Wednesday 1 November 2017

DwarvElf - Coming soon somewhere....


Chapter 1 - Shattered

   Bobmadik stopped. He could hear nothing. Absolute silence, why? It was early evening and he was making his way home from the high paddock. Looking around he listened, not a crow caw, not a cricket’s chirp, nor a frog’s croak. 

   Then he saw it, a billowing black plume of smoke rising into the clear, crisp autumn sky. A plume rising from where his home stood, where his family was. Bobmadik dropped the pick and axe he had been using to construct the fence and charged towards his home.

   As he crested the hill the realisation of why the silence hit him like a sledgehammer. The log cabin he had built for his small family was on fire, smoke billowing from the windows, flames consuming the wood shingles of the roof. He paused to take in the scene; he could see no one.

   He ran with his heart in his mouth, the exhaustion of his hard days work evaporating as he plunged down the hill. Towards his home his family, his wife, and son, the two people who meant everything to him.

   The people he had moved here to protect. To this remote, idyllic, safe part of the world where they could raise Aelen in safety, away from the dangers that had cast him into their lives in the first place.  A place free from questions; a place where two dwarves raising an Elven child would go unchallenged.

   Getting to the cabin, Bobmadik ran through the smoke, kicking in the door to the cabin, screaming ‘Taesha! Aelen!’ Heat and flame burst from the door pushing him back. Flame, smoke, the crackle, hiss and roar of the fire was all he could hear, no voices not anything. He could do nothing. ‘Taesha! Aelen!’ 

   He stood stunned for hours, in silence, the cold of the autumn night against his back, the heat of the fire destroying his home, consuming his family. Empty. Hollow. Despairing at his helplessness. As time passed he collapsed to the ground, exhausted. Spent falling into a stupor of sleep and dreams.

   Opening his eyes hours later, to a clear blue sky, he heard the Larks singing their morning song, calling to each other as they had every day since their arrival. The peace and tranquillity of their valley coming back to him, briefly.

   The smell of charred wood attacked his senses. The memories of the previous evening flooded back into his mind. Taesha! Aelen! Where are they? He had to find them.  Charging into what was his home he stood on the threshold and looked around him. Everything in sight had turned to charcoal or ash.

   Bobmadik slowly moved through the remnants of his home. The kitchen bench, stools, everything crumbled at his touch or the kick of his boot. He looked to where Aelen’s cot was, to where he liked to play with his toy wheel as his mother cooked and moved around the cabin, nothing.

   He looked to the kitchen, to the bedroom, everywhere Taesha would have been; Nothing.  No remnants of anything that would tell him that they had been caught in the fire. It was as if they had vanished.

   Looking beyond the walls of his home Bobmadik scanned the horizon, looking for a sign of his wife and child, hoping, praying that he would see them returning from the forest. The field around the cabin was empty in every direction.

   Then he spotted it, a small patch of bright red cloth. Aelens’ cloth, the security blanket he always held. Tattered and torn as it was, always by his side, now it lay forlorn in the field. Running to it, Bobmadik picked it up, stopped and looked around, again scanning for his young family.

   His heart sank; as Bobmadik scanned the field he realised all around him there were prints. Claw prints, all heading in the same direction running from his cabin into the forest. Searching he could only see the claw prints, an easy half dozen. Then he saw it. A single small footprint, a moccasin, Taesha was alive.

   Running to retrieve his pick and axe he had dropped the night before, and refill his water bladder. He returned to follow the trail of claws; plunging into the forest. Following the prints into the depths hoping to find his young family.

   It quickly became evident that who or whatever had taken his family was not concerned about being followed.  They had barged through the forest leaving a clear path. Snapping branches from trees, pushing through the scrub where no path existed. Scuffing moss from trees and rocks as they passed.

   After several hours, Bobmadik started to despair that he would never catch them. Exhausted he stopped to drink the last of his water. Stopping mid gulp, he slowly lowered his bladder and listened. Concentrating on slowing his breathing, his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Yes, he had heard something. He heard it again, yapping, a whole heap of yapping.

   Not the yapping of wild dogs, but the yapping of a ‘Conversation’. It was not too distant; coming from the direction the trail led. Crouching low Bobmadik took his axe from his belt and crawled forward. As he approached the sound got clearer, it was most definitely not dogs, but a language of sorts. As he crawled along the trail that was fresh there was a strong stench of damp dog.   

