Hello! :D Yes, I know: It is a terrible name. This is something I came up with last year in December. Enjoy! :)
There once was a knight, bold and gallant. His talents
exceeded those of his fellows and because of his capabilities, and the quality
of which he performed his tasks, the young man became quite smug and vain. He
would often gloat of his physique and agility and endurance and almost every
quality he possessed to the fellow villagers of the town he occupied. Word
carried of him fast on the wind, and his deeds were well known beyond vicinity
of the town.
This drew plenty of attention to him, inevitably, some quite
positive. Others who were attentive to him, however, did not always harbor
admiration for the knight. Rather, they saw a challenge. Rather, they saw a
devious opportunity.
One day, a group of thugs approached the town. They wielded
weapons large, cumbersome, and blunt with expressions to match. Aside from
their colossal hammers, small daggers as sharp as a bramble were nestled by
their belts. Even sharper yet were the eyes of the massive men. Varying from
grizzled to gruff, from sneering to seething, the men hobbled down to the pub,
where gossip poured as freely as drink.
They knew what they sought, and they knew where to expect
him to be. As soon as the pub door swung open, the ambience of the outside
world was drowned by the tavern’s jolly music and the sound of intoxicated
chortling. The group of chaps strode over to the barkeep, receiving several
dirty and curious looks. One of the Thugs had a glint in his eye as it caught
sight of a man adorned in silver armor, jesting and complimenting himself.
With an exchange of crooked smiles and gnarled teeth, the
men lumbered towards the boisterous knight.
The knight could hardly notice the towering figure looming
over the crowd around him. Perched upon his barstool with a glittering,
pearl-like smile, the knight gleamed amongst the commoners that were infatuated
with him and his stories. At the conclusion of his tale, after a wave of praise
and murmurs of astonishment, the knight dismissed the scraggly folk and was
granted a pint of ale on the house.
Sitting across from him was the leader of the menacing
mercenaries. He called himself Thag the Horrible. The knight sat scouring the
scene, occasionally raising his mug to his lips. Thag hunched over the maple
bar top. With a thick, calloused hand Thag motioned the bartender to serve up a
drink. The bartender faked a courteous grin though his eyes betrayed his wariness
and scuffled off to make his pint.
Thag’s good eye wandered over to the knight, a smile
similar to a waxing moon began to form on his features. His tan, scarred skin
only intensified his ominous appearance, as did the dangerous glint in his
sea-green eyes that looked as though they desired to drown the knight.
The knight caught his glare, and shifted in his seat in a
mixture of haughtiness and edginess. Thag simply smirked, craning his head
towards the bartender, who placed a foaming pint of the strongest ale available
in front of him. Giving a nod of appreciation, Thag slid the pewter mug to his right
hand, sipping the heady brew, nursing it while preparing his fighting sense.
The knight glanced back at the man. A surge of intimidation
coursed through the knight against his volition. He may have had a sturdier set
of armor, crafted of fine delicately carved silver, but in the back of his mind
the knight doubted he could even slice through the man’s bare skin should a
conflict arise.
Thag,
only attired in commoner’s clothing and leather pauldrons and greaves, still
looked as though his defenses were impenetrable. His eye rested back on the
knight, and he cocked a brow as if he were oblivious to the knight’s fear.
Thag, with a conceited grin, winked at him tauntingly.
The
knight grimaced, narrowing his eyes at the display from the burly man. His fingers
rapped on the bar top with boiling emotions, and his jaw clenched. The knight’s
stomach twisted indignantly. Turning his attention back to his glass and
gingerly sipping his drink, the knight tried to regain his composure, not
willing to show his discomfort. It would shame him and his pride.
Thag
saw that his attempts were successful, guzzled the contents of his cup until no
more liquid sloshed in mug, and slammed it down with an abrupt clatter. Patrons
nearby turned to investigate the source of the sound. Upon seeing the haggard
sight of the thug, they quickly turned away in alarm.
Realizing
no matter how much he provoked the knight, he would remain sitting quietly in
his chair, Thag leaned in to address the young man. Sick of playing coy, Thag
spoke to the man in his thick, husky accent, the sound of which would make the
toughest man tremble ever so slightly.
