A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

[Hexadecimal]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

uh,bro,hate to rain on ur parade magazine,but its not lighted..just lit.very nice tho.+rep

sorry to break it to you, "bro", but "lighted" and "lit" are both perfectly acceptable and interchangeable terms... they both possess identical meanings and can be used to say the same thing... different people will prefer one version over the other, but that is more to do with cadence than with the word itself...
oh, and "bro", if you want to be that way, it's not "bro", it's "brother", and it's not "ur", it's "your" and it's not "tho", it's "though"
unless someone's literary artwork is so sloppy that you can't understand it, try to just keep the critiques to yourself =]

 

[andythegill]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

And again Hex grammatically owns another, makes me believe in humanity again...ok not that far but well done all the same rep+

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Lol, thanks for clearing that one up guys!

Here's first part of chapter 13.

Chapter 13

A heavy silence fell across the land. In the sky, the clouds hung over cast, tinged orange by the dying sun. No wind blew, no bird sang, not even a human’s voice could be heard. Nothing but silence remained. At least, that’s what it seemed like to Briar Rose, who stood at the top of a small cliff that overlooked the desolate landscape. Stretched out it front of her, it was covered in the bodies of fallen men, some dead, others dying, their moans of pain filling the air, although in her despair, Briar refused to hear it.

She turned away from the depressing sight, and instead faced the temporary shelter that had been set up. Yet the scene that greeted her gaze was a sight more heart wrenching then the carnage field had been. Sitting with their backs against the wall were a small group of armed soldiers, the only people aside from Briar to have survived the fight. A few sat with their head in their hands, weapons discarded, the picture of hopelessness. Others had their heads leaned against the wall, tears streaming from their eyes, their faces contorted with despair for their fallen comrades. Still others knelt on the ground, doing what they could to help those who were badly injured, and yet still had the strength to escape from the battle field. In some cases, the most they could do was comfort their comrades in their dying moments.

Briar heard a scuffling of boots against rock behind her, and turned to see one of the soldiers carrying a wounded man over his shoulder. He too wore the familiar expression of sorrow upon his face.

“That’s the last of them, miss,” he said, in a calm voice that surprised Briar. “John here was the last of the men I could find that wasn’t already dead or close to death.” He set John down gently, passing a hand over his face. He took a seat on the ground, crouching over the fallen man, and pulled a health potion from his belt. The soldier tipped it into John’s mouth. It wouldn’t heal all his wounds, but it would save him from death, and ease some of his pain. Briar took a seat next to the soldier, sighing as she did so.

“Why did this have to happen?” she asked, more to herself than to anyone else, “What’s happened to the world lately? Is this our future, to be constantly faced wit death and fighting?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the answers to those questions, miss,” the soldier answered humbly, “Although I’ll admit that something odd is going on. Seems just like yesterday that we 5th Regiment boys had nothing do to. Now, however…”

Briar nodded sadly, knowing what he was aiming to say, but couldn’t possibly voice it. Lately, it seemed like everywhere they turned, there was death and destruction. There was no escaping it. Small wars and skirmishes broke out all over the place, and they couldn’t figure out who the ring leader of all this was. Briar had her ideas, but she dared not voice them, for fear of causing panic. The two of them lapsed into silence, until the soldier seemed to realize something.

“How will you be getting home, miss? If I remember right, the Captain of our Regiment said that the teleporting pads had all been disabled.” He sounded worried, as if he truly cared about Briar getting back safely.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Briar replied airily, “I’ll simply sail home, provided that there are ships that still dare to leave these shores.”

“I’m sure there are. Many brave sailors come from this land, most willing to make the trip overseas if it means helping out our country. And the Guild, for that matter.” He stood up, brushing himself off. “In fact, I’m sure we could get you one right now. The faster you leave here and report to the Guild, the better.”

“I have to leave so soon?” Briar blurted incredulously, forgetting herself for a moment and coming off as slightly rude. “But there is so much more that must be done! So many more people to be healed and protected! I can’t just leave now!”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to, miss,” the solider replied. “Regiment rules. Much and all as you’re a Heroine, women cannot be kept in the war zone.”

“I think I have proven perfectly well that I can cope in a battle field,” Briar said coolly. “You’re Regiment might want to rethink its rules. The Guild will not be pleased to hear about this.”

And we these words, Briar turned on her heels and departed, fuming. He was just like her father, always doubting a woman’s abilities. Well, fine then, she’d go back home. But he’d be hearing from her again, that much she was certain of. Briar stormed down to where the Regiments horses were being kept. She’d have to use one to get back to one of the costal villages, seeing as teleporting was out of the question.

