The Thief

Greetings. To the Mead Hall I am a newcomer and I am one who rejoices uttering creativity. It is usually music or other activity but stories are a welcome change, therefore I present to you the first piece of The Thief.

First: I am no specialist thus there possibly exist errors in writing techniques. I have thoughts of characters used with the 'i' tag and quotes, while speech only uses quotes for instance. I do not know this wrong or not, but it serves the purpose.

Second: it does not answer much yet, but I enjoy not letting you know much, heh heh. The first piece of the story is merely a testy one to whet your appetite and to see whether I should continue or not. So without further ado....

Quote:

---

As his gaze was greedily fixed thereupon, he attempted opening the strongbox before him utilizing a craftily made tool only a smart snake-like thief could produce. It was a simple device he manufactured ably assisting him in thievery: it could be used on locks of doors, as well as those of strongboxes. He was remembering how he learned such tricks from...

“What is that?!?!?” he quickly thought while his heart rate augmented.

His hearing was now one of the perceptions most at attention, as he moved his eyesight to scan for the origin of the sound. The nocturnal part of day made it darker and eerier as one could notice shadows throughout the whole house. Shadows forcing irrational emotions of fear upon him. He continued scanning his surroundings as “Arrrgh, what is this!?!? Please, no!” AN UNIDENTIFIED BEING MOVED ACROSS HIS LEGS.

His tool of thievery fell to the ground and made an iron-like sound. His irrational fear was almost totally in control, as he slowly went on his knees to seek his lost equipment. How could he locate it quickly without losing precious time? He moved his hands across the floor hoping to feel it, but as he did so his left hand sent a weird signal to his brain which could not comprehend what it read at the moment. “!!!”

The thing approached and went closer to his head, finally touching his head! It was... “Thank my Lord,” a cat. It made a sound. “There there, little one,” as he picked up the creature to pet it. The cat suddenly leapt upon the sound of something near the door and ran.

“The owner! I must remove myself from sight! Where finds itself my thievery tool? Quick!” as he sought but did not find it. He had no choice but to seek cover as he heard a person struggling to open the door. In his haste he found himself a dark corner wherein avoidance had the most chance of success. He held himself quiet and sought support to stabilize his kneeling stance and found it in a piece of cloth attached to the wall and a pot in juxtaposition.

Crack crack, wiggle wiggle, scrape scrape, as the lock was being used. In the dark he was unable to see it but he certainly felt a tickling sensation of sweat moving across his forehead down to his face and even to his neck.

“Aggh, blasted door,” an unknown voice uttered. “Open!”

The voice was heavily sounding and he realized that if avoidance would be ruined the encounter could prove difficult for the person might be of grand physical stature -– not carrying any weapon only decreased fighting chances. Unless of course he would find his tool.

Cachuk! Screeeeeee.... The door opened bringing forth a squeeky sound that would ably penetrate mind, flesh, and bone. In the darkness the man's face could not be well seen nor could his stature be. The figure approached a candle to set alight. He moved the candle, resting upon a poor-looking little plate, towards his face.

We vaguely see a face that has witnessed much horror. A face that has seen and experienced much pain and suffering. A face hardly emitting any sign of liveliness. Scars, and dryness, it was a sight not so beautiful. The figure slowly moved towards the table near him and seated himself upon the stool with his back towards us.

“Hmm, hrmmm,” the man uttered with slight agitation.

“I hope he doesn't notice me. What should I do now?” as the thief moved his foot against the pot whereafter it fell over only to produce a sound so recognizable and betraying of his position his embodiment was in schock!

“No!! What have I done?!?! Not now!!!!” as his heart suddenly commenced beating even faster than it did before.

Strangely enough, the man who appeared to live here did not respond, as he remained seated and did not even show a sign of recognition. He maintained his lament, how simple it may be, and kept gazing in front of him.

“Why did he not notice the sound?” the thief wondered. “Does he perhaps not have the ability to hear? Maybe if I... yes, yes.”

He thought the man deaf but to be truly certain he would have to test it. Keeping his eyes aimed at him, he picked up a potsherd and flinged it towards the ground behind the figure.

“Amazing: he doesn't hear it!”

He then grabbed another one and scraped it alongside the floor. No response.

“This is truly luck on my side today. I might seek and successfully find my thievery tool now. Then I must escape quietly.”

The man at the table was most likely not to move much. As long as the thief moved without being visually detected he was safe, for the man's hearing was disabled.

The thief sneakily snuck across the floor before him and felt around.

“Ah... do I detect my tool here?” as he touched a thing. “Yes, that is it.”

He picked it up and now silently turned around while still finding himself in the crouching position, as he tried making his way to the back exit of the establishment. What a fortuitous occurrence he chose the back way as entrance before and not the front: the deaf man certainly would have become suspicious upon entering his home.

“Yes, yes, only a couple more steps,” as he went. He suddenly realized there was no need for crouching and maneuvering quietly: he was not to be audibly detected anyway and he was close-by already. Wait a minute: “I could return and even continue my theft of the strongbox's contents.”

Therefore he made the decision. He finally rose to a stance looking strong and confident without fear. He was full of himself and proudly he turned his head and looked back at the man and...

“WHAT THE--!!!!!”

---

EDIT: CC level 3, 4 or 5. Please select as you see fit.

Interesting start, but your word choice is overelaborate. Perhaps you meant it comically, but I think it detracts from the atmosphere. BTW, you haven't specified the CC level you prefer.

Thank you for reading, Ludens :)

The language use was not meant comically. I use it because I prefer being detailed in my descriptions. I don't understand how it can detract from the atmosphere, however.

I understand words such as 'juxtaposition' might be too much, but they could shorten the number of words simultaneously.

I leave the CC level up to anyone wanting to comment from level 3 to 5.



For this first piece it was my idea to have a suspenseful scene right away like in certain movies. Suspense whereafter it all cools down, like in Indiana Jones for example. I wanted to seize people right away without telling them too much who and what exactly we are dealing with. A question such as 'He remembered how he learnt such tricks from....' and then a stop as if I was about to give you information, but I then quickly do something unexpected to -- hopefully -- keep the reader yearning for some explanation.

And then the abrupt "end" where you just don't know what is happening. Heh heh heh, I like it :)

Quote:

---

i
We see a young man asleep upon a bed in a bright looking room resembling one of a simple yet comfortable inn. The chilping of the morning birds truly is like music to the ears, as a leaf detaches from a nearby tree moves by the wind towards the unconscious gentleman. He has dark short hair not too long reaching for the neck, a young face, a pointy nose, a head so round one could think it a sphere of perfect measures. He was in his twenties.

Knock knock knock. Somebody is at the door. Knock knock knock. The knocking became more hasty and impatient. Knock knock knock! The knocking continued.

“Hmmmm, aggghh. No... don't do that, woman. Not yet. I...don't want to...” the young man uttered in his sleep.

The knocking became even more impatient. Knock knock knock. Bang bang bang! “Open the door you lazy fool,” another young man's voice exclaimed.

