[haven't posted I a while, but I hope you enjoy it! The art is by Paul Farret]
The sun was high, and the leaves had abandoned their trees. As a cold breeze gave the world brief animation, a traveler walked down the road. His boots and leggings were caked in the road’s mud. His clock and hood blocking out the cold. Most would have thought of him as a homeless vagabond based on the clothes, but for the spear one might have thought of him a bandit. Those who know what to look for would have seen his straight back and smooth even steps. The signs of something far more dangerous than a highwayman, a solder.
The smooth march carried him down the road and up a hill to arrive at a lonely oak tree. Beside the tree was the sign proclaiming “The Apple and Oak farms.” Just under the sign it also read. “trespassers shall be shot.” The farmhouse sat just a little way passed the tree and as only natural for such places swarmed with dogs. Strays, mutts and castoffs find their way to farms. The family inevitably after exhausting their attempts of sending them away just accept them. Smelling the scent of the trespasser the dogs swarmed him. Shrugging off his pack he produced jerky for the swarm. Judging the trespasser as acceptable the dogs dispersed to lay in the dirt around the yard. The trespasser leans on the oak and waited. The dogs announced him well enough.
The first signs of life from the homestead was a small hand brushing aside the curtains from the window. Next, was a form dashing out the back into the orchards. Knowing that he was being judge, he rested and waited. He didn’t have long to wait as a much larger form came walking out of the trees. He was taller than the trespasser, but for an orc he was far leaner than most of his kin. Though lean he looked hard enough to back up any threats given, most likely with the axe in his hands. The orc stopped out of reach of the spear and said. “We do not have room for another mouth to feed. Get lost.”
The trespasser enjoying the moment of theater brushes his hood off his bald head. “Not even for kin, Feodor?”
Feodor for his part breaks out into a belly laugh. “For you, maybe!” Putting his arm around his brother in law’s shoulders. “Chloe, your scrawny brother has come home!” At his proclamation Chloe was preceded by a gaggle of children. At the door Chloe disarms the cross bow she had trained on her brother.
“Hector! Hector!” cried the hoard of children. Picking up one of his young nieces he walks over to his sister.
“Did you get me a present?” said the little hobgoblin girl, as she is hugging her uncle.
“Presents? No little one.”
“I’m not little! Mommy says I’m a giant.”
“Well you must either be a small giant or I’m one strong hobgoblin.” Walking up the porch he gives his sister a side hug. Shoulder guard to shawl. In a barest whisper, “How are you holding up?”
“Tired. It’s been long year and I had a lot on my mind.” Placing her hand over her belly. “I’m glad that you came little brother.”
“Here you go little giant, show your brothers whose boss.” Setting the little terror down. “Where is she?”
“In the sitting room.” Said Feodor hammering the axe into a stump. Hector nods and walks down the steps into the house of his childhood. Solid oak furniture lined the walls. Chloe’s art on one wall opposite the fireplace. Hobgoblin art being primarily landscapes and historical scenes. Over the fireplace was the families shoulder guards depicting Chloe’s Frost Shrouds, Feodor’s Black Skulls, Sophia’s Purple Star and the children’s grey guards. Sitting in the corner with dignity of a queen was Sophia. Walking to and kneeling beside her, he waited.
“Take your boots off, son.” Giving him a brief glance then back to the blank spots over the fireplace. Taking his boots off. He also unbuckled his own shoulder guard mounting it over the fireplace. “That is half of my grief at an end. Where have you been son?”
“I found myself in small village. Took lodging in a tavern where I meet some interesting characters.”
“You weren’t loathing, were you?”
“No ma’am, I took handyman and adventuring work as it came.”
“Notes?” He shows her his journal. Smiling she leveraged herself and give her son a hug. “Welcome home son.”
The dark starless night in the port of Herkalion was peaceful. The cold wind passing through the empty roads, closed shops, and barracks. Down a road near the docks the peace and darkness were broken by the light and music of a tavern. The music stopped as a body was thrown out the window.