Briar strode up to one horse, a powerful Morgan with a glossy coat, and swung herself onto it. As a child, she had ridden these creatures, and so she was comfortable in the saddle. She squeezed the sides of the horse gently, and he began walking at a gentle pace. Briar didn’t bother coaxing him to go faster; she wasn’t much in the mood for any fast paced riding.

Guiding the horse along the twisting lane, Briar looked about her, taking in the dreadful appearance if the landscape. Whole forests had been burned down, the trunks now black and charred. Some of them still smoked from the recent fire. No birds sang, no creatures crossed her path. Briar hoped dearly that things were better back home.

Finally, she arrived at the outskirts of a coastal town. Just beyond it, Briar could see the comforting sight of the glittering sea. Soon, she would be out of this depressing place. At least, that’s what she hoped. Urging her horse forward, she arrived at the town gates with haste, hailing the guards as she approached.

“I’m requesting entrance into town!” Briar called down to him, “I’ve just returned from the battle, and must return to the Guild as soon as possible.”

The guards nodded, and tugged at the large, oaken gates. They opened with a loud groan, and one of the guards motioned to her, permitting her entrance. Briar inclined her head in thanks, and coaxed her horse into a brisk trot. The gates closed behind her with a resounding thud.

All around Briar, the townsfolk were bustling, wandering from shop to shop, striking up conversations right in the middle of the road. The cries of vendors rang in her ears, and the familiar sounds of a hectic town were somewhat of a comfort to her. It reminded Briar a bit of Bowerstone South on market day, the only time she’d ever bother to go to that side of town. Otherwise, she avoided the slums.

Parting the crowds around her, she made her way down to the docks of the town. They were just as busy as the rest of the town, with all the sailors and dockworkers busily carrying boxes of supplies to and from the various ships that sat in the glimmering water, their sails furled. Briar cast her glance over all of them, from the small sailboats all the way up to the impressive barques. One in particular looked oddly familiar to her, and she wandered over to it, weaving her way between all the workers.

Briar froze when she saw the name, painted in ornate letters, on the side of the black and red hull. The SV Archon Castle. The first ship Briar had ever sailed on, and the ship her mother had died on.

“Quite a beauty, isn’t she?” a vaguely familiar voice said behind her. Briar turned around, to face the newcomer. He looked familiar, but Briar couldn’t quite place where she’d seen him. A Captain’s hat sat perched on his head, and he smiled at her faintly. “What brings you down to the docks? We don’t often find women down here.”

“I’m looking for a ship that’s headed for Albion,” she replied, still trying to figure out where she had seen this man, “You wouldn’t happen to know of any that are leaving soon, would you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied. “The Archon Castle is heading out tomorrow morning, as it were. She’ll be heading to Bowerstone Port. If you’d like, I’ll let you come along. She can fit one more person.”

Briar nodded, but felt uneasy. Would she really want to sail on the ship her mother had died on, on account of her? She thought about this for a moment, but then berated herself. It would do no good to dwell upon the past. In any case, she couldn’t be guaranteed that another ship would be leaving so soon. And besides, it was best if Briar sailed on a ship she was already comfortable with.

“Well then, I accept your offer,” Briar replied. The Captain nodded, pleased. Then he paused, staring at her strangely, as if he too felt he had already met her. Then his face took on a look of pure disbelief.

“Briar?” he croaked, “Briar Rose? Bloody hell, is that really you?”

With a jolt, Briar realized who she was talking to. “Captain Rigel Drummond?” she said hoarsely.

He grinned broadly, something Briar remembered he rarely did unless he was truly happy. “I wondered when I’d be running into you again. Last I heard, you had been admitted into the Guild. Your father must be proud.”

“Actually, as a matter of fact, my father threw me out. He blamed me for the death of my mother,” she said quietly, not looking him in the eye.

The Captain scuffed his feet uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied softly. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” Briar assured him. “It happened long ago, so I don’t think about it much anymore.” There was a long silence, in which neither of them said a word to each other, until finally the Captain broke the silence.

“Well then, I suppose we should get you settled in.”

Briar acquiesced, following him onto the ship. He led her down into the fo’c’sle, the place where the sailors slept. Briar passed her glance over the familiar quarters, breathing in the familiar scent of wood mixed with salt. She picked out an empty bunk, and sat down on it, smiling. It even had the same old beds.