The sleepy one continued his state of unconsciousness as another type of sound is being made at the door. Crackle crackle, click. The door opened slowly and creepily we see a young man with dark short hair, dark brown eyes, as he is of reasonable stature, entering the room as he holds the door with one hand. He looks at the man in bed, leaves the door open and approaches him quietly with a movement as if passing a sleeping lion undetected.

“Hey there, wake up,” he said to the still sleeping person. “Wake up,” his voice not being loud. “Arrgh. How am I to wake him without too much trouble?”

Using the same quiet maneuvering he returned to the still open door and stood before it as he held it. He looked back at the sleeping man with an evil-looking grin or rather a naughty looking one.

“Heh heh heh. I know just the way to wake you.”

He turned and found himself in a stance to make preparation to... BOOM!!!!! The door fell shut with violence as he turned quickly to regard the sleepy one.

“Arrgh!!! What--!!?!? Who is--?!” as he woke and quickly sat up in bed. He scanned the room and... “Oh, it is you,” he uttered with little enthusiasm scratching the upper part of his tired looking head.

“Are you not delighted to see your good old friend?” the young intruder asked happily with a smile so bright it was as if every time he would open his mouth and show his teeth a big blinding white light would appear with magical happy stars afloat in the air with sprinkling atop.

“Yes, yes, Zendex,” the sleepy one said sarcastically while rubbing his eyes, “it is quite a joyous event whenever you appear. Why, even lifeless blooms would resurrect when YOU are there. Is it not so?” as he attempted to hide his laughter while still rubbing his eyes.

“My my, you still possess your hearty welcoming skills that would even make a young woman's father adore you as he meets you for the very first time,” Zendex uttered with innocent sarcasm.

Tarz was one who did not like people. He had few friends who understood him for they took the time to know and appreciate him. One of these friends was Zendex who was always joyful. These two have been great friends over the many years. They grew up together and were like brothers so close. One joyful and light, the other cynical and darker.

“I had a dream,” Tarz said.

“A dream.”

“Yes, indeed, a dream. But this one was....” He hesitated.

“What is it?” Zendex asked with curiosity.

“Well, disregard it,” Tarz said with a quick non-accepting hand gesture as he laid in bed and turned onto his right side to look away. We see the back of his head as it nods sideways 'no'.

“Is it the dream about the woman?”

Tarz did not speak but merely uttered annoyed groaning containing unrecognizable words.

“It was about the woman, was it not?” Zendex asked in an almost certain tone. “Who is she? Is she still some vague being or do you know more about her?”

He hastily hurled the blanket whereunder he found himself and rose from the bed quickly maneuvering up-close to Zendex as he seized him by the collar!

“Arrrgh! Cease your futile questions, you! It's not of your concern!” as he angrily stood before his good friend who was in shock.

Tarz was not quite the emotional person. But even he was human. Occasionally he expressed outbursts of anger or annoyance and while it occurred it would serve most best to not be near him.

“Calm yourself,” Zendex said. “Why so angry? It is the woman, true?”

Tarz' head reddened and his vehemence only augmented as if steam was about to partake in a great exodus from his ears... and nose.

“Hrrr,” Tarz grumbled as he looked at his old friend. “You.” His grip eased. “What am I--?” His grip eased even more. “I--” He released. “There are times, my old friend, when anger seizes control and my mind becomes irrational,” he said with a more controlled voice at ease.

“Heh heh heh. Worry not, my brother,” Zendex replied as he tapped his brother on the shoulder, “your anger is understandable. Let us go forth and fetch ourselves a drink to commence this... beautiful morning.”

“Yes, yes. Quite well,” Tarz replied as he tried to wear his clothing.

“Then you can tell me all about the woman who appears in your dreams, not?” Zendex jested with a grin.

“Arrrrgh!!!”

Zendex fleed from the room as Tarz attempted to kill him, only to fall due to his situation to prepare his leave.

“I shall await you outside, dear brother!” Zendex loudly spoke as he exited the room and closed the door.

“The fool,” Tarz thought as he laid upon the floor. “But a funny one indeed, and my only brother, heh heh,” he smiled.

---

CC level still from 3 to 5, please, as you see fit.

Quote:

---

ii
Outside there finds itself the look of a town whose inhabitants are well-fed. We see them roaming the streets, the markets, selling and purchasing goods, having drinks and enjoying friendly banter while children play. Old women are seated as they produce hand-made clothing. Young men make flirty advances with young women, as they apply courtly manners. Musicians play their instruments skillfully on harpsichords, flutes, and the likes, as people listen to them while some dance. Men of the law stand proud having their swords sheathed as they observe activity.

Yes, yes indeed: it is the town of Trickle, where one is always to find joy. To the right we see the inn where Tarz resides. In the main room there is a bar with dusty stools and tables. It looks quite cozy. Not many find themselves here at the moment, only an old man sitting at a table enjoying a whiskey on this very morning, a few young ladies having silly banter regarding men and certain instruments, and the owner, who was around his fifties, of the inn cleaning glasses as he stands behind the bar.

“What beverage would you like, sir?” the owner asks Zendex.

“Some of your finest ale, good man,” with a happy face as he seats himself upon one of the dusty crutches.

The owner grabs a glass and controllably pours a brown looking liquid thereinto. “May I inquire why the good sir is so happy on this fine looking day?” as he regards the glass and bottle he holds whilst still pouring.

“Is it not always a fine day?” Zendex replied happily. “The beauty of life. The joy of being. The wonders we discover and enjoy. Why, even now as we speak I notice certain.... beauty I might enjoy.” His head turned enabling him to aim his eyes at the young ladies finding themselves around a table near the entrance of the inn. They don't notice him and keep up their silly banter about men and 'certain instruments.'

“Ahh, I see one who has great taste and eagerness in that which could bring a man joy,” the owner expressed with a smile as he laid down the glass of ale he just finished preparing.

“Yes, yes, quite true,” as his gaze was still fixed upon the ladies while he barely paid heed to the barman's actions. “They are quite excellent indeed, are they not?”

“Sir, your beverage,” the man amusely informed the distracted young Zendex.

“I-- ah! My apologies for being so, dear man,” as he returned his head to communicate to the owner. “Of course you comprehend the fact one of my age to be... quite 'driven'” Zendex uttered happily.

“Why yes indeed. You young men still have such physical power to utilize while we old have had our peaks and slowly decay. I wish I had this power still,” the man uttered neutrally.

Tarz entered the main bar room, from the stairs that went down alongside the wall as it made a quarter circle while ending. He moved quickly to descend and approach the two men.

“Is that a friend of yours?” the owner asks.

“Who? He? No, not at all. He merely be a poor beggar and fool,” he uttered in a joking fashion.

“Who are you calling a fool, fool?” Tarz replied happily as he approached and reached the stool next to his friend. “The only fool existent here is you, my brother.”

“Finally you have come down, Tarz. But let us not forget the beggar part, shall we?”

The barman observed them with slight shock as they attempted to outwit each other.

“Eh, gentlemen...” as he tried to...

“No, it is you, dear brother, who are the fool AND the beggar,” Tarz replied.

“If that is true then at least I am one who looks good, my friend,” Zendex replied with a smile.

“Eh, gentlemen...” the barman uttered.

They finally noticed his interference. “Yes, barman?”

“Eh, would you like a drink, sir?”

