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(DF) Cysero's Defenders: A Story Retold

 
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7/3/2008 13:31:30   
Anoril
Member

Cysero's Defenders: A Story Retold

Little Goblin looked down at the Rebels in disgust. Standing on the slated roof of the Weaponsmith’s Shop and shrouded in daylight, Little Goblin would only be noticed if someone happened to be passing down below. And being in the center of town on market day, how likely was that?

The Goblin - lovingly called ‘Little’ by anyone who admitted to, perhaps not being friends with him, but certainly admitted he existed – stared down through the small hole in the bizarre mixture of slate, thatch and tar that composed the roof that worked its hardest at keeping Cysero’s Shop dry. Not that the roof could boast job satisfaction, it considered itself overworked and underpaid anyway. Through the hole Little Goblin could clearly see four men sitting at and around the counter.

Little Goblin, with his spooky Goblin-hearing could make out clearly what they were saying but it was all just unimportant banter that doesn’t really do much further a plot. The shop itself was mostly what you’d expect. If indeed you would go into a shop whose proprietor is voluntarily and commercially mad and ‘expect’ anything. There was an odd selection of knick-knacks scattered around, spells and amulets to remove pimples and the occasional finger, you know, tourist stuff. Of course being a Weaponsmith’s shop there were a fair number of weapons around too; swords and halberds that were either too large or too shiny to even think about wielding, daggers that seemed to resent themselves just for being and staves that looked as though they had better places to be. Little Goblin didn’t trust staves and disliked most swords. Generally he was against most anything that was taller than he was. And being only a foot and half in size there was a large percentage of the world he was thoroughly opposed to. There were some quite nice weapons down there, weapons that didn’t look like they’d been conjured forth from someone’s twisted dream world and were annoyed about leaving, these were generally the weapons to be wary of; they liked to change shape and enjoyed a good giggle. It would be quite embarrassing enough for you to find yourself wielding a large halibut at the front line of battle but something else entirely to find that the halibut found it very amusing too.

As Little Goblin observed, completely unseen by anyone not looking in his direction, he heard a sound from behind him. Turning he saw, not just a fish out of water but a fish that had painfully discovered what a desert was and wished it didn’t know. The fish, or man as would be more correct was attempting to climb the roof. Clearly he’d considered mathematically and geometrically how to do it, it was just the actual climbing part that didn’t work out.

Little Goblin quickly looked down to make sure that the Rebels below had not yet heard the thump, thump, thump of learning the hard way how to climb a roof that in itself wasn’t happy with life.

Eventually the man found his feet, or knees at least and managed to crawl up the diagonal surface towards the goblin. Strangely the going was made easier just after a coin had rolled out of his pocket and into the gutter. Weird.

‘What are we doing here?’ said the man who was wearing a formal selection of waistcoats and jackets. His hair was white and extended to his neck. It smelled slightly of peppermint. Little Goblin had noticed as he’d climbed up the roof that the man had brought a cane with him, grey and topped with a small silver animal of some sort. He didn’t bother looking further. Human fashion wasn’t a riveting discussion topic.

Little Goblin, was dressed much less ostentatiously in a dirty blue tunic made to fit a dwarf, it was a little big for him but he’d grow into it…if he was lucky and Lady Celestia’s Magic Growth Formula really did what it said on the bottle.

The Goblin replied in a whisper, ‘Reconnaissance.’

The man laughed and at a questioning look from the Goblin said, ‘Nothing, it’s just funny to hear a sneevil say “reconnaissance”. Normally you hear them say things like ‘Box. Nice Box. Want Box. MY BOX!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed the Goblin loudly. Luckily the roof was still in generous enough a mood from its tip to restrict the sound that reached the Rebels below them.
‘Why?’ asked the man with a confused and sceptical expression on his face.

‘We’re trying to be inconspicuous,’ said the Goblin while returning a casual wave from a passer-by.

‘Right,’ said the man in a sarcastic tone, ‘”Inconspicuous” in that stand-on-top-of-a-building-in-broad-daylight sense of the word. Again, touché for being able to say “inconspicuous”.

’Why are we standing on the roof? It’s a shop, a public building, we can go in!’ said the man to the Goblin.

Little Goblin replied, ‘You’re the one who said we had to keep this “low profile” thing. Remember, I was perfectly content to start the killing.’

