Ratiqu's short stories.

[Ratiqu]

Assassination

    Roland Guatanel, son of Sir Isaac Guatanel, husband to Karol Debaunt, and King of Farasay Island, opened his mouth to yawn. As he sat up, rubbing his eyes, he threw the blankets of his gargantuan bed onto the bright red carpet. Roland slipped his feet into the small purple slippers lying next to his bed and shuffled over to the window, where he threw the deep golden curtains aside to let sunlight banish the shadows around his room. Feeling much more energetic, Roland strode over to the mirror. He ran his fingers through his short, raven colored hair, now streaked through with lines of gray. Then he fingered his salt and pepper beard and the small mustache nestled beneath his long, hooked nose, thinking they could do with a shave. And finally, inevitably, Roland's eyes sank down to rest on his expanding waistline. He watched as it rose, then sank again while he sighed.

    Suddenly, he shook his head in irritation as he realized how much time he was wasting.
    "Marie! Where did you go, you damned woman? I've got a very important meeting with the Duke of Cayron today and I must be dressed for the occasion..." Roland's voice trailed off as he barged into the sitting room, where the maid was lying on the floor, a growing patch of deep crimson staining the carpet around her.
    "Marie? Oh my God, Marie!" Roland started as he realized someone else was in the room. He looked up to see a tall man with vivid red hair, dressed almost entirely in black, watching the sunrise.
    "Who are you?" Roland asked. The man shifted, then turned to look him in the eyes. Roland felt his blood run cold. He had seen eyes like those before.

    Fifteen years ago, a traveling menagerie had come to Farasay island. There, Roland had come upon the cage of a large, spotted cat. The cat had looked at him with eyes cold and hard as Arctic ice, just before it swatted at the cage and let loose with the most feral snarl he had ever heard.
   "A jaguar," The animal trainer had said. "From across the ocean."

    Roland looked into those eyes again, eyes that spoke of eternal sleep. Suddenly, the man flickered. Roland flinched. The man flickered again, and for an instant, he had a clone at each side. He flickered once more, then disappeared.

    Roland started to hyperventilate. He was thoroughly freaked out now. Then, he felt a crippling pain in his left kidney, and again in his right. Roland gasped in pain, his knees buckling. Then he felt something rip his throat apart. He collapsed.

    The man appeared at the edge of Roland's vision. He leaned down to whisper in Roland's ear.

    "I am the Angel of Death..."

[Leonri]

Haha, figured you'd write about him.

It's pretty good but the firstt line has too many made up names.

[Ratiqu]

Well, how else am I supposed to get them, besides making them up? I'm trying to give you an idea of the titles he holds in that position.

Anyway, I've got another one in the making. Not about Jaffar this time, though.

[PhoenixTears]

ooo, you make for a pretty good writer.
=D More?

[Leonri]

Well, how else am I supposed to get them, besides making them up? I'm trying to give you an idea of the titles he holds in that position.

Anyway, I've got another one in the making. Not about Jaffar this time, though.

Oh, I know but having them all in one place, on the first line is a little overwhelming. I f ya see what I mean.

[Ratiqu]

Yeah, I see what you mean. Anyway, I might as well put up the next one, since I'm just waiting for late-night coverage on the gold medal basketball game between the US and Spain. I didn't have this one as well-shaped in my mind as I did the last one, so I don't know if it'll be as good.



Reinforcements

    Jorfir was pleased. The battle was going well. And his migraine was finally disippating. His scouts had chosen the perfect time to attack; just as Grado's border patrols passed out of range for any use and the guards were switching posts. Jorfir fingered his battleaxe. He'd be out there himself if it weren't for his headache. As it were, he was considering going out to grab himself a couple of women, for entertainment later on. Jorfir tried to remember the name of the city they were raiding, but gave up after a few seconds. It didn't really matter. After all, gold is gold, whether it comes from a palace or a peasant's hut.

    Jorfir jumped up as the body of a city guard fell through the tent flaps, followed almost immediately by Bagba, one of his best fighters.
    "Jorfir, they've got reinforcements on the way," Bagba said. His eyes betrayed the calm in his voice, flickering nervously off the walls of the tent.
    "There isn't anybody close enough to pose a threat, you blasted fool." Jorfir allowed his irritation to suffuse his voice with a tone of deadly menace, a skill he had practiced for many years. Bagba twitched, taking a couple of steps toward the tent's exit.
    "They're flying units, sir, wyverns, to be exact."

    Jorfir swore violently, shoving Bagba to the ground in his haste to get out of the tent. He was met with the sight of a legion of wyverns coming over the hills, about a mile away. Jorfir swore again before turning back to his tent, saying, "Bagba. Give the order to retreat. We'll go north. Don't wait for anyone who lags behind."

    The city defenders started to shout something as they fought, the cheer rising above the ever-present sound of the chaos in battle. "It sounds like they're shouting something about a sunstone," Jorfir thought, as he started to throw everything he would need into a leather bag. He froze midstep, dropping a small map to the ground as a thought hit him.
    "One of Grado's greatest generals is called the Sunstone," he whispered to himself in horror. Jorfir swore, picked up the map, and started packing twice as quickly. He was just putting in the last item, a compass, as screams of pain started to erupt ouside the tent.