“Well, you make yourself comfortable, Briar,” Rigel said. “I’ll be back in a few hours. You can look around the ship if you’d like; get used to it again and all.”

Briar nodded, grateful. She’d enjoy that, despite all the bad memories it held. For there were good ones too, Briar could recall. She sat there, lost in her thoughts, while the Captain departed.

* * *​

 

[andythegill]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Amazing punctuation, grammar and storytelling well done.

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Sorry I haven't posted lately guys, I've been very busy...in any case, here's the second part of Chapter 13...I'll post the rest later!

A fair wind blew through the masts, filling the white sails so that they billowed outwards, straining the lines and chains that held them to the masts. The ship itself sliced through the water smoothly, moving through the sea at a fast clip. Overhead, gulls cried and squawked, circling over the barque in the hopes of finding food.

Briar steadied herself against the fore royal yard, as she worked quickly to untie the lines that held the fore royal sail furled. The foot ropes dug into her bare feet, stinging slightly, but she didn’t mind. Briar was happy for once, and that was all she cared about. It was good to feel the wind in her hair again, and the warm sun beating down on her face. She paused a moment to look out over the glittering sea, before returning to her work. Finally loosening the line, Briar watched as the sail unfurled slowly, the bottom finally reaching the yard below, where another sailor proceeded to lash the corner down. Her job done, she scurried down the ratlines quickly, finally landing on the main deck.

“Briar!” the Captain called, “I need you to unfurl the main royal sail! I’ll send someone up after you, if you need the help!” She nodded, quickly scampering up the ratlines and hauling herself onto yard. Once again, she began untying the lines. Briar heard a scraping of chains and rope against wood, and twisted around to see who it was. Gasping, she nearly fell from the yard when she saw who it was.

“I’m surprised he’s not making you set the upper topsails,” Azmyth said with a huge grin on his sun darkened face. It had taken on a leathery look, and lines that Briar never remembered being present were etched into his face, reflecting the years of hard work he had gone through.

“Azmyth!” Briar gasped, “You’re still sailing on the Archon Castle?”

“How could I ever leave her?” he replied, his grin never fading, “In any case, how are you?” he inquired, as he too began untying the lines.

“I’ve been better,” Briar sighed, “but I suppose things are better than they could be.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about your unfortunate events on the battlefield,” Azmyth said sympathetically. “Must’ve been terrifying.”

Briar shrugged. “I suppose it was. Although it pains me to say it, you become somewhat numb to that sort of thing, the longer you’re exposed to it.”

“I’d imagine so,” Azmyth agreed, finally releasing the last line. “Well, our job is done. Best climb down and see what else the Captain would like us to do.” And with that, he clambered down, as if he was one with the ship, the most natural thing in the world. Looking down at the deck below, Briar watched as the sailors worked hard, wandering back and forth across the deck, doing tasks here and there. The rhythmic chanting of “heave ho!” could be heard above the cries of the gulls and the snapping of the sails in the wind that had begun to pick up. She cast her glance to the fore of the ship, where three squalls were lined up on the horizon. They seemed to press low to the ocean, dark reminders of the dangers at sea.

Briar hailed the Captain, far below. “Captain! Three squalls lie to the north!”
He looked in the same direction as her, taking in the foreboding sight. “Yes, so it seems,” he hollered back. He then turned to the crew, preparing to make an order.

“HEAVE TO!” the Captain bellowed, addressing them all. The crew burst into a flurry of activity, the men scrambling to their stations.

“STAND BY TO HEAVE TO!” Men stood at the ready, preparing to cast off the lee gear, lifts, tacks and sheets. Briar joined another group of men who were in charge of dealing with the main braces on the quarter deck.

“MAINSAIL HAUL!” She and the men hauled, muscles straining, faces contorted in pain. Slowly, the upper yards began to turn, and soon, the lower yards did too. The main yard followed, much to their relief. All was moving smoothly, and with luck, the ship would be ready to stand by once the squalls hit.

“CAST OFF THE MAIN TACK!” Briar watch as a group of men released it, a popping sound being made as the lines were freed from their great strain. Finally, the ship began to slow, coming to a stop. Slowly, she crawled backwards, tracing a crescent moon like shape in the dark, choppy water. The wind spilling, she began creeping forward, and so they hove to again. And again. And again. They would have to do as such until the storm passed. Briar, leaving the men to do the arduous job, scampered back up the rigging to the fore royal yard, looking once again towards the horizon. The squalls were closer now, and it would only be a matter of time before their violence was unleashed upon them. She looked back down at the crew, noting how organized they were, their determination and hard work, and how desperate they were to stay the ship.