‘We’re not killing anyone, for three reasons. One, there’s more of them and you’re only a foot off the ground. They’d destroy you. Two, killing is both morally and legally wrong and they’ve technically done nothing against the rules. You’d be locked up. And three, those are my kitchen knives that you’ve got there.’ Little Goblin looked down at the knives he’d taken. They were real silver and set with jewels but most importantly they were sharp.

‘Not your only knives,’ said the Goblin defensively.

‘That’s right,’ agreed the man, ‘They’re part of a cutlery set’. It wouldn’t be a set if you loose or break a piece, now give them back!’ His hands reached for the two knives which Little Goblin quickly clutched. Both of them trying to wrench the knives from the other, they tumbled down the roof and stopped just short of the gutter. The roof inwardly grinned as another few coins fell from the man’s pockets.

The man and the goblin, both still holding the knives lay still, listening. Had the Rebels below heard the noise of them falling down the roof? No. Apparently tipping a roof had its benefits.

The man whispered to Little Goblin to damper his impatientness, ‘We’re going to have to deal with this problem with, you know, a little finesse.’


* * *


Both the tranquillity of the story and a stone wall were quickly obliterated as an elf was thrown both through the wall and into our sequence of events. The Elf jumped to his feet without delay and shouted at two suspiciously robed and shadowy men down the street, ‘That all you got? Gotta get up earlier in the morning guys, you throw like a girl.’

Ignoring the white dust that now covered his once-very red cloak and the red blood that now covered his once-very white face he withdrew himself from the rubble and grinned as he marched towards the two hooded men, shaking his dark hair back from his face and relishing the smell of fear, stagnant water, piss and blood that was the odour of a good fight to come.

‘What’re you so afraid of?’ asked the Elf in a taunting, gritty voice and grinning while advancing on the nearest man and throwing a punch headwards that sent him rolling backwards and even faster downwards to the ground. ‘That I guess,’ he finished with a comic shrug.

The street the three of them were in was dark, dusty and unmistakably old. At some point it was probably a nice area just on the principle that most streets are nice enough at some point. But of course the years take their toll. Now the houses stood in a solemn state of disrepair, they leaned on each other in a way that some may have called ‘quaint’ but most builders would disagree and say ‘dangerously unstable’. It was now a place that would often be used if anyone needed to be…removed. The houses themselves didn’t mind, except in situations like this when the…removal gets noisy. They just wanted a quiet life and didn’t they deserve as much after 2 whole months of service?

The second man was in the somewhat delayed process of drawing a knife or weapon of some kind from the over-protective folds of his robe when he found himself lifted off the ground and hurled through an upper-floor window of one of the many derelict houses of the dark street. Perhaps that diet had worked, but he’d yet to agree it to having been a good thing.

By this time the first man had regained his ability to…perhaps ‘walking’ was too formal a term…he’d regained the ability to move with an uprightish posture. He moved towards the elf who grabbed the man’s leg as a sloppy kick was aimed for a region somewhere below his knee and swung the man one hundred and eighty degrees and into the pile of rubble that had just moments before been a wall enjoying life. Enjoying life as much as an inanimate object can. Which, contrary to popular belief was quite a lot.

Looking around, the Elf found that nobody was attacking him, or at least not during that particular second. He remedied this by jumping up to where he’d deposited the man in the upper-floor window frame. The hooded man was recovering when a rain of fists collided heavily with his face, neck and temples. Rather needlessly the Elf rammed his elbow into the small of the man’s back as he fell to the ****-stained floorboards. Clearly this Elf didn’t understand the principle of overkill and wouldn’t have liked it if he did. What he did know was the crunch of bone and yes, he liked that very much.

Looking around for a non-groaning entity to fight he caught sight of the figure down below, retrieving itself from the ex-wall.

Another ridiculous leap through a window later and the elf had his knee wedged into a suffering man’s groin. Unsurprisingly the man fell to the ground and was, perhaps not surprisingly but definitely very brutally, kicked spinning into another unfortunate building that just didn’t know why it bothered anymore.

The realisation that the ‘fight’ was over came to the Elf when he discovered that nobody was hitting him or even attempting to regain basic motor functions. He strolled over to the, quite rightly, unconscious man half covered by rubble from throughout the ages. The Elf tore the man’s black robe roughly and found what he was looking for, a silver pendant in the shape of a skull hidden beneath many layers of velvet and silk garments. ‘Good,’ said the Elf, ‘so they were Bad Guys.’ With an air of official relief the Elf wandered nonchalantly out of the street.

