A Fred Story - Working title, don't judge me!

Discussion in 'Off the Wall' started by DripFedFred, Feb 27, 2015.

  1. TopicStarter Overlay
    DripFedFred

    DripFedFred Mayor

    Prelude - Ruins

    The gates of a once great city hung from rusted hinges larger than the height of a man. Alone in the shadows of a once bustling marketplace a traveler stood overwhelmed by nostalgia and dread. This marketplace had once represented the beating heart of a society that was never meant to exist, the descendants of exiles who had forged a home for themselves in a hostile land. Now it lay desolate, grand store fronts reduced to rubble and dust, empty and devoid of life even the rats had found a new home as dust clouds span like tumbleweeds across the expansive cracked streets. Adjusting his shredded leather gloves the man reached for a sign laying abandoned among the rubble, '-Ack Market', the sign stated in beautiful decaying cursive, a light flickered behind dull blue eyes before fading back to a passive blank stare, the sign was quickly discarded. The travelers face was fraught with scars and wrinkles, his clothing lined with rudimentary metal plating and each step he took accompanied with a faint limp and even fainter grimace. The great gates of Arkijah loomed as the traveler approached, debris stirring from each step as his left leg dragged slightly behind his right. The piercing silence was palpable, a low humming of his own blood pumping inter cut with the scraping of worn out leather on rough stone was all he could hear as he drew closer to the iconic city entrance.

    The gates were splintered and charred, almost certainly from battle, a large hole stretched up from the ground towards the center, more than large enough for the frail frame of the limping traveler. Squeezing through the gap his cloak caught on the jagged edges of the wood and a loud ripping sound filled the air. Another grimace, the man was trying his best to remain undetected, an act seemingly redundant given the eerie stillness of his surroundings. Bony fingers wrapped softly around the caught fabric, freeing it but at the cost of his balance. Slipping, he stumbled out into the city, elbows clattering against the floor in a failed attempt to ease his fall. Wiping the dust from his face the battle-worn traveler clambered to his feet, taking in the wreckage that lay before him.

    The travelers left leg gave way as emotion swept over him. Dropping to one knee he ran a gloved hand through thin matted hair. Even with his vision limited from the darkness he could make out the rows upon rows of houses that lay collapsed or gutted from flames and the silhouettes of human shaped outlines spread randomly along the crumbling city walls, harrowing remnants of a long forgotten war. The travelers gaze was drawn north towards his next destination, the 'stairway to heaven'.

    "Welcome home" a deep voice echoed from the shadows.

    Spinning on his bad knee the traveler gripped at his belt, removing a dagger and rolling backwards away from the direction of the voice. All signs of his limp removed as adrenaline coursed through his frail body. Staring into the dimly lit alleyways, his mind screaming questions for the faceless voice but his lips remaining disciplined and silent. Reaching slowly into his belt once more his fingertips gripped onto a thin silver blade, weighted perfectly for throwing. The traveler maintained his position, eyes closed as he waited for the disembodied voice to reveal itself. A clink of metal upon stone and the traveler span towards the direction of the sound, his hand rapidly drawing the blade from his belt and preparing to release. As his fingers opened a flash of white exploded from the alleyway and before he could react his arm was sent clattering back into the wall, pinning him in place as white hot pain shot down his body, his dagger bouncing playfully out of reach. Another grimace, Ice magic.

    The travelers arm was frozen solid to the wall, he wiggled his fingers, they still worked at least, though that was the least of his problems right now. The sound of metal footsteps was becoming clearer and the calm pacing of each step did nothing to steady the travelers nerves. Digging at the ice with his remaining dagger he positioned his legs against the wall, desperately trying to free himself as his elbow bent unnaturally against his request. Cracks began to form in the ice as the footsteps drew closer. Sweat pouring from his forehead he could feel his shoulder dislocating as he wrenched against the crackling ice. With one final pull the ice shattered and the traveler gripped his dagger and span, spinning straight into the staff of his assailant. The light from the tip of the staff inch's from his face, he raised his hands in surrender, eyes struggling to adjust to the glow of the icy rod. His assailant took a step back and lowered his weapon, the light dimming responsively. The rapid contrast between brightness and dark leaving the traveler temporarily blinded. He began to lower his surrendering arms and as they passed head height he thrust his right hand into the jaw of his shadowed attacker, quickly adjusting the dagger in his left hand he sliced across, meeting nothing but air, his vision still adjusting to the light. A swooping sound rushed past his ears and suddenly his legs were swept from under him crashing painfully onto the floor with the staff held to his throat.

    "Now now" the voice stated, "is that anyway to greet an old friend?" The travelers vision began to clear slowly and he stared up at a face recognisable even beneath the beard that now covered chin to nose.

    "Dane?" The traveler muttered, straining against the darkness "Dane Lector? You fat Bastard!"

    "Welcome home Collector" Dane stated as his staff clattered against the skull of the traveler knocking him immediately unconscious.
    Last edited: Feb 28, 2015
  2. TopicStarter Overlay
    DripFedFred

    DripFedFred Mayor

    Chapter 1 - Exiled

    The sun had never seemed as distant as it did right now, a dying lighthouse unable to warn weary travelers. An apt analogy to the current plight of those staring aimlessly in its direction. Fred looked around, running his splintered shiv between his nimble fingers. How had it come to this? He thought to no avail, he had been asking himself the same question for the majority of his adult life, yet still he had continued down roads that were destined to end in ruin, and now he was here, wherever here might be, adrift on a convict ship, destined for 'death via exile' it was becoming rapidly apparent to Fred that somewhere, some when, he may have made a few poor choices. The ship stretched a good 20 feet in length, shaped in a long ellipse with benches around the outside that housed the 'shipment' of prisoners being escorted to their demise. Fred's hands were chained in front of his stomach with another chain looping around his back limiting his movement quite dramatically. This however hadn't prevented him from carving a shiv from the wooden bench he was confined too. Not that he had any intentions of using it, but based on the fact that he was barely 6 foot and weighed less than most of his fellow inmates breakfasts, he felt it wise to have some form of contingency plan.

