Sunday, June 15, 2014

The Hound and The Cat

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.
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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 

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