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| Thread: Short story. Until the end. | |
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted August 27, 2011 09:13 PM |
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Short story. Until the end.
I was reminded that stories and creative works can be posted in here by the Wesley Power thread, so here is my newest work (Made for fun and to see if I can complete a work on my own).
Lyon awakens at the side of the road knowing only his name and that he is an assassin. Lyon does not know who his target is, nor where to look for him or even where "here" is, he only knows that the man has been his longtime enemy, a man that Lyon has sworn revenge upon, though he doesn't remember when or why. He has next to nothing but his clothes, dagger and broken sword to his name, and he knows that he was somehow injured only a short time ago.
Living off the kindness of others, Lyon hears whispers of a rebellion...
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted September 02, 2011 05:52 AM |
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"I swear that was a groan."
"Oh shut up."
"I reaally think that he might be alive."
"You just don't give it a rest, do you?"
Lyon groaned, why was someone yelling?
"Why don't you give the nice man back his things and move on, hmm Jed?"
Something thumped against Lyon's chest, knocking the weak breath he had out of him. The sound of footsteps walking away followed shortly. The man, Jed, yelled from a distance, "It's a wonder that a honest thief such ad myself gets enough money to eat with you around!"
"Shut up Jed!" The other man yelled back. Lyon felt a tap on his shoulder, "Hey, buddy, do you think that you could open your eyes for a sec so I know-" Lyon's eyes opened a sliver, "there you go! So, now that I have your attention, could you tell me about the guys who did this to you?"
Lyon fully opened his eyes slowly. His first sight was of a man dressed in a uniform that was made of grey, interlocking rings. Over that, he had a bright piece of white cloth and a grey cloak. On the man's back there was a bowl shaped piece of metal attached by a strap hanging off of his neck, and in the man's hands there was a pole with a spike attached to the end of it. Something in Lyon's head screamed "Guard" and told him to strike and then run before anyone saw. It also told him that the bowl was a helmet and the pole was a spear, though it was silent about the shirt. Lyon's gut told him to talk to the man who was crouched down next to him, and that even if he wanted to "Take the man," he was in no condition to do so. A memory flitted through his head, a soft voice telling him to trust his gut where his stupid head failed him. Lyon opened his mouth, surprised at how dry it felt, "Did... what?" he managed to croak.
Instantly the guard's expression took an apologetic look. "Sorry, I didn't even think, well of course you would be thirsty! Here, I don't have too much water but..." Something that felt like wood was pressed against Lyon's lips, "this should help a bit."
Lyon looked down. His mind told him that what he was looking at was a water skin, poisoned and unneeded. His gut told him to stop being an idiot and to take the drink. Again, he listened to his gut. Water, that's what it was called?, poured down his parched throat, soothing muscles that he didn't know existed. With another groan, Lyon tried to pull himself up. The guard's hand pressed against his shoulder, unyielding. "Sir, you don't want to do that, you're too wounded for me to allow you to move. Just wait for the healers to get here."
Lyon lay back, "How bad is it?"
The guard's face became blank, something that he probably assumed Lyon didn't know meant he was hesitating. "Well, why don't you tell me about the men who did this to-"
"How bad is it?" Lyon rasped.
This time the guard nervously bit his bottom lip. "Well... pretty bad sir. You have enough blood over the left half of your face to paint a wall, a hole from some kind of knife or arrow in your side, and dozens of cuts everywhere else."
Lyon blinked slowly once. When his eyes opened, he was indoors with three people sitting around him, two guards and a woman sitting over him pulling a string on a small metal spike that kept puncturing his skin. He watched the string tighten and pull the ragged cuts on his body together. It was... interesting. And it stung a little bit. Come to think of it, Lyon's body stung or tingled to a minor degree. his mind told him he had been drugged and that this was bad. His gut was drugged and sluggish, but still complacent. It wasn't telling him much of anything at the moment.
"He's waking up?!" The guard from earlier exclaimed. "How! How does he keep-"
Again, the world went dark.
Black again. Something pressed against his lips... a spoon? Rather large one at that. Something slid down Lyon's throat, cool and sweet. He knew the taste of a drug when it was given to him. Reacting unconsciously, Lyon spit the spoonful of whatever they were using out to the left and grabbed the hand feeding it to him. Opening one eye, the other lid refused to lift for some reason, he glared at his foe. Certain anatomical differences from the guard struck him immediately as Lyon looked his captive up and down.
