Warrior Shaman Flash Fiction

“So you’re the best fighter in the world, huh?” Definitely sneering, but somewhat…placid. Thas decided to indulge him. 

“No, I’m not.” Thas continued his stare into the mug of ale before him.

The stranger at the bar looked puzzled. “But, are you not a Warrior Shaman? Those, those whirlwinds of death and nature?”

“Yes, I am.” Thas looked into the man’s eyes. He knew the storm cataract was glowing, but the stranger didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Then you have some explaining to do.”

Thas looked up, blinked once. “There was a time when I fought an especially fierce knight. Exhausted, I had not the strength to call to Melias, and I had been bested in martial combat. I stood before him, disarmed. I looked him in the eye through his helmet’s visor and simply stated, ‘I forgive you.’ And I awaited death. Hands palm out, down at my sides.”

The stranger leaned in, baffled and amazed.

“The knight stood, saluted me, and sheathed his weapon. He bowed once, turned, and left the chamber where he had cornered me. I never saw him again.”

Advertisements

The Golemborn

Mortality is a noose that tightens a little bit every day until the trap door beneath your feet sends you to your fate. A harsh reality. Many people try to stop the flow of time’s tide through numerous methods. Plastic surgery, medicine, drugs, lotions, creams, cryogenics. Failing that, mortals will often try and make themselves remembered through deeds, bodies of work, or other types of intangible branding.

We all have plans. We all have a life that we want to do so much with, but we have an hourglass jammed into our spine that we can never forget about. What if your plans were so grand, your life purpose so monumental- you needed to be immortal? Or maybe slightly immortal? There are many different reasons for people to consider immortality. Noble or cruel, cosmetic or genuine.  It’s not always just because a person doesn’t want to die, you know. With that in mind, I introduce you to the Golemborn.

Golemborn are elemental hybrids, binding with a living organism to augment that being. Say a wizard is close to death, but his life’s work is still incomplete. He may elect to reach out to an elemental, which is a being composed of simply one…thing. It varies of course. Earth, fire, wind, water, the usual. But what about wood? Stone? Blood? Metal? Fear? Think about it. Anyway, the wizard elects a stone elemental lets say, and strikes up a deal with this being. Whatever that deal may be, once agreed upon, the elemental bestows a portion of his life force into the wizard, and effectively extends his life by several hundred decades.

However, there are side effects.

The wizard will now bear deformation. Which parts of the body depend on the type of pact and what the wizard wanted out of the deal, or the cruelty/mercy of the being they are dealing with. Sometimes the living body can become living stone, or have portions of skin convert into stone.

Internal organs may also be converted into living stone, making this human wizard a completely different organism that is unique in every way- no two Golemborn are the same because the personalities of no two elementals are the same. And depending on what the living being wishes to accomplish with this newfound immortality, different parts of the body are affected to facilitate the living being’s goals.

I’ll post some concept art in the future. In the meantime, think about what would make you want to be immortal. The answer may surprise you. The concept of this post is to highlight my works of fiction, yes. But the concept of a Golemborn is very interesting to me. What would you do with immortality? What would you dedicate your life to? Golemborn know the answers to these questions. Do you?

Warrior Shaman Flash Fiction

Thas stood in the bar indignant. He hated the stink of them. The people crowding around, hunched.

Stale beer, old wood, glaring eyes. A thug looked at him as they stood nose to nose. A snicker behind him. A drooling grin on the thug. A flash of silver in his hand. They didn’t know what he was. All they knew was that he was a Spellslinger.

That knife blade drove home into his gut, the thug grinning still, but it soon faded. Thas held on to his attacker’s wrist, holding the blade in place. He tried to withdraw, put panic made him frantic and easy to manipulate. Thas stood in the shadows of the bar, the torchlight flickered once, and the thug shrieked in terror at what he saw.

Two tiny blood orange dots of light where this monster’s eyes should be, hidden in the shifting darkness of his hood. Thas leaned in slowly, the expression of childlike terror comical on his attacker’s wizened and heavily scarred face. Finally, the coward made eye contact with Thas. The bar was silent as they waited for his words.

He released this victim, who fell to the floor, dropping his knife which slid several feet away. The thug scrambled backwards towards the exit, scooting back on his ass. Thas advanced, never speaking, blood pouring from the wound in his stomach, his eyes still glowing, trained on the thug. His wound’s blood flow has slowed to a trickle. Thas looked down at the thief, who had clearly wet himself, but not a single soul was laughing.

Thas stared down at this attacker and growled, “run.”