Night-time street fights weren’t uncommon; in fact they’d had a rota made.

AQ DF MQ  Post #: 1
8/4/2008 8:47:30   
Anoril
Member


Serenity’s bar was packed to the rafters. It had to be, that was common sense. No bar, pub or tavern couldn’t exist if it wasn’t full by ten of the clock. This was nothing to do with the profit margins counted by the owners but more that if there was too much space within the single room then there’d be no ambience and without ambience any bar was simply an overly pungent barn not quite filled with drunks.

As it was the bar was filled with the classical noisy, unfunny working class. They stood, sat, lay, kneeled, crouched, hung and sprawled across the room. Several dirt-stained miners had arrived early to get a seat at the bar itself. Judging by the fact that two thirds of their party were asleep under the bar they had already discovered the double edged sword that was early arrival. You arrived early and were out like a light by the time everyone else turned up.

Surrounding a thankfully solid oak table stood perhaps twelve of what were either very large and ugly men or very small and very beautiful trolls. They were watching two of their number sitting opposite one another at the table playing a game. The exact details concerning the rules of the game are either far too complicated to fully understand, such that it would require a vast amount of pages to successfully communicate or the game really was just two bearded and sweaty men taking turns to hit each other with planks of wood and badly thought out insults in which case no more time shall be wasted on the subject.

As you journey through the wasteland of the wasted away from this display of intellectual thrills you would see perhaps a more sophisticated show of nature’s vomit. An orc wearing overly thick leather studded with crossbow bolt heads. This orc seemed to revel in the private delight it was taking by repeatedly stabbing a small gnome with a pin. The gnome squealed in abject terror, but who cares really? It’s just a gnome.

Ironically the most civilised group of people in the bar were a group of bare-chested barbarians who had recently ransacked, raided and raped their way through a nearby village, decimating its population. They were playing cards.

Watching the orc torturing the gnome and the group of very funny men making good use of their carpentry skills the barbarians could do no more than shrug. The same thought raced through each of their thick skulls, Amateurs.

Serenity turned away from this display of post-watershed social poetry and furrowed her eyebrows at the figure sitting alone in the deepest and therefore darkest corner of the inn. The figure bothered her.

The dark figure had wandered in just as business was starting to pick up, so she hadn’t had a chance to be disconcerted by her first view of the stranger. The figure had ordered a drink that Serenity had never heard of but in her rush she’d handed the figure a tankard of beer. Only fifty percent pond water, she’d be instructed to cut back by the ‘authorities’. A small hand had taken the tankard without complaining and walked over to the most private part of the bar. The corner where, traditionally the unconscious where laid in the interest of proper space management.

However now that she got the chance to look at the figure sitting, forlornly, in the corner Serenity felt that there was something wrong with the picture. She was more than used to strange people entering her establishment. A dark cloak or robe with a hood that completely concealed a person’s face was not only normal but indeed fashionable. Serenity had decided long ago just to ignore their dealings, they probably didn’t matter. Just weirdoes selling things, apocalyptic jewellery and weapons of doom and the like. Occasionally they might be a hero on a mission to gain redemption/revenge/request/reward but that wasn’t any of her business.

However this figure was different, it held itself in a manner that Serenity wasn’t accustomed to seeing in these sort of people. A manner that suggested a little fear of the surroundings but not as much as it did suggest revulsion of the surroundings.

Even more strangely, Serenity thought as she mentally put her finger on it, this figure had breasts.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 2
8/4/2008 8:49:40   
Anoril
Member


Like so many others there were times in Lauren’s life when she wondered how she’d come to be in certain situations. This was one of those times.

She’d come in for a coffee, even asked the barmaid very politely for one. The heavy black velvet hood was perhaps a bit disconcerting for people but having looked at the other assorted specimens of ‘civilisation’ that littered the bar she considered herself one of the more normal customers. Was that thing at the next table really a swamp trog?

She looked down at what was certainly not the coffee she’d ordered. A large metal container of some kind filled, not quite to the brim, with some sort of concoction usually only acceptably seen inside a very ill dog.