And then it hit.

The first squall struck her like a vicious animal, tearing at her clothes, her skin, her hair, as if it had every intent to rip her from the yard and cast her into the churning sea below. The ship began to rock and bow madly, and dip from side to side. One moment, Briar was above the deck; next, she was hanging out over the angry sea, clinging on for dear life. It would be suicide to try and climb down now, but it was also too dangerous to stay up here. Water began spilling over onto the deck, flooding it more than usual, forcing the men to cling on to anything that was not free moving. The wind almost seemed to be dying down, however, and Briar let her grip slacken a little.

And then the second one hit.

Briar screamed, wrapping her arms around the mast just in time. The second one was more vicious than the first, and it was almost successful in knocking her off the yard. She watched with dismay as a handful of men were swept overboard as a rogue wave washed up onto the deck. A few more men simply jumped ship, knowing it was that, or get swept overboard. This is madness, Briar thought.

And then the third one hit.

It was stronger than the last two, a terrible force, so strong it managed to successfully capsize the great SV Archon Castle. With a shriek, Briar was plunged into the choppy water, torn from the mast and tossed around like a rag doll. All around her, pieces of wood, canvas and rope were swept around. Every so often, a dead body would float past, the face and abdomen horribly swollen and pale, glistening with salt water. But Briar didn’t even flinch. Not even in the slightest. She simply turned away, shutting the sight out. With desperation, she kicked her way towards a wide board, probably a piece from the hull, and clung on to it for dear life, just as the winds began to die, and the seas began to calm. Briar twisted around to look behind her, and watching sadly as the aft finally slid below the surface. The SV Archon Castle was lost to the world, and now, all Briar had been left with was her life.

 

[Angel]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Good to see you posting more of your work - keep it coming and check your User CP for sneaky admin rep - this much effort deserves a little bit of the green stuff...:ninja:

 

[droded]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Nice one! Pretty cunning title as well. +Rep

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Cheers guys! Here's the final part of Chapter 13.

* * *​

All was very quiet and still, the sounds muffled by a soft cover of white, fluffy snow. The air was chill, yet not uncomfortably so, and for once, the biting wind had gone away. The weak winter sun hung low in the sky, scarcely coming up over the horizon, and it painted soft pastel colours across the land, brushing the snow and pine tops with a gentle golden shimmer. Hoar frost clung to the poplars that stood among the pines, making them look as if they were carved out of dazzling crystals. The snow still fell softly, drifting down lazily and blanketing the land, pilling up in drifts and settling on tree branches. All was very calm and silent and comforting.

Briar crunched softly through the snow, trying not to disturb the peacefulness. For once in a long while, it was quiet, and Briar didn’t want to wreck it. She just wanted some calm, to hide away from the rest of the world and be alone. Thankfully, the snow filled forest kept her hidden from prying eyes, and she would be alone, save for the animals that roamed between the trees or the birds that flitted through the air. Briar looked about herself, taking in the once familiar sight. She remembered that as a child she had loved the snow, but she also recalled that it snowed the day her father kicked her out. A single tear came to her eye as Briar thought about that fateful night, but she wiped it away angrily. She was tired of the tears, tired of always crying about things that had been said and done.

Composing herself, Briar kept padding through the snow, finally coming to a small clearing that was ringed by tall and majestic evergreens. The snow had settled on their branches, and it sparkled in the dying, golden sunlight. She allowed herself a small smile, admiring the beauty of the moment, and the simplicity of it. Standing there suddenly made her aware of the slight chill, and so she lit a small fire in the cusp of her hand, whispering a few choice words, watching it spring to life. It flickered and glowed warmly in her palm, yet did not burn her skin. Instead, it gave off comfortable and inviting warmth, and so she held it close to her body, pondering as to what to do next. The sunlight was quickly failing, and she knew it was dangerous to be outside at night during winter. Briar’s Will would only protect her so much, and she only had one blade left after the wreck of the ship. She sighed, feeling indecisive. Briar knew that until she arrived at Snowspire and activated the Cullis Gate there, she would not be able to teleport home. She cursed, scuffing the ground angrily with her foot, furious at no one in particular that the sea had carried her so far from home, onto the frozen Northern Wastes. It was several days’ worth of travelling on foot to Snowspire, and she didn’t have near enough provisions to keep herself satisfied until she got there.