Malachi was not having a good day. All he wanted was to drink. Was that too much to ask? But the simple night he had plan for himself was ruined by that jerk. He charged the jerk through the window with a shattering of glass. One of the jerk’s banner mates though got him by rapping their arms under his. When his back was turned, and the other mate was working him over. Malachi spit in the face of his attacker. Heaving his legs up and kicked for all he was worth. Both he and the one holding him were launched into the bar. The other stumbled into a table. Slipping the hold, he wobbled and grabbed the closest bottle. He hammered it into the grappler’s head. Unlike in stories, the glass bottle did not shatter, and the grappler wasn’t knocked out.
He grabbed her by the shirt and was about hammer her again when his knees were kicked out from under him. He was dragged to the hard wood floor as the one he kicked into the table recovered. Knees pressed into his back pinning him to the ground. Kicks and punches rain down on him. All he could do was curl up into a ball and try not to whimper. His world faded away under the pain of the onslaught.
Head aching, ears ringing, and feeling the bruises up and down his entire body. Counting his teeth with his tongue he noticed that one of his tusks was chipped. Rubbing the gummy feeling from his eyes he sat up. The room was painted white and barred shut. They left for him a bucket. Abandoning the last of his hobgoblin pride he puked vomit and blood into the bucket. Clutching the bucket to himself he sat and wondered where it all went wrong.
As the sun rose higher, the training field’s dirt was churned under the feet of the young warriors pushing and straining. Though last year to Malachi it was lifetime ago. The world was open and bright. Then there was pain. A simple mistake a miss angling of the foot when receiving a charge caused the tendon in his knee to snap. He couldn’t walk or put pressure on the leg. The banner was young. Its healers weren’t capable to heal the joint. His captain handed him over to the city’s healers. Their price was steep. To cover it his captain took a quest for the money. They didn’t come back. Leaving Malachi to anguish in the hospital. Malachi used what little money in the banner’s coffers to pay the healers. He took to drink for the pain in his knee. No banner would take him, so he sold pieces of his equipment to buy the drink. That kept him until he just had the shirt on his back and guard left.
Clanging came from the as a wood baton ran across the bars. “Lunch time son.” Said the heavy-set Bugbear as he slid a bowl of soup into the cell.
“You’re not my father.” Throwing the bucket at the door.
“Everyone in my jail is my son or daughter, Malachi Last of Silver Rams.”
“it… it’s just Malachi.”
“Is that why you tried to sell your guard last night?”
“I did no such thing.” Grabbing at his bare shoulder.
With a sigh the jailer presented him his honor. “The others said when you couldn’t pay for your drink you tried to sell it. They refused and you got angry and attack them. We had to wake the priest to heal you.”
“You should had just let me pass.”
“No son, I couldn’t even on my darkest days.” As he ran his hand over the blue metal, stone grey chevron and silver ram skull. “I remeber how they were before they died. How proud your parents were when their sons were given right to form their own banner. A crying shame really. Captains like your brother only come rarely.”
“The champion and his worthless brother.”
“That is a lie.” Said the jailer as he hangs the guard right in front the jail cell. “You. Will. Live. Worthy. of Them.” Then he walks away.
[Far sooner then I thought this would be done. I guess this is the value of turning off the cell phone for a while. Now that we have our third member of our trio its time set them on a collision course and turn their world upside down.]
Across the sea, the barest sliver of the sun’s light edge over the horizon. The ships harbored in Herkalion moan and creak with the waves. The harbor guards walked their beats dreaming of warm beds. Down the wide streets and alleys stray cats made war on each other. At the edge of the city is a brick barracks. A horseshoe shaped building with three towers. A banner of a striking red hawk on a white field flew in the courtyard in the center. In one of the square towers over an arm of the barracks lay a pair of sleeping forms. Each in a cold war with the other. One side of the room the was clean and orderly. The other side separated by curtain was messy. Relaxed and snoring in a primal pleasure of sore muscles and full bellies they slept.
“Get up, get up!!” Reverberated through the building with the clang of metal pot and wooden spoon. “We are burning day light.” It did not relent but continued. Worming into the minds of those sleeping as the banner’s Spears continued with their sadistic purpose. A sleeping figure bolt up with frazzled hair and blurry eyed, the other fell to the floor. Scrambling out of the bed the figure grabbed her boots, guard and jacket. The jacket is a dark brown with three patches on it. The first said “Siena” the second said “Devastator”.
Rushing down the stairs of her tower Siena and her roommate put on their jackets over. The barracks was controlled chaos as the banner assembled in the courtyard. Teams of three solders gathered to their Fists at the end of the hallway. Three Fists took their charges to their Spears down the stairs. Then six Spears then lead them into the main hall to the two Fatal Axes by the doors. Each Fatal Axe lead the two platoons into the courtyard where the Captain waited by the banner.
Siena took her place by her Spear an older Bugbear woman. All six devastators were with their Spears. For each week the Captain gives each platoon their duties. This week Siena’s squad were on reserve, thus are to do exercises and training in the morning. This afternoon they are to pull mess duties. Other squads are to patrol, some to work in the city but Siena and her squad are for the grinder. As the captain finished, he released them to their Axes. The Axes in turn released them to their Spears.
“To the Grinder.” Said Spear Petra of Red Hawks. She was answered by groans and complaints of veterans. Siena understood the complaints. They have been training hard all year not being allowed to adventure, but that has been what has been ordered by what some say the Warlord. She fell in step with Petra and Umid their squad’s standard bearer. The Fists got their charges to fallow.
“What will it be today, boss? We did hike yesterday. Are we planning on strength training?” Said the gravelly voice of Umid. Unlike the hulking Spear, the standard bearer was a diminutive Goblin.
“Ha, we do need to add more meat to Siena.” She said good naturally as she slapped the back of the thin devastator. “Then we can finally marry her off.”
“Ow, Petra I’m still sore from yesterday.”
“Oh, sorry Siena.” But the pats on the back as she said it didn’t make her seem sincere. “I forgot how a delegate Elf princess you are, ha”
“So says the walking rug.” Petra gave a deep belly laugh at the quip. Siena smiling with her friend and mentor walked down the brick road. Though Petra maybe right about the Elf princess part, well sort of. Siena was a half elf and only one hundred and eighty-fourth in line for a throne of a kingdom she couldn’t pronounce the name of. She didn’t let the jokes get to her. The first rule in Hobgoblin society don’t dish out what you can’t take back with interest. Siena has giving as well as she got for a very long time.
A grinder is part running track, obstacle course, gym and sparing circle. Were humans and elves would build parks they build grinders. When they arrived, another squad was running the racetrack. Petra started them off a warmup fallowed with calisthenics. As squad leader, Petra naturally did every exercise with her men. Siena though struggled to keep up. She was heavily built with muscle for a half elf. Her strengths are running and her ability to touch the weave, not heavy work.
Petra called a pause to their exercises as another squad from the banner came to replace them. They head back to the barracks for chow. A smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon taunted them as they entered. The squad that pulled cook detail were hard at work, mainly because the captain was working the frying pan. He was wearing a white apron and was joking with the squads. Some captains prefer to use their position as an excuse to get out of work, but no their captain chooses to work shoulder to shoulder with his men and women. Siena could honestly say that he is the toughest, most brutal and most vicious person she has ever met, but she could all so say he is the most considerate and thoughtful person as well. Honesty, and merciful aren’t the words she would describe the man. He had simply sacrificed his life for them all to the point that he is capable of anything. And today he smiles at Siena as he cooks the food. “Aw, princess have you beat Petra’s record yet. She needs some humbling.”
“I do not.” Said Petra snootily pointing her nose into the air for effect.
“Ha, not yet, sir!”
“Keep at it! One of these days Siena.” By unspoken tradition each member of the squad served the person behind them. They took their usual table. Petra, Umid and Siena naturally not sitting down until everyone else was served and seated. All enjoying the meal and satisfaction of a morning well started.