A brief clamor, sounds of panic and hurried feet. It wasn’t long until he found himself alone in the bar, standing in silence.

He didn’t smile.

Sample Chapter: Path of the Warrior Shaman

I know I posted what I thought to be the first book in this series of novellas a while ago, but I decided that it was more of a second piece to this character’s life, rather than the first. Instead, I decided to create a novella with the Warrior Shaman, Thas (I finally named him), going through all the training and education that is required of an individual going through this whole…process. Journey?

Anyway, here’s a select piece that I feel fits very well with the personality of Thas, and what it means to be a Warrior Shaman in his mind. This has been lightly proofread, but not edited yet, so there might be suck in there, or things that don’t make sense. Anyway, here’s the section:

Path of the Warrior, Book One

Copyright Will Truex – The Disfigured, 2013

————–|

…Thas felt the agony of Melias all at once.

His mind was flooded by negative thoughts, pain, anguish, confusion, terror. The voice came from beyond to guide him. He heard screaming, words, chaos. He felt panic, grief, and despair. You are feeling the pain of every living being on this planet. Grass blade to dragon, you know it all. This is the greatest burden you will bear. But it will give you great insight if you can weather it.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he wailed in the hopeless inky soup of consciousness. Visions accosted him, seeing firsthand the last moments of life through another’s eyes. He saw a lamb, and could hear it bleating. He felt its confusion and fear as it was being dragged away from its mother. Thas felt the submission of the lamb accepting that he cannot resist his captor.

Thas watched in horror from inside the lamb as her captor opened a nearby barn door. The buzzing of flies and the stink of stale wool and fresh blood was overwhelming. The lamb looked around at her surroundings, seeing a pile of heads. Lamb heads. She knew some of the faces, recognized some of the smells. Some of them where her brothers and sisters. More confusion, as her captor left. Terror refreshed as she approached the heads, smelling death. When she turned around, the farmer had a knife in his hand.

He approached and she bleated furiously, not understanding why he didn’t understand her. She kept wanting to know what was going on. Where her mother was. What was wrong with her brothers and sisters. Begging to know. The farmer grabbed her by the mouth to silence her tiny bleats. She tried to resist him, but he was too strong.

Pain, fresh terror, warmth as the blade entered her neck. He tossed her to the side, and she felt all her blood pour over her chest and legs. The last thing she saw was the farmer’s boot crushing her eye, and then felt pain as he held her down. There was one more sharp bite of pain, one more panicked cry, and then she was gone.

Thas returned to the Catacombs, but he could still feel the twisted pain of Melias channeling through him. The spirits whirled around him, screaming in fury.  Melias is sick, Thas! She needs help! WE. ARE HER PROTECTORS. Another vision approached.

He was a stray dog this time, being beaten by children in the street. Once again, terror, confusion, pain. He felt their angry little feet pelt his frail body, bruising his flesh and cracking his bones. The stray fell to the ground, crying miserably. It was all he could think to do. He kept wanting mercy, he kept wanting to know why he was being hurt, he didn’t understand.

When the children were finished, the stray ran off and hid under a building’s porch. Thas knew the poor dog’s fate was sealed, though. He could feel a terrible infection rising from his guts, moving into his lungs.

WE. ARE. HER. PROTECTORS.

THAS!

“Yes!” He screamed, consumed in righteous anger and unfathomable pain.

WILL YOU PROTECT HER?

“YES!” he screamed, and stood up. He drank in the sorrow of Melias, felt it, understood it, and felt a purpose well and take shape within him. “I will eradicate the darkness from this planet. I will stand up for the weak, I will grant mercy to the injured, AND I WILL PUNISH EVIL WHEREVER IT MAY HIDE!”

“Welcome Thas! Welcome!” In an instant, the vision and pain stopped, but Thas could still feel it in his heart. “Thas. You are strong enough to bare the pain of this world and still fight a losing fight. You will stand for Melias, stand for her people, plants, and animals. You will be her champion, like so many before you.”

“I am honored. And eager.”

“All beings have a connection to Melias because we are all born from her and the heavens beyond. We have lost our physical forms, but endure on to guide men and women like you. We opened your link with Melias to its full extent, not leaving anything out. You will learn how to control this link, how to use it, how to seek wisdom from it.”

“From that? I could barely understand…” Thas could feel the heat of tears in his eyes.

“No, Thas. There is so much more…than darkness.”

Thas felt his link to Melias open once more, and he braced himself for the onslaught. But instead, the sheer beauty of Melias, all of its happiness, love, peace. The spirits danced around his head this time, their light not so bright, their sounds melodious and metallic- like tiny wind chimes. He was bathed in pearlescent light.