Briar heaved another sigh, suddenly feeling quite weary and hopeless. She felt like simply sitting herself down in the middle of the clearing and not moving an inch. She almost did so, when she heard a hair raising howl tear through the forest behind her. Briar froze, her whole body tense. It was just a wolf, she assured herself, just a wolf. No need to panic. Nevertheless, she swept her eyes across the forest, seeing nothing but the frozen landscape and the still falling snow. She almost laughed out loud, thinking herself mad. It was nothing, nothing at all. She was panicking for no reason. Composing herself, Briar prepared to continue on her journey, when she heard the monstrous howl again, this time closer. A deadly silence fell across the land. No birds sang, no animals stirred. There was only silence. Briar put a hand to the hilt of her blade, feeling seriously worried now, anticipating the attack that was sure to follow, but nothing happened. There was no sign of a terrible creature, no hint other than the howls that something was afoot. Briar removed her hand from the hilt, relaxing a little, yet still keeping an eye out and a keen ear. She saw and heard nothing.

Suddenly, there was a vicious growl from behind, and Briar felt a pain explode in her head as she was knocked forcefully to the ground, hot blood starting to pour from her shoulder. She struggled to unsheathe her weapon, but to no avail. Whatever it was had her pinned down with a large paw, and she couldn’t wiggle free of its grasp. Her mind racing, Briar frantically tried to remember something that might help her. She could use her Will, but she was tired enough as is, and it would drain her of all the energy she had left. But what choice did Briar have? She couldn’t reach her weapon, and the creature didn’t seem to be letting up. Everything had happened so fast, and she was caught off guard.

The beast snarled again, a terrifying sound that seemed to rumble up from the very core of the creature. It seemed to lean its whole weight onto her, piercing through her leather armour and puncturing her back, drawing even more blood. This was it. If Briar didn’t take a risk with using Will now, she’d be dead. She closed her eyes slowly, taking in a deep, shaky breath, summoning the magic, just as she had always done back at the Guild. This time, however, she knew a lightening spell wouldn’t be enough. Concentrating all her energy on the creature above her, she released her Will, sending a violent force field tearing through the clearing, knocking the creature away. Briar heaved herself onto her back, but the pain was so bad she couldn’t stay like that for long. Panting heavily, she began to drag herself to a tree, but then she heard the creature pull itself up to its feet. Twisting around, she gasped in horror when she beheld the beast in front of her. Standing there, drawn up to its full, imposing height, was a Frost Balverine. Its vicious, serrated claws glinted menacingly in the dying light, scarlet blood dripping from them into the pure white snow. Sharp, razor like teeth were bared, and its dark eyes flashed dangerously, fur bristling.

Briar’s heart sank when she saw that the spell had had no effect on the beast. It stood just as strong as ever, yet she was drained, no longer capable of fighting. Despite that, she drew her weapon just as the beast began pacing towards her, claws raised. Her attempts to defend herself seemed feeble, but it was all Briar had. The Balverine towered over her, but she raised the weapon nonetheless, just as it slashed at her face, claws glinting. It beat her sword out of her hands, as if it were nothing more than a twig, and Briar watched in dismay as the weapon flipped end over end, catching the last of the sun’s rays, landing somewhere in the underbrush several feet away. She paled, knowing there was nothing she could do now. Her weapon was gone, and she was too weak and weary to use the Will. The Frost Balverine raised its arm again, and before Briar could even so much as move an inch, it clubbed her across the face, and she felt a searing pain over her right eye and her neck, more hot blood spilling out of her wounds. The force of the hit slammed her up against a tree, and Briar struck her head, the pain blinding her momentarily. She looked up at the beast, still dazed, waiting for it to strike its final blow, but it seemed happy to simply draw out her suffering. Taking the few precious seconds granted to her, Briar began frantically patting herself down, praying that she might have something on her that could aid in the situation. She found nothing, until her hand felt the handle of something tucked deep into her pocket. She pulled it out, and almost cried in relief. It was her marlinspike, the end of it still filed to a deadly point. And glinting on the surface of it, coating the whole tool, was the one thing Briar had desperately needed. Silver. The one thing that was sure to kill a Balverine. Now she understood why the Captain had given her one of these. You never knew what sort of situations you could get yourself into, whether it be sailing the seas or exploring dry land. Briar raised her eyes to those of the Frost Balverine, and it howled again, louder than ever, preparing to make its final attack. It crouched down, tensing up, face twisted in a terrible snarl. Swiftly, the Frost Balverine threw itself at Briar, but she was ready. Struggling to her knees, Briar raised the marlinspike behind her head, and just as the beast drew nearer, she hurled the makeshift weapon at it. Time almost seemed to slow for her as she watched the glittering marlinspike slice through the air, and then slam into the Frost Balverine’s chest, piercing its black heart. It shrieked in pain, desperately scrabbling at the marlinspike, but the weapon was too small for the beast to properly grasped. Blood spurted from the horrid wound, staining its white fur, and the Frost Balverine collapsed upon the ground, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. Its whole body shuddered violently, and Briar watched in horror as the beast gave on final convulsion, finally dying. Dark, almost black, inky blood, began pooling on the ground, mixing with the scarlet of Briar’s own. She cringed, suddenly becoming very aware of her terrible injuries. Aside from the dreadful pain, she felt drained, incapable of moving an inch, her whole body screaming out in protest. And so she simply curled up on the ground, amidst all the blood, and the gore, and the death. Briar began to sob, harder than she ever had in her life. She seemed to be crying out her whole heart and soul, but she couldn’t stop herself. And so she simply lay there, weeping her heart out just as the last of the sun’s rays fell below the horizon.

 

[cometojames]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

wow that is very well written i think Rhadiel may have some compertition +rep

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

Here's the next few parts...enjoy!

James paced nervously around the room, his hands clasped rigidly in front of him. Only a few hours ago, he had returned to the Guild in the middle of the night, and yet somehow, Maze knew he had arrived, contacting him on his Guild Seal and ordering him to his quarters, adding that he’d join him soon. From the urgency in the old man’s voice, James had imagined that “soon” would mean within the hour, and yet time had dragged on, an hour turning into two, and then three. But James wasn’t concerned. If it meant avoiding Maze for a little longer, he would not protest.

James strode over to the small circular window, which stood slightly ajar, a fresh evening breeze drifting through the window and brushing his face, calming him somewhat. There was no sense in seeming panicked when Maze finally did arrive; James would at least give the illusion that he was calm and collected. Just as this thought crossed his mind, Maze’s voice reached James from across the room.

“Ah, James, I see you decided to show up. I apologize for my lateness. I had a few...affairs to deal with,” he said, his voice calm, almost forcedly so. That struck James as odd, yet he pushed it from his mind. “Please, sit down. We have much to discuss.”

James took a seat across from the mage, in front of the dancing fire that always seemed to be burning in the fireplace. For a moment, the both of them sat there, Maze clearly waiting to see whether or not James would be willing to talk first. When he failed to do so, he spoke up.

“Word has reached me of your...dealings in Bowerstone,” Maze began, looking James straight in the eyes, “And the Sheriff is most curious as to what happened to the confiscated weapons. You wouldn’t happen to know, now would you?”

Despite himself, James couldn’t help but glare at the old man. He was toying with him; he knew perfectly well that James had stolen them back. Yet instead of being furious with him, the old man’s face was graced with a small, rare smile. “There’s no need to look at me like that, boy. No one is upset with you, least of all the Sheriff. It’s all been dealt with.”

“Dealt with?” James replied, raising his eyebrows. “Exactly what do you mean?”

“The Sheriff is a greedy man, this much you should know. We dealt with him appropriately, knowing this weakness.”

“You bribed him!?” James cried incredulously, realizing what Maze meant. “Since when did the Guild deal with things in such a way? Last I checked, this was not the Blackmailers Guild!”

“And this comes from the person who killed a man with his bare hands, and yet had not the nobility to admit his crime and pay the fine, instead choosing to skulk in the night and steal back his weapons!” Maze retorted, rising slightly from his chair.” James remained silent, knowing the old man was right. “Do not make accusations when you are in no place to rightfully place them, boy. Your arrogance has been causing the Guild much grief lately, and it will not do. I should kill you for your insolence, but talent like yours would then be wasted. I’d strip you of your rank as a Hero too, were it not that we are still in need of your services.” The old man dropped back down into his seat, calming down a little. “Please James, for the sake of the Guild, you must learn to swallow your pride. You must never compensate us, your family, for any reason, especially arrogance. You are but a Chicken Chaser, and have yet the right to decide whether or not what the Guild does is moral or not. Now, we are done with this matter. I did not ask you to come here with the purpose of lecturing you.”