“Oh, I-- yes, please,” Tarz said. “Make it your finest ale.”

“Indeed,” the owner replied as Tarz was now seated.

“Have you no manners, Zen? This poor gentleman and these young ladies...”

“Yes, they are quite the young ladies, are they not?” Zendex interrupted. “And quite beautiful indeed. Must you not approach them and take one home to...”

“No, Zen!” was the reply expressed with slight agitation. “I have no need for such doing.”

Zen regarded his friend's expression with seriousness. “Tell me, my brother,” as he nipped a little ale, “...is it the loss of Jhia preventing you from approaching any woman?”

Tarz's beverage was served and he thankfully nodded to the barman. “No, Zen,” as he sighed.

“It must be that surely,” Zen continued. “Ever since you lost her...”

“My wife is not your concern, brother.” Tarz took a heavy drink from his ale.

“Then will I forever find you mourning for her? You hardly express emotion, as if you suppress them. But only when I speak of your wife--”

“Sigh.....” as Tarz saddened.

“--you express the slightest emotion and will not even talk about it. You must forget her and continue with your life.”

Tarz looked at his glass of ale sitting before him on the bar as he held it with his right hand. He hardly moved, though one could predict an almost sad emotional outburst to come. It was as if he had a need to let things go, but for some reason it was impossible -– he kept quiet and his face became saddened whereafter he tried to talk.

“I do not want to... I don't...” he spoke softly while nodding no. “It is just that...” A lump formed in his throat, then a small tear from his eye, but he held back and oppressed his feelings to become dominant.

“Heed me, Tarz.” Zen said, “I will--”

“No, dear brother.” Tarz took another big drink from his glass and did not even look at his friend. “Leave me be.” He quickly consumed the little rest of the ale, stood up and left outside without saying a thing very fast.

“Tarz. Return. Tarz!”

He was gone.

“Is your friend okay, sir?” the barman returned to ask.

Zendex shrugged. “I think he will be,” as he nipped from his drink. “He will be.”

---

Any comments?

Chapter 3 is now included but with censorship and very shortened.

Quote:

---

iii
“And I know I will be for certain,” Zendex thought as he saw a young woman removing her clothing while he found himself in bed. The blanket over him had a remarkable position near the center. One could notice something... standing out underneath it, and it was obvious what it was.

The girl was one of the girls from the inn and he had taken her home. She removed her dress and then her upper clothing. “My my, what voluptuous things of pleasure you bear,” Zendex uttered with anticipated satisfaction.

“Do you like them?” the girl asked while bringing them closer to his head.

The business they conducted was of extreme intense sexual nature.

“Ahhhaahahaha,” Zendex thought to himself with a smile whilst tightly squeezing and slapping her voluptuous bottom as she bounced atop him. “I have you now.”

---

Quote:

---

iv
The next morning. Many stand gathered on the town square. There is excitement regarding something. People are hissing, booing, and generally making trouble. Some children are held by parents and some adolescents and other adults seem to be engaging in a sort of hostility. The words 'murderer' among others are being shouted.

In the inn, Tarz woke up and prepared to leave. As he was about to exit the inn and seek new employment, his eyes remarked the commotion. He returned to the owner of the inn who was behind his bar cleaning glasses and asked him about the upheaval.

“Sir, why the disturbence outside?” Tarz asked quickly. The barman did not reply at first, but waited instead for a couple of seconds. He seemed very disgusted as if he knew what occurred but was too shocked to speak.

“Please, sir, know you anything?”

“Hrrrm,” as the owner shrugged. “It appears somebody has been murdered, young man,” he said with disgust.

“Murdered--?”

“Yes, indeed: murdered.”

“Who is it?” Tarz asked with curiosity.

“Some girl,” he replied. “But--” he hesitated.

“Yes?” Tarz was anxiously awaiting the man's words but he still remained hesitant to speak.

“What is the reason for your delay?”

The man shrugged once more. “Your friend.”

“My friend?” Tarz replied with a great question mark.

“Yes, your friend,” the inn owner uttered slightly more aggressively. “He murdered the girl.”

At this moment a great shock of disbelief ran through the whole of Tarz's body. It was as if his mind was forced to receive a command for immediate cessation of all activities. Large streams of thoughts passed in his head with extreme lightning-fast speed as if it was his own life about to end in a quick beat.

“Are you well, young lad?” the inn owner asked. But Tarz stood still and gazed into void.

“Young man, respond.”

He remained shocked. The barman prepared a beverage. It would have to be of grand quality –- but above all strength -– if he were to release Tarz from the grip that seized him. He took a little water, a little ale, a little whiskey, a little of this, and a little of that. He then stirred it greatly. Tap tap tap, as he tapped the spoon onto the glass to remove the leftover liquid hereinto.

“This, young man, will assist you in... well, might I say... 'immediate recovery'.”

Tarz stood still and was maneuvered into being seated on the nearest stool by the inn owner who fetched him the glass of... 'strong liquid' that appeared as if it was eating through little parts of the glass.

“There you are, young man.” He quickly forced the strong liquid into Tarz's mouth whereafter he hastily ran towards his bar to supposedly seek cover.

“Ah... ah.... Ahhhhh.... ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!” Tarz suddenly screamed! He jumped up from his seat and commenced running like a fool to the exterior of the place. He stood hesitant after which he searched around. With great speed he moved towards the horses he saw standing in front of a water tray and dug his head deep into it as he remained there for at least a minute whereafter he rose in relief.

“Ahhhh.... that taste, that liquid. Fiery.”

The inn owner came outside and asked him if he were feeling well, but he quickly ran away for in the distance he heard sounds of hostility, and he was certain it was his old pal, friend, his brother, in need of help.

As he arrived at the town square he was out of breath and stood behind the crowd with his hands onto his knees as he panted and tried to rebuild his stamina. An old man approached him.

“How fare you, young one?” the old man asked. “My my, you seem to be fatigued, eh?”

“What is happening?” Tarz asked barely catching breath.

“Do you not know? A young man named... hmmm, Zendes.... has raped and murdered a young woman. Truly an act of horrible nature, not?”

“Yes yes, Zendex, but--” as he breathed heavily, “--how can it be? It is not him, I assure you! I know this young man as he is a very good friend of mine. A man I view as my brother, a joyous young spirit incapable of doing such evil.”

“That is not what they say, young one.”

“?”

“He is the only one in the position to have done it.”

“Tarrrrz! Tarrrrrz!” a distant voice yelled. “Help me! Tarrrrz!”

Tarz recognized this voice and immediately ran at his top speed to see his friend. Through the mob he went, pushing aside people in haste. The closer he came the more disturbence he noticed. He saw a few men beating up somebody. He quickly approached them as the crowd bood and cheered at the spectacle.

All of a sudden, the crowd eased and so did the violent men. Armed lawmen came closer by horses. They were equipped with simple swords and very deadly -– not to mention intimidating. Their leader dismounted his horse while his men stood guard. He went to the attackers to see what the problem was. They, and everybody else near, humbly moved away in fear to make a path for the chief.

“Arrest these men,” he said coldly with a gesture to his second-in-command who then ordered his men to the task.