He could feel it all, and was grinned with anticipation when he felt a vision coming toward him. He looked through the eyes of a father seeing his newborn son for the first time, and felt his joy, love, and pride. Thas smelled the afterbirth of the child, fresh but well hidden, like a musky secret. He watched as the father cleared blood and mucus from the child’s lips and nose, and felt his heart skip a beat when the boy shrieked his first protest.

He felt the simple joy of a beggar finding a loaf of bread discarded behind a bakery. The happiness and relief of finding something to eat washed over him. His worries melted- today he was fed. He watched as the beggar sat down on a ragged blanket and slowly ate his prize. He shared it with a few birds that came to join him. Thas felt the quiet, subtle happiness as the old man smiled, watching the little chubby birds peck his crumbs.

He felt the warmth and love of his own mother and father again, after they had been dead for so many years. It felt like hope.

Nothing ever ends completely, Thas. We are all connected, connected by Melias, connected by the very soul that fuels our bodies. We show you why you must fight. Now, we will show you what you’re really fighting for. We are all brothers and sisters on this side, Thas.

Thas felt his connection wane. He felt purified from the sheer…goodness that was within Melias. He knew he had to protect it. He knew he must protect it. The spirits broke their link around his head and returned to where he first saw them. Thas wanted to speak, but knew he didn’t need to. They faded back into the darkness, and he emerged from the Catacombs. It was dark. Was it still the same day?

Thas could feel a terrible rage build within him, a need to lash out at evil and darkness, injustice and misery. He whispered, “Melias is angry. She’s angry and tired and sick, and I will make her well again.” The images of the lamb still haunted him. He could still feel her, out there, her little life adrift. But in the same instant, he felt the love of his parents wash over him. After a mere twenty years of life, Thas finally knew what it meant to be human.

As much as the experience had drained him, Thas sighed with relief and felt a new drive in his life. He felt happiness and purpose, true purpose. He looked up through the pine trees and studied the thin rays of light that pierced the high canopy. He found purpose.

Thas returned to Dra, a changed man. Was he even a man anymore? What was he? Dra did not speak as Thas dressed himself. “You made it.”

“I did.”

“What do you think?”

Thas didn’t answer reflexively. He stopped what he was doing, and took a breath to think. “My world is gone. I’ve been flung into an entirely different realm, and I can’t believe that I came out on the other side. That’s what I think.”

“What shall you do?”

“Continue.”

“When will you start?”

“Now.”

“Tomorrow. Tonight, we camp here. By the catacombs. I will lead you to the Sacred Swamp tomorrow. You will become something different, Thas. Something completely unique. There is much to tell you, much to do. Much to experience.”

“I am ready.”

“I can see that.”

Dra fell asleep almost immediately when they finally bedded down for the night, but Thas was still dozed. He peered up at the pines and flirted glances with the grinning moon, full and bright. Silvery blue light touched the forest like a veil of glass. His lids closed once, and then shut until morning.

Dra woke him up with a gentle nudge form his boot. “Thas, today we go to the Sacred Swamp. That is where you will finish your journey, and become a Warrior Shaman in title. Then, I’ll teach you what it means to become a Warrior Shaman in heart.” Dra walked away to smother the campfire. There was no food cooking, no water boiling. Thas remained silent, wondering if this was part of his test.

He rose, and begun dressing himself in his burlap rags. “No,” Dra said, and tossed him a strange medallion slightly smaller than the size of his palm. It bore no symbol, and was well worn. It appeared to be made of brass, but it felt heavier than that. Lead? He could feel a heartbeat of magic coursing through it and passing into his arm. There was more than what met the eye here.

“Place that  below your chin, right in the center of your breastbone.” Thas wanted to ask why, but figured it wouldn’t be a smart idea. As soon as it touched his chest, a dark gas poured out from under it. A trap?

“What did you do?” Thas said.

“Silence.”

Soon, he realized that it wasn’t gas at all, but clouds. Clouds. He had a cloud forming around him. More specifically, a thunderhead. When it reached his genitals, he worried about his balls being cooked off by a stray spark of lightening.

When it was finally complete, he was in a cloak, shirt, pants, and boots, all made of…cloud. A clap of soft thunder and his clothes became real (at least they looked that way), taking on a feel of fabric. They were of dark greens, browns, and tans. The cloak, however, was bound by the medallion on his chest. It flowed over his shoulders and around his head, creating a hood.