She’d taken a sip already and immediately she’d pursed her lips against the bitter taste of the drink that she might later describe as ‘chunky’. It seemed doubtful whether this drink was going to end with Lauren seeing what the bottom of the tankard looked like.

Lauren’s drinking partners that sat around the table would testify that there was nothing wrong with the drink, if and when they woke up.

Despite the revulsion she could feel continually trying to escape through her throat whenever she decided that it was time to breathe some more she had to admit that this was, or at least would have been a good place to gather intel.

This was where the working man would drag himself to every evening, wake up every morning and return from at about one of the clock to an irate working woman.

She’d never really encountered this working man before, she knew that he must exist somewhere but had never really cared to find out. Now, however, she needed his opinions.
Not just any working man would do. Lauren was quite aware of her physical form and had realised within a few minutes of sitting down amongst the sleeping drunks that despite the fact that the room held nearly a hundred people she was the only female save the barmaid. In the state that the other customers were in, Lauren was about as safe as a kitten that’s strode into the kennel of several rabid pit bull terriers.

Life, however, was about taking risks. If she stayed hidden under her black cloak and hood then nobody would talk to her and she’d learn nothing. Of course take the hood off and someone would definitely talk to her. It was about getting the right sort of person. Preferably someone who could still legally drive a carriage.

Lauren looked at the bar, sitting at it were three barbarians, bored now of playing cards, a dozing sneevil and a hero.

Lauren could tell he was a hero and so could everyone else in the bar. This was because heroes were frightfully unoriginal. He wore leather armour, in certain places however he’d even stretched so far as to wear metal coverings. He had a sword slung from his belt, it was probably magical, all swords were nowadays. He had orange hair and held himself upright, as though a pole had been inserted alongside his spine. This straightness of posture made him unique; everyone else in the bar was slumping.

Lauren ignored him, he would not do, he wasn’t normal. She wanted to speak to someone who built things or counted things, she did not want to speak to someone who slew dragons and stole treasure and called it a profession.

However, it was comforting to know he was there. If this chapter went the wrong way then he could at least jump in, save Lauren and then continue with his own adventures. Possibly in a spin-off.

She assumed this because that’s what heroes do.

Behind the bar stood the barmaid and owner of this fine establishment, Serenity.

No one would call her unattractive, quite the opposite. She had brilliant green eyes, long flowing golden hair and who doesn’t like a maid’s outfit? It was a mixture of red and white fabrics that displayed Serenity’s form without actually showing any cleavage. Lauren had to admit she liked the outfit and committed it to memory just in case.

Behind Serenity Lauren saw a poster. It looked reasonably new, unlike the ‘Wanted ~ Dangerous Mass Murderer’ posters that were also up. It was emblazoned with an image of a face, large a beaming manically. The face was stark white and covered in unusual runes, and it had a bush of brown hair adorning the crown of its head. Large red letters read clearly, ‘Danger! If seen do not approach!’

Lauren assumed from this that the wording was referring to the man whose picture it was rather than the poster itself.

Since entering Falconreach the previous day she’d seen these posters all over the place.

First, just as she’d been riding into the town a wagon had pulled past her with the same motif stuck rigidly to its side. She received quite a shock as she’d been riding side-saddle she looked forwards and been met with the insane grinning face.

The second time had come as slightly less of a shock; the image had greeted her as she’d been paying for a room at one of Falconreach’s multiple hostels. It was just as Lauren had been handing over the silver to the owner that she’d seen the face grinning at her again from behind the man’s back. She hadn’t inquired the ruddy faced man, it might raise unwanted suspicions.

She’d seen the white, grinning face for a third time the next day while walking towards the market area to buy bread and hopefully cheese. A leaflet had been blown from atop a stack of crates and hit her in the stomach. She’d looked at the leaflet for a few seconds, even dignified it with the furrowed brow before depositing it in her turquoise, beaded shoulder bag.

Since then the face had been appearing to her almost incessantly. The posters were stuck to trees, shop windows, carriages, horse carts, horses themselves and one or two even appeared on notice boards. This town wanted to make it quite clear to any newcomers that this man who looked at you from every flat surface, whoever he may be, was not desirable company.

Lauren had some half-formed ideas about who the face may belong to, the result of idle wonderings of her brain during the times between brushing her hair and applying her make-up. Perhaps he was an outlawed jester, a forbidden idiot or monstrous mass-murdering madman. None seemed particularly likely to be true which made them all the more possible to be real.

