Zerosautomatics
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Hello everybody, its been quite a long time since I've been on these forums, so I'm not sure how things work nowadays, but I believe this is the place in the forums to post any written work you have, so I just wanted some feedback for the first chapter of a story I'm writing called Goldtoes. Here it is:
Goldtoes
Chapter One
Enter The Green Dragon
Donuz had never been known for his pluck.
The middle-aged grease ball of a ruffian had stumbled into his affiliation with the Green Dragons by chance, connections to his child-hood buddy, now turned high-lieutenant of the gang gaining him a secure position in the street hierarchy, a bubble of protection where the knives of the lowly street cutthroats could not reach him.
He was pitiful in combat, and though two hundred and eighty pounds of pure blubber coupled with a uniquely unpleasant visage gave him a type of grotesque fearsomeness, an amateur street urchin would have had the fighting prowess to slip a letter opener between the ribs of the man, who failed at any semblance of self-defense. In fact, the man seemed to have no particular use in life, other than perhaps the burning of his incredible mass of body fat, which if removed and used as fuel, could have kept the fire going long and hearty on those weary cold winter nights in the City of Rogues.
Tonight, he was close to completion of the mission that would secure his place in the gang indefinitely, ensuring that he would forever stand above the common rabble of the gang, in a lofty position where the street thugs would handle all of the dirty work. Not that Donuz wasn’t filthy, for the man was, indeed, a wretch.
“Thomas?” A rat skittered over Donuz’s foot, eliciting a cringe of revulsion from the man. Donuz shuddered away his fear and pulled himself in closer. Big men were not supposed to be afraid of things. Things were supposed to be afraid of them. Another rat. “Thomas?!”
A second figure, this one tall and lean, stood in the alleyway besides Donuz, turning his head, to face the walrus-like ruffian. His face was not visible for the poor lighting of the streets and the shadows of the alleyway.
“Donuz, be silent,” the wiry figure said, sighing and leaning back on the grimy walls of the dank alleyway.
“Just makin’ sure yer there, Thomas. I have a bad feelin’ ‘bout tonight.”
The tall figure, Thomas, swung around and boxed Donuz in the ears, a sharp squeal of pain issuing from Donuz in response.
“You have a bad feeling, yea? Do your job, and try to look like a proper ruffian. Halflings are cowards. A big man such as yourselves there, and they’re going to think twice before they start any trouble.” Thomas pinched Donuz’s cheek and looked into the fat man’s teary eyes. “Now show me your best rogue face.”
Donuz screwed up his features in a sickly twitch that drew a slap from Thomas, who spat in disgust and turned his back on Donuz.
“Sorry Thomas… I did my best...”
“Poor slob. Do the man a favor and knife him.” A deep, gruff voice issued from one of the roof tops, and the pair of ruffians quickly looked up, drawing their weapons, though Donuz surely stumbled with his, a ridiculously small knife that could have easily been an everyday jam spreader.
“Whose there?” snarled Thomas, brandishing a thin sword.
“Rapier? Very creative. Ye rogues really love variety in yer weapon choice.”
Donuz spun to face the same voice, now issuing from a building opposite from where it had first. In his huge paws was the minute weapon, looking almost comical in relation to the bear of a man that was himself. There was a chuckle followed by a sigh from the voice on the building
Suddenly, a most curious figure dropped from the building, diminutive in size, head clad in a strange woolen black cap. On his hands was a pair of marvelous gauntlets, an assortment of gizmos on them, including a swirly, shining purple crystal on the left gauntlet, and a strange, steel nozzle on the right. The small figure wore loose black pants and a closed black vest, the dark outfit completed with a pair of black boots on his feet. The alley was dark and so his face could not be seen, but the reason for his diminutive stature and deep gruff voice became clearer to the two rogues as the figure stood up, his frame barely reaching the four feet mark.
“A dwarf? I was expecting a halfling. Are you the Daggerstabberjabber then that was hired by Raketa?” Thomas remained composed through his address to the Dwarf, though he nervously licked his dry lips and brushed his sparse gray hair back, fingers tensing and loosening around the hilt of his rapier.