“
‘Ey you. Lad in the fancy garb, ‘ere. Wot are ye doin’ to make ‘ourself them
riches you obviously got?” His voice was kind, almost mockingly so, as the
knight turned to him with disdain.
“I
earned my glitters by defending this charming town, sir.” Thag smirked at this, admiring his feistiness. The knight
sniffed, raising his chin.
“The
Governor of this town, as a matter of fact, congratulated me personally and
assigned me to go about slaying vermin.” The knight spat the last word harshly,
as if he was indirectly referring to Thag. The mercenary chuckled, pawing at
the stubble on his throat.
“Well,
congrats then, my friend! The name’s Thag. I would be delighted to ‘ear of your
name, considering you are an ‘ero and whatnot.” With a bicep wider than the
knight’s thigh and an outstretched meaty palm, Thag presented a greeting. The
knight sneered with disgust and looked back to Thag’s thick face.
“Sir
Fredrick Braun.” Thag shrugged at the lack of a handshake but quaintly smiled
anyhow. At least he had gotten a name, right?
“Well,
then, Sir Freddy,” Fredrick cringed at the sound of the abbreviation. “I ‘ave a
request for ya. You see, me and me mates keep ‘earing that you got an ego as
big as your pockets. Now, we don’t want anyfing to do with ‘armin’ ya,
understand? But we got a request from our boss tellin’ us ‘at we be’er take ya back
with us. It insures good pay and good fame. But listen ‘ere, laddie. Normally I
wouldn’t give two lashes ‘bout killin’ a man if it meant me gettin’ paid. But
with your supposed ‘skill’, I think we could find use for ya in our posse.”
Fredrick
shook slightly with apprehension. Thag leaned in closer, his breath reeking of
alcohol and power.
“Ya
see, I’m willin’ to make a bet wif you. If ya think you could win, we’ll let ya
walk free. If not, there are grea’er things at stake than your life.” Fredrick
resisted the urge to gulp down the knot forming in his throat. Nevertheless,
his pride resisted the attempts to scare him, and he looked the thug dead in
the eye.
“What
are the consequences?” Thag’s mouth curved up at the corners approvingly.
“You
win, like I mentioned, an’ you’ll be able to stride around at yer own leisure.
If I win, though,” Thag licked his lips with delight. “I get to take wha’ever I
want from ‘ere. That includes you, mate.”
This
time, Fredrick made no attempt to suppress an audible gulp. But his confidence
outweighed his logic, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped from
his tongue.
“Consider
it a deal.” Thag’s eyes did not widen, to Fredrick’s surprise, but merely met
his amber irises with a satisfied gaze. A giant paw clasped Fredrick on the
back with bruising force as Thag gave a throaty laugh.
Fredrick,
for once, felt as though he made a flawed decision.
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After
the conversation between the knight and the mercenary ceased, Thag rose from
his seat and stretched his tendons. Galumphing towards the exit, he parted the
large, brass doors to meet his group standing in the middle of the stone
walkway. Evening had begun to fall, casting a pink hue on all of their faces.
Most
of the men, mainly the younger, newer members of the group, appeared bored and
stagnant. The more experienced members were occupying their time by sharpening
their blades, practicing their parrying with a partner, or simply chatting. The
eldest of all, Kidle, was napping against one of the wooden beams holding up
the tavern overhang.
An
attendant of the bar went to illuminate the lanterns hanging by the door. When
his eyes met Thag, he quickly stumbled away, tripping over his own heels. Thag
merely snorted and approached his gang.
Their
eyes lit up instantly, and all the men gathered around. Eager to earn a
handsome sum of gold, many questions flew from excited mouths. Thag chuckled. It’s like my wolfhounds when I get home.
Thag
raised a hand, silencing them all within a matter of a minute. He, with cheer
and positivity, then relayed the news.
“Listen
up, dogs! We ‘ave our man in the midst of an agreement! Problem is, we need to
figure out somethin’ that he’ll never win against us at! You lot ‘ave any
ideas?” The men scratched their heads, having only seen the man for a few
seconds before being dismissed outside.