When it all finally settled, he watched in amazement as the cloak churned and flashed silent lightening underneath the cloud cover. It was constantly shifting, always moving, just like the sky, but it was merely a cloud stretched into a cloak and then fitted on some poor bastard that had no idea what was in store for him. When it calmed down, the cloak remained a dark grey overcast, its default color.

“That is a Storm Mantle. Ever Warrior Shaman has one. It will be the only pair of clothes you will ever need.”

“It can make clothing for me?”

 

OH! And I am going to start posting flash fiction on here that star my characters. It’ll give you a better idea of their personalities and how they interact with people, and the world around them. Let me know what you think- I want to make this the best work I can possibly do. Remember, please be constructive. Just saying, “YOU SUCK” won’t allow me to improve my work, and I’ll cry for like…three hours.

Dark Work

Profound inspiration, or a driving will to create are often sparked by periods of intense emotional trauma, and are usually sustained by said trauma until the writer can find another source for production. This is true for many. Not all, but many, and I am one of those “privileged” few.

I have been working with Melias on and off for some time now, going with the ebb and flow of my mood swings. Out of a particularly dark mood, I created Gruun, a barbarian half-orc with a conscience and a penchant for honesty and raw beef. I don’t have a picture of him yet, so I’ll give you the details if you’re obsessive. He stand seven feet, two inches tall, covered in muscle. His skin is a rich, but muddy green, and he bares two large tusks that jut out of his bottom jaw line. His sword is five and a half feet long, and weighs about 125lbs. He is my response to a world that is strong enough to hold you down with a single finger.

He is the response (no, this is not going to be about politics, religion, or Syria) to a world that I see having much injustice, with too many good, decent people being hurt, exploited, and corralled by terror. Gruun is the terror. He is fear incarnate for the dark forces that perpetuate Melias, and he knows it.

I created Gruun out of need. We all struggle with darkness in life. Regardless of what that black spot on your soul may be, you know it’s there, and it wants you to know it. That’s Gruun. He is all of my basic Id feelings and actions wrapped around a good, decent, honest foundation. And wouldn’t you know it? He’s one of my favorite characters to write as.

I am still writing. I had a drought on WordPress because…I didn’t have anything worthwhile to share with anyone, to be honest. In that same vein, I am still on the fence whether or not I do, in fact, have anything worthwhile to share, but that doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I kept working. Thinking. Going. Like we all must.

Revised: Path of the Wizard Sample Chapter

Okay, here is the new and improved Path of the Wizard sample chapter. I edited it, proofread it (sorta), and made  the story less pokey. I’m be proud of this piece, because I actually gave a shit when I wrote it. Hope you like it.

(Thanks for the kind words, Godtisx. You helped me find some confidence that I had recently lost)

All ideas and concepts and all that other shit by Will Truex — The Disfigured, 2013

Tremors. Not an earthquake, tremors. A thin line of dust fell from the wizard’s ceiling, waking him from his nap and fouling his temper. “What the hell is this?” He said, looking up at the offensive crevasse. More tremors. At first, he thought he was simply feeling the quaking in a dream, but he was awake, awake and certain that something was wrong.

As if on cue, screaming pealed through the college and the alarm bell started to vibrate the very walls. More tremors, more dust. He snorted and tripped over his long cotton nightshirt. “Godammit!” He said, struggling to rise to his feet. “Godamn old bones, come on Melchas, get your ass up.” Finally vertical, he stretched his back and rolled his head from side to side. Again, tremors. They were becoming stronger, and the pace was even. Footsteps? He thought. Giants? He rubbed his bruised chin through his wiry, graying beard. He smelled his fingers afterwards, enjoying the odor of his skin and hair.

Wizards…are eccentric.

He tied his hair back into a long ponytail, and donned his robes. They were light black, almost a charcoal, with silver hemming and strange designs woven into the very fabric. He put on his hat, fixed its wide brim, and grabbed his staff.

Students, faculty, even the janitors were running through the halls, screaming in terror. Melchas grabbed a student he recognized from one of the classes he taught. She was wide-eyed with panic and gripped with fear. “What’s going on girl? Focus!” His tone was firm, but soothing. She locked eyes with him and broke free without saying a word. Alright then…guess I’ll figure it out on my own. The cold stone stuck to his bare feet, which he rarely washed. He hung them over the bed to prevent the staining of his sheets, and wore an extra long robe to hide them from view. Not because he was ashamed of them, but rather…he didn’t want people eyeballing his toenails.

Wizards…are eccentric.

He walked calmly amongst the rabble, gently pushