MSJ
01-01-2011, 11:29 PM
Hello everyone,
I have a series on my website www.fearstavern.com called FEAR's Mini-Series and about every 2 weeks I release a short story about the series as well as a comic every alternate 2 weeks. Here's one I'd like to share with you, let me know what you think. The style is fantasy medieval.
Going Gray: Abandoned
It was supposed to be abandoned. The village grew steadily larger as the small group approached. Its gray buildings crept towards them and loomed from the ground like a forest of dead trees. The fading sun stretched the building’s shadows towards them like fingers reaching out to pull them inside.
The group consisted of little more than a dozen men. They were dressed in metal armor and carried weapons but walked in relaxed manner, not in marching formation. The sun still gave off enough light to see the large emblazoned F on their chest plates.
One soldier removed his helmet and shook his sweat matted hair. “This sucks. I hate scouting duty.”
“Get over it, Marks.” The words came from the only man wearing any kind of insignia or rank. Judging by the markings on his forearms he was a sergeant in the army of FEAR.
Marks shifted his helmet in his hand, “Yea but Sarge, why are we even out here? We should be on the fronts fighting, not in some backwoods empty village.”
“We are here because we were told to be here. Lord Dbow wants us to scout out the village and see if we can bring back anything worthwhile.”
“What is a village doing out here anyways? Who would build it in this place?”
“Some fool who thought he could play at being king. He quickly abandoned his village after finding his neighbors none too friendly. The village has sat empty since. Lord Dbow thinks it might make for a good forward outpost. It is a simple scout and collect mission, Marks. Be glad you have an easy assignment and shut up about it.”
Marks sighed and kept walking. Sergeant Hill was right he guessed. Things could be worse. At least he was out getting to see some of the surrounding world and not cooped up in a base somewhere at the center of their lands.
And Lord Dbow was as good as any to serve. He had been making a large push lately and Marks thought he might be a part of the main action but he supposed that would have to wait.
Marks looked at the others in his group. They were traveling light for this mission. Most wore lighter armor than the standard plate mail of FEAR; Marks was one of the few to bring a helmet. They all carried weapons of course, but most brought just the minimum sword or axe. Few packed spare knives, and no one carried spears. Their small group warranted no trained archers either. They were a single patrol on a non-combat mission. They wouldn’t run into trouble. Dixson and Hath were on the end of the line, both in full gear. They always brought everything. Said it was regulation. They were more serious than most of the soldiers Marks knew, but they were good friends to everyone. Next to them was Tor. Tor was too large to wear the standard armor; it didn’t fit over his gut, so he wore a loose chain shirt instead. Marks never understood how such a large man made it through training or managed to keep up on forced marches. Tor was already carrying his two handed axe. He had a gleam in his eye and smile on his face. Marks realized Tor was in the right army.
Marks got a nudge from his right. It was Plimith, “Yo, focus man. We’re here.”
Marks paid attention again to what he was doing. The patrol stood at the edge of the abandoned village. It definitely looked abandoned. The dirt streets were empty. No sound came from inside. The buildings had lost their whitewash finish, turning a dull gray color. The entire place was eerie, even to a trained soldier.
Sergeant Hill began issuing orders and men moved to comply. They drew weapons and split into groups of two or three. Each group headed down different streets looking for anything useful. Marks went with Plimith and Memo towards the center of the village.
The three fighters walked down the main street eyeing the empty buildings and black window spaces around them.
Plimith increased his pace, “Let’s hurry up and check this place so we can get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
Memo was murmuring something nervously under his breath in his native language. Marks assumed it was prayers. “You two need to man up and grow a pair. It’s an empty village. No one is here, remember? That’s what abandoned means.”
They reached the town square and found a large, dry fountain in the middle. It was three tiered and large enough for people to bathe in. Marks scoffed at such ornate architecture in a small village. No wonder this place went abandoned. This guy had his priorities all wrong. Should have built some walls instead of pretty fountains, then he might still be here.
They searched a few over turned market stalls, a ruined covered wagon, peeked their heads in a couple doors. There was nothing here. They sat down on the edge of the fountain and waited for the rest of the patrol to meet them here.
The others came back slowly, mostly empty handed. A few had found an item or two of small value but they were more trinkets and souvenirs than actual loot.
Sergeant Hill carried what appeared to be a large rolled up map and a sheaf of papers. “Alright, report in. What’d you find out there?”
The men went through their reports of checking the streets and nosing into a few buildings. No one had much to report as this was just a quick sweep of the city.
As the sergeant listened to the useless reports, Marks stood up. He did a quick count of the soldiers and then counted again. Eleven. “Where are Malek and Hughes?”
The rest of the group looked around. Looks were exchanged. Weapons were brought to the ready. A strange piercing laugh rang out. It echoed off the empty buildings. Another peal of laughter from the opposite side. Sergeant Hill spoke and the men formed into a defensive position.
The laughter increased in volume and number. It came from all around them, punctuated by shocking screams. The sound was deafening in the square.
Marks gripped his sword in both hands. His helmet sat on the fountain’s edge where he had left it. He wanted it now but didn’t dare put his guard down to reach for it.
“There!” Dixson pointed to a window in a nearby building. “I saw someone.”
The men began to see figures moving in dozens of nearby windows, doors, and ally ways. They moved quickly and in the long shadows of the fading sun. It was too hard to see who they were; everything was shadowy black or fading red.
A glass window exploded outward as something went flying through it. Malek’s corpse hit the ground with a sickening thump in front of the FEAR soldiers amid a shower of glass.
The screams and yells reached a crescendo and like a dam bursting the streets flooded with running, howling creatures wielding axes, clubs, spears, and all types of death.
The men charging at them, if one could call them such, were clothed in scraps of metal and leather with their bodies painted and pierced. Some charged naked, others unarmed but all of them wanted blood.
Tor didn’t wait for them to reach him. His massive frame charged the oncoming wave of barbarians. One swing of his axe took a man in half.
Sergeant Hill screamed out something over the noise. Marks barely heard it. And then the enemy was upon them.
Marks blocked a club coming for his head. He slid his blade down and with a twist removed three fingers from his opponent. The man could not longer hold his club and screamed. He looked more angry at losing his weapon than at losing his fingers. Marks slashed him across the chest and watched him go down.
Plimith buried his axe in the chest of a man who had been swinging for Marks. Marks looked to thank him. He turned just in time to see the panic in Plimith’s eyes. A barbarian was already stabbing towards him. Plimith couldn’t pull his axe out in time to save himself and Marks couldn’t reach him either. Marks watched Plimith die in front of him.
Marks screamed and plunged his sword through the man’s gut. He drove him backwards with his shoulder, pushing through another man and driving them over the edge into the fountain.
Marks stabbed and hacked at the two bodies below him until they were a large mess of body parts. He killed another man who thought to take advantage of his distraction, and a second and a third. Death was all around him, including among his comrades.
Dixson and Hath stood shoulder to shoulder in their full plated armor, a solid steel wall, killing everyone who approached them. The man next to them was not so lucky as he took a sharp axe to the side of his head. Memo was frantically blocking and parrying every thrust of an opponent’s sword. Marks knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. Two men fought back to back. One took a spear to the ribs and went down with a scream. His partner’s back was left exposed and was soon filled with cold, sharp steel. Tor stood alone, surrounded by raging barbarians. He was surrounded in bodies and blood and seemed to love every minute of it.
Sergeant Hill shouted an order and pointed down a street. Marks definitely did not hear it this time, but he understood. Retreat.
Marks killed the man in front of him and jumped from his spot on the fountain towards his quickly shrinking group. Memo was dead by the time Marks reached them. There were only seven of them left and Tor was separated from the group.
Sergeant Hill’s axe carved a pathway through the streets. The former dirt road was now made of red mud and paved with corpses. Tor was finally overwhelmed. The great mass of a man went down into the sea of bodies. Their small group fought through the mob to the edge.
They ran in pairs with Sergeant Hill leading and Dixson and Hath protecting the rear. The mob of barbarians pursued them relentlessly, screaming and howling the whole way. They turned down side streets and back allies trying to lose their pursuers.
Dixson and Hath stopped. “We will never lose them. Run, we will cover your escape.”
Marks gave them a quick nod and continued running after Sergeant Hill. He heard the clash of steel behind him as the two fought to hold back a swarm.
The remaining four soldiers turned out of the ally and raced down the street. There was a loud shriek and Marks felt something heavy hit his back and he went down. He rolled over, fighting the man who had pounced on him. A swift elbow broke the man’s nose and after a few hard punches to the gut, Marks was on top of the man and beating him to death with his bare hands. He got off the broken man and retrieved his sword from the street.
He looked up to see his last three comrades still running, pursued by nearly twenty men. Marks got up and ran after them, not wanting to be left behind.
More barbarians came in from side streets and raced along rooftops lining the street. They knew Marks was alone and small groups of the barbarians pealed off to corner him. They smiled through faces covered in blood and dirt. The entire affair was funny to them. Marks turned and ran down another street, losing sight of the group.
He ran as hard as he could, randomly turning down roads and hopping fences. Finally when he felt he was out of site, he dove through a doorway and kicked it shut behind him. He lay panting on the floor of an empty house, straining to hear pursuing footsteps over the sound of his heart pounding. He heard nothing but refused to relax. He bolted the door and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
The upstairs was a single room with all the windows shuttered. Marks sank into a corner and sat in the darkness, slowly catching his breath. He heard the laughter start outside. The screams began again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be abandoned.
I have a series on my website www.fearstavern.com called FEAR's Mini-Series and about every 2 weeks I release a short story about the series as well as a comic every alternate 2 weeks. Here's one I'd like to share with you, let me know what you think. The style is fantasy medieval.
Going Gray: Abandoned
It was supposed to be abandoned. The village grew steadily larger as the small group approached. Its gray buildings crept towards them and loomed from the ground like a forest of dead trees. The fading sun stretched the building’s shadows towards them like fingers reaching out to pull them inside.
The group consisted of little more than a dozen men. They were dressed in metal armor and carried weapons but walked in relaxed manner, not in marching formation. The sun still gave off enough light to see the large emblazoned F on their chest plates.
One soldier removed his helmet and shook his sweat matted hair. “This sucks. I hate scouting duty.”
“Get over it, Marks.” The words came from the only man wearing any kind of insignia or rank. Judging by the markings on his forearms he was a sergeant in the army of FEAR.
Marks shifted his helmet in his hand, “Yea but Sarge, why are we even out here? We should be on the fronts fighting, not in some backwoods empty village.”
“We are here because we were told to be here. Lord Dbow wants us to scout out the village and see if we can bring back anything worthwhile.”
“What is a village doing out here anyways? Who would build it in this place?”
“Some fool who thought he could play at being king. He quickly abandoned his village after finding his neighbors none too friendly. The village has sat empty since. Lord Dbow thinks it might make for a good forward outpost. It is a simple scout and collect mission, Marks. Be glad you have an easy assignment and shut up about it.”
Marks sighed and kept walking. Sergeant Hill was right he guessed. Things could be worse. At least he was out getting to see some of the surrounding world and not cooped up in a base somewhere at the center of their lands.
And Lord Dbow was as good as any to serve. He had been making a large push lately and Marks thought he might be a part of the main action but he supposed that would have to wait.
Marks looked at the others in his group. They were traveling light for this mission. Most wore lighter armor than the standard plate mail of FEAR; Marks was one of the few to bring a helmet. They all carried weapons of course, but most brought just the minimum sword or axe. Few packed spare knives, and no one carried spears. Their small group warranted no trained archers either. They were a single patrol on a non-combat mission. They wouldn’t run into trouble. Dixson and Hath were on the end of the line, both in full gear. They always brought everything. Said it was regulation. They were more serious than most of the soldiers Marks knew, but they were good friends to everyone. Next to them was Tor. Tor was too large to wear the standard armor; it didn’t fit over his gut, so he wore a loose chain shirt instead. Marks never understood how such a large man made it through training or managed to keep up on forced marches. Tor was already carrying his two handed axe. He had a gleam in his eye and smile on his face. Marks realized Tor was in the right army.
Marks got a nudge from his right. It was Plimith, “Yo, focus man. We’re here.”
Marks paid attention again to what he was doing. The patrol stood at the edge of the abandoned village. It definitely looked abandoned. The dirt streets were empty. No sound came from inside. The buildings had lost their whitewash finish, turning a dull gray color. The entire place was eerie, even to a trained soldier.
Sergeant Hill began issuing orders and men moved to comply. They drew weapons and split into groups of two or three. Each group headed down different streets looking for anything useful. Marks went with Plimith and Memo towards the center of the village.
The three fighters walked down the main street eyeing the empty buildings and black window spaces around them.
Plimith increased his pace, “Let’s hurry up and check this place so we can get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
Memo was murmuring something nervously under his breath in his native language. Marks assumed it was prayers. “You two need to man up and grow a pair. It’s an empty village. No one is here, remember? That’s what abandoned means.”
They reached the town square and found a large, dry fountain in the middle. It was three tiered and large enough for people to bathe in. Marks scoffed at such ornate architecture in a small village. No wonder this place went abandoned. This guy had his priorities all wrong. Should have built some walls instead of pretty fountains, then he might still be here.
They searched a few over turned market stalls, a ruined covered wagon, peeked their heads in a couple doors. There was nothing here. They sat down on the edge of the fountain and waited for the rest of the patrol to meet them here.
The others came back slowly, mostly empty handed. A few had found an item or two of small value but they were more trinkets and souvenirs than actual loot.
Sergeant Hill carried what appeared to be a large rolled up map and a sheaf of papers. “Alright, report in. What’d you find out there?”
The men went through their reports of checking the streets and nosing into a few buildings. No one had much to report as this was just a quick sweep of the city.
As the sergeant listened to the useless reports, Marks stood up. He did a quick count of the soldiers and then counted again. Eleven. “Where are Malek and Hughes?”
The rest of the group looked around. Looks were exchanged. Weapons were brought to the ready. A strange piercing laugh rang out. It echoed off the empty buildings. Another peal of laughter from the opposite side. Sergeant Hill spoke and the men formed into a defensive position.
The laughter increased in volume and number. It came from all around them, punctuated by shocking screams. The sound was deafening in the square.
Marks gripped his sword in both hands. His helmet sat on the fountain’s edge where he had left it. He wanted it now but didn’t dare put his guard down to reach for it.
“There!” Dixson pointed to a window in a nearby building. “I saw someone.”
The men began to see figures moving in dozens of nearby windows, doors, and ally ways. They moved quickly and in the long shadows of the fading sun. It was too hard to see who they were; everything was shadowy black or fading red.
A glass window exploded outward as something went flying through it. Malek’s corpse hit the ground with a sickening thump in front of the FEAR soldiers amid a shower of glass.
The screams and yells reached a crescendo and like a dam bursting the streets flooded with running, howling creatures wielding axes, clubs, spears, and all types of death.
The men charging at them, if one could call them such, were clothed in scraps of metal and leather with their bodies painted and pierced. Some charged naked, others unarmed but all of them wanted blood.
Tor didn’t wait for them to reach him. His massive frame charged the oncoming wave of barbarians. One swing of his axe took a man in half.
Sergeant Hill screamed out something over the noise. Marks barely heard it. And then the enemy was upon them.
Marks blocked a club coming for his head. He slid his blade down and with a twist removed three fingers from his opponent. The man could not longer hold his club and screamed. He looked more angry at losing his weapon than at losing his fingers. Marks slashed him across the chest and watched him go down.
Plimith buried his axe in the chest of a man who had been swinging for Marks. Marks looked to thank him. He turned just in time to see the panic in Plimith’s eyes. A barbarian was already stabbing towards him. Plimith couldn’t pull his axe out in time to save himself and Marks couldn’t reach him either. Marks watched Plimith die in front of him.
Marks screamed and plunged his sword through the man’s gut. He drove him backwards with his shoulder, pushing through another man and driving them over the edge into the fountain.
Marks stabbed and hacked at the two bodies below him until they were a large mess of body parts. He killed another man who thought to take advantage of his distraction, and a second and a third. Death was all around him, including among his comrades.
Dixson and Hath stood shoulder to shoulder in their full plated armor, a solid steel wall, killing everyone who approached them. The man next to them was not so lucky as he took a sharp axe to the side of his head. Memo was frantically blocking and parrying every thrust of an opponent’s sword. Marks knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. Two men fought back to back. One took a spear to the ribs and went down with a scream. His partner’s back was left exposed and was soon filled with cold, sharp steel. Tor stood alone, surrounded by raging barbarians. He was surrounded in bodies and blood and seemed to love every minute of it.
Sergeant Hill shouted an order and pointed down a street. Marks definitely did not hear it this time, but he understood. Retreat.
Marks killed the man in front of him and jumped from his spot on the fountain towards his quickly shrinking group. Memo was dead by the time Marks reached them. There were only seven of them left and Tor was separated from the group.
Sergeant Hill’s axe carved a pathway through the streets. The former dirt road was now made of red mud and paved with corpses. Tor was finally overwhelmed. The great mass of a man went down into the sea of bodies. Their small group fought through the mob to the edge.
They ran in pairs with Sergeant Hill leading and Dixson and Hath protecting the rear. The mob of barbarians pursued them relentlessly, screaming and howling the whole way. They turned down side streets and back allies trying to lose their pursuers.
Dixson and Hath stopped. “We will never lose them. Run, we will cover your escape.”
Marks gave them a quick nod and continued running after Sergeant Hill. He heard the clash of steel behind him as the two fought to hold back a swarm.
The remaining four soldiers turned out of the ally and raced down the street. There was a loud shriek and Marks felt something heavy hit his back and he went down. He rolled over, fighting the man who had pounced on him. A swift elbow broke the man’s nose and after a few hard punches to the gut, Marks was on top of the man and beating him to death with his bare hands. He got off the broken man and retrieved his sword from the street.
He looked up to see his last three comrades still running, pursued by nearly twenty men. Marks got up and ran after them, not wanting to be left behind.
More barbarians came in from side streets and raced along rooftops lining the street. They knew Marks was alone and small groups of the barbarians pealed off to corner him. They smiled through faces covered in blood and dirt. The entire affair was funny to them. Marks turned and ran down another street, losing sight of the group.
He ran as hard as he could, randomly turning down roads and hopping fences. Finally when he felt he was out of site, he dove through a doorway and kicked it shut behind him. He lay panting on the floor of an empty house, straining to hear pursuing footsteps over the sound of his heart pounding. He heard nothing but refused to relax. He bolted the door and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
The upstairs was a single room with all the windows shuttered. Marks sank into a corner and sat in the darkness, slowly catching his breath. He heard the laughter start outside. The screams began again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be abandoned.