    There was no land in sight, just the endless expanse of ocean that sat between the civilised world and where they were headed. Tharassos or 'the nightmare isle' as it was affectionately named by those lucky enough to only hear stories about it. Home to no one, Tharassos was the final resting place to all those who were deemed unworthy of dying on the soils of the ancestors. From all accounts it was a literal hell where everything from the trees to the bees was more than capable of killing even the mightiest empire soldier, however these accounts were hardly reliable, as nobody had ever returned from exile. Fred hung his head, his thumbs rubbing his eyes softly. What a fantastic situation you've landed yourself in once again, Fred thought to himself, you're in so deep that the silver lining is that nobody has ever returned alive to verify how much *cursing* you're really in.

    A scuffle between two inmates towards the rear of the boat drew Fred from his self pity and accidentally led to him meeting the gaze of the prisoner sitting next to him. A large green Orc with fangs long enough to scratch your back with. His expression was painfully vacant, the notion that all Orcs were stupid was one Fred vocally hated, but secretly believed and this Orc was no exception. One look told Fred all he needed to know, if they'd met outside of confinement this big green monster would be wearing Fred's kidneys as ear muffs before you could even state the phrase racial stereotyping.

    "What're yer in for?" The Orc spat, placing his face within kissing distance of his own. Fred could only guess this was an attempt at small talk, and not, as the body language implied, a random threat of violence. Either way it was a loaded question, 'What're yer in for'. For starters they were not technically in anything, on the contrary, they could not be more out than they currently were, but even ignoring that there was the issue that Fred wasn't particularly sure what he was in for. 'The highlanders massacre of the 18th spring was what it stated on his file, but it also stated on his file that his name was Zee Krito, the leader of the human brotherhood of assassins. When in actual fact he was Fred Nunsworth, convicted smart arse whose only actual crimes had been acts of civil disobedience, or to put it another way, being an idiot. The short story is Fred had somehow wound up in the same prison as a human assassin he somewhat resembled, families were threatened, deals were made and you can piece the rest together from there. As interesting a story as it was, Fred was skeptical that revealing his rather timid back story to a group of certified maniacs and hired killers would really sway things in his favour, and was more likely to result in his shin bone being used as a toothpick shortly upon arrival at their destination. Besides, Fred had a plan. A foolproof plan. They would arrive on the beach's of Tharassos, be forced overboard into the hostile world and as the others forage in search of food Fred would find a quiet corner and hide, maybe cry a little. He pretty much had everything planned out.

    "WHAT'RE YER IN FOR!?!" The orc had grown inpatient of Fred's daydreaming.

    "I-I, I murder" Fred stated nodding confidently, "LOTS of murder, one time I killed three guys just because they were in my way. I didn't even care. One of them was a holy man." The Orc stared unblinking at Fred, his eyes narrowing momentarily. The spittle on his front fangs dripping down Fred's shirt. "HAHAHA, I like you little humans. I eat you last." Fred feigned a smile and a thank you but the Orc's attention had already been taken by the scuffle that had expanded into a full on death match as one Dwarf flailed around inside his chains trying desperately to thrust a make shift blade into the elf seated directly to his left. Being met only with ridicule by the elf who pretended to fall asleep on his stubby attackers head. The fun ended abruptly when a guard emerged from below decks and inserted his staff in the Dwarfs mouth sending lightning crackling out his ears. Fred had to hold back a high pitched scream as the deceased dwarf's hair combusted in flames, much to the amusement of his new Orc friend.

    "Now unless the rest of you want to follow suit I would suggest you quieten down. We're almost here and I don't fancy attracting any of the wild life until we've offloaded all you scumbags!" Fred craned his neck as best he could, the guard was right, they were almost there. His heart sank into his boots, he wasn't particularly enjoying his prison boat trip, in fact having hungry Orc's talk about eating him whilst watching someones head literally explode probably goes in the bad holiday column, however he was at least alive and relatively certain he would remain so for the next few minutes, which is more than could be said for the second his feet touch Tharassos soil.

    "Don't worry little mans" The large Orc shouted directly into Fred's face, somehow penetrating his closed mouth with saliva. "Boatman make sure nobody kills you when we land."
    Fred's eyes filled with gratitude, he chose to ignore the fact that the Orc clearly didn't know his own name and instead offered a heartfelt thank you. "Thank you sir! I can honestly say I misjudged you and for that I am sorry." Fred's heart climbed back from his boots into his chest, If he'd been wrong about his Orc companion then maybe he'd been wrong about everything, hell maybe he could make something of this. Explore a land that nobody had ever documented, set up a camp and teach his new Orc friend how to read and write, he could learn how to farm. This could be a new beginning for him, hell for all of them!

    "Nobody kills my hooman but me". Then again, maybe not.
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 28, 2015
  3. harvenderte

    harvenderte New Member

    This is such a great read. I am sad that this thread has stopped updating just like a report online casino scams application. I am hooked on the first few posts. Did you finish this or are you in the process of completing it? Keep me posted. Thank you for all of this and your creativity.

Share This Page