“I’d be that character, yes. And it be late and cold, so it’d be absolutely great if we could get indoors and finish this deal with that leader o’ yers.”
“I don’t trust him!” shot out Donuz, somehow managing to hold the tiny handle of his knife with two hands, thrusting the three inches of steel out in front of him.
Thomas swung about and hit Donuz on the shoulder with the hilt of his rapier, then went back to the Dwarf, Donuz now on the ground whimpering.
“Please turn around, master dwarf,” Thomas said in an attempt at sounding cordial, failing. The Dwarf, understanding protocol, acceptingly turned his back to the two.
Thomas placed a black hood over the Dwarf’s head, triple knotted it, and spun him around three times.
“Just to tell ye, I’m rolling my eyes,” sighed the Dwarf patiently.
Thomas bit his lip in self-control and turned to Donuz.
“Follow me,” spat Thomas. “And guide our friend so he will not bump into any walls or trip over any…” Thomas looked at the hulking figure of the huge man on the floor. “Obstacles.”
Donuz managed to pull himself to his feet to place his hands upon the Dwarf’s shoulders, and though Thomas initially feared that Donuz would inadvertently push their small acquaintance into the dirty ground of the alleyway, his fears were not realized as the Dwarf seemed not at all to mind Donuz’s greasy sausages of appendages on him. In fact, it seemed as if Donuz himself was being guided by the Dwarf, the big man leaning on him almost, as if Donuz was using the Dwarf as a crutch.
Thomas headed off then, farther back into the alley where the sewer drainage collected. He motioned for Donuz and the Dwarf to join him, and then moved to lift off the grills covering the entrance to the sewers, but instead simply brushed off some leaves around the hole and clicked his heels twice.
“I wish I was in Sasnak.”
There was a poof of white smoke and when it cleared, their surroundings had changed to the shadows of the filthy alleyway to bright lights, and loud guffaws. The three seemed to be in what was a tavern, that be it one without windows, surrounded by a mob of obnoxious, drunk men all dressed in typical ruffian attire: pig stained tunics, frayed pants, and brown worn boots.
Cries of greeting began as the men realized that one of their own had return amongst their midst.
“And what have you got there, Thomas? A suckled pig?” asked an ugly old rogue missing several teeth.
“Are ye really that unperceptive?” The Dwarf slapped his hand to his covered head. “I only have a hood on, the rest of me body is completely visible.”
The tooth deprived senior still waited for an answer.
“Do pigs have arms?” The Dwarf waved his arms in front of the man’s face, surprisingly accurately for somebody with a hood on his face. The Dwarf waited several seconds for a reply from the old man, who still had an inquiring expression fixed on his face.
Finally, the Dwarf gave up.
“No, Thomas does not have a suckled pig,” admitted the Dwarf as if he had been caught trying to hide something. “I be a dwarf, and as much as I would love to talk with you, a fine gentleman of such strong character and caliber…” There was a puzzled look on the old rogue’s face, who inquiringly pointed at himself. “I must finish my business with Raketa.” He nudged Thomas and Donuz who were still waiting beside him silently for the exchange to finish, and then looked up to realize the tavern had gone quiet.
Suddenly everyone’s expressions changed, from joking and drunk to respectful and somber. Immediately, a way parted from where the Dwarf stood to a black door in the far corner of the tavern.
“Let me guess. A wave o’ yer friends just parted, creating a path from me to where Raketa’s sitting.”
“Close,” muttered Thomas suspiciously, and he pushed the Dwarf forward, Donuz following behind.
There was a creak as the door was opened, a slam as it was shut, followed by a click that signaled the door had been locked. No one would be getting in or out without a key.
“You must be Zume.” The speaker sat on a comfortable leather chair by a roaring hearth of a fire place, his short, bristly carrot orange hair and beady blue eyes making him a flaming sight, even if it wasn’t for his red tunic, red britches, and crimson boots all glimmering in the light of the flames. The man looked to be in his mid thirties, significantly younger than the youngest in the room, Donuz. A large claymore in a leather sheath was strapped to the back of the leather chair the man was sitting in, and seemed to have had recent use from the weathered look of the handle.