Presently the door of the bar was pushed open and a warm current of air passed through the room, causing the various odours and scents to begin circulating. A sickly sweet breeze wafted over Lauren and a stray lock of hair, free from her black hood, blew about joyfully in the thick air.

A man had walked through the door. He moved unlike a hero, there was no swagger or dominating presence and his posture didn’t suggest a working man, there was no stoop or slumped back. He seemed, to Lauren to be perfectly normal. He looked to be in his early twenties, like her. His clothes didn’t indicate wealth; he was wearing a simple faded blue tunic and baggy brown trousers. He wasn’t smiling but he wore an expression of polite interest as he dropped his dark green overcoat onto a hook by the door. He moved easily to the bar and Lauren could see Serenity greeting him warmly and with obvious recognition. A regular then.

Lauren watched this man for a few minutes as he sat on an empty barstool at the end of the bar drinking a mug of some smoking hot beverage. He was surveying the room with casual interest and once his gaze passed over to where Lauren herself was sitting. Of course he saw only a run-of-the-mill mysterious hooded figure however Lauren found herself looking at a smooth, handsome face framed by wild black hair.

Lauren waited until the man had begun talking with the barmaid again before she pulled out a party trick.

In the space of five seconds Lauren removed her black robes and threw them on top of a drooling drunk having a nap by her table, she resumed her casual position as though nothing had happened and quickly sorted her hair.

The man at the bar took another few mouthfuls of his drink and looked around the room again, the hooded, secretive figure had disappeared and in its place sat a woman wearing a sufficiently revealing blue dress with soft brown hair and a look in her eyes that seemed to beckon to him.

Unfortunately for Lauren her transformation had gone exactly the way she’d envisioned. It was true she was beckoning to the man, but she was also inadvertently beckoning to the rest of the room.

The men who had found physical violence to be incredibly intellectual simultaneously turned their heads towards the cleavage that had emerged. The group of barbarians, possessing slightly more dignity, nudged one another and smirked. There was a short-lived scream as a gnome found itself approaching the ground at speed as the orc dropped it and grinned in Lauren’s direction, exposing all its rotten teeth. A spotlight composed entirely of male interest was shone at Lauren’s corner, now the brightest in the room. She smiled sheepishly at the assembled testosterone bombs and reached back down to her discarded black garments. Regret set in like fog as several onlookers chuckled.

Lauren nearly vacated her chair as she jumped away from a hand that had reached out at rested on her shoulder. Seeing the handsome man she composed herself and let the black robe fall from her hands once more.

Seeing the object of lust engaging in conversation with the man the other patrons returned to their various pursuits, all except the orc whose gnome had fled the bar already and had decided to seek his fortune in the big city.

The handsome man smiled at Lauren and said softly, ‘Hi. I saw you from over there and…,’ the man waved vaguely in the direction of where he’d been sitting at the bar. Rather than finishing his sentence he decided to start another, ‘I haven’t seen you before have I? Where’re you from?’

Mustn’t give away too much, she thought before saying, ‘Swordhaven.’ The word ‘damn’ quickly raced through her head as, despite her previous mental warning she heard herself giving this stranger the truth. At least she hadn’t been specific, Swordhaven was massive.

‘You’re from the capital!’ the man seemed surprised, ‘A beautiful city.’

‘You’ve been?’ asked Lauren trying to feint interest while accidentally being genuinely interested. Perhaps she should have selected a less attractive person to probe for information.
‘I visited once, just for ceremonial purposes,’ replied the man.

‘Ceremonial?’

‘To have the name ‘Lord’ officially bestowed upon me. Embarrassing to tell you the truth.’

Lauren had stopped listening after the word ‘Lord’. She had definitely chosen the wrong person to interrogate. Not only was he gorgeous, but he was a lord too. Neither aspect helped Lauren’s concentration. The thing was, lords were rich, they had money. Lauren liked money. Well rather, she liked what money could be turned into. Expensive dresses, perfumes, wines, manor houses, servants, jewellery and accessories.

Lauren gazed in the eyes of this handsome man. Handsome Lord. Forgetting everything else they talked all night and were later married. Lauren buys thousands of pretty things, the story ends here and everyone lives happily ever after.
AQ DF MQ  Post #: 3
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