(Humor) The End
Posted: 2002-11-21 01:41am
Author's note: This is just a short story I did as an illustration for how RPG
characters commonly react in the face of... well, just read to find out.
The End
She reached the rim of the plateau just as the sun was beginning to
set. Dust crumbled under her fingers. Body weary, muscles aching, she
rested for a moment, pausing to take in the drop before her and the
expanse that lay beyond. It was beautiful. Death, she knew, was kind in its
cruelty. Whenever it made its prescence felt it made life into something it
rarely was otherwise, and made you aware - of joys, and melancholies, of
might-have-beens and dreams.
Shrugging, she flexed her muscles experimentally, finding her limbs
still supple and sure of movement. She had wasted enough time here.
There was a sheep path not far away, and she knew where it led.
The sun a molten orb before her, she set off.
* * *
The man approached the bridge head, his form a shadowed outline.
In the copper light of evening, every single thing around him seemed
metallically alive. His own aspect, however, remained black. The breeze,
gentle even as he reached the edge of the cliff, was not forceful enough to
stir the folds of his cloak, and he approached steadily to where she waited.
"Ho there!" he called. "Is something of the matter?"
The man paused momentarily, drawing closer. The sun gleamed,
mirrored in the sword she held.
"Ah," said the man, "not lost, then, but mad." His path did not
change.
"Mock me all you wish," the woman spoke up. "Your time might,
however, be more comfortably spent constructing your epitaph."
The man paused marginally at this, clapped his hands together.
"Bravo!" he exclaimed in obvious admiration. "Your loss will be felt among
the poetic community. Now step aside, or this banter will take a turn for
the worse."
"Draw your sword or die unarmed. That is still more grace than you
gave my family."
A theatrical sigh. "How wearisome. Very well, I suppose I must. My
name is Vara'in." His sword snicked from the sheath, blurred from speed.
"I am Linrra."
They met in a clash and a flicker of steel.
A ribbon of cloth fluttered to the ground, and both disengaged, eying
each other warily. Vara'in's hood was now thrown back. A small piece of it
was missing. Linnra glared at it as blood flowed from a nick in her
shoulder.
"You're quite quick." Her opponent's pale face creased in a smirk.
"Your technique, however," and he launched a complex, weaving assault
that forced her back a step, "needs improving."
"Oh, I have all the time in the world for that," she gritted in
response, throwing a series of subtle probes at him. Her speed almost
forced his guard open, but he beat her sword away and came back at her.
Linrra fell back under the assault, her blade a flashing streak of copper,
and for the first time felt the swaying creak of the bridge under her feet.
"To be sure," her foe murmured, barely audible over the clang of the
blades, "this is a novel way of crossing. And much more interesting than
merely walking."
"Really," Linnra shot back. "I think I can agree with that."
"Why would you say that?" Vara'in took another step forward.
"Why indeed?" she said, rhetorically, as the plank under Vara'in's
foot snapped and he fell.
He recovered quickly, though, and, still stuck with his foot through
the hole, managed an amazing defense. But it was still a defense; he could
not venture beyond his immediate sphere.
"So you see," Linnra said, sweating, but now effortlessly holding him
at bay, "the game has changed."
"Indeed," he acknowledged. "Still, how do you plan on actually using
your advantage? I am still your better."
"True," she confessed, and coughed. "This is why I sent for a few of
my friends. They should be arriving any moment now. They excel at their
bowmanship."
"Very clever."
"Thank you." Sparks flew.
"I have to point out the flaw in this plan, though."
"What is that?"
"When you plan to win by trickery," he said, now smiling, even as
her blade opened a gash in his arm, "first make sure the victim you trick is
not a trickster himself."
"What..?" She broke off and disengaged, coughing wetly.
"Very simple. I poisoned my blade."
Vara'in extracted his foot from the hole and advanced. His
broadsword beat an almost-invisible cadence upon her defence, then
withdrew. Blood spurted over rock, and Linnra fell to her knees.
"I commend you on your ingenuity, girl. Farewell."
His sword blurred one final time.
* * *
Her friends found her where she had fallen at the head of the bridge,
with the world stretched out before her. The river far below gleamed like
molten gold, and the great carpet of trees was shadowed and mottled. The
clouds hung huge and seemed to glow.