From
the crowd, a voice piped up. “Is he strong?” Thag nodded curtly.
“Slightly.
He’s strong, but he’s lean strong. Like a cat, almost, ya know?” The men
nodded, trying to resume their quest to find a weakness.
Another
voice, this one more tentative, arose from the group. “Ummm…Oh! We’re strong,
right fellas?” Most approved, beating their chests as if to prove and
acknowledge it. “Alright…Then-uh-what if w-we challenge him to somethin’
like…Oh, I don’t know-a disc throwing contest?”
Some
of the men growled in disapproval, saying that discus was a sport for posh weaklings.
But at that moment, Thag’s eyes lit up.
“That’s
brilliant, lad!” He flashed a smile to the boy, who nervously grinned back in
gratitude. The crowd turned to Thag, blatantly bewildered.
“I-It
is?” You could see the gears churning in Thag’s head, and he formulated his
plan.
“Yeah,
it is! Wot if, mates, we go ahead and challenge him to, not a discus contest,
but an ‘ammer throwing contest!” At the mentioning of hammers, the men began to
grow enthusiastic. A handful of the thugs cheered at the plan, ecstatic for the
mounds of gold that awaited them.
Thag
beamed eager to test the water of their new plan. “Alright, it’s settled ‘en!”
“Wait
a second, Thag!” Exclaimed a raspy, high-pitched voice. “Does the lad know the
challenge?” Thag grinned widely, the word ‘sly’ plastered on his features.
“Ah,
but ‘at’s the thing, Horace! He already agreed!” The mercenaries howled with
laughter at the knight’s misfortune and haste. The sudden guffawing caused
Kidle to wake with a start and catch his long, white beard on the splintery
post he rested on.
“What
in blasphemy?!” He cried, causing the mercenaries to roar even harder with
laughter. The old man rambled at them, as usual, claiming the silliest of
things like how the pole was talking to him and they were rudely interrupting
their telepathic conversation.
Even
the grumpy thugs smiled despite themselves. That is until they were vacated
from the property by an angry and sleepy housewife who lived nearby.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
gold glittering sun had risen to stream through the stained windows of
Fredrick’s bedroom. Fredrick himself, however, had risen hours before, pacing
and perspiring with anxiety to the dilemma before him. His pride masked it as training
his nerves for the challenge ahead, but the young knight’s subconscious
acknowledged it as something else.
Fredrick,
he found to his own agony, was afraid.
In
all his life, from slaying a variety of bandits and vagabonds and other
assortments of criminals, never once had Fredrick batted an eye. He would lash
them into submission and drag them to the dungeons, further improving the
validity that he was the savior of the town. But even just one look at the
coarse, granular Thag…
Fredrick
growled to himself, trying an abysmal attempt at composing his fear. Remember all the ballads the folks sing in
your honor! His
head shouted in encouragement. You are
their savior. You are the chosen stock of hero, grade A, so rich in ability
your blood is pure gold! Remember! Fredrick sighed in exasperation.
Padding out of his room, Fredrick craned his head to see
the home he had netted. He remembered that time, festering and burning like an
old leaf caught in the sun, when he had first gotten this homestead.
Fredrick grinned to himself, critiquing the elaborate
wooden depictions of his own deeds so carefully etched in the living room by
the grateful carpenters and woodworkers who he had assisted. His fingertips
drifted over the flowered, fruited borders on the stone walls. It was the work
of grateful masons, chipping in (literally) to repay his benevolent acts.
Drifting over to the musky scented cellars, Fredrick
lowered his head to avoid a calamity of possible unconsciousness and goose eggs
on his crown. After all, it had happened many a time before, the knight
reminded himself with embarrassment,
Browsing the wines in the dusty hollow below, Fredrick
saw multiple that he had been rewarded with not even a week ago. The bottles
varied from volume and design, color and shine, and the accumulating films of
dust forming on them. Each had a story, an adventure. That is what Fredrick
admired so much about them, and himself.