    Suddenly, an enormous shadow landed outside the rear of his tent. After a second, a smaller shape detached itself from the larger and began to move around towards the front of the tent. The sound of crunching gravel followed it. Jorfir squashed the panic rising inside him, deciding he would try to bluff his way out of this. The shadow paused at the front of the tent, and a tall, well built man with medium-length blonde hair entered the tent. He was wearing crimson armor that was plain, if well cared for, and a sword belted to his hip. He also had a vicious-looking lance strapped across his back. Jorfir eyed it nervously. A single soldier had once decimated a third of his men with one of those.

    "I am known as the Sunstone to most of my men. You can call me Glen. Your name is Jorfir, if I am correct?" Jorfir stiffened, then slowly nodded, confusion spreading across his face. Glen grinned, then said, "Yes, my sources have always been accurate. Anyway, I'd like to ask you, Jorfir, why you attacked this establishment."

    Jorfir arranged his battleworn features in what he hoped was a pitiful expression. He managed with limited success, somewhat hindered by the fact that he had half a nose, one ear, and a large collection of menacing scars.
    "We desperately needed food. None of us has eaten in da-"
    "There's only one thing I hate more than a bandit, Jorfir, and that's a liar." Glen said with a suddenly stony expression, his hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. Jorfir turned away, thinking frantically. His eyes came to rest on his battleaxe, resting on the folding table, and an idea came to him. He slowly began to creep towards the table.
    "What makes you think I'm lying?" He said.
    "There's a half-eaten plate of food lying in the corner."
    "Oh," Jorfir said, and whipped his axe around in a blow that would leave Glen without a head. Except it met only the cold, hard steel of his sword. Jorfir's eyes bulged. Glen had used one hand to block the full-bodied swing. In under two seconds, he found himself on the ground with Glen's blade resting across his throat.
  
    "Alright! We came for the gold! The loot!" Jorfir squealed. Glen lifted his sword. "Good," he said. "We got to the truth. Fortunately for you, I don't kill people in cold blood. However, my mount has no such restrictions."


    A scream ripped out of Jorfir's throat as the tent was torn away. He was still screaming as the wyvern's 2-inch long teeth started to rip apart his torso. The last thing Jorfir saw was Glen's silhouette as he watched the sunset. Then everything went black.

[Anima Sage Erk]

Nice. "However, my mount has no such restrictions". Very good job. I liked ths second one better.

[PhoenixTears]

I don't like how that second story was told from the bandit's point of view... but it's an interesting way to put it.
I believe it would fit better into a set of stories, which you could then compile to make to be one entire story.
... but that would require a bit of work, wouldn't it?

[Ratiqu]

Yep. Plus, I have no idea how I would connect Glen and Jaffar. In a while, though, I might do the story again from Glen's point of view. And the same with Jaffar's story. I've got to make a few other stories yet before I do those, though.


I've got another idea ready, but it might take awhile before it matures completely.

[Ratiqu]

Observation

   Delphir opened his eyes. The branches swayed around him as a breeze swept past, carrying the scent of autumn with it. Pine needles fell from his shoulders as Delphir stood and stretched. Then he dropped fifty feet straight down, landing perilously close to the edge of the cliff. He lay down in the dry grass and watched what had woken him, two hundred feet below.
   A small boy, just starting to experience puberty, sprinted out from under the shadows of the treeline. His sun-bleached hair, just long enough to cover his eyes, bounced up and down with each step. He was pursued by a group of three men, obviously robbers of some sort, wearing filthy, tattered clothing. The boy tripped over a root, tumbling into the brightly colored leaves scattered across the ground. The men behind him slowed to catch their breath. Then one stepped out, apparently the leader. His coarse voice drifted up to Delphir's sensitive ears.
   "You're in trouble now, boy." Their laughter rang across the shadowy forest. Delphir watched interestedly as the boy rose, shaking with rage. The bandits' laughter quickly died, and each one took a step back. They were unused to their prey being so fierce.
   Delphir's eyes widened in surprise. A wave of blackness was spreading across the boy's skin, resolving into scales as dark as a shadow on a moonless night. His face seemed to enlongate until it resembled a dragon's head, and his frame stretched and twisted until he rose to 7 feet in height. Wings sprouted out from his shoulderblades, and a tail erupted just beneath the small of his back. The creature flexed his wings, and, in a voice deeper than any man's, said "It looks like you're the ones in need of assistance."
   The men turned and ran. Delphir could tell that they would be screaming if they hadn't been running as hard as they could. The creature leaped after them, wings spread to give more distance to each step. He covered the 20 yards between himself and the first bandit in under two seconds.
   He fell, his neck snapped like a twig.
   The second bandit went flying, and smashed into a tree. He crumpled to the ground, leaving an impression in the trunk.
   The last bandit actually managed to turn and throw his weapon, a short wooden club, at the creature. It had no more effect than a leaf would've. He fell to the ground with a 6-inch hole in his back, and his still-beating heart held in the hand of the creature.
   Delphir started to breathe. He'd been holding his breath for the entire fight, if you could call it that.
   "I've never seen a newly transformed do that well," he thought. "And I certainly never expected to find one here..."
   The creature twisted and stretched again, shrinking back into a boy. The scales seemed to slide off of his skin, and his new appendages were sucked back into his body. The boy collapsed, retching, at the thought of what he had done.