“What--?” as the violent men stood surprised. “But we....” He got pushed aside and grabbed by one of the armed lawmen.

“And arrest that one too who has been beaten.”

Then another man from the crowd grabbed attention. “Do you know what has...”

“Yes,” the chief interrupted. He then directed his attention again to his second-in-command. “When you are done with these fools, recover the body for proof. Go.” His men did their jobs and obeyed to the letter. The chief then walked to his steed, mounted it, and directed his words at the crowd as he wielded his pointy weapon. “And all of you...” as he cleared his throat and spat onto the ground in a disgusting way, “...go do what you always do.” He cleared his nose while he was as it. “Mind your business.” He showed excellent authority.

His men arrested the group of attackers and carried Zendex's body onto a horse. They went forth towards the temporary prison and Tarz simply stood there with adrenalin taking over his brain.

“What must I do? What must I do???”

---

CC 3 to 5 still.

Quote:

---

v
The dungeon of the castle was one filled with dirt. This dirt consisted of bad hygiene mainly being rats, no cleaning, and prisoners. It was a dark place where not much light was present -– merely a few fiery torches scattered about. Using one's hearing, the vile water drops, where the question remains whether it is water, sounded eerily throughout the dungeons. It was running off the cell walls and prisoners would not be hesitant in consuming it if truly required.

The prisoners were locked separately in cells all adjoined, the bars strong enough to even withhold him whose forte was physical prowess from even attempting to attack them.

Drip drip, drop. Drip drop. As the drops continued descending from the ceiling we see a man sitting in his cell in almost total darkness. Cling shuffle cling shuffle cling... A figure approaches the cell and from the sounds thereof it is a well-armoured one. It was a guard. Ticca-ticca-ticca-tic! The sound of a sword moved alongside the strong bars.

“You!” a rough voice exclaimed. “Come.”

With his back turned, from the position of the guard, we barely see the face of the one imprisoned but he seems to notice the caller as he slightly moves his head to the sound of the voice and uttered some simple irritated grumbling.

“You!!” the guard yelled. “Pay heed!!”

The figure in the cell hardly moved. We see another prisoner in the abutting cell maneuvering to its frontal bars that restrain him from escape. “You would be wise to heed the man.” He said this with an old ragged voice as if tired from life.

“Silence, old fool!” the guard yelled with an angry voice. He then suddenly sounded more sadistic. “Perhaps I shall torture you if you do not keep silent,” he emphasized with a grin.

“No, please,” the old man begged as he held the strong bars with his weak hands. “Do not t--”

“Then silence!” as the guard swung his sword against the cold cell bars. He grabbed the old man and pulled his head towards them to injure him. He was successful in doing so as the poor old figure quickly fell to the ground and mumbled in pain, almost crying. Then the sadistic guard continued his business with the other prisoner.

“Will you still come, or must I come to you?” as he grinned. “Enough. Prepare now, prisoner.”

He grabbed his keys and opened the cell. With his sword unsheathed he moved towards the prisoner who still did not show a visible reaction. He quickly thudded the back of his heavy sword into the prisoner's shoulder.

“Oof!” he exclaimed as he fell to the floor. It was a painful strike. As he found himself on the foul prison floor the guard put aside his sword and used his heavily armoured fist to pound into his back.

“Take that, you vile fool!” he uttered sadistically and angrily.

“Arrgh... arghhh!” the prisoner yelled as he attempted to grab the guard but this proved difficult in the position. The guard did not cease his deliveries of pain upon him and commenced grabbing and pulling his hair from behind as he seated himself upon him. He then held his head vehemently back and suddenly with high speed moved it towards the ground forward whereafter the side of the prisoner's head banged into it.

“Arrrrrgh! Nooo! Oof....” the defenseless prisoner grumbled and yelled as blood was seeping from his face as the sadist guard still had grab of his hair. “You dirty--” His head was moved upwards and banged into the ground once more. “Arrrrrrgggghhhh!!!”

“Heh heh heh. Heh heh heh heh heh!” the sadist laughed maniacally with soft exclamation.

Shuffle shuffle, step step. Another guard approached.

“Who goes there?” the sadist asked without even turning his head to regard who came, as he had his eyes fixed upon the prisoner before him.

“It is I: the only one to ever challenge you, Longmore” the approaching guard said with confidence.

“Cease your futile gibberish, Hensen,” said the sadistic Longmore while he still had his eyes fixed upon his victim but moved his head slightly to the side to address Hensen. “You who are merely a fool is not to interfere. Not with anything. Do you understand?”

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Hensen replied confidently. “Strong words for a madman. Now, release the prisoner.”

---

Quote:

---

vi
It is many a year later as we see the city of Trickle. Still a blooming one it is filled with people aplenty. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the winds are sighing, the blooms are blooming, the economy booming, and its military strong.

And even after all these years the little comfy inn exists. Its exterior is as dusty as it had been many a moon past, while its interior had become even worse but still acceptable. The rooms that are being rented out are still intact. In the hallway we see an old lamp ablaze. Apparently someone did not think it necessary to extinguish its flame even on a day as clear as this one.

We see a dark figure stumbling across the hallway in the not-so-far distance. His eyes were aimed downwards as he moved lifelessly. He felt around his body in search for a key. Finally found he apathetically positioned his hand afront the lock of the door, inserted the key, and slowly twisted it. He opened the door silently and entered.

The room looked dim and dark even on clear daylight. There was a simple bed, a table, curtains near the wall, and old pots and pans scattered as well as a stool. The being sat thereon and put his head on the table afront him with his hands through his har.

“Why? Why me? Is it truly so much to ask? What have I misdone to deserve such foul treatment? Is there a God who heeds my lament? He must be a sadist. It has been ten years since then. What a horrible day.” A tear slowly exited from his eye as he felt a painful sensation going through his head.

Knock knock knock. The sad being remained seated and did not move. Knock knock knock. He ignored the call. Knock knock knock! He did not care. Bang bang bang! He suddenly moved slowly. He rose and approached his door whereafter he opened it. A young woman in her twenties and an old ill man who beared many scars stood afront him. The girl had long black sleeky hair, a beautiful light face, blue eyes, a little mouth, and was merely of small or average stature. A cute womanly creature. The old man appeared very ill and his many facial scars showed a man who had seen much pain and suffering.

“Hello sir,” the young woman opened happily with a smile so beautiful even the most sour old bitter man on Earth should become full of joy.

“Hello,” the resident replied spiritlessly.

“Sir, we come from... sir...?” she hesitated slightly. The man returned to his table and sat once again. No vigour, no activity. She looked at the ground, then at her company, then at the resident as she and her company stood in the doorway.

“Why? Why me?” the man thought sitting at his table. “If I could only reach and enter... But they do not let...”

“Sir?” the young woman said embarrasingly.

“Why, why?”

“Do you require a helping hand, sir?” the girl asked.

“Leave him be,” the old man uttered. “He does not appear very helpful.”

The young woman looked sad and they turned and moved away. But as they did the old man succumbed to his age and illness coming therewith as he fell to the dusty grounds of the upper inn hallway. The girl immediately kneeled and tried to help him.

“Please, sir. You must help me. My father...” she almost cried. But finally the occupied man noticed them and stood up to assist them.

“What is the problem?” he asked as he, too, now kneeled.

“It is his age, sir. Please help me move him.”

He carried the old man towards his bed while the girl closed the door. She quickly went to see the ill one.

“Oh, daddy.” She rested her hand atop his forehead while sitting on the side of the bed.

“There there, m'dear,” he said softly. The unknown resident observed them as the girl took care of her sick father. He did not know what to do.

“Do you require any assistance?” he asked. The old man wanted to reply, but his young daughter told him to rest. Being a stubborn one he refused.

“It is quite all right, m'dear,” he informed his daughter. He now directed his attention to the young man who appeared to be in his thirties. “Thank you, dear lad. It is quite a nice gesture you honour me with,” he said with a voice sounding so ill one would think him to immediately be hospitalized. He continued speaking.

“You see, I had been a person who had the... luxury of witnessing what prison is like.” The man had to cough once more.

“You have been in prison?” the young man asked.

“Yes, he has,” the girl replied as her father continued coughing but finally stopped.

“Indeed,” the old man said, “I witnessed the horror they commited in there.”

---

Hopefully you are still able to follow it. I jump a lot and such but I promise clarity
(as best as I can).

NOTE: violence (and brief minimal dirty talk)

Quote:

---

vii
The old prisoner, the old man in the next cell, stood holding the cell bars in the deep dungeon as he watched every move occurring afront his very eyes for as far as he could see. He was in fear as he saw Hensen, one of the good innocent compassionate guards, standing gainst Longmore the sadistic one.

“You will release him now Longmore,” Hensen commanded confidently.

“Release him?” the sadistic guard replied. “Why release him if he serves me a purpose? I simply do not comprehe--”

“Release him now!” as Hensen's voice became louder.

“Release him or what?” as Longmore rose and turned to finally gaze upon his foe whilst the prisoner lay painfully on the vile ground with blood still seeping from his face. His head lay in a small pool of blood.

“Must I bring forth my superior fighting skills upon you?” said Hensen while he gently placed his hand upon his sheathed sword, softly petting it as if it were his most precious object.

“Hmmm. Heh heh heh,” the sadist guard grinned. “So it is me you are to truly defeat?” said Longmore with disrespect.

Hensen did not reply. He merely stood idly awaiting Longmore's move. As he fixed his eyesight upon the sadist he observed him well. The situation informed him that Longmore did not retrieve his sword -– it still found itself in the cell wherein he stood in-between the beaten prisoner and himself. It would minimally require few seconds to effectively retrieve it and then to be battle-ready. Knowing this he could have advantageous oppurtunities. As he held his hand on his sword he looked at Longmore. He then looked behind the guard and down to check the position of the sword.

“Huh??” Longmore softly exclaimed as he noticed Hensen's eyes sneakily gazing upon the ground. He immediately moved backwards into the cell to quickly retrieve his weapon. While this occurred Hensen unsheathed his sword and ran for Longmore.

“Yes! Kill him! Kill him!” the old man in the other cell yelled violently as he saw Hensen go.

“You have tortured enough people, fool. The time of your defeat has arrived!” exclaimed Hensen whilst he prepared to swing his sword at Longmore's neck. “Raaaahhhh!” he yelled as he ran while Longmore was still in a backwards position but quickly reacted. Cling! Cling! Clang! Longmore barely escaped the early fatal blow as his sword clinged into Hensen's.

“Take that! And that!” the sadist guard yelled. The two men fought vehemently in the cell which was approximatly five by five metres. It was a slippery one due to the moisture buildup and the fresh blood of the prisoner.

“Yes! Hensen! Behead the bastard!” the old man screamed in a craze as he could not visually notice them but only audibly. The sword-clinging and screams of battle only excited his emotions but what was the most stimulating is his wish which was for Longmore, the terrible sadist, to die. But he suddenly noticed silence.

Back in the cell the two men stopped fighting. They stood against the left and right walls with their weapons intact, and ready, staring at each other with great caution. The beaten prisoner situated in the center, hardly conscious in his blood, the situation was a risky one.

“What are you doing? Fight, fight!!” the old man yelled out of sight as he did not take kindly to the cessation thereof.

“Shut up, old fool!” replied Longmore as he gazed upon his foe with his eyes scanning every little move keeping predictions in mind. “When I finish this simple unworthy guard, you shall be next,” Longmore threatingly informed the old prisoner. “I will enjoy beating you once more against the wall, old fool!”

The old man was silent, but suddenly started encouraging Hensen once more as he heard battle sounds commence. “Yes! Yes! He must die!! Arrrgh, kill him now!!!” He could barely control himself.

Longmore maneuvered towards his enemy and feinted a left stab whereafter he quickly retracted and made a right swing downwards. Hensen barely deflected sideways as he slipped and fell down. It now became a static power struggle with Longmore having the upper hand as he stood greedily over his arch-foe.

“Hnnnngggh! Arrrrrhhhh.....” they both uttered whilst attempting to push the other out of power balance.

“Admit defeat, fool. It is I who shall be victorious,” groaned Longmore as their swords held themselves powerfully in check.

“Hnnnggggg!” as Hensen sought to add a way to imbalance his attacker. “You are merely a sadist. A pathetic excuse for human life.”

Suddenly Longmore felt something attempting to displace his balance. “Hm???” as he looked behind him. It was the prisoner whose head he had just beaten onto the filthy ground who now, too, sought a way to kill him.

“You too, now?” as Longmore questioned the prisoner's ability. The beaten one took his legs and tried to trip him as he laid on the ground in pain.

“Arrrrggghhh!!!” the prisoner yelled. “Die! Die! Bastard!!”

This distraction proved sufficient to provide Hensen with slight advantage. He used his foot to push Longmore away who felt backwards over the prisoner as he landed atop him and injured him once more with his heavy armour and bodily weight.

“Arrrrrhhhh!” the prisoner screamed in pain as his bloody head was pushed down once again onto the ground.

Hensen took his chance and stood up to thrust his sword at Longmore who deflected the attack. Cling cling! Clang cling!

“Remove yourself!” the downed prisoner yelled painfully.

“You see that, Longmore?! You cannot take two at the same time, now can you?! Hahahahaha!” the old man laughed violently in the other cell.

Whilst Longmore parried Hensen's attacks, he made certain the prisoner could not assist. He rose and quickly descended in order to injure him with his heavy weight. Boom! The prisoner screamed once more in pain, but never gave up. He suddenly noticed an old potsherd near him and took it. With great effort he moved his arm backwards and upwards to try stab Longmore in the head, but it proved difficult.

Tired, Hensen kept battling Longmore while hearing violent laughter and encouragement from the old man. Hensen was not as physically strong as Longmore, thus his fatigue arrived sooner. Even therewith he continued his attacks. Cling cling! KACHUNG! TRRRZZZK!!

“No!!!!” Hensen exclaimed. His sword was parried away as it fell few metres from him into the wall then onto the floor. He defensively moved back away from Longmore who then eagerly stood up to engage and prepared to violently land his weapon into his foe's neck.

“Ahahahha!” Longmore smiled. “The time comes.” Without hesitating he moved his weapon upwards to strike, but as he tried this he felt a terrible pain in his right cheek and a sudden weight upon his whole physique. This occurrence led his sword to painfully graze Hensen alongside the face and would leave an ugly long diagional scar -– Hensen fell down in pain against the wall and yelled as he tried to keep the blood from exiting his facial wound. He put his hands onto the ugly wound as if hopelessly attempting to ease the suffering while his legs moved uncontrollably by the shock.

A scar was being put onto Longmore's own face as well as the angry beaten prisoner jumped him and used the small potsherd to damage him. The prisoner's face was full of blood and wounds as he inflicted cutting motions onto Longmore who desparately tried shaking off his besieger. The not-so-sharp potsherd had already inflicted cutting damage but Longmore held the prisoner's attacking arm as he saw the sherd close to his eye.

“Die! Die!” the prisoner yelled moving his legs as he was in mid-air while holding Longmore.

“Yes! Yes! He must die!” the old man screamed once more as if replying.

The struggle between the attacking prisoner and Longmore forced sword removal. It fell down and instead of retrieving it the sadistic guard decided to deal with the current threat first. For a weakened prisoner, this one had much power to attack an armoured dungeon guard. It must be his violent emotions enabling him to execute this bold action.

He punched, he cut, he kicked, as Longmore received facial damage, though the evil guard did make a right fist held by his left hand, moved both arms leftwards and then quickly rightwards and back to hit his attacker in the body with his elbow. The prisoner did not cease but only grew bolder and attempted to bite Longmore's face as he received thrusts of pain into his weakened stomach.

“Rrrrraarrgh!!” Longmore yelled as he felt intense pain. He quickly looked at Hensen and noticed he was still down against the wall with uncontrollable torment. He then moved backwards as quick as he could to bash his attacker into the wall. He succeeded, but as the prisoner's back was hit thereby he did not cease attacking his face with the sherd. Longmore moved forwards and back once again to do the same thing. The prisoner yelled in agony but still did not cease. Boom! Once more and the prisoner finally let go and landed onto the floor, tired and beaten, against the wall, as the potsherd made a glassy sound upon impact after it left the prisoner's hand.

Longmore went forward slightly and fell to his knees with horrible facial wounds aching him badly. He became full of uncontrollable rage and turned around to look at the prisoner while the old man asked what happened.

“Shut up, old man! And you,” he said with great disgust as he redirected himself to his nearby foe. “You will pay.” He moved on his knees to regard the prisoner's face from up-close. He started beating him once again. Kapow! Kapow! He punched him in the bloody face. But since Longmore was a dirty sadist he thought of different ways to hurt people. “Thus you wanted to damage my face?” he asked in anger. “Well, it is I who shall damage yours.”

From the ground Longmore picked up the potsherd that was used upon him and held it teasingly afront the prisoner's eyes so that he might behold it just afore he would feel it. “Do you see this simple, yet effective, tool?” Longmore asked the prisoner who was panting and hardly observing his foe. “Yes, yes, of course you recognize it: it is the tool you had just finished using upon me.” The prisoner slowly moved his head and eyes to finally regard Longmore who came closer to intimidate him. The prisoner made a gesture for him to come even closer as if he wanted to tell him something.

“Come here,” he said weakened. Longmore was surprised but approached and waited. “Let me whisper....” the prisoner said softly. Longmore confidently came closer and allowed him to tell him discreetly, as he thought himself victorious. “You must.... know....”

“Yes?” Longmore replied softly as he carefully heeded the man's words.

“...you must....” as he coughed, “...know... that...”

“Yes?”

The prisoner placed his left hand atop Longmore's shoulder and his right hand on his right shoulder. “I...”

“Yes????”

“...many a time I had my way with your bitch of a mother. She sucked me and sucked me until she could suck no more. I took her from behind when she was positioned like a dog. It felt good as I shockingly came inside her as she begged and screamed for more of my thrusting.... and my seed wherefrom you spawned, you son of a whore!”

Longmore could not believe what he heard. But another thing he did believe: the sudden and extreme agony he sensed when the prisoner unexpectedly attacked him by biting his ear. He screamed in pain as he tried to keep the attacker off him.

“Arrrrgh!!!! Get off me! Get off me!!!” Longmore pushed the prisoner's head powerfully against the wall but this action made the prisoner to automatically take his ear with him. “Ahhhhhhh!!!!! Rrrraaarrrrghh!!!!!” Longmore screamed. “Nooo!! Arrrrgh!!! You will pay immediately!” In uncontrollable rage he grabbed the prisoner's head, who spat out the piece of ear into his face, and banged it into the wall a few times. He then stood up and kicked him against the body until his victim fell and laid down. Then he, almost disorientated, left the cell to search for the nearby torch. After having found it he returned.

“See this?” Longmore asked violently. Without waiting he grabbed the head again and positioned the prisoner in an upwards sit to the wall and held his head strong. He then carefully applied the fires of the torch upon his face, after which he retracted it, only to do so again.

“Nooooooo!!! Nooooooo!!!!” the prisoner screamed.

“Yes, yes. It is I who command here, not you! Not you, not the old man next door, and not H--” as he was interrupted by a powerful punch from behind into his head. The torch flew aside and Hensen kicked his foe repeatedly. Longmore, being kicked, crawled for safety but Hensen took his head and banged it onto the floor as he kept it near the fire of the torch. Longmore screamed in agony and now felt the fiery pain he had been inflicting upon his prisoner. With difficulty he grabbed the torch and threw it backwards at Hensen whose face was hit as he quickly fell back.

Both Longmore and Hensen stood up and idly stared at each other once more scanning every little move.

“How do you like that beautiful cut I made on your pretty face, Hensen?” Longmore asked jokingly.

“Hrmm...” grumbled Hensen.

“Perhaps I shall give you one more, my friend.”

The two men suddenly went again and grabbed each other by the heads. Longmore, being slightly stronger, headbutted Hensen who became more and more dizzy, but he quickly reacted by very rawly and disorientedly dodging the last headbutt by going downwards and grabbing Longmore around the torso. He then commenced running and forcing his enemy, who looked behind him while arghing and extending his arm, powerfully into the wall. Longmore's head bashed thereinto and left a blood stain thereupon. But the sadist did not give up. He elbowed his foe on the head whereafter he stood him up and punched him across the face. Longmore then crouched and pulled his leg after which Hensen fell with his head hard onto the ground. But as his leg was held by Longmore he used his other leg to kick him in the face right atop the place where the prisoner, who was still exhausted and idle, inflicted damage with the potsherd. Longmore fell back and down holding his head as if to ease the pain.

Three men in a cell. Two of them guards and one a prisoner. They were too broken, hurt, damaged, and fatigued to move let alone continue the fighting. They simply laid there exhausted while occasionally uttering a sigh, grumbling, or a cough of ache.

---

A long part showing an exhaustive and shocking battle but it is easy and fast to read through. It describes horrible suffering that goes unnoticed in a part of a dungeon.

I have the whole basic plot, the big picture, of the story figured out and am seeking to fill up the details as quickly and effectively as possible as I improvise it to befit the big picture.

