Author's note: Someone requested me a prologue two years ago for their fantasy story on fictionpress (.com) and I made them this little thing. Seemed pretty good and I thought: Well...short story...and it's not like I'm NOT gonna update this later on, so whatevs! Might as well put it up now!
(WARNING: If you're not into stories where the author put's a WHOLE paragraph into describing the scene and then ANOTHER for describing the character, then don't read.)
The Message
The forest was bathed in the full moon’s
glow; it seemed that everything was coated in silver. The stars shined bright
like blissful lights seeping through the holes of heaven’s floor. The trees’
tips pointed towards the sky like needles and the lake shimmered as the moon’s
reflection basked across its surface. Beside the forest was a large valley of
rolling hills and small meadows of soft grass and shut flowers. The night was
cold and silent, with nothing but the soft chirps of crickets and a faint grunt
of a man walking on a small dirt road through the forest. He was a man of small
stature, with skinny arms that folded across his chest as he tried to cling to
his cloak for warmth. Long, black and shaggy hair bordered his face and sitting
on top of it was a large fishing hat that shadowed his dark eyes. His nose was
sharp and pointed and he had a pair of thin, tight lips that sat atop of his scruffy
chin. He wore long leather boots that reached just below his knees; he also had
a leather belt with copper studs that glistened in the moonlight. Strapped to
his belt was a pouch which contained a bottle that sloshed with each step he
took, next to it was a dagger strapped inside a leather sheath.
His eyes stayed staring at the ground as
his feet shuffled him further down the road, he would sometimes glare up at the
moon and mutter under his breath about the mournful weather. This routine
continued for a while, until it seemed that he reached his destination. The
road continued to sweep through the pine trees and into the meadow until it
reached a tavern that sat on top of a hill. It was rather large with a thatched
roof, a mahogany door and wooden shutters that bordered the windows. The shutters
were open and allowed the warm, orange glow from inside to seep into the space
that was once occupied by darkness. The stranger didn’t waste any time jogging
towards the tavern with his arms still crossed against his chest. By the door
was a sign that was painted green and the words “The Millside Tavern” in bright
yellow letters.
As he entered inside, he hung his cloak on
one of the hooks and rushed towards the counter. The room was furnished
modestly with a few tables and chairs for guests to sit on and stained
barstools by the counter. The place was mainly lit from the fireplace that was
still burning softly; a few candles were also placed on the tables. The place looked
void of any living thing except for one lady standing by the counter and a
window, cleaning mugs while swinging her entire body to the merry tune she was
humming.
Her face was as round and ripe as a peach,
with big rosy cheeks and full lips. Her eyes were wide and the palest of green
that were bordered with long dense lashes. Her hair was thick and brown and was
tied up in a messy bun, but a few curly strands were teased loose from the wind
that was blowing from the open window. She was large and round with tiny feet,
while her arms had red, pudgy fingers that gripped the handles of the mugs with
ease.
She didn’t notice the stranger until he
walked right up to the counter, when she did; she swiftly placed her beaker
down and looked up to his rugged face.
“Good evening sir, may I help you?” She
asked, her voice was thick and lenient, and she spoke rather sluggishly.
The man didn’t reply, he first placed his hat
on top of the counter and sat on one of the barstools.
“I am here to meet…someone,” He muttered,
he hesitated at first, as though he was not sure as to whether to divulge the name to her,
The woman waited for him to clarify further
whom he was meeting, but he simply kept his eyes on the wall next to him.
“Does he hold a lodging here?” She inquired
further,
“He will…come here,” he said “And I am to
meet him in this tavern,”
She raised one of her eyebrows in curiosity
and would’ve questioned him further about who this acquaintance was (mind you,
she didn’t like having mysterious looking travellers marching into her tavern),
but sensed the man’s barriers like an impenetrable wall.
“And how long will you stay and wait for
him to come?” She sighed casually,
“…a while,” He simply said before he
continued a moment later “I would like a room please, preferably one where I
would not have to share with another occupant,”
The woman looked at the shady-looking
fellow up and down, from his tattered old fishing hat to his worn and muddy boots.
Ever since the Rebels have gained ground in the south, it was no surprise when
all kinds of shady men started to pass by this road; it led directly from the
Commandment Army camp to the countryside and they seldom payed the rent. The man must have followed her gaze because with one swift movement he brought out a sack from one of his cloak
pockets and slammed it onto the counter top. She peeked inside to find coins of
silver and copper inside that jingled with each movement she jerked the pouch
with. Without another word, she greedily snatched the sack and hid it inside
one of the counter cupboards.
“Excuse me one moment and I shall accompany
you to your dormitory Mr…,” She said sweetly,
“Smith,” He answered stoically,
Without a moment to lose, she left the room
through the door that led to the kitchen, the man simply grunted in discontent
and waited. The room was empty of noise; it was like when the servant left, she
took all the life of the room with her. The only movement was of the shadows
that suspiciously shifted across the floors and walls of the room by the
flickering candles.
Everything was still and soundless until
someone barged into the room and nearly breaking the doors off their hinges in
the process. ‘Mr .Smith’ flinched from the sudden racket and whizzed around in
his seat to find a large cloaked figure standing outside. The stranger wore his
hood, so the only facial features he was able to find was the end of a scar that
stopped at his chin, his flaring nostrils and his scowling lips. Both his
muscular arms stood at his sides with balled up fists that looked like they
were faintly shaking in fury. His shoulders shifted up and down with each
furious breath he took, looking like an enraged bull. Mr .Smith hastily shifted
his head back towards that counter, hunched his shoulders and hung his head so
low that his chin was hitting his chest, trying to look unnoticeable to the
stranger who was currently marching his way towards him in a large stomping
pace. Mr .Smith looked up to find the cloaked man standing next to him, facing
the wall. The stranger’s eyes slightly shifted towards Mr .Smiths face, but
then went back to staring ahead of him.
“Deviltail,” Smith muttered in greeting,
“So, you’ve come,” Deviltail grunted, his
voice was low and bold.
Mr .Smith simply nodded, his hands that hid
in his pockets started to shake in fear.
“I thought Silverwing was going to meet me
personally…” He tried to protest, but his voice came out as a mere squeak.
“He is currently busy with the Generals
back at camp… along with other matters. He sent me instead to deliver the
message,” Deviltail snorted, as if it was a stupid question to ask,
“What matters?” Smith asked curiously as he
turned his head back up to him, only to find Deviltail looking towards him with
his ever present scowl. Even though he couldn’t see his eyes, Smith already
felt them staring at him in a threatening glare that said ‘None of your business’.
If possible, Smith sank even lower in his seat like a guilty child.
“Err…right, so what is the message?” He asked
again, this time more sheepishly,
Deviltail didn’t reply, instead, he dug his
hand inside his cloak and came out with a big parcel wrapped in brown paper and
red string. He gently placed the parcel on the counter top with great care and
shuffled it towards Smith. Smith simply stared at it with his eyes as big as
saucers, black pupils filled with surprise and curiosity, his mouth agape. No
sooner had his astonished expression came did it disappear to his weakly
defiant face.
“I was sent to deliver a message, not
packages,” He said with a sneer, his eyes still on the parcel. “Otherwise,
It’ll cost you extra.”
He looked up at Deviltail again with a
defiant frown, but it didn’t last when he felt Deviltail giving him another
threatening glare, only this time Smith noticed his hand clutching the hilt of
a sword that hid underneath his cloak. Smith cowered again under his heated
stare.
“You will deliver this parcel, and you will
accept the original price and you will deliver it in good condition
and if you won’t, I will not hesitate to hunt you down and slice you off piece.
By. Piece!” Deviltail growled, emphasizing the last three words,
Smith whimpered in response, he took the
parcel with as much care as Deviltail did and gently placed it inside a green
satchel that was hidden beneath his cloak the entire time. Deviltail didn’t
remove his hood and yet Smith could feel his hawk-like gaze heatedly staring at
him, threatening him to even dare to drop the parcel.
“To whom should I give this parcel to?”
Smith asked,
“Silverwing demands that you travel to
Willowshire by the secret trail and deliver this parcel to a retired archaeologist
dwarf by the name of ‘Farza’an Grimdon’. After he commands you to whatever he
needs you to do, you shall be done with
your work,” Deviltail briefly explained, making sure that he emphasized the
address name so that Smith wouldn’t forget.
Smith warily looked up at him with yet
another stupefied look.
“B-But, on foot, it could take at least a
week to get to Willowshire,” He stuttered, “And there are Rebel camps
surrounding the border!”
If possible, Deviltail’s frown curled even
lower, which caused Smith to physically wince.
“Yes, Silverwing noticed,” He angrily
muttered, “So he asked me to give you my horse while I go back by foot, he
demands the package to be delivered with post haste. And do not worry about the
Rebel camps, they will be dealt with tonight by Commander Thrush.”
Deviltail looked down to find Smith still
staring like a gawping idiot at him and he groaned under his breath. He had heard
that military messengers weren't the sharpest, but why did they have to send him
this
one?
“Go and deliver it NOW!” Deviltail barked,
Smith flinched at his raised tone and
didn’t waste a second running outside and slamming the door behind him. Deviltail
released an irritated sigh as his giant hands rubbed his forehead, until a
certain lady walked by the counter again.
“Sorry for being late, but I had some
difficulty in finding the k-“ She froze when she was met by a giant cloaked
figure standing in Mr .Smith’s place.
She never saw this stranger before, but she
instantly felt in danger just by being in his presence.
“C-Can I help you?” She squawked, as the
keys jingled because of her trembling hands,
Deviltail didn’t say anything. They stood
still for a long time, none daring to move, Until Deviltail decided that he
wouldn’t reply to that question and simply walked away. Her entire face grew as
pale as a sheet and her eyes dilated even further as she stared at what slipped
under Deviltail’s cloak. As Deviltail advanced towards the door, he heard
something collapse on the floorboards with a big ‘thud’. He looked over his
shoulder with a devious grin as he saw the servant unconscious on the floor. ‘Fainted probably, happens every time!’
He thought, while chuckling with mischievous amusement. He proceeded exiting
the tavern, his long, red and scaly forked tail following him…
End
(yes, I get that this is drawn in the style of anime, but it doesn't count since it wasn't made by a Japanese anime/manga corporation)