   Bobmadik lowered himself even further, slowing as he approached. He could clearly hear them speaking, and could most definitely smell them, the air was pungent with their odor. He dared not move any closer until he could learn more, to understand what he was up against. Peering through the undergrowth he could see one of the yapping creatures. 

   It stood barely three feet tall, a good foot shorter than Bobmadik. It had red scaly skin, a face like a dog. Walking upright it carried a short spear and wore a sword on its hip.  Its hands and feet were talons, with unblinking orange eyes. It truly looked worse than it smelled.

   It appeared the creatures had stopped for the day, as it was now late afternoon. Bobmadik took the opportunity to circle around to the side of the yapping creatures to see if he could get a better view, wondering if he would be able to see Taesha or Aelen.

   Finally, he saw them; Taesha slumped against a tree nursing Aelen. Both silent wide-eyed, fear evident on their faces. From his vantage point, Bobmadik was able to work out how many creatures he had to deal with, seven. He had no choice now but to wait and hope for the right opportunity.

   The largest of the creatures barked orders at its underlings. Two creatures headed further into the brush returning a while later with three dead pigeons and a brace of rabbits, whilst another gathered wood and lit a fire. Bobmadik waited.

   As the hours passed and the shadow’s lengthened, activity in the camp slowed. Four of the creatures, including the largest rolled out leather blankets around the campfire and lay down to sleep. One stood watch over Taesha and Aelen, who despite their fear had managed to fall into a restless slumber. 

   The remaining two creatures stood guard over the camp facing away from the fire, scanning the forest.  Bobmadik waited. He knew he only had one chance at rescuing his family; he slowly crept towards the creature closest to him. Soon, not long now his opportunity would come; he just needed the three sentries to become tired and inattentive. Taking this time, to crawl closer, slowly closer.

   Crouching behind a boulder not two meters from the nearest creature Bobmadik waited until it looked away. He stepped out and quickly covered the distance to his prey. Reaching one arm around its shoulders, his other hand darting out to grab its dog-like muzzle.

   Twisting the creature’s head towards him, holding the shoulders in place Bobmadik was able to look into the orange bulbous eyes of the creature as he felt its neck snap. A feeling he’d felt before as he killed chickens for the family table. The creature’s body twitched, jerking suddenly and went limp in his arms.

   Laying the creature on the ground Bobmadik took the short sword from the creature and turned to look at the campsite again.  It was quickly apparent that the remaining sentries had not heard him, not noticing the fall of their cohort.

   Pulling his pick from his belt he raised it above his head and threw it with all his might at the creature on the far side of the camp. Watching as it silently tumbled end over end, hoping it would hit its target.

   He watched as the pick head struck to the left of the creature’s spine. The force of it flipping the creature head over heels, landing splayed on the ground with the point of the pick protruding from its chest.

   As quickly and as silently as possible, sword in hand he bolted towards the last remaining creature. Slamming into its back, driving the sword up through the creature’s lower back and into its chest. Bodily lifting it past the tree Taesha and Aelen were resting against.

   Tripping and falling onto his victim, Bobmadik landed hard on the pommel of the sword knocking the air out of his lungs. Rolling off the creature, laying on his back gasping for air Bobmadik lay still waiting, listening for the commotion to begin.

   Nothing! No rapid movement, no yelping, no screams, simply the silence of the night, as if the whole forest was holding its breath to see what was to happen next.  Had the creatures woken and realised what had happened? Or were they oblivious to the death of their three guards?

   Sitting up, Bobmadik looked back towards the campsite, towards Taesha and Aelen. There was no movement, how was this possible? How could, he a mere farmer kill three of these creatures and not alarm anyone; not even a squeal from his son.

   Crawling forward on hands and knees, anxious of a trap, he came up behind the tree his family was resting against. ‘Taesha’ his voice straining as he spoke the first words he had uttered since seeing his cabin aflame. ‘Bob?’ ‘Yes behind you, pass Aelen to me’.

   ‘Where did you come from? Where have the sentries gone?’ Taesha’s voice wavering between panic and relief. ‘Quiet Taesha’ he said firmly. ‘We have to sneak away, pass Aelen to me’.