Fredrick owned dozens and dozens of items, hallowed by
the friar and gilded of their craft by capable hands. Every single one was due
to his own charities. A familiar sense of pride welled within him, filling his
core with warmth.
Fredrick traversed the steps leading back to the living
area. Early dawn sunlight met him as he treaded back to his bedroom to exchange
clothes. He wouldn’t want to venture the town in nothing but silk underclothes,
he should think.
Snorting at the thought of him arresting felons in his
pajamas, Fredrick pulled on some more decent and suitable threads. Once he
commenced draping himself in his dark green velvet shirt, it suddenly hit him,
and his gleaming smile faded.
Fredrick might just lose it all. Everything, from the
house, the followers, the noble standing, the fanatics, and even his own
egotism, he could potentially see it all vanish before his very eyes. He found
his heart ache at the disturbing and unnerving thought.
Worse yet, Fredrick might have sold his soul, and in this
case his fighting arm, to a group of rascals. Living a life of luxury is not
all Fredrick might lose. He may also lose himself…
Vexed, terrified, and possibly staring a life of forced
banditry in the face, Fredrick put out a prayer and proceeded through the front
door of his house.
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The breeze greeted Thag as he ventured atop the hill
overlooking the grassy knolls outside the town. He inhaled, reveling in the
merry scene and the lukewarm sun lathering his skin.
Thag’s feet found themselves pushing forward, tramping
westward toward the leveled fields of emerald green. He was greeted to the
awesome sight of distant glens and quagmires and streams. The shimmering rivers
were like veins, all flowing back to the heart of the lake nearby. Thag
grinned.
It was bad enough for poor Fredrick that he would have to
be condemned to a life of serving Thag, let alone being shamed in his gorgeous
homeland. Thag almost pitied the man. His scarred, lifeless eye as well as his
hungry sea-green one wandered over the clearing, devouring the image before
him. All his in a matter of minutes…
That is of the
lily-livered knight in shinin’ armor shows up. Thag thought to
himself, snorting while twitchy movements compensated for his impatience. The
dappled sun fell through the trees not thirty feet away from the clearing and
the hills, casting a silhouette on the tall oaks. Thag turned to the shadow
with raised brows, not expecting and not believing what he saw.
A tired, thickly built fellow clad in the mercenary
group’s symbols was making his way over with a more petite, shorter man
squirming in his grasp. The scraggly bearded man plucked the knight up by the
arm, thrusting the latter of the two towards Thag.
Without his noble fittings, Thag had hardly recognized
him. A flustered Fredrick was currently ranting to the large thug, pushing
himself up to his feet while wiping away at the dirt on his pants.
“Do you call that courtesy?! First you dare to put your filthy hands on me
whilst you invade my property, uninvited might I add, and then you drag me out
into the wilderness without even engaging in civilized conversation-!” Thag
stifled a laugh, biting his bottom lip so that it almost bled. The other
mercenary gave a teasing glare before childishly sticking his tongue out.
Meanwhile, Fredrick continued to list his frustrations.
“-not to mention that such your resinous oaf hands had
violated my personal space without minimal consideration for my feelings! I am appalled
at your misconduct! Why, I should smite you now and save some air for decent
individuals to breathe!” Fredrick walked right up to the man, blaring at him
with obvious frustration.
“And you, sir, have still not told me what you hauled me
out here for! No, no, you just assume I wouldn’t want to know, is that it?!
That I-“ The thug swung a mighty hand at his chest and pushed him to his
bottom.
Thag could not hold in his laughter. He split the air
with barks of joy, to the extent where his complexion turned a shade of violet
for a few moments. Fredrick rotated his torso to see him, taken aback by his
presence.
The other man rolled his eyes, but was grinning with
contentment. Fredrick got up once more, not bothering to dust his trousers. He
glared daggers at the two, his face flushed with humiliation.
“Finally some’in actually shut ‘im up!” Warbled the
fellow thug at the relieving revelation. Fredrick drew back his lip in a
crossbreed between a snarl and a pout. This caused Thag to hoot louder,
boisterous booming frightening a deer paces away in the forests.
With crossed arms and an averted gaze, Fredrick steamed
silently and awaited a