“Ye must be Raketa,” the Dwarf said in turn to the man in the chair, acknowledging him with a nod.
“How did he…” trailed off Thomas, then turning to Donuz, who was unresponsive and had a glazed look on his eyes, staring at Raketa.
“I don’t have time for small talk; I’m here for the money.”
Raketa stood up from his chair.
“Master Zume, we will talk business, surely, but first…”
“Me brother!” cried out Donuz, running for Raketa who was standing with his arms welcoming. The two met in a crushing embrace and Thomas blanched, though the Dwarf mostly patiently waited for the exchange to finish.
“D, you’re going to be vice high lieutenant now!” screamed Raketa excitedly.
“Rak, I did it! Now the Council can’t object that I have never done nothing-“
“Double negative,” chided the Dwarf.
“To help the Drags!” finished Donuz.
Donuz then cupped his hands around Raketa’s ears and whispered something. After several moments, the gang leader turned to Thomas, who was now deathly pale looking from Donuz to Raketa, slowly backing away from the two towards the door. Foolishly, he had given the keys to Donuz. The way was shut.
“My brother tells me that he was mistreated…” growled Raketa advancing upon the spidery man trying to crawl away.
“Please, sir, I didn’t know,” whimpered Thomas, scrambling before Raketa. “It was an accident, I didn’t-“
Thomas’s words ended in a scream as he was lifted up and thrown into the roaring hearth by Raketa, who then brushed his hands off as if nothing had happened and walked back to his chair, seating himself with a soft plop.
“Now to business,” said the High Lieutenant, putting his hands together daintily. “My associates tell me that you have information regarding the whereabouts of one Princess Yanger Blunderbottom.”
“That I do, yes,” replied the Dwarf, gingerly covering his left ear with a gauntleted hand to try and block out the dying screams of Thomas.
“And the price for this information is as negotiated, twenty gold pieces…” stated Raketa.
“Ye do realize that Yanger is public enemy number one o’ the H.P.R.? On the “Must Go Mortal Beings”, she ranks top, with the price on her head being a good thirty thousand gold?” queried the Dwarf. “Twenty pieces isn’t kobold dung to that.”
“Or you can take your life as your payment, gives us those shiny gloves of yours as a gesture of gratitude, and leave this place with only your eyes removed,”
Raketa finished with that deathly ultimatum, and Thomas’s last screams died out as his body was reduced to a charred husk. If anyone had taken a closer look at the hearth, they would have realized that the body had then disappeared, and the flames there were turning a most unnatural shade of white.
Indeed, one did.
Zume the Dwarf burst into motion, hood on his head, with perfect accuracy lifting his right hand and aiming the nozzle on the gauntlet at Raketa and Donuz. With a push of a small red button, the nozzle roared as scorching hot dragon fire rushed out to envelope the pair. Donuz dropped to the ground screaming, twice as loud as Thomas had, trying furiously to put the flames out.
Raketa, however, after the initial shock, came to his senses and furiously drew his claymore from the sheath on the chair, seemingly immune to the flames licking all around him. Charging at a surprised Zume, it seemed as if Raketa himself was part of the fire, along with that awful, gigantic claymore.
Zume put his hands up in anticipation of the blow he could not dodge, and waited for the strike to fall.
Then, suddenly, Raketa was looking down at his chest, gasping, disbelieving that the sharp part of an arrow was protruding out of his chest. Before he even had time to fall to the ground dramatically and die, a battle hammer came flying from nowhere to smack into his back, followed by a bolt of lightning that cracked into his left shoulder. Raketa teetered once again, and seemed about to fall when a handful of shadowy, purple, green flame came flying and hit into his face. Raketa fell to his knees, and almost immediately, a figure even more diminutive than Zume came upon him, taking his head with supple, wrinkled hands and twisting violently.
There was a sharp crack, and Raketa fell to the ground, quite dead.
“Overkill much?”
Comments: Comments For :::Goldtoes::: Enter The Green Dragon
Edited to replace the line with a coded line so the page isn't stretched. It's [hr] ~Eukara Vox
< Message edited by Eukara Vox -- 7/19/2010 14:58:16 >
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