   A moment later Aelen’s angelic little face with his piercing blue almond shaped eyes appeared. Silent, yet wide awake in this moment. Bobmadik was amazed that a normally defiant little three-year-old child would be nothing but silent and compliant in this situation. ‘Come Taesha, we have to get away from here.’

   Bobmadik led his small family-wide around the campsite and rejoined the trail left by the creatures the previous day. Stopping at the trail he listened, still no sound of movement or commotion from the campsite, luck was definitely on his side. He knew there was no way that would last. Gesturing for his family to be quiet he retraced the route he had come the previous day, knowing this would be the best way to hide their tracks for now.

   Bobmadik, Taesha, and Aelen were now on the run. There was no way, and nothing for them to return to at the farm. That life was behind them now. He had to get them away from the creatures as fast and far as possible and then work out what to do.

Wednesday 18 October 2017

Cemetery Sprint

‘Bullshit!’
‘No it is, it’s the most haunted cemetery in Australia’
Mick stood looking at the gates; old wrought iron set between granite pillars. They both looked ominous and ridiculous.
Ominous in that it was pitch black behind them, and ridiculous in that the concept of security was negligible due to the four-foot high hedge with holes all through it that ran away from the granite in two directions creating a leafy yet inadequate guard between the world of the dead, and the world of the living.
‘I left your bike-up the back?’
‘Why’d you do that?’
‘You were with me, we both did it.’
‘You should go get it.’
‘No bloody way, this place is haunted’
‘You’re a dork Sean; their dead, why would they haunt the graves, they’d haunt where they died, that makes more sense’
‘Not all of them.’
‘Well, you’ve been in their; all the unmarked graves’
‘What about ‘em?’
‘Well there sort of like anchors to the world, cause the ones buried in those ones are unknown fatalities, Loons, crims; bushrangers and more, they are the ones you should be scared of’
‘You’re full of it.’
‘If I am full of it. Why won’t you go in there and get your bike? I left it leaning under the trunk of the big Elm.’
‘I’ll go. You’re a dick.’
Walking towards the gate Mick for the first time realised it was a full moon. He could not work out if that was a good or bad omen.  Pushing hard against the gate, feeling it groan and grind across the sandstone sill. He got it just open enough for him to slip through.
On entering he was amazed to see how white the pathway was, it shone under the glow of the full moon, he took a few steps into the cemetery and glanced back to where his friend was, only to see that Sean had receded to the other side of the road, and was standing under the street light, protected from evil by the fluorescent forcefield.
Michael froze as he turned his gaze away from Sean he realised he was alone, in a cemetery, the logical him said he was cool, he figured he’d be quick, run in get the bike and ride like hell out.
Choosing the most direct path, the one that shot diagonally from the main gate to the rotunda in the middle of the cemetery, from their he would continue on directly to the back corner.  No hassles 10 minutes walk at most.
The silence was amazing, as it was a cold winters night the dew had started to fall, dampening everything around him.  The only noise being the crunch, crunch of his steps.  Or was it just his.
He stopped, listening. Crunch, crunch, crunch; silence. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. ‘Snap’. Mick spun around thinking he’d seen Sean sneaking up behind him. There was nothing, all he could see was the glowing white path of where he had come from receding back towards the now out of sight gates.
‘It’s my imagination’ walking more briskly, he could see the shadow of the rotunda approaching. He just had to cut to the left of it and he’d be on the track to his bike. Then he saw it, a slight movement, like a man in a trench coat shifting his weight, standing watching him.
He stopped again; then he felt it, a push, not a gentle push, nor a violent push, just a push and unfriendly feeling of challenge. He turned again hoping that it was Sean, it wasn’t. There standing not 10 feet behind him was a black shadow, as black, as could be, made even darker and more ominous because of the glow of the path leading the way out. The way that was now blocked.
Michael was frozen. Something behind him at the rotunda moved, he didn’t see it, didn’t so much as hear it, he just knew it had stepped out of the shadow’s and was now walking towards him. Now he was worried, something behind him, the black shadow blocking his retreat.
Dashing to the right across the open ground of a hundred graves all unmarked. Sean’s voice ringing in his head ‘the Loons, The Crims; The Murderers’ The black shadow left the path angling to head him off; he could feel hands grabbing at his legs trying to slow him. His foot went into a rabbit hole and he fell full force into the cold wet grass, weeds, and gravel of the graveyard.
Winded he tried to stand only to find he couldn’t, hands were grabbing at his shirt, his pants, his hair, his face. The smell of dirt and stale air started to overwhelm him. Thrashing about for all he was worth he managed to stand again only to realise the blackness was almost upon him.
He could see the top path, the one that ran along the hedge, the hedge that bordered the dead from the living and he sprinted; he cleared the unmarked graves and was now running through the marked graves and took one last leap over an old headstone landing on the path.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, whatever it was now running at him at speed down the path that intersected the one he was now running along to get to the front gate. He simply picked up speed hoping he would get past whatever was coming for him and he would make the main gate.
‘Oy Mick!!’
‘Sean!’
‘Yes, where the bloody hell have you been? You’ve been ages, I got worried.’
‘Ghosts, frickin ghosts let’s get the hell out of here’