For one, the person didn't wear any suits of metal rings, nor was there a cloak or sword and this was strange for a guard, or so his memory told him. Also, the person had long brown-yellow hair while guards were bald, shaved, his mind told him. Also, guards' body's were shaped differently, fewer bulges in the upper torso and the hips, more in the arms and legs. Also, though Lyon could not recall much, he knew that guards had harder hands and wrists. Sitting up but not letting go of his assailant's wrist, Lyon asked, "What are you?"
The captive's look of shock was covered by one of confusion, "I'm a healer. Well, a healer's apprentice. How are you able to move?"
Lyon was only half-listening. "I've always been tough, bounced back from worse many times." A healer was an occupation, so was being a guard or assassin, or so his mind told him. It did not tell you what species the person you were talking to was. His gut told his mind to stop being silly, there was only one species. Lyon's mind countered, asking his gut why they looked so different. Lyon's gut not being the smartest thing in the world told him to ask the girl what she was since it was stumped. "But that doesn't answer my question. What creature are you?"
The healer's expression turned vacant. "What?"
"What species are you?" He growled, unable to comprehend how such an easy question was beyond this "Healer's" grasp. Must be a simpleton.
"I-I'm a... human?" Satisfied that his question had been asked, and noticing the human's grimaces of pain whenever he tightened his grip, Lyon released the wrist he had been grabbing. "Y-you are too, you know." It told him. Now Lyon looked at her with confusion.
"But, you look so different from me. How could we both be 'human?'" If he was being played with, this healer would have hell to pay.
"You can't be serious." Surprise was evident on the healer's face, "You don't know the difference from men and women?" The realization hit Lyon like a ton of bricks, though his face must not have shown that, "You know, males have different body parts from females. Girls have-"
"I know what you have." Lyon quickly interrupted, "I had just forgotten for a while. I've been told that I took a nasty blow to the head."
She snorted, "That's an understatement. You've taken a nasty blow to the everything, and then some. Honestly, you men just have to find ways to get yourself nearly dead all the time and then have the nerve to say that 'It's nothing, I'll walk it off, maybe rub some salt in it. I've had worse.'" Her voice became more heated then gruff again, "And then they allow themselves to be taken care of when all their posturing is done and complain about how 'It isn't as bad as all that,' and, 'Do I really need so many stitches?' You seem to heal quickly, by the way. As if they'll somehow loose face in front of their friends if they have three instead of two! That broken rib seems to have set nicely. I'm telling you..." While she ranted, the girl was checking his wounds, poking at some and prodding others, drawing an occasional grunt. Lyon didn't really care, it felt good to be doing anything.
After a while a man came in and shooed the girl away. He had white heir, wrinkles and kind faded-blue eyes. He looked like a grandfather. "I trust she didn't carry on about the incompetence of men for too long? Leah's a bright and clever girl, the perfect student, but sometimes... the notions she gets..."
"No, no. Actually, I found it rather refreshing and enjoyable to be able to interact with another person, thank you." Lyon quickly assured him. Something about himself struck Lyon as odd. Had his voice always been so soft? "I do have a question though." Must have been, Lyon couldn't remember it ever being harder.
"Yes?" The old -that was the word!- man asked, taking a seat across the room from his patient.
"How long have I been here?"
The man hmm-ed and ha-d, "Well, I would recon that you've been in and out of consciousness for... three weeks now. Most of your cuts are gone, though that head wound and that stab wound still break open once in a while." Muttering some kind of what Lyon could only assume was a curse, the old man pointed at Lyon's left eye, "I recon that that's why you can't open your eye! Blood must have glued it shut." Glancing at the floor, the man called, "Leah! you forgot to clean his wounds girl!" Quickly she ran in with a bucket of water and picked a rag up off the ground, stammering apologies. "Now do it on the double! And I think doubling your chores will serve as ample punishment for this oversight. How would you like to clean the cook's pots this afternoon?" She groaned and dabbed Lyon's forehead with the cloth.
"Sir, it's all right! Honestly. She wasn't able to clean much of anything with me almost breaking her arm and all," Lyon quickly interjected. "Please, she did a good job. Perhaps we can over-look this oversight?"
With a curious look between the two of them, the old man smiled fatherly. "All right, all right. I'll let it go, but only this once. And I want you to inspect every single one of his wounds again, to make sure nothing was infected or-" He was interrupted as the door swung open again. Must be a busy room.
The guard who had found Lyon walked forward. "Ah, you're awake. Now maybe we can get some answers, God knows we've been waiting long enough, can you describe the man who did this to you? Oh, keep up your inspections healer, this will only take a moment..."
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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