He rose from his seat yet again, but this time, strode across the room to one of the vast, wooden book shelves. Selecting one of the thick tomes, he returned to his seat, flipping through its pages until he came to the section he was clearly looking for. He then turned the book around so that James could see what the page displayed. There, drawn finely in ink, was a map of a forest. “Do you know which forest this is, James?” Maze asked, watching him intently.

“It’s Darkwood, is it not?”

“Correct. You see, Darkwood happens to lie between Barrow Fields and Greatwood, meaning that for Traders attempting to get their wares from one end of Albion to the other, this can be dangerous. Now usually, the Guild does not pay any heed to this, as Traders know they enter Darkwood at their own risk. But in this case, a pair of traders is taking something of particular importance to the Guild through this wood to Barrow Fields, and then onto Oakvale, where it will be sent by boat to its final resting area. We don’t want anything going wrong, and so I’ve decided that we will be sending you to accompany them through Darkwood, and protect them should the need arise. I’m sure you are more than capable of this.” Maze produced a Quest Card from his pocket, presenting it to James, who took it without hesitating.
“Very well then,” James replied. “Is that all?”

“It is. You may go. And remember, James, don’t let your arrogance blind your better judgement.”

James simply nodded, knowing it wise not to reply. He tucked the Quest card into his pocket, and departed Mazes quarters, not knowing the harsh task ahead of him.

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

* * *​

James squelched through the mud, the muck sticking to his boots and weighing his feet down. Behind him, the two Traders struggled and moaned, terrified and worried that they would never make the journey alive.

“I told you this was a bad idea. But you wouldn’t listen to old Todd, now would you? No, no one ever listens to old Todd...” the eldest Trader rambled on, although the other Trader ignored him. James tried to do so himself, but found it increasingly harder. He finally turned on his heel, glaring at the man.

“Would you just shut up? If you don’t stop carrying on like you are now, we’ll alert the Balverines for miles around!” The Trader immediately closed his mouth, looking alarmed. He promptly ducked his head, his partner looking smug.

James turned back around, shaking his head. He could tell this journey would certainly be interesting. Continuing their laborious trek, the three men plodded across the marshy ground, following what they hoped to be the main road. There was scarcely a sound for the longest time, save for the sucking noise of the mud, when James began to hear what he swore was the sound of the pain filled moans of a man up ahead. He stopped dead in his tracks, tilting his head in the direction of the sounds. Whoever it the person was, he was clearly in terrible pain, for his voice was reaching a near hysterical point. James broke into a run, mud flying everywhere, hoping to reach whoever it was in time. He rounded a corner, and gasped, taking a step back. Lying curled on the ground, a pool of blood around him, was a horrendously mangled Trader. Huge, ragged gashes covered his body, and what looked to be fearsome bite marks peppered his skin, the wounds still seeping.

“Please,” he begged in a raspy voice, “Please help me.”

James stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. The man was beyond healing with potions, and the young Hero’s healing ability was not well enough developed to be of any help. He sighed, realizing there was but one choice. He would have to kill the man and end his suffering quickly, else he would die a slow, agonizing death. James approached the man slowly, crouching down beside the Trader’s battered body. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, regret etched onto his face. “But there is nothing I can do. Your wounds are beyond healing. I can spare you your agony, and simply kill you now, or I can let you live. It’s your choice.”

The Trader looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out whether or not James was lying. Then he slowly nodded, relaxing a little. “Please, kill me,” the man whispered hoarsely. “Put me out of my misery.” He closed his eyes, anticipating his final moments. James stood with a sigh and drew his sword, wishing that there was a more humane way to do this. Regardless, he raised his weapon high above his head, and with a mighty swing, brought it back down, plunging the blade through the man’s side. The Trader shuddered once, and then collapsed, the life gone out of him. James tugged his sword out of the bloody corpse, wiping it clean and returning it to it’s sheathe.

From behind him, a small voice asked, “But what do we do with the body? The Balverines will be sure to follow, now that they smell all this fresh blood.”

James turned to the Traders grimly, not liking what he was about to say. “We’ll just have to leave it. Right now, getting out of Darkwood safe is all that matters. If we move fast enough, we can be away from the cadaver before the Balverines come.” The Traders nodded hurriedly, taking a step towards the young Hero, when a hair raising screech rent the air. The Traders glanced at each other, eyes glazed in fear.
“Too late,” one croaked. “They’re already here.”

 

[Black Dahlia]

Re: A Fable Tale: This being an account of one James Hunter...