Tuesday 26 September 2017

Albert & Gabrielle

            ‘You Stink!’
            ‘What! Who said that?’ Albert had been sitting quietly on the park bench watching the world go by, eating spaghetti from a black and gold can.  It was excellent; cost him all of 59 cents. A mere hour of begging had gotten him a veritable feast, cheese and crackers for entree, Spaghetti, a block of chocolate and a two dollar bottle of red.
            ‘I did.’
            ‘Whose fucken I? I can’t see any fucken one! Oy! what you lot looking at fuck-off!’ The tourists who had been walking by, glancing sideways at Albert talking to himself, scattered.
            ‘I’m Gabrielle’
            ‘Gabrielle as in the angel?’
            ‘Nah, I’m no angel, believe me.  I’m just like you’
            ‘A vagrant?’
            ‘Vagrant, seriously, is that the term you use for yourself’
            ‘Yeah, why not, it’s what I Am. Now, where are you, you cheeky fucker.’ Albert sprang to his feet and turned as quickly as he could; nothing. He sprinted, or so he thought to the nearest tree, around it. Still nothing.
            ‘Where are you, you shit?’
            ‘Can you please stop swearing so much.’
            ‘I’ll fucken swear as much as I want.’
            ‘Well then, I’m done, goodbye’
            Albert stood dead still, listening. Listening for anything, for the wind, the crunch of a foot on the dry leaves, breathing, anything at all that would tell him he wasn’t alone.  He waited like that for a few minutes, standing, slowly scanning the park around him.
            After a time, he returned to his bench, quietly picked up his can of spaghetti, his bottle of red taking a swig, and resumed watching the world go by.