[haven't posted I a while, but I hope you enjoy it! The art is by Paul Farret]
The sun was high, and the leaves had abandoned their trees. As a cold breeze gave the world brief animation, a traveler walked down the road. His boots and leggings were caked in the road’s mud. His clock and hood blocking out the cold. Most would have thought of him as a homeless vagabond based on the clothes, but for the spear one might have thought of him a bandit. Those who know what to look for would have seen his straight back and smooth even steps. The signs of something far more dangerous than a highwayman, a solder.
The smooth march carried him down the road and up a hill to arrive at a lonely oak tree. Beside the tree was the sign proclaiming “The Apple and Oak farms.” Just under the sign it also read. “trespassers shall be shot.” The farmhouse sat just a little way passed the tree and as only natural for such places swarmed with dogs. Strays, mutts and castoffs find their way to farms. The family inevitably after exhausting their attempts of sending them away just accept them. Smelling the scent of the trespasser the dogs swarmed him. Shrugging off his pack he produced jerky for the swarm. Judging the trespasser as acceptable the dogs dispersed to lay in the dirt around the yard. The trespasser leans on the oak and waited. The dogs announced him well enough.
The first signs of life from the homestead was a small hand brushing aside the curtains from the window. Next, was a form dashing out the back into the orchards. Knowing that he was being judge, he rested and waited. He didn’t have long to wait as a much larger form came walking out of the trees. He was taller than the trespasser, but for an orc he was far leaner than most of his kin. Though lean he looked hard enough to back up any threats given, most likely with the axe in his hands. The orc stopped out of reach of the spear and said. “We do not have room for another mouth to feed. Get lost.”
The trespasser enjoying the moment of theater brushes his hood off his bald head. “Not even for kin, Feodor?”
Feodor for his part breaks out into a belly laugh. “For you, maybe!” Putting his arm around his brother in law’s shoulders. “Chloe, your scrawny brother has come home!” At his proclamation Chloe was preceded by a gaggle of children. At the door Chloe disarms the cross bow she had trained on her brother.
“Hector! Hector!” cried the hoard of children. Picking up one of his young nieces he walks over to his sister.
“Did you get me a present?” said the little hobgoblin girl, as she is hugging her uncle.
“Presents? No little one.”
“I’m not little! Mommy says I’m a giant.”
“Well you must either be a small giant or I’m one strong hobgoblin.” Walking up the porch he gives his sister a side hug. Shoulder guard to shawl. In a barest whisper, “How are you holding up?”
“Tired. It’s been long year and I had a lot on my mind.” Placing her hand over her belly. “I’m glad that you came little brother.”
“Here you go little giant, show your brothers whose boss.” Setting the little terror down. “Where is she?”
“In the sitting room.” Said Feodor hammering the axe into a stump. Hector nods and walks down the steps into the house of his childhood. Solid oak furniture lined the walls. Chloe’s art on one wall opposite the fireplace. Hobgoblin art being primarily landscapes and historical scenes. Over the fireplace was the families shoulder guards depicting Chloe’s Frost Shrouds, Feodor’s Black Skulls, Sophia’s Purple Star and the children’s grey guards. Sitting in the corner with dignity of a queen was Sophia. Walking to and kneeling beside her, he waited.
“Take your boots off, son.” Giving him a brief glance then back to the blank spots over the fireplace. Taking his boots off. He also unbuckled his own shoulder guard mounting it over the fireplace. “That is half of my grief at an end. Where have you been son?”
“I found myself in small village. Took lodging in a tavern where I meet some interesting characters.”
“You weren’t loathing, were you?”
“No ma’am, I took handyman and adventuring work as it came.”
“Notes?” He shows her his journal. Smiling she leveraged herself and give her son a hug. “Welcome home son.”
Outside the Lines Fantasy – A collection of self published fiction stories.
The dark starless night in the port of Herkalion was peaceful. The cold wind passing through the empty roads, closed shops, and barracks. Down a road near the docks the peace and darkness were broken by the light and music of a tavern. The music stopped as a body was thrown out the window.
Malachi was not having a good day. All he wanted was to drink. Was that too much to ask? But the simple night he had plan for himself was ruined by that jerk. He charged the jerk through the window with a shattering of glass. One of the jerk’s banner mates though got him by rapping their arms under his. When his back was turned, and the other mate was working him over. Malachi spit in the face of his attacker. Heaving his legs up and kicked for all he was worth. Both he and the one holding him were launched into the bar. The other stumbled into a table. Slipping the hold, he wobbled and grabbed the closest bottle. He hammered it into the grappler’s head. Unlike in stories, the glass bottle did not shatter, and the grappler wasn’t knocked out.
He grabbed her by the shirt and was about hammer her again when his knees were kicked out from under him. He was dragged to the hard wood floor as the one he kicked into the table recovered. Knees pressed into his back pinning him to the ground. Kicks and punches rain down on him. All he could do was curl up into a ball and try not to whimper. His world faded away under the pain of the onslaught.
Head aching, ears ringing, and feeling the bruises up and down his entire body. Counting his teeth with his tongue he noticed that one of his tusks was chipped. Rubbing the gummy feeling from his eyes he sat up. The room was painted white and barred shut. They left for him a bucket. Abandoning the last of his hobgoblin pride he puked vomit and blood into the bucket. Clutching the bucket to himself he sat and wondered where it all went wrong.
As the sun rose higher, the training field’s dirt was churned under the feet of the young warriors pushing and straining. Though last year to Malachi it was lifetime ago. The world was open and bright. Then there was pain. A simple mistake a miss angling of the foot when receiving a charge caused the tendon in his knee to snap. He couldn’t walk or put pressure on the leg. The banner was young. Its healers weren’t capable to heal the joint. His captain handed him over to the city’s healers. Their price was steep. To cover it his captain took a quest for the money. They didn’t come back. Leaving Malachi to anguish in the hospital. Malachi used what little money in the banner’s coffers to pay the healers. He took to drink for the pain in his knee. No banner would take him, so he sold pieces of his equipment to buy the drink. That kept him until he just had the shirt on his back and guard left.
Clanging came from the as a wood baton ran across the bars. “Lunch time son.” Said the heavy-set Bugbear as he slid a bowl of soup into the cell.
“You’re not my father.” Throwing the bucket at the door.
“Everyone in my jail is my son or daughter, Malachi Last of Silver Rams.”
“it… it’s just Malachi.”
“Is that why you tried to sell your guard last night?”
“I did no such thing.” Grabbing at his bare shoulder.
With a sigh the jailer presented him his honor. “The others said when you couldn’t pay for your drink you tried to sell it. They refused and you got angry and attack them. We had to wake the priest to heal you.”
“You should had just let me pass.”
“No son, I couldn’t even on my darkest days.” As he ran his hand over the blue metal, stone grey chevron and silver ram skull. “I remeber how they were before they died. How proud your parents were when their sons were given right to form their own banner. A crying shame really. Captains like your brother only come rarely.”
“The champion and his worthless brother.”
“That is a lie.” Said the jailer as he hangs the guard right in front the jail cell. “You. Will. Live. Worthy. of Them.” Then he walks away.
Outside the Lines Fantasy – A collection of self published fiction stories.
Really well done
[Far sooner then I thought this would be done. I guess this is the value of turning off the cell phone for a while. Now that we have our third member of our trio its time set them on a collision course and turn their world upside down.]
Across the sea, the barest sliver of the sun’s light edge over the horizon. The ships harbored in Herkalion moan and creak with the waves. The harbor guards walked their beats dreaming of warm beds. Down the wide streets and alleys stray cats made war on each other. At the edge of the city is a brick barracks. A horseshoe shaped building with three towers. A banner of a striking red hawk on a white field flew in the courtyard in the center. In one of the square towers over an arm of the barracks lay a pair of sleeping forms. Each in a cold war with the other. One side of the room the was clean and orderly. The other side separated by curtain was messy. Relaxed and snoring in a primal pleasure of sore muscles and full bellies they slept.
