Debt/Revenge

These two are more looks into the characters in their actual environment. Except Percival. He has been totally revamped, from looks to attitude to name.

Prompt: Debt

            The trio made their way through the city, more then tense.  The other towns and cities refused to acknowledge it, even the government refused to, but the city of Connaughton was the slums. Though none of them knew if it was because King Cidrah didn’t know, he was only fifteen with twenty advisors surrounding him constantly, but Connaughton had reached rock bottom.  It was a border town, filling it with different species of people, and close enough to the capital that there was no reason to keep a close eye on it.

            Connaughton was filled with thieves.  The low lives thrived here, if they lived long enough.  The rich were the leaders, sitting on their thrones inside the dank and damp looking buildings.  The city was broken into sections, under the table wars raging constantly.  The trio had hidden their valuables, carrying only the minimal cash they had to.  They all, also, agreed that they could take on the thieves.  Especially the petty ones in the side alleys, but Percival had been adamant that they did not need to trouble themselves with the Guilds.  Not when they were already facing a God and his priests.  Rayland had grudgingly agreed only after Adrian had.

            He stood in the middle now, as they walked down the street.  His green eyes hooded, looking almost half asleep as he walked with one hand in his belt loop.  Adrian was to his left, keeping a close eye on the new comer, Percival.  It wasn’t so much that Adrian didn’t like Percival, but it was more the elf unnerved Adrian.  They both had assumed Percival to be a High Elf, coming from the Haslett forest before he had been turned goblin.  He matched their looks, with his long yellow gold hair and toxic green eyes.  He was a little larger then most, his muscle not as wire like as most of his kind.    But Adrian was unsure of the elf.

            It might have been account to the fact that Percival had spent many years as a goblin lurking between the marsh and Kerthen, but the elf was too full of himself in Adrian’s opinion.  It was one thing for an elf to hold itself in high regard.  Most did, especially in their territory.  But Percival had a different vibe to him, at least to Adrian.  Growing up in the tribal clan in the marsh, Adrian had met a good number of goblin and elves.  Percival matched neither.

            The elf walked tall, shoulders straight.  His head was tilted enough that his chin was slightly pointed out, giving him a more haughty appearance.  That was natural for an elf.  But the calculating look in his toxic eyes, the dangerous edge in the curve of his mouth was something neither goblins nor elves were usually known for.  Beyond that though, for living in the world could harden anybody, was the fact that Percival looked like he belonged on the grey streets of Connaughton.  The elf looked just as much apart of these streets as he did in the marsh or would in a forest up in the trees.  Elves were known for their elegant appearance, and for their grace and poise.  If somebody was to imagine an elf, they would imagine royalty.  The elf walking next to Rayland looked totally at home in the slums that were Connaughton.  That was what threw Adrian off.              Percival glanced at Adrian, raising an eyebrow when he caught him staring.  Adrian glared, turning again to look ahead of him.  At which point he realized Rayland was no longer walking next to him.  Both he and Percival swung around to see Rayland being herded in to an alley.  Never one to pray, Adrian just hoped Rayland remembered the no fighting plan and ran to the alley.  As the two slid to a stop, Adrian took in the thieves numbers.  Four had crossbows pointed at Rayland, before spinning onto them, and five had daggers or other weapons ready as they surrounded Rayland.  Three more came behind Adrian and Percival.  In the very back, hiding in the shadows, was one more. 

            “See stupids? My plans, they work,” the one in the back said, a hard goblin accent slurring the words.  The others grumbled, but voiced nothing loud enough for the goblin to hear.

            “I would assume you’re robbing us?” Percival said, looking none too alarmed.

            “We want none of your attitude elfy boy!  Money and valuables!”  The leader hissed.  Adrian quickly got to Rayland, noticing how lax the man had gotten.  Rayland almost seemed to slouch, tilting his head up to look down on the already short thieves surrounding him. 

            “Of course.  Money and valuables, what else would such fools desire?” Percival said, making sure to keep their attention on him.  Percival then reached for his money, not at all worried when he heard the strings on the crossbows tighten.  Adrian did the same, reaching for his, and glared up at Rayland.

            “Useless,” Rayland sighed, but reached for his as well. 

            Percival stepped next to them, and tossed his bag of coins towards the thief’s feet.  Adrian watched it bounce and roll before opening his.  Turning to Rayland he smiled and said, “Here’s the twenty pieces I owed you.”  Rayland stared at him, eyes going wide with confusion.  “From back in the war. You bet that the rebels would have the Kathoos fort before the night disappeared, remember?  Well, here ya go,” Adrian said a little too cheerfully.  Rayland took the bag with a glare, and behind him Percival broke out laughing.  Adrian already knew he’d have an argument over it, the debt being over four years old, but couldn’t resist.

 

Prompt: Revenge

            Rayland, looking back on his life, saw many mistakes.  Having the time, and the patience, he realized he had done so many things he just couldn’t explain, or that he had sworn he’d never do.  But more importantly, looking back at his life, he realized Gwendolyn had always been right.  He realized what she had been trying to say.