* * *

Albert woke with a start, the dull thud of his red wine head and sinus fading instantly into the background. He sat bolt upright. This was the part he hated; he hated sleeping rough. Not so much when he was in the outer burbs, but when you were in the city there was always trouble.
There was nothing, no one near him. In front of him, a fresh cake of soap, a white linen washer, a pure white bath towel and an envelope with Albert scrawled on the front in cursive writing.
Albert opened the envelope and a plastic card fell to the ground, with a yellow note stuck to it. ‘Room 103 The Westin. Have a shower’.
‘They won’t let me in there’ this was incredulous; whoever had stuck this in front of him was a fool.  Yeah sure they’d let him into a soup kitchen, or the Salvo’s if they had a spare bed, but not the bloody Westin, that was four and a half star.
‘Yes they will, let's go.’
‘Gabrielle?’
‘Yes, what do I call you?’
‘Albert’
‘Good to see you’re not swearing this time’
‘To stunned mate, too stunned’
‘Let’s go then’
Albert staggered to his feet, he quickly spread out the scrappy blanket he had been sleeping under and threw all of his worldly possessions into it, a spare jumper, a cloth bucket hat and the cheap, half-drunk bottle of Scotch he’d been using as his sleeping pill the night before.
He also threw in the cake of soap, washer and towel that Gabrielle had put in front of him; or so he thought. Pulling the corners of the blanket together he slung it over his shoulder and started walking in the direction of the Westin Hotel. ‘You still with me Gabs?’
‘Yes Albert’
‘So who are you?’
‘Like I said, I’m just like you. I’m homeless, just that I am invisibly homeless.’
‘Bullshit!’ Albert could not help but think there was some truth to this, here he was shambling down George street at God knows what time in the morning, with not a person in sight, with the exception of the street sweeper that was coming down the street in the opposite direction; and him talking to himself.
‘If yer invisible, why the hell are you talking to me, and not of sneaking around the place getting up to mischief’
‘Oh I’ve done that mate; invisibility corrupts the best of people. When it first happened to me, as a kid, I thought it was great.  That was until I could not convince anyone that I was still alive. My mother went insane thinking she was hearing the voice of her dead son.  I tried everything, eventually, they committed her to an asylum, I hung out with her for a while, but it was not good. So I left.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘Albert, please can you please stop saying that’
‘Righto then, how do you know you’re not dead, just you don’t realise it’
‘If I was dead, why would I be having a whole conversation with you? Ghosts aren’t sentient beings mate. They are stuck in one place and on a cycle, a bit like a scratched record. Like an event scratched into the thread of the world’
‘Shit that’s heavy Gabs, probably too bloody heavy for some floating see-through sheet, so yeah maybe you're not a ghost.  Maybe you’re something else, maybe you’re an alien.’
‘Nope Albert, like I said I am just like you, just invisible. Oh, here we are. Ok, the room you’ve got is on the first floor when we go in you go straight up the stairs and turn right; ok?’
‘Ok. You know they’ll kick me out’
‘No, you let me take care of that.’
Albert approached the door; it didn’t open. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment, wondering what to do next. Then he spotted it, the magnetic scanner for the swipe card, lit-up by a small red LED.  He quickly swiped the card, the LED went green and there was an audible clunk as the electric door lock released.
He pushed his way in, and for the first time, he felt something move with him, a physical presence, or what he thought was a physical presence, like someone pushing past him, just that it had been so long since someone had been that close to him he could not be sure.
As instructed he went up the stairs in front of him, not looking in either direction, expecting someone to yell out at any moment, to stop him. He expected to hear footsteps running towards him, to grab him and evict him from the building. Nothing.
He mounted the stairs, trying to keep calm, trying to look as though he belonged there, as much as a scraggly, smelly homeless guy could. It had been weeks since he had truly been inside a building, the last time around was at the station on Erskine Street.
He got to the top of the stairs, the bile rising in his through, anxiety, fear he would get caught, and evicted, humiliated and thrown back onto the street to be ignored and a shadow. Why was he doing this, was he really doing this, Gabrielle could simply be part of his psychosis, part of his stupid thinking that put him on the street in the first place.
He turned right. Still no shouting, no footsteps. Spotting the first sight 101 to 115 with an arrow pointing the direction he should go.  101, 102; in front of the door he inserted the card, it didn’t work. He took a deep breath, reversed the card, it didn’t work, his panic was rising it was going to overwhelm him. Third time lucky, he hoped.
The small red LED on the door changed to green; he grabbed at the handle, turned it and pushed in, the door shutting loudly behind him. No what? Where was Gabrielle, what was he to do? Have a shower!

* * *

Albert walked out of the bathroom, back into the large room, with a double bed. The large plate glass window had sheer linen curtains on it that screened him from the outside world, as he was only on the first level the view was not anything spectacular, as he had confirmed when he first came in.
Looking about he realised his clothes were gone and in their place laid on the bed was a charcoal suit and blue business shirt, a pair of shiny black shoes on the floor with a pair of socks laid across the top of the shoes.  Next to the suit on the bed was a brown leather duffle bag.
‘Oy, where are my clothes?’
‘Do you always talk to yourself, Albert?’
‘No just when you are about, now were are my clothes, my belongings there was some important stuff in the pockets’
‘I know, don’t worry, you’ll find your photo in the breast pocket of the suit’
‘Good!’
Albert picked up the coat hanger that the suit was still hung on, and scrambled to the inside pockets, yes the photo was there, he removed it, not looking at it, walked the suit over to the wardrobe and hung it in there.  Back to the bed and dropped the duffle bag at the foot of the bed, then he lay down clenching the photo between him and the bed and shut his eyes.
After a few minutes, he heard the door to his room open and shut. He figured it was Gabrielle leaving, rolling onto his back he lifted the photo so he could see it, there in front of him were his girls. He hadn’t seen them in years, not since he chose to become invisible to them. To leave them alone as he thought they would be better off without him.
He looked and thought about them for a long time, he so missed them, he struggled with the guilt of how he had let them down so much and tried to remind himself and tell himself that they were better off without him.  No matter how often he tried to this he could never fully convince himself. After a while his eyelids got heavy and he fell into a deep sleep, sleeping soundly and safely like he had not for a long time.

* * *

He stirred; the room was dark and silent except for the hum of the air conditioner. He had not noticed it earlier when he arrived, but now in the middle of the night when it was the loudest thing in the room he noticed it. Where was he? how long had he been asleep?
The Westin, room 103. He was clean, warm and comfortable, safe. He fell back into his sleep, this time dreaming of his girls, wanting to be there with them again, hoping they were ok.

* * *

The smell of bacon and eggs woke him, that’s what he felt. The reality as he thought about it; was that he was rested. It had nothing to do with the food. Still, he got out of bed, pulled the robe from the wardrobe and sat down to a full breakfast, coffee, orange juice and coffee.
‘You here Gabs?’
Nothing, silence, he was alone. At that moment the TV turned on; it was his wake-up call. The text on the screen read ‘Good morning Mr Jenkins your checkout time is 10am thank you for staying at the Westin’ to the sound of 90’s hits playing in the background.
Looking around Albert spotted the alarm clock on the bedside, 9am. Good he had an hour to think about his exit, he was unsure as to how he was to check out, he knew he had no money.  He figured he would simply walk out, the same as how he had come in.

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror, showered, clean shaven, hair pulled back and tied with a hair elastic he found in the courtesy toiletries; blue shirt, charcoal suit, black shoes, he looked like a successful businessman. Picking up the leather duffle bag, he paused to build up courage for the fast exit.
As he stood preparing a white envelope was slid under the door.  He bent and picked it up. Opening the envelope he found cash, an Opal card and a letter.
‘Albert,
            Go home; there are enough invisible people in this world. Your family wants you and need you. They are expecting you.
                                    Gabrielle.’


Inspired by Kozycan

Shane Kozycan is a spoken word poet I quite like, with that in mind read the below poem out loud.  As per usual this is a 'One Draft' - Cheers

Silence. Alone time.
It's always scary.
So scary in fact people incessantly search for distractions.
No longer can people stand in a queue and simply wait.
They have to pull their phone from their pocket and swipe.
Swipe left, up down right, touch and double tap.

To be still would be to think.
To contemplate, their lives, the things that have happened.
Their last conversation.
To be silent, and think would be to explore themselves and the environment they are within.
Who they are.

We don't do that anymore.
Not many, only some.
We strive, not that it's hard for a constant distraction.
It's everywhere.
Moving pictures, flashing signs, conversations, phone calls. tweets and more.

It's incessant and endless and it's not good for us.
Slowing and stopping, and being in yourself can only be good.
We need to learn this for ourselves.
first for ourselves and then for others.

If you see someone sitting quietly.
Let them.
For they are trying to be with themselves.
to ponder who they are and what they are in the world.
They are looking for a wellbeing that many of us neglect.

I know.
Because I did this, and I even do it now.
I avoid myself through a continuity of activity and distraction.
and I know.
It's not good for me.

I need to pause.
To ponder who I am.
So I can be that person.
A person who is whole and confidant of myself.
So I can be whole and confidant for others.

That is what I will do now.
From this time forward.
I will not look for distractions.
I will look for who I am.
So I can be more for others.