As you may have noticed I prefer very descriptive language. This scene especially requires it so that the reader is to be shocked by the horror.

Please provide critique.

Quote:

---

viii
“You have truly witnessed this horror, sir?” asked the resident as he stood next to the bed.

“Indeed,” replied the old man as he lay idly. “It is I who...” The old man coughed. “That part of the dungeon was but a corner of the deep darkness. The cells were roughly five or six metres in length and width. So much darkness and only little light in the form of scattered torches.

“Did Longmore beat you too?”

“Yes,” he replied with hesitation.

“How could a sadist beat even an old man -- a defenseless prisoner.

“It... it was not I the cell harbored: I was...” he coughed again. “I am Hensen,” said the old man.

“It is true?”

“Yes,” replied the young woman as she stroke back the gray hairs of her father whereafter she directed her attention at the resident. “Has he not been noble to fight the sadist guard?”

“Yes, yes indeed he has been. You bear many scars, sir.”

“Please go,” the old man said to his daughter.

“But daddy....”

“No: I do not wish you to hear more of these horrors. Descend and await me in the bar.”

“Yes, daddy,” replied the girl. “Thank you for your aid, noble sir,” as she bowed to the young man and left. The two men watched as she exited and shut the door.

“My daughter. She is so precious to me,” said the old man.

“I understand.”

“Have you no offspring, young man? You in your thirties certainly must have produced desendants, not?”

The young man shrugged and turned around as he regarded the floor at his feet. The old man, lying in bed, noticed the suffering as he began to speak, “Would it not lighten the weight upon your shoulders to speak of it?” The young man did not reply. “Many a year I have suffered myself, and many a time a sense of relief came over me as I released my words of pain to those willing to listen.” The young walked towards the bed and sat on the side looking at the door and the ground.

“What say you?” the old man asked.

“I...” as he shrugged. He took a deep breath and commenced his story:

---

I like how it went because there are still many questions left and the reader can keep guessing.

And chapter 3 has been added, but only censored to a minimum. If you desire the full chapter, let me know

Quote:

---

ix
Many a moon past I lived in the town of Draal many miles afar. There existed more towns, five in totality all connected in a circle, and all of them were autonomously reigned by town heads. Small efficient economies, reasonable schooling, decent military forces.

But the power these small authorities wielded changed them. Nay, it did not change them: it exposed their true nature. It exposed their corruption. It was darkness consuming them and it grew bold. With this darkness, as they grew more powerful, their mutual fear rose.

War ensued and many fell. The town I lived in was the strongest militarily seen. It was only natural for the four other towns to temporarily ally themselves and attack us. And attack they did. One night the sky filled with fireballs and flaming arrows raining down upon the whole town. Our defensive forces were outnumbered and outpositioned as the enemy encircled us all.

It was horrible. Men, women, innocent children fell as rains of arrows struck them mercilessly to the ground. Giant flaming fireballs flew and destroyed many houses upon impact. Some were lucky enough to be hit thereby directly: it ended their suffering fast, but some would only be grabbed by it partially and these were in pain.

Our soldiers fought as lions as they defended the walls. The foe deployed ladders to enter as well as battering rams to our gates. Our archers took many of them by arrow, but their numbers were simply too great. The breaking point was being reached as they finally commenced battling on the walls while the gates broke. Our soldiers fought bravely and held them off long.

As I saw fires burning down the library, I was running through the streets and grabbed a longsword and a shield from a fallen friendly soldier. I looked at the main gates and noticed my fellow soldiers perishing –- it was a matter of time afore the foe would break the defence.

Other citizens heeded me and instead of fleeing they, too, picked up arms and followed me as I went. Enraged, we stormed the main gate with our weapons firm, our shields strong, and our hearts stout. As we ran to replace our slaughtered defence force I raised my weapon high and yelled as I never had before. The warrior-like spirit took over and I landed my sword's forte forcefully into a foe's neck through his armour. He was instantly beheaded and from his corpse, where his head used to be, his blood spatted onto my face.

I fought like a madman to protect my town wherein I had lived ever since my birth. My fellow citizens suddenly saw me as a leader whom they trusted. We fought bravely together, almost as a band of brothers.

But during the fighting I forgot about my family. I had to secure their safety. Instead of keeping up the fight I fled to seek them. I told a fellow fighting citizen, the barman who accepted, to take over and I randomly selected a man to accompany me to my home.

We ran and ran as we left the battle. We encountered scattered enemy soldiers who somehow got through the main positions. Upon seeing us they immediately attacked. Our rage and adrenalin enabled us to kill them swiftly. I struck my sword into the soldier's stomach as he screamed in pain when I turned my sword and retracted it sideways. My accompanying citizen followed my ways and violently swept his across a foe's throat who then uncontrollably fell to the ground with his hands covering the wound.

We advanced and arrived at the calmer parts of town. Bodies of the slain lay scattered through the streets with buildings ruined. One could hear the crackling of the fires as houses stood ablaze. We moved as quietly as possible, then my fellow fighter gestured me to listen. I listened carefully and heard vague sounds of people arguing. It sounded as if one or more were endangered.

We quickly sought the sound and arrived at a corner. Further up the road there was a fire and few people. I looked carefully once more and recognized them as four enemy soldiers. They were harassing defenseless young women and girls. I looked carefully once more: they were being raped! Some soldiers were laughing and some young women and girls who were not being violated laid on the ground idly and beaten.

We decided to engage the foe. We split up, one left, one right, and silently approached them. One of the soldiers was beating a young woman's face as he raped her aggressively. It was a horror to witness as she slapped him across the face and resisted. His peers stood and laughed while some of them were busy raping other young women who screamed in terror.

We had to be fast. We moved and they did not see us approach. But as we went my battle partner accidentally stepped slipped and fell. He lost his sword as it clashed with great noise to the ground. Three of the enemy soldiers quickly rose and engaged us with their swords. We again fought like possessed tigers as we heard the screams of the poor women. The leader of the soldiers yelled at his remaining soldier who was too occupied to assist them as he had too much pleasure.

As the three tried to storm us I quickly exclaimed to my partner to move afore the foe's weapon would strike him. He rolled over and utilized his shield in a quick manner to deflect the enemy's powerful sword attack. The other two engaged me. The first one, who approached me eagerly and foolishly, I quickly beheaded, but only three-fourth, as I stabbed my sword into his throat whereafter I cut him out sideways. Blood gushed out as he fell and immediately died.

His friend was smarter and, while he ran, threw his sword at me which I with a quick reflex obstructed with my shield. His sword almost hit my head as it penetrated the shield which I then rid myself of by flinging it at him. During his approach he grabbed his other weapon, a heavy mace, while he eluded my distant attack. He swung his mace to my torso but I deflected it fast, but only to be hit in the head by his quick fist which struck me so badly I spat blood instantly. My battle partner, who still lay atop the ground with merely a shield while their leader attacked him, yelled at me to take caution, while the soldier who was still raping a young girl finally stood up and prepared himself for battle.

My current foe did the same mace-at-torso move as before as did I the same deflecting parry and he struck me once more as I received a bloody nose. Once again he did the same but I dodged him a few metres afar and threw my sword into his side. He held his hand at the impact location and fell to his knees after which he fell totally to the ground.

