Anyway, when I really can't think of anything to write, or when I just can't write (damned writer's block), I open up my "Warm Up" document. Basically, it's where I type ''pointless'' stuff. I just make up a character, a setting, whatever, and write. It's like I chopped out a part of a story and typed it, only it's not ''part of a story'', it's just writing. I don't try to give it a beginning, end, or whatever, I just write to have fun, get the juices flowing. Hence the name "Warm Up".
Well, today I did a "warm up" that I thought was pretty good--considering it was just a warm up. I'm thinking of maybe developing it into a story (actually, as you might expect, I get a lot of ideas for stories from my warm ups.)
So check it out, let me know what you think---AKA, story worthy?
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An arrow whistled past Faad’s head, a messenger of death that only luck had saved from finding its target. Another slammed into the wall just beside his left leg, where his waist had been just moments before. That was the thing about stealing from Rygaurdian’s—their archers always seemed to be ready—did the damned men sleep with their bows?—and—another arrow thudded into the wall, this one just missing his arm--they were absurdly accurate.
But not accurate enough, Faad thought thankfully as he hoisted himself over the top of the wall. Outraged shouts and more than a few arrows followed him as hurled himself over the side. If you ignored the archers, Rygaurdian castles were almost too easy to steal from---the dukes’ stubborn insistence on moats made escaping easier then getting served in an alehouse.
The murky turquoise water rushed up to meet him, and Faad plunged into it, plummeting into its depths. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He could barely even see the moonlight breaking through the water some feet above his head; this moat was even filthier than most.
A few minutes, and quite some feet farther down from where he’d jumped in, Faad surfaced, gasping for breath. There were still shouts travelling down the side of the wall, but all of them seemed to coming from the spot he’d jumped off the wall. Faad allowed himself a smug smile. Rygaurdians. They never learned.
Sopping wet as he was, the moon was half gone from the sky before he finally got back into town. It hadn’t helped that caution had necessitated that Faad take a back road through the woods---hapless as they were, even the most featherbrained Rygaurdian lord was going to send at least a few riders to scour the main road after suffering a robbery.
Especially one this huge. Faad unconsciously reached a hand up to the hidden pocket on his breast to reassure himself it was still there. He’d been doing it the whole walk back. To think, he marveled, slipping silently into a lightless alleyway, that so much could rest on something this small. An entire war, if the man was to be believed.
He was waiting where he’d promised, a black robed stranger in a black alleyway under a black eave. Almost invisible. Not to Faad. He crept up to the man silently, hoping he would surprise the man with his own stealth.
Before he was even really in the man’s line of sight, before he’d hardly taken a step, the man spoke. “Faad. You’ve returned.”
Servants steel me, Faad cursed. The man was illogically perceptive. Did I make a noise? He could have sworn he’d been as silent as a dumb man’s whisper, but even he made mistakes sometimes. He must have made a noise, unlikely as it seemed. How else could the man have known he was there?
“Yes. I have.” Some thieves made it a point to address their clients as “my lord” or “my lady”. Faad had never bothered with such foolishness. Were the king of Rygaurd himself to hire him, he would still simply be another employer. To Faad, no man was worth calling a lord. It was an empty title, a lie to bind the blind masses to a select few’s wills.
“You were succesful?” No worry, no impatience, no doubt. Just the question.
“You have my payment?” Best to make sure they were on equal footing.
A rustle and a whisper, and a light suddenly warmed into existence. For the first time, Faad could see the man who’d hired him, though the details of his face were still lost under the folds of his hood.
“A ring you can command to shine or be silent as you will. Bound to the Underlife” The light faded, then returned. “Of course, it will still touch your own Life, ever so slightly, but it would take days of steady Tapping for you to even feel the difference.”
Faad struggled not to gape. It had been promised, but still, he found it hard to believe. Such things were treasures, relics, fragments of the shattered Old World, from before it had become impossible to touch the Underlife. Fakes and substitions were easy enough to find, but they drained a man’s Life so fast that he would barely be able to stay standing if he used it for an hour. He’d seen a real one, once before---in its own light, he could see that this one looked nearly the same. The intricate, impossibly fine detail worked into the bands of the ring, two golden circuits writhed permanently around each other.
“I have what you asked me to take,” Faad said, unable to take his eyes off the ring. “It was easy enough.”
“I see you were not well recommended without good cause. Very well. Let me see it.”
Carefully, Faad drew out the pouch and walked over to the man. He held it out. A pale hand, draped in the folds of a flowing robe, reached to take it. The hooded man brought the bag up to his face, opened it, leaned over it, staring. From this angle, Faad could just barely make out the bottom of the man’s face. Ohnadese ,Faad guessed, looking at the hard angle of the lips, the smooth pointed chin. It was habit to know as much about everyone as he could, from the most important lord to an insignicant peasant.
And Faad seriously doubted this man was insignificant. Nobody but a powerful man would have a ring like that in his possession. And nobody but a very powerful man would give such a treasure away.
Just another reason Faad didn’t trust the man. Trust nobody, he always said, but this man seemed particularly undeserving of his faith. Faad stood casually, but inwardly he poised himself, ready for anything.
For a long moment the man stared into the bag. At last he snapped the clasp shut. Faad caught the beginnings of a smile as the man raised his face back up. “Excellent. You’ve done exactly as I’ve asked. The ring is yours.” He slipped the ring off of his finger and held it out.
Warily Faad held out his hand. If he’s going to try and pull something, this is where he’ll do it. The ring dropped into his hand, and the light went out, it’s connection to the stranger’s Life cut off. Hastily Faad slipped it on, trying to remain aware of the other man in the pitch black. He opened the gate to his Pool of life; there was a bit of a trick to it, but any self-respecting thief, Skilled or not, was able to do it.
Instantly the ring flared to life, nearly blinding Faad. Wincing, he lowered the sluices just a bit, restricting its access to his Life. The light dimmed. Faad blinked, letting his eyes readjust. “I---“ he began. Then stopped.
He was alone in the alley.
The first shiver of fear he’d allowed himself in years shook through Faad. He was positive—completely certain---the man had not moved. He would have heard it. It would have had to be a tiny movement indeed to go unnoticed by Faad, even preoccupied as he’d been by lighting the ring.
There were some questions better left unanswered, Faad decided at last. He had the ring, the deal was done. Best to forget about it. Looking over his shoulder every few steps---a habit he’d rid himself of when he was a boy---Faad made his slow way out of the alley.
He slipped the ring off of his finger and secreted it away in one of the pouches on his belt. It would hardly be wise to go flaunting such a treasure; even simple cutpurses would recognize, at the least, that it was extremely valuable, and Rygaurd certainly had its share of thieves. He’d be lucky to wake up without a knife in his chest.
He decided to head to the Bleeding Butcher, a contradictorily clean and respectable inn. Respectable establishments weren’t really for Faad, but tonight he longed for the relative security they offered. I’ll have a few ales, a hot meal, he told himself, than unwind with a long hot bath. How long since he’d had a hot bath? In Faad’s mind, there was no luxury so relaxing as a hot bath.
It should have comforted him. Relaxed him at the least. But all the way to the inn, through the ales and the meal, through the hot bath, even as he slid into the starched sheets of his bed, all Faad could think about was exchange in the alley. How the man had heard him when he hadn’t made a noise, the wolf-like way he’d smiled when he’d seen what was in the pouch.
Of the way he’d disappeared.
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