Saturday 23 September 2017

Thug, Lift & Twitch


    ‘Shut it!’ Hissed Twitcher.
    Lifter having been the first into the room, who as per usual had entered and immediately stood to the side of the opened door; all the better to backstab if he had the need. He’d been doing this or something like it since he was a child living the life of a cutpurse in the streets of Hathaldron.  As a lithe halfling, he most definitely did not have the bulk or strength of Thug the fighter, so this was simply how he did things.
    Thug had come in last, following up the back as per their standard practice; Lifter searching forward, Twitcher the Wizard in the middle as he was useless in a fight, useless in that he couldn’t punch a bail of hay without drawing blood. Also, he had to be able to wave his hands around to cast spells, finally Thug at the rear to protect them from attacks from behind.
Standard practice in that they had been in this damn citadel for days.  They’d learned the hard way to move through the citadel with caution.  On the first day, Thug was thumping along at the front, being as noisy as ever, clanking and creaking in the hodge-podge outfit he called armor, iron greaves, hardened leather breastplate, dragon bone helmet, metal plated leather gloves and bracers.
Stomping and then not, he’d disappeared, one-moment Thug was there, the next he was gone, Lifter had run forward with the torch and almost fell into the 10-foot deep pit trap that thug had walked into.  It was then that they realised they needed to switch around.
‘OK, this looks like as good as any a place to rest’ Said Thug as he started to remove what he had to, to be able to sit or lay comfortably. First, he lent his short sword against the wall, grasped the ax handle over his right shoulder and removed it from its hooks, leaned the three-foot long battle-ax against the wall, pulled his baselard from his belt, threw his gloves to the floor and placed his helmet on them.
Lifter, simply sat on the spot, his soft leather armor allowing him to sit straight into a cross-legged, comfortable seat; not having to steady himself against the wall although he did sit with the wall at his back out of habit, nothing would do to him as he had done to so many others in the past.
‘There’s nowhere clean to sit?’ Twitcher in his purple robes stood looking about for something, anything to sit on. The room they were in was Spartan. There was a broken bench for sitting, two large heavy oaken doors on opposite sides of the room. There was a tapestry rod on each of the doorless walls. The evidence of the actual tapestries being all but gone.
‘This must have been an anteroom of some sort’ stated Lifter ignoring his preen-a-donna friend.
‘Why do you think that?’ mumbled Thug through a mouthful of hardtack.
‘Just look at the place. The door we came through has nothing but a latch, that one, it has a keyhole and the doorknob in the center, that’s going to be complex; seat, tapestries it’s all got the feel of an anteroom’
‘Well thank god we’ve got you.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Problem is I’ve broken three lock-picks already.’
The two of them sat, quietly eating their hardtack, washing it down with water; watching Twitcher fuss about trying to find a seat.  ‘Hey Twitch, are you sure there’s treasure in here? We’ve found nothing but threadbare tapestry rods.’ Observed Lifter.
‘Yes, it’s in the Ruby Tower like I said’ he sat gingerly on the angled end of the broken bench.
‘Were running out of food. You said to pack light, it’ll be a quick three days, you said. We’re on our third day.’ stated Thug as he stood, tying the large pouch containing enough hard tack for one day at best closed on his hip.
‘We are nearly there, I swear’
‘How do you know? You don’t seem to know much else about this place’ Lifter to had also finished eating and had moved to the door with the key lock and was inspecting the challenge in front of him.  Running his hands over the door, around the frame, no signs of traps ‘SHHH! I hear something’.
Lifter, lent his ear to the door; gesturing for Thug to approach. Thug stopped what was he doing, grabbed his long baselard and stepped as quietly as quietly as he could.
Lifter whispering ‘There is definitely something moving on the other side, doors locked though. I’ll pick the lock, then when you’re ready I’ll open the door and you throw a torch through’
‘How do we know that whatever is on the other side isn’t already waiting, it will have seen the light from our torch under the door.’
‘You’re assuming it’s intelligent, surely it would have already attacked if that was the case, we’ve been here for a good ten minutes, and we’ve not really been quiet’
‘Okay.’
Lifter looked back at Twitcher; he was onto it, Lifter could see that Twitch had already stood and taken the first steps in forming the fireball spell.  Kneeling Lifter pulled his last Lockpick from his thieves pouch on his belt. Leaning to look into or through the lock.
It didn’t go right through, it was a one sided lock not dissimilar to a cell door.  Suddenly his left eye stung like he had sand or class in it.  His vision in his left eye fading immediately, his right eye following fast. Then his brain was on fire.  Pushing the ball of each hand forcefully into his eyes, not making a noise.  A moment later he fell unconscious to the floor.
Thug and Twitcher both looked at each other, they could not work out what had happened, they heard nothing, Lifter made no noise, yet he was unconscious on the floor.
Twitcher was the first to realise what had happened ‘Damn, he’s taken a dart to the eye, running to where his friend lay, kneeling Twitcher put his cheek over Lifter’s mouth. ‘I can feel his breath, he’s alive!’



Dice (2)

Hector stood his hair matted, damp; shirt soaked sticking to his back and chest. He’d been chopping the wood for the fire in the inn all afternoon. Pausing to study the stack of wood, contemplating had he cut enough when he heard a faint yell, a scream.
From where he stood behind the inn he was able to see down the road that came from Shentonville. He was certain that the sound he had heard came from that direction. Squinting through the evening haze he could not see anything, nor could he hear anymore yelling or screaming.
Then just as he was about to turn to pick-up some wood he heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbled road. Looking again he could make out a small brown pony cantering down the road, brown travellers cloak billowing from the neck of the rider slumped over it’s back.
Not 20 feet behind it came a squat little humanoid, wearing tattered clothes and wielding a simple club that was nothing more than a stick with a solid knot at one end.
Without thinking, Hector picked up the axe he had wedged in the block of wood, leaped over the wooden rails of the inn’s stable yard and started running towards the pony barreling down the road.
As he got closer he could make out the little humanoid a little better, it was all of 3 ½ feet tall, green brown leathery skin with a flat face, a snout and a row of sharp pointy teeth protruding from its mouth that was agape yelling at the pony in front of it.
Neither the Pony, it’s rider or the creature spotted Hector running down the hill to intercept them. As he got closer he slowed his sprint just enough to raise the axe above his head and heave it at the humanoid. He watched with despair as he realised he had not been close enough.
All his years of throwing axes at trees practicing for just such a moment as this he realised the trajectory of the axe was not high enough and it most definitely was not going to hit the creature in the chest as he hoped.
‘Oh Well.’ He thought as he picked up the pace again pulling his knife from his belt just in time to see the axe he had thrown smash into the creatures left ankle causing it to spin in the air mid-stride and slam face first into the ground with a loud resounding ‘GRUNT!’
Sheathing his knife he ran picking up the axe where it had fallen and stopped to look at the miserable creature that was now sitting on the ground holding its shattered ankle. As Hector moved towards it slowly, cautiously it made a vain attempt to swing its club.
Hector stood back and looked at the small pitiful creature, it looked even tinier on the ground than it had been in full flight, and it stunk, it smelt of urine and sweat as though it had never showered in its whole miserable life.
As he watched the creature started dragging itself back down the road from where it had come, always watching Hector, whimpering to itself as it slowly crawled away.
He did nothing but watch it for a good ten minutes, whimpering and sliding further and further away.  When it was 300 yards down the road Hector turned back towards the Inn.  Out the front he could see Lufa the innkeeper holding the reigns of the little pony, the brown cloak slouched down over the ponies neck.
‘Here Hector, what’s all this about’ yelled Lufa as he got a little closer.  
‘I don’t know. Is that fellow alright? Maybe he can tell us’
‘Here give me a hand to get him inside. Sonia!’ a moment later Lufa’s daughter came to the Inn door.
‘Yes Father’
‘Give us a hand here. Hector, take the pony round back, give it a brush down, check-it for injuries. When you’re done come inside. Don’t forget the wood’
‘Ok’ Hector took the reigns from Lufa and lead the horse to the rear of the inn.  Never one to complain at the best of times, he most definitely did not begrudge Lufa for being so direct now.
His mind was still buzzing from what had just happened. He had never seen such a creature before, he wondered what it was.  Nor had he ever thrown his axe in battle; that’s if he could call it a battle, not much of a battle really.
Tying the pony up he turned his attention to the task at hand; loosening the pony’s girth he noted a well-crafted saddle, an expensive horse blanket and a bridle to match.  Whoever the rider they were not short of a coin.
Before he could lift the saddle from the ponies back he loosened the straps holding the hardened leather saddle bags noting that these too were very well crafted, these things alone would be worth more than anything Hector had seen before.
After he had slung the saddle, blanket, and bags over the yard railing he turned his attention to the little pony.  From what he could tell it had been running for a while as it’s sweat had tried leaving large white powdery stains around where the saddle blanket and girth straps had been against its body.
Beyond this though, the pony, now calm after it’s ordeal looked none the worse for wear.  Hector pulled down one of Lufa’s best horse combs and gave the little pony a good brush down, made sure the trough was full of fresh water and threw some fresh hay on the ground for the pony to eat.

Hector grabbed all of the gear, figuring it would not last long if he left it out on the yard fence and took it to the Tack room.  Slinging the saddlebags over his shoulder he returned to the wood heap filled his arms with wood and made his way into the inn.