It sucks that bad...