The beast eyed James with its dark, piercing gaze. Long, hooked claws glinted sharply in the faint moonlight, and yellowing, jagged teeth dripped with saliva. Its dark, almost black fur bristled, as it crouched low, howling in a hair raising tone. From either side of him, James could see the murky shadows of other Balverines, lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike.

“Stand back,” he hissed to the Traders behind him, his lips barely moving. “And stay together. Try and hide in the shadows, and, Avo willing, you should make it out alive.” The Traders nodded hurriedly, scuttling back the way they came. The Balverine’s terrible eyes never left James’ face, and with all luck, the Traders had gone unnoticed.

Slowly, James drew his blade, a fine silver long sword he had acquired just before he left for Darkwood. It reflected sharply the feeble, milky rays of moonlight, a warning to the beast before him that he too was well armed. The two stood for a moment, circling each other, waiting for one to strike first. Then, with a hideous growl, the Balverine threw itself at James, hoping to knock his guard away. Quick as he could, James side stepped the brute, missing it by a hair. Twisting around, he attacked the Balverine’s back with a plunging cut, running the blade clean through its body. It howled in agony as James wrenched the blade back out, sending inky blood spraying through the air like bloody rain. It collapsed on the ground, shuddering until it fell still. James was about to sheath his blade when he heard the mournful wails of the other Balverines, and saw the shadows out of the corner of his eye, advancing slowly towards him, dark blots upon an even darker world. They surrounded him, five of them, fearsome claws raised and teeth bared. James swallowed hard, knowing the battle ahead would not be easy.

Surreptitiously, he slipped a dagger from his belt, holding it low. Turning slowly in a circle, he tried to pick out the Balverine who looked most bloodthirsty, most likely to harm him. He soon found it, the biggest of the lot, its fur matted in places with dark, dry blood. Grasping the dagger by the tip of the blade, he raised it before his face, holding it steady, aiming straight for the beast’s black heart. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the blade flying through the air, watching as it carved graceful circles in the night sky before striking the Balverine with a gentle thud. The beast stumbled backwards, caught by surprise, snarling viciously even as dark blood poured from the wound, trickling through the matted fur. Finally, the Balverine dropped to the muddy ground, the dagger still lodged in its chest. James made no move to retrieve it as the other brutes approached him, closing the circle even more.

James held his sword before him, grasping the hilt with both hands. He hesitated, not knowing what to do now. That was his only dagger, and he was fearful of using an area spell, in case it reached the Traders. Finally making up his mind, he raised his sword high above his head, and lunged for the beast ahead of him. Just as he was about to strike, he whipped around to the beast behind him and cut from above, slicing through the Balverine’s head. Reversing his sword, he grasped the blade, raised the weapon above his head, and smashed it down hard upon a second beast. A sickening crunch filled the air, and James paused only briefly to admire the affects of his murder-stroke before twisting around to face the last of his enemies. Yet he wasn’t fast enough, and one of the Balverines tore at his back, sharp claws ripping through his thin clothing. Why hadn’t he bought armour too? With a strangled cry, he stumbled to the ground, yet despite his pain, managed to roll over onto his back. The Balverine loomed above him, sharp claws painted in crimson blood. James scrabbled for his sword desperately, and just as the beast dove for him, thrust the blade upwards, grimacing as hot, dark blood splattered all over him. The Balverine shrieked in pain, clawing at the weapon to no avail. Soon, its body joined those of the rest of the foul brutes.

Only one creature was left, and it backed away from James as he heaved his weapon from the fallen beast’s body, which was slick with the blood of his foes. The final Balverine clearly realized that it didn’t stand a chance, and prepared to run. Yet James couldn’t allow the beast to run free, when it could very well come back and attack them without warning. Too weak to use the Will, James settling his sword onto his shoulder, and then hurled the blade like a javelin. It struck the beast squarely in the back, and with a screech it fell, sliding across the ground for a few feet. James strode up to it, grasping his weapon firmly and hauling the sword from the Balverine’s back. Wincing in pain, for his back now bore terrible, weeping wounds, he turned back to where the Traders were, and motioned for them to come. They did so, hesitantly, giving the Balverines’ corpses a wide berth.

“Is that the last of them?” one asked hoarsely, still wary. James nodded wearily, sheathing his blade.

“That was bloody brilliant!” the other, younger one exclaimed. “They didn’t even stand a chance!”

James simply grunted, and motioned for them to follow him. He wanted to get out of the area, before more Balverines arrived. He breathed deeply, hoping that whatever lie ahead wasn’t worse than what he had just faced.