“Get up, get up!!” Reverberated through the building with the clang of metal pot and wooden spoon. “We are burning day light.” It did not relent but continued. Worming into the minds of those sleeping as the banner’s Spears continued with their sadistic purpose. A sleeping figure bolt up with frazzled hair and blurry eyed, the other fell to the floor. Scrambling out of the bed the figure grabbed her boots, guard and jacket. The jacket is a dark brown with three patches on it. The first said “Siena” the second said “Devastator”.
Rushing down the stairs of her tower Siena and her roommate put on their jackets over. The barracks was controlled chaos as the banner assembled in the courtyard. Teams of three solders gathered to their Fists at the end of the hallway. Three Fists took their charges to their Spears down the stairs. Then six Spears then lead them into the main hall to the two Fatal Axes by the doors. Each Fatal Axe lead the two platoons into the courtyard where the Captain waited by the banner.
Siena took her place by her Spear an older Bugbear woman. All six devastators were with their Spears. For each week the Captain gives each platoon their duties. This week Siena’s squad were on reserve, thus are to do exercises and training in the morning. This afternoon they are to pull mess duties. Other squads are to patrol, some to work in the city but Siena and her squad are for the grinder. As the captain finished, he released them to their Axes. The Axes in turn released them to their Spears.
“To the Grinder.” Said Spear Petra of Red Hawks. She was answered by groans and complaints of veterans. Siena understood the complaints. They have been training hard all year not being allowed to adventure, but that has been what has been ordered by what some say the Warlord. She fell in step with Petra and Umid their squad’s standard bearer. The Fists got their charges to fallow.
“What will it be today, boss? We did hike yesterday. Are we planning on strength training?” Said the gravelly voice of Umid. Unlike the hulking Spear, the standard bearer was a diminutive Goblin.
“Ha, we do need to add more meat to Siena.” She said good naturally as she slapped the back of the thin devastator. “Then we can finally marry her off.”
“Ow, Petra I’m still sore from yesterday.”
“Oh, sorry Siena.” But the pats on the back as she said it didn’t make her seem sincere. “I forgot how a delegate Elf princess you are, ha”
“So says the walking rug.” Petra gave a deep belly laugh at the quip. Siena smiling with her friend and mentor walked down the brick road. Though Petra maybe right about the Elf princess part, well sort of. Siena was a half elf and only one hundred and eighty-fourth in line for a throne of a kingdom she couldn’t pronounce the name of. She didn’t let the jokes get to her. The first rule in Hobgoblin society don’t dish out what you can’t take back with interest. Siena has giving as well as she got for a very long time.
A grinder is part running track, obstacle course, gym and sparing circle. Were humans and elves would build parks they build grinders. When they arrived, another squad was running the racetrack. Petra started them off a warmup fallowed with calisthenics. As squad leader, Petra naturally did every exercise with her men. Siena though struggled to keep up. She was heavily built with muscle for a half elf. Her strengths are running and her ability to touch the weave, not heavy work.
Petra called a pause to their exercises as another squad from the banner came to replace them. They head back to the barracks for chow. A smell of eggs, potatoes and bacon taunted them as they entered. The squad that pulled cook detail were hard at work, mainly because the captain was working the frying pan. He was wearing a white apron and was joking with the squads. Some captains prefer to use their position as an excuse to get out of work, but no their captain chooses to work shoulder to shoulder with his men and women. Siena could honestly say that he is the toughest, most brutal and most vicious person she has ever met, but she could all so say he is the most considerate and thoughtful person as well. Honesty, and merciful aren’t the words she would describe the man. He had simply sacrificed his life for them all to the point that he is capable of anything. And today he smiles at Siena as he cooks the food. “Aw, princess have you beat Petra’s record yet. She needs some humbling.”
“I do not.” Said Petra snootily pointing her nose into the air for effect.
“Ha, not yet, sir!”
“Keep at it! One of these days Siena.” By unspoken tradition each member of the squad served the person behind them. They took their usual table. Petra, Umid and Siena naturally not sitting down until everyone else was served and seated. All enjoying the meal and satisfaction of a morning well started.
Outside the Lines Fantasy – A collection of self published fiction stories.