            But, being Rayland, he decided he really didn’t care.  Living in the sword, stuck to eternally be at some warrior’s hip, Rayland decided it really didn’t matter.  He still wanted a fight, he still didn’t care about much, and he still hated Dallas.  Maybe, not as much as before.  Maybe, Rayland thought, he didn’t hate Dallas as much.  He, if nothing else, understood Dallas more.  He also couldn’t really blame Dallas for much, looking back.  Dallas had done what he had to. 

            In one of his strolls down memory lane, he currently had nothing to do as the sword he was cursed into was currently laying at the bottom of a cliff next to the body of his most recent wielder-and if the last ten years were any indication he wasn’t going to be getting another wielder anytime soon- he came to the conclusion that Dallas had done one thing right.  Dallas had never been a big brother, in the typical way.  He had never done the brotherly things that they were known for, mostly because Dallas had ran away, but looking back Rayland decided that had been a good thing.  Growing up under Dallas’s wing would have been traumatizing most likely.

            But Dallas had never spoiled Rayland.  Looking back, the younger Brennan realized that Dallas had never once made things easy for him.  From when Dallas had been around for his childhood, or when Dallas had returned from his travels he had never made things easy for Rayland.  Dallas was usually willing to help, if Rayland could stand him long enough to listen to the advice, but Dallas never fought his battles.  Rayland, tired of cursing his last warrior, had thought up the prime example. 

            Rayland had been six.  Dallas had just been declared a prodigy, a fighting machine.  Of course, Rayland had been thrilled.  Being six, he still adored his distant brother.  However, plenty of the other kids did not enjoy Dallas’s fame as much as him.  It had been a sunny summer day, a month from when news had spread about Dallas, and the Knights Brats were all playing in the fields.  The goal of the game was to take the ball and kick it around and through a goal.  The ball was actually just a bunch of thread one of the mothers had gone and weaved together, and the goal was two spears some space apart planted into the ground. 

            One of the kids, a ten year old boy named Butcher who actually was killed by his comrades when he voiced traitorously resentful thoughts when he was nineteen, had been very jealous of Dallas.  Butcher was known for being spoiled, disturbed, and all around just plain nasty.  He had been seen more then once torturing the squirrels and raccoons around the area.  Butcher was also intelligent enough to get what he wanted.  What he wanted then was to get even with Dallas, by hitting the only thing Butcher could: Rayland.

            Butcher made sure he was on the opposite team of Rayland. The game played normal at first, mostly clean since there was no such thing as a referee.  It was during the middle of the game, more or less, that Butcher made his move.  Rayland got the ball, the second time that game, and was moving to the goal.  Being young, all knees and elbows, he was quick.  Butcher was ready though.  As Rayland swerved past him, Butcher kicked.  He hit the ball and Rayland, sending the little boy to his knees as he clutched his ankle.  Butcher stood over Rayland, looking as proud as could be before the expression twisted to shock and anger.

            One, Dallas did not respond.  The eleven year old simply blocked the flying ball with his chest, letting it bounce to the ground, before kicking it into the goal with ease.  Two, Rayland did not cry.  He simply sat on his knees, hunched over holding his ankle and biting his lip until another boy, Ellory, came and helped Rayland off the field.  Ellory sat with him, becoming one of Rayland’s first friends.  Sadly, the boy died of an illness before he ever stepped foot on battle.  This was a good thing in Rayland’s opinion, since Ellory was skilled in fighting horseback but the sweet boy couldn’t hurt a fly. 

            After Dallas made the goal, the eleven year old made his way to Rayland.  Without a word Dallas looked at the cut on his ankle, using his bandanna to wrap the wound.  “Dallas,” Rayland whined, “he kicked me.  He wasn’t going after the ball.”  Rayland was extremely proud of himself for not crying, but the idea that Butcher was out to get him was unnerving to the six year old.

            “What do you want me to do about it?” Dallas asked, leaning back on his hands.

            “Beat him up for me!”

            “No,” Dallas said harshly, making Rayland flinch.  Dallas softened his tone a tad, but did not lessen his resolve.  “I’m not beating him up for you Little Brother.  You do it.  Go out there and kick him at the knees.  Even if he doesn’t have the ball, kick his knees out.  That’ll teach him not to touch you, and if we’re lucky, you’ll put him out of commission,” Dallas said, still very serious.  Another boy yelled, saying they were starting again, and Dallas stood.  He nodded to Ellory before giving Rayland a smile.  He then walked back onto the field.  Rayland forced himself to stand.  He was going to do it.  He wasn’t sure if it was to make Dallas proud, or his need to get even with Butcher.  But he was going to do it.  Butcher, for the rest of his life, hated the Brennan family and walked with a slight limp. 

            Rayland was forced out of his dream when the world shook.  Not really in any way that messed up Rayland, he was just a soul floating in the huge abyss that was the sword, but he knew that the world surrounding the sword was becoming dangerous.  Having no wielder he could not see outside, not having the connection, but he could more or less feel the world.  And it was crumbling.  Cursing again the inaptitude of Raudel, the dead fool lying but inches away, Rayland waited for the avalanche to be over and done with.  

Author's Note

These two I'm actually looking for some deeper critique. At least questions on the characters and how they seem to interact. Mostly because if I can answer them, I'll feel better about my characters.