So, about...ten years ago I put together some short stories for a video game that was running a little competition (I think they were looking for short bits of fiction to include in a manual or something of the sort). I stumbled across these today and figured I'd post them up for some light reading.
Short Story One
Thorngrim knelt on the sandy bank of the small creek. He groaned as he leaned over, and dipped his
stubby fingers into the cool running water.
He let the water run through his fingers before hoisting a small handful
to the back of his neck.
The mirewood
trees around him were creaking as they swayed in the light breeze. He lifted a mouthful of water, and swished it
around, then spat it back.
He straightened
his back, and heard it pop. He gazed
around him, into the trees, sucking on his two front teeth. He felt one pop loose. He poked at it with his tongue, then gently
bit down onto his thumb. He felt the
boar-bone piece slip back into his gums.
Click.
Thorngrim froze.
Suddenly, Thorngrim’s
eyes squinted, darting to the trees around him.
The sound of the trees, and animals faded.
“In the trees,
across the clearing.”
He glanced across
the nearby expanse of tall grass, and into the swaying beams of mirewood
beyond.
“Aye, eyes or
nose?” Thorngrim asked, as he pulled another mouthful of water from the creek,
letting it drip through his fingers.
The gruff voice
came back, “Bit of both.”
One of Thorngrim’s
hands slipped slowly to the small of his back, unhooking a leather-clad
tool. He flexed his hand gently, hearing
his knuckles crack in protest and he gripped the shaft of his first axe.
“How close…” he
muttered as he glanced back and forth along the tree line.
Fagui was
sitting, obscured by tall ferns, only a number of paces behind Thorngrim. His squat, rust-coloured helm sat next to
him, long braided locks of graying hair trailed down the sides of his
face. His cheek rested on the wood and
brass of his wheel-lock.
“Two points
south” he whispered, closing one eye, and peering down the barrel.
Thorngrim could
now see the shadow. He had made the
mistake of searching too low along the grey trunks of the mirewoods.
By the Gods.
The legs of the thing were as thick as
the tree trunks it strode slowly between.
Its trunk, tall and wide. The arms were quite spindly by comparions,
thought Thorngrim as he popped his tooth back out, and spit it into the water.
“You’re going to
miss that.” came another whisper, nearby.
“I’ll have your
lady whittle me a new one,” he grinned.
Thorngrim glanced
quickly to his right, and spotted Bulfist squatted in a small depression on the
opposite edge of the creek.
Bulfist was the
youngest of the group, and hefty. He was
quite round now that Thorngrim took a good look at him.
Quite
fitting for the son of such a successful merchant.
Thorngrim’s
wandering thoughts were interrupted quickly.
“He sees you.”
If the giant was
excited by the appearance of such easy prey, his demeanor did not portray
it. He strode with long, ungainly
strides into the open of the clearing.
Standing fully
eight-men tall, the giant put forth a fearsome visage. Thorngrim’s eyes quickened to the countless
scars which adorned the beast’s body. He
did not miss the trophies which adorned the legs and arms of the creature. Trophies from men foolish enough to attempt
what he and his partners were attempting to do just now.
Short Story Two
Thorngrim squinted in the darkness. His heavy brow furrowed as he peered down
into the deep black of the hallway behind him.
His nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air.
“Grim…”
Thorngrim
carefully lifted his stubby hand and placed it on the chest of Filfut, “Quiet
now boy.”
Beside
him, Thorngrim could hear Bulfist and Fagui sniffing the stale cavern air. Filfut shifted his weight nervously until
Thorngrim took him by a shoulder and held him fast.
This boy is far too anxious and young for
one carrying such an important message.
No matter. His legs are long, and his lungs are young.
Thorngrim slowly let go of
Filfut’s shoulder.
“What
are you thinking, Bul?” whispered Thorngrim as he peered into the darkness
beside him.
“Something
foul, but maybe not yet so close.”
Thorngrim
grunted in agreement, and pushed Filfut down the hall. Fagui and Bulfist fell in behind him as they
continued down the cold dank passage.
Filfut stumbled along ahead of him, anything but sure-footed.
Under
his thick leather boots, Thorngrim could feel the rock becoming
moss-covered. This passageway was
old. Very old.
“Two
more days of this, and we’ll see the light of the Gate.” whispered Fagui as he
patted Bulfist with his heavy, gloved hand.
Bulfist,
the grumpiest of the party, ignored the cheer of his old-aged friend, and
stumbled on in the darkness, following in Thorngrim’s footsteps.
Thorngrim
only let go of Filfut for a second.
Filfut
felt his weight thrown back as his foot slipped on the damp moss which lined
the age-old stone passage. He felt his
hand lash out, grasping for the wall, catching only the leg of Thorngrim’s
trousers. He yelped, and felt a heavy,
strong hand grab him by his pack. He
looked up, seeing the vague shadow of Thorngrim’s heavy-set head.
“Boy,
you’re a bit more trouble than-“
Filfut
could feel his pack shift, and then heard a shattering crash as his jug of ale
shattered on the hard stone beneath his feet.
Thorngrim
dropped him like a trapped hare, and he fell to the ground.
“Grim-“
Thorngrim
dropped to a knee, and slapped his heavy hand across Filfut’s mouth.
“QUIET!”
he whispered harshly.
Silence.
Thorngrim
looked down at Filfut in the darkness.
Even in the deep black of the passage he could see the young dwarf’s
expression. Fear.
Fagui was moving now. Slowly.
He lifted a powder horn to his lips, and very slowly bit the cap, and
let it drop on its cordon. His old, stumpy
thumb very slowly lifted the strike-plate on his handgun. As he started to quietly tap the powder horn
onto the strike-plate, they heard it.