And then, of course, her friends stripped the body of all its valuables
and forgot about her.
characters commonly react in the face of... well, just read to find out.
The End
She reached the rim of the plateau just as the sun was beginning to
set. Dust crumbled under her fingers. Body weary, muscles aching, she
rested for a moment, pausing to take in the drop before her and the
expanse that lay beyond. It was beautiful. Death, she knew, was kind in its
cruelty. Whenever it made its prescence felt it made life into something it
rarely was otherwise, and made you aware - of joys, and melancholies, of
might-have-beens and dreams.
Shrugging, she flexed her muscles experimentally, finding her limbs
still supple and sure of movement. She had wasted enough time here.
There was a sheep path not far away, and she knew where it led.
The sun a molten orb before her, she set off.
* * *
The man approached the bridge head, his form a shadowed outline.
In the copper light of evening, every single thing around him seemed
metallically alive. His own aspect, however, remained black. The breeze,
gentle even as he reached the edge of the cliff, was not forceful enough to
stir the folds of his cloak, and he approached steadily to where she waited.
"Ho there!" he called. "Is something of the matter?"
The man paused momentarily, drawing closer. The sun gleamed,
mirrored in the sword she held.
"Ah," said the man, "not lost, then, but mad." His path did not
change.
"Mock me all you wish," the woman spoke up. "Your time might,
however, be more comfortably spent constructing your epitaph."
The man paused marginally at this, clapped his hands together.
"Bravo!" he exclaimed in obvious admiration. "Your loss will be felt among
the poetic community. Now step aside, or this banter will take a turn for
the worse."
"Draw your sword or die unarmed. That is still more grace than you
gave my family."
A theatrical sigh. "How wearisome. Very well, I suppose I must. My
name is Vara'in." His sword snicked from the sheath, blurred from speed.
"I am Linrra."
They met in a clash and a flicker of steel.
A ribbon of cloth fluttered to the ground, and both disengaged, eying
each other warily. Vara'in's hood was now thrown back. A small piece of it
was missing. Linnra glared at it as blood flowed from a nick in her
shoulder.
"You're quite quick." Her opponent's pale face creased in a smirk.
"Your technique, however," and he launched a complex, weaving assault
that forced her back a step, "needs improving."
"Oh, I have all the time in the world for that," she gritted in
response, throwing a series of subtle probes at him. Her speed almost
forced his guard open, but he beat her sword away and came back at her.
Linrra fell back under the assault, her blade a flashing streak of copper,
and for the first time felt the swaying creak of the bridge under her feet.
"To be sure," her foe murmured, barely audible over the clang of the
blades, "this is a novel way of crossing. And much more interesting than
merely walking."
"Really," Linnra shot back. "I think I can agree with that."
"Why would you say that?" Vara'in took another step forward.
"Why indeed?" she said, rhetorically, as the plank under Vara'in's
foot snapped and he fell.
He recovered quickly, though, and, still stuck with his foot through
the hole, managed an amazing defense. But it was still a defense; he could
not venture beyond his immediate sphere.
"So you see," Linnra said, sweating, but now effortlessly holding him
at bay, "the game has changed."
"Indeed," he acknowledged. "Still, how do you plan on actually using
your advantage? I am still your better."
"True," she confessed, and coughed. "This is why I sent for a few of
my friends. They should be arriving any moment now. They excel at their
bowmanship."
"Very clever."
"Thank you." Sparks flew.
"I have to point out the flaw in this plan, though."
"What is that?"
"When you plan to win by trickery," he said, now smiling, even as
her blade opened a gash in his arm, "first make sure the victim you trick is
not a trickster himself."
"What..?" She broke off and disengaged, coughing wetly.
"Very simple. I poisoned my blade."
Vara'in extracted his foot from the hole and advanced. His
broadsword beat an almost-invisible cadence upon her defence, then
withdrew. Blood spurted over rock, and Linnra fell to her knees.
"I commend you on your ingenuity, girl. Farewell."
His sword blurred one final time.
* * *
Her friends found her where she had fallen at the head of the bridge,
with the world stretched out before her. The river far below gleamed like
molten gold, and the great carpet of trees was shadowed and mottled. The
clouds hung huge and seemed to glow.
And then, of course, her friends stripped the body of all its valuables
and forgot about her.
