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"Untitled Fantasy Story"

So I was playing around with some ideas for characters; I had a sneaky-but-loveable thief, a somewhat-unsteady warrior, a bold and courageous . . . "rangerish" person, and a mystical wizard.

Then I thought, "ya know what? That dwarf-guy is really pissed off at the world, but he's one of those old guys that fights well because of wisdom and experience and stuff . . ." I also wanted the total opposite. I thought of a young, rash, and reeeeally intense person, fighting with two weapons! Well, the idea just kept going and suddenly, I had the grounds for . . .



"The Feral"

I wish I was able to speak of my origins right now, but quite frankly I just don't know what they are. Within the depths of my mind I have had no recollection of a mother, a father, or siblings . . . . . and yet, I know that I did come from a very large and very close family. Nonetheless, they still left me; they have still forgotten their little daughter. So now I live alone. Much as I always had my entire life. I don't even know how I came to survive the early years - just that I did. Every night, I have dreams. I dream that I am living off the land with my family. I know they are my family, but they still come to me with sick farces for human faces. That's when I would wake up. That's when the gods would take time to laugh at their little joke on the world . . . . .

"Hurry Sian, Hurry!" the young boy called to his lover. From where I was crouched I could see a girl tripping over her long skirt as she rushed away frantically from whatever was chasing them. I swiftly relocated, and saw a small tide of green skin and black cloaks crash through the once-quiet forest: goblins. Their ilk knows only to attack the weak and defenseless. I would not allow that.

I ran myself closer to the center of the excitement and watched some more. By this time the girl had caught up with her compatriot and the goblins were nipping at their heels, swinging blades reflecting the silver moonlight. The small greenskins charged ahead, belting cries resembling the harsh tones of a crow crossed with the shaking squeals of a weasel. As for the two young people, they were crying in each other's arms - nary a knife between the two of them. From my crouch in the shadows, I touched the side of my face - much as the man was doing to his beloved. Her features were still light and fair; still young. Had I grown up in the right environment my own face would have surely been that way too. But no, I had the marks of survival etched into my flesh. In a way, I was cheated of a life of leisure and beauty. I lost my chance . . . she would not . . . . .

As the slime-green wave washed beyond my solitude, I dashed full-force into its flank with a feral passion. Not only did I catch them off guard, but I had also instilled a vast fleeting of morale in them. With an unnerving fury I swung my two blades back and forth, allowing the twin scimitars to become extensions of my being - claws willing to rake the insolence out of the creatures' eyes. Of the lucky few that could life their weapons in time, they were granted another second to reflect on their insidious lives. I would in turn take those lives from them. In the batting of an eyelash, the aggressors were either dead or retreating. My task was complete.

I stood there watching the little curs as they fell over themselves while fleeing. My breath continued to pass through my lips at a heavy rate as my mind returned to its human state - at least what was left of it. The two people just stared at me. The way they looked at my battle-weathered body seemed to imply an underlying fear. However, I could feel it wasn't fear, so much as it was . . . cautious awe. They were in awe at what they saw, and what they were seeing now. They were seeing a girl with hair long and slightly tangled, wielding two swords stained with dull-green blood. Underneath the hair that girl had two unwavering and mysterious eyes sitting on her face - one brown, one green. All the while, the two youths were still trembling from the recent events. They had no more reason to spend any more time in this place.
"Go home now. You're safe." I told them. Without a word, they nodded to me assuredly and ran back to town, grateful of their secret defender's well-timed intervention.


I had another dream that night. I dreamed that I was back in what I think was my home. It was a little sod house sitting next to a large field of wheat. My "father" was bringing buckets of water to the house while my "brothers" wrestled in the grass. My "mother" then came out of the house to call us in to eat. Everyone then ran into the tiny habitation, stomachs aching; my "father" eagerly taking me atop his shoulders before we reached the door.
Sitting on the table was a foodstuff that I could not quite see from my prospective. I pulled myself up on my toes and saw the evening's meal: it was the freshly killed carcass of a deer of sorts. My "family" then proceeded to tear chunks of flesh off the rigid beast. Though I initially turned away as the people around me greedily wolfed down the bloody bits, I found myself slowly reaching for a large red slab from the hindquarters of the animal - as I did this, I could see my family; their teeth slowly morphing into tiny enamel daggers.
The moment I bit down into the quivering meat, the table was gone; the deer had disappeared, and my family was non-existent. As for me, I was on a muddy shore of a river. The sod house sat on the opposing shore, and slowly moved away from me as the water widened. Whether my home was leaving me or if I were drifting from my home I would never know. All I knew was that I had to survive - all alone, as always . . . . .

I awoke the next morning in the same state I generally always did after such dreams: a cold sweat and a racing heart. As I finally came to, I found myself staring out the mouth of the cavern I had slept in. With total contrast to my dark and morbid dream, the valley was quiet, calm, and bright. I arose to meet the day, gathering my blades as I exited the cave. I stretched myself out, getting a thunderous response from my joints - it was always interesting to find that every night I slept on those granite beds I could always wake up the next day renewed and uncomplaining. As with most mornings, the river beckoned me to him, and it was essential that I came by to see what he had for me.

As always, I was given a free bath and drink from the cool stream. If I were lucky, I would get breakfast too . . . no sooner did the thought cross my mind that a line of fish swam past. I allowed myself to be still, biding my time. My chance came, and I plunged my fingers into the quick waters. In that same movement I decided to throw my quarry onto the bank and handle it from there. The silver fish whipped back and forth between my fingers as I took it back to the cave to prepare. Following an ineffectual search for flint, I increasingly began to consider just eating the fish raw. It would save me a variable, and besides that, I somehow felt certain that it couldn't be that bad. My civil self overpowered my savagery, and soon enough my efforts produced the stone to light my cooking fire.