A
shrill cry, deep in the dark. There was
an eerie whistling in the air, and Thorngrim felt something rustle his
beard. The air hissed again, and a loud
clattering erupted from nearby, as Thorngrim felt something pierce his cheek.
He
couldn’t help but slap at his face, and he stumbled for a minute, before
grabbing a small stone chip and tugging it from his bearded cheek. He licked the stone chip, and spat.
“Fagui-”
“I
know…Goblins.”
Bulfist
was already tugging his hammer from its leather-bound sheath on his hip,
“There, they’re coming.”
Filfut’s
jaw chattered as the other three calmly prepared. Thorngrim grabbed a fistful of Filfut’s tunic
and tugged him to his feet.
“Boy,
listen…you have to run. There’s no more
of us. We’ll earn you time for haste.”
“But…but
Grim, I…”
“Boy.
Go.”
Filfut
messed with his tunic, and gathered himself.
He clenched the message parcel in his small traveling pouch, and gritted
his teeth. Then, he ran.
Fagui
was huffing madly when they came to the first bridgeway. He stumped over, resting on his knees as he
tried to regain his breath. Bulfist was
in no better shape. He let his hammer
hang at his side as he heaved inside his heavy armour.
“Here.”
“Yes,
as good a place as any.”
Thorngrim
dropped his axe between his legs, and spat into his gloves. He rubbed his saliva into the gloves. He glanced behind him, and could not see
Filfut. Good. The boy can run.
“Ay, don’t fall off,”
laughed Bulfist as he punched Thorngrim in the shoulder.
They
stood on a narrow bridgeway over a deep crevasse. Beneath them, darkness. Behind them, the bridgeway spanned a hundred
paces before disappearing into another rock passageway.
“How
long do you think th-“
A
shoddily crafted goblin arrow whistled out of the dark, and glanced off
Thorngrim’s massive shoulder plate, whistling into the dark. He tugged his helm and hoisted his heavy axe.
“Not
that long.”
Now
they could hear screaming, and the patter of a dozen feet. More than a dozen. The shrill, angry cry of the goblins was
echoing in the massive cavern. In the
shallow light which emptied into the bridgeway, Thorngrim saw Fagui grin, as he
tugged the hammers back on his handguns.
That I had lead such a life…
Fagui was several ages older
than Thorngrim. He had been a warrior in
days long past, and even now, he would go on to die a true death. Thorngrim would have to settle for an early
death. But, if Filfut got through with
the message…he would not die in vain.
The
first goblin never even made it onto the bridgeway. A dozen paces from the bridge, a ball of lead
punched through his jaw, shattering his spine.
The goblin to his left suffered a similar fate.
“Lo, do
we go unto the land of our fathers…” the three chanted.
The
goblins charged down the passageway, crude weapons clattering along the walls
as they hurled themselves into the bridgeway opening.
Bulfist
was the first to move, his hammer collecting two hapless goblins, sending them
over the bridgeway into the abyss below.
There was a sickening crunch as Fagui kicked the nearest goblin in the
groin, and clubbed him with his handgun.
Thorngrim
barely noticed the goblin arrow pierce his leg as he brought his axe down,
cleaving the arm and shoulder of the nearest goblin, clean off. He saw Fagui tug another handgun from his
belt, and send the top of a goblin’s skull clattering into the dark.
“Bul!”
Thorngrim shouted, watching two goblins leap for him.
Bulfist
may have been the heaviest of the three, but for a dwarf, he was more then
agile. With a quick step back, the
nearest goblin landed, face down on the mossy stone beneath him. He grabbed his hammer tight, and thrust it
into the chest of the second goblin, forcing him back. A quick stomp from his heavily studded boots
ended the life of the goblin at his feet.
The
goblin lunged, his sharpened bronze sword jutting into the side of
Bulfist. He gritted, and grabbed the
green skinned beast by his ear, ripping it clean off. The creature screamed, and Bulfist swung
fast, clubbing the creature off the bridgeway.
Thorngrim
saw Fagui die.
Fagui
had taken a spear to the thigh, and had twisted, the goblin dangling on the
spear end, over the abyss. Fagui howled
madly like a dwarf possessed, and raised his fist to break the shaft, sending
the greenskin to his death. Before he
could strike, another goblin spear punctured his back, and he was flung
forward, over the edge of the bridge.
Thorngrim
saw Fagui fall into the abyss, two greenskins clutching madly at their spears,
embedded in the old dwarf.
“Grim…run! Protect the boy!” howled Bulfist as he
elbowed the teeth out of a nearby goblin.
Thorngrim could see crimson leaking from Bulfist’s armour.
He
glanced over his shoulder one last time, into the long dark of the passageway.
For the sake of us all, boy.
Thorngrim stepped into a
strike, which sent body parts from several goblins spewing into the melee. He could hear Bulfist being stabbed. He used his axe to sweep another goblin over
the edge as he felt a deep stinging pain in his shoulder, and felt the shaft of
a spear being worked into his wound. He
swung down with his gauntleted fist, and snapped the shaft, tugging the
speartip out. The goblin shrieked and
then went silent as Thorngrim thrust the speartip into his throat.
The
next time Thorngrim saw Bulfist, he was dead.
The
cavern was spinning. A spinning maze of
darkness, and howls and shrieks.
Thorngrim
felt heavy. He dropped to his knees, his
fingers going weak on his axe. He felt a
stiff tugging at his back. He was being
stabbed. He couldn’t feel it. He felt his chest plate hit the dirty moss
beneath him. Now, he could taste blood.
Thorngrim
took one more look down the bridgeway as he felt a crunching pop as his spine
broke.