Then the other soldier who was now battle-ready ran at me hastily with his sword high. I had no weapon thus I picked up the fallen heavy mace and threw it uncontrollably at him. I was lucky for he was hit directly in the torso and fell down in pain by the great shock. I ran to him and tripped over a chain. I retrieved it, stood up, moved the chain to increase swinging speed and slashed it into the side of his head. He yelled in torment and simply lay there wounded as he held his head.

My battle partner yelled at me to come assist him. The leader of the soldiers still was unable to kill him as his attacks were still parried by the shield. I stood away from him, swung my chain once more and hit it into the back of his head whereafter he fell down as he screamed from pain. My peer then rose and utilized his shield to beat the living hell out of him, but he kept him alive and so was the other one.

While he guarded the two soldiers I went to see the young women and girls who were beaten and raped. They cried and cried as they could not believe the horror they had just experienced and horror of our killing their aggressors. As I kneeled one of the young women went to me followed by few others. I recognized her: it was my neighbour, a good friend of the family. With hardly any clothing and having been ravaged, she sobbed heavily and put her arms around me. What could I do? I comforted her and told her to stay calm, but she only cried more.

“Your wife.....” she sobbed.

“My wife?” I asked with surprise. She continued sobbing uncontrollably.

“...they.... they took her....”

At that moment I did not hear what she was precisely saying. Perhaps I did not want to hear what she said.

“....they took Jhia...” she said as I felt her tears streaming across my cheek.

Disbelief came over me when I heard that. I was in shock.

“Where is she?!?” I asked hastily.

“I... she.....”

“Where is she?!?!” as I slightly shook her.

She sat on the ground, her sobbing a bit lessened, she then pointed to the left of her, behind her. I... I moved quickly. It was only ten metres away as I saw a lone being on the ground. Torn up clothes and unconscious. I approached the person quickly and I sat on the ground to turn the person into my arms to see: it was Jhia, my young wife whom I had married not long ago.

She was beaten, ravaged, unconscious and her face full of scars. I held her in my arms as I sat there with her head on my lap, moved my free hand across her hair and forehead and almost wiggled her like a little baby would be in the arms of its parent, only I did so with less control.

“Jhia! Jhia! Wake up!” I yelled at her in my anger.

Her eyes were still closed and she did not respond. I could barely control myself. A tear exited from my eye and fell onto her face while I held her body to mine.

“Husband...”

I quickly looked to see her awake.

“Jhia!”

“...husband...” she coughed. “...I cannot....”

“Ssshhh sshhh,” I whispered softly.

“...I want to tell you...”

She painfully moved to put her right arm around me as she looked me in the eyes coughing once more as I cried a little.

“...your tears... they... they taste salt, my dear...”

As I heard her talk to me my head started to hurt even more from pain.

“...don't...” as she coughed, “....forget... me....”

“I will not forget you,” I whispered as I moved my hand across her face, her cheeks, her lips, to clean her.

“...you must... you must know..... that... I have...”

As she said these last words I felt her arm weaken around my neck, and a lump suddenly formed itself in my throat: I knew she was gone now, but I did not want to believe it. I still held her, embraced her, and wiggled her like a little baby, my baby, but she would not come to life, as much as I wished it. I shed many tears that touched her lifeless being, as lifeless as the ground beneath us. I wept and I wept, and shed so many tears so quickly, I could taste them in my mouth. They indeed tasted very salt... they tasted like pure pain and agony. If she could only kiss me once more with her beautiful lips...

I carefully rested her upon the ground. I stood up and walked quickly to my battle partner who still guarded the two soldiers. As I moved I, without even looking, picked up a sword standing vertically in the ground as my battle partner regarded me.

“Friend, what are you--”

“Shut up!” I yelled as I wasted no seconds approaching the two captured soldiers as I pushed him away. We still heard the main battle rage in the background. I now stood afore the two who were kneeled as I held my sword strong and my ally stood behind them with his weapon ready.

“Who ravaged my wife?” I asked. But there was no answer. I heavily punched the soldier of lower rank in the face. They did not take kindly and looked at me angrily. I then kicked the other one in the head. No response. I quickly swung my rusty sword into the lower rank's head. It fell off violently, rolled and landed just next to the leader. The body fell afront him as blood squirted out of it into his face as he closed his eyes and mouth in disgust.

“Will you talk?” I asked threatingly. There was no answer.

“Grab the mace,” I commanded to my ally behind him.

“Hm? The mace?”

“Grab it now! It is behind you!”

As I guarded the war criminal my ally retrieved the weapon and gave it to me. I threw away the sword and held the mace in my hand and moved it up and down as if I were about to pick a fight. My adrenalin level increased even more and my ally suddenly raised his arm to protect his head when he moved backwards away from me as he received a splash of blood into his face.

The war criminal was shocked, that mere second, as I mercilessly swung the mace into his arm which immediately detached from his body as he fell to the ground. He screamed in agony but was not dead yet as he begged for his life. In my rage and hunger for vengeance I then smashed the weapon into his back as I heard him yell once again. I hit him again.

“Please! Please!” the war criminal yelled.

I turned him around and put him on his back. My ally was disgusted and almost vomited. I did not waste time anymore and watched the shocking expression on the enemy soldier as I landed my mace on the man's head. The blood splatter hit my ally who went to the ground, looked away and vomited as he heard the thuds of my violent mace landings into the enemy's corpse.

After a minute he came to me and attempted to stop me. He took the weapon but I resisted. He still took it for I was too exhausted to continue. He threw it away and grabbed me as I then commenced kicking the corpse in anger. He moved me away and as I was too far to continue kicking I fell to the ground and cried. My tears and screams of agony were grand and my ally put his hand onto my shoulder. It was too much horror for me as I heard his voice tell me...

“There there, my friend. Worry not, for you have made a new brother today.”

---

Again long but worth it I think.

I apply descriptive language to this piece where the man who lives in the inn tells his story to the old sick man. I hope my attempt at drama is sufficient and clear. Perhaps it could be even better depicted. The end appears a bit hasty for my taste as I have reread it: possible redoing necessary.

The good:

• Intriguing, original setting
• Interesting plot
• Good, dark atmosphere

The bad:

• Your rather formal word-choice sometimes appears ludicrous, especially in situations requiring quick action. A man caught in a dark room doesn't think: "The owner! I must remove myself from sight! Where finds itself my thievery tool? Quick!" but "Shit! I've gotta hide! Where's my tool?".
• A couple of style errors: multiple exclamation marks, use of all caps. Yes, I know this is the internet, but you specified CC5.
• You also tend to be somewhat overemphatic in your descriptions. For example, in the first chapter it's obvious that Zendex is trying to wake Tarz, so you don't need to point it out multiple times with phrases like: "I don't know how to wake you". Such phrases, which are obviously directed at the reader rather than at any listerner in the story, dispel the suspension of disbelief. It's always better to show than to tell.

In short: it's a good tale, but your style could do with some improvement. so I hope you haven't given up on it due to lack of comments.

My apologies for taking so long to comment. I made some notes two weeks ago, but I lost and forgot about in the hectic week to follow.