The fish was filling, yet I still wasn't full . . . I don't know why, but despite the fact I had lived alone essentially all my life, I had equally disliked it. I know how to speak the common languages of the lands, yet I had no one to talk to. An isolated life is not a fun one . . . . .

Out from the forest came the footfalls of horses - a band of adventurers, perhaps? I peered out of the cave to investigate. Out in a glade stood five mounted horses. Men who were equal in both dress and size rode four of them. As for the fifth, is carried someone dressed in extremely fine clothes. Bright, flowing clothes and unbelievably well shined riding boots. All of this was topped off with a leather tunic, a red cape, and a hunting bow. I watched carefully; it was strange how the man in the red cape would fire into the woods at rabbits and the like, and then have the people around him cheer with unrealistic vigour. Nonetheless, the laughter and mirth intrigued me earnestly, and I had to take a closer look.

Cautiously advancing, I took to my hands and knees and crawled slowly to the men. By this time the man in the red cape was taking to birds as targets, and everyone was looking skyward. I used the opportunity to rise back to my feet and move in faster. Unfortunately, I didn't realise there was the low branch above my head, and I bumped into it, causing a great deal of leaves and brush to cry out in protest to my disruption. Instinctively I dropped back down, but it was already too late. As I responded to my plight, they responded likewise - the arrow dug harshly into my shoulder.

In my time I had been shot countless times; this, however, was far worse than any of those put together. It felt as though the arrowhead had exploded and fragmented into thousands of tiny shards, tearing up my flesh from the inside. My body simply could not move. Soon enough some of the men had dragged me out of the thick of the brush and held me in front of the man in the red cape.
"Who are you?" he asked me.
"Nobody of concern to you," I replied in a hushed tone. The man in the red cape did not seem all too impressed with my answer, although he did seem to be slightly taken by my dual-coloured eyes. He turned away and proceeded to speak to his fellows.

"Those blades . . . they look Ascorbian, no?" The others were frighteningly quick to agree. "Yes . . . she must be a spy. After all, why else would she be on our side of the valley?" More agreements were murmured. "I feel it would be in the best interests of the nation if you men disposed of this . . . . . evil agent of Ascorbia." I looked around myself: there were two men holding me; one on each arm. The other two were advancing, pulling out daggers of sorts.

I couldn't understand what had just happened. They seemed quite intent on killing me for a violation I didn't even realise! I clenched my teeth and lunged at the man in the red cape - it didn't work with the two men holding me. Next thing I knew was I felt quick pain, and then complete peace. The last thing I saw was the mounted man's twisted grin . . . and his missing right ear . . . . .

As I was finally coming to, my head throbbed in a way that rivalled a dragon's heart. The four men were speaking around me as well . . .
"You're insane and you know that, right?"
"I've heard too many great things about Ascorbian girls to care."
"We have no time for this!"
"Oh come on, who's to know?"
"Did you NOT see those eyes???"
"Who cares! Come on man, she's got a body that could stop an army!"
"Would you feel right doing this knowing you had to kill her after?"
"What, are you worried you won't be any good?"
"Everyone quiet . . . let's just do this; I'm not gonna wait for any of ya . . ."

I had decided my best chances of survival at the moment were to remain still. I breathed slowly as I waited for whatever course of action was nearing. It did not take long before I could feel a hand slowly moving across my cheek - hot breath followed soon after. Needless to say, I wasn't about to let this go any further . . . . .

Play the music!

My hand sprung out in a half-claw at the man's uncomfortably close face. My thumb found its way to the inside of the man's cheek and I secured his head to the left. My other hand balled into a fist and lashed out at the fish-hooked man's throat. The other three were truly surprised as I sprung up and took charge at them. The first man simply remained unmoving on the ground, gasping harshly, but I didn't care. By their hands I had suffered humiliation and almost suffered much more. I flashed a toothy grin at the men as they vainly attempted to ready themselves against my attack.

One of the men had a hand on his dagger as I tackled him down with his shoulders pinned. The lower half of my body was still angled in the air when my foe hit the ground, so I used my momentum to drive my legs severely into his gut. Two quick strikes a half-second later ceased any fight left in the now bleeding aggressor. I took the man's dagger and awaited the response of the final two combatants. I went into a stance; the two men went into their charge . . .

The three of us went into a bitter melee, ducking lunges and parrying thrusts. I finally saw my opening when one of the men took a heave stab at me. As his blade neared me, I bided my time . . . and kicked his hand straight up. During his dagger's dance in the air, I threw my own blade at the other man as he dashed at me screaming; his screech was cut short as the blade sank into his chest. I turned back to the man I had kicked earlier, and was met with a stiff uppercut under my jaw - the airborne dagger simultaneously reversing its direction. In retaliation, I let loose three blows: a foot to the inside of the knee, a backfist across the cheek, and a forearm clubbing the back of his neck. The half-stunned man started to fall forward from my last strike, so I hooked my arms under his own to keep him off the ground - and under the path of the falling dagger. The small weapon came straight down into the hunched-over man's back. He fell. I did not.

I returned to the original scene of the conflict only to find the man in the red cape - the man with one missing ear - trotting away in haste. I attempted to pursue, but my endurance was all but gone after the trials I had just been put through. I simply crouched down to catch my breath as I watched the one-eared man ride westward to the great cities. An animalistic growl escaped my lips, and my already ragged breathing began to take its effect on me. My humiliation would not go unpunished - the one-eared man would not escape my wrath . . . I shall have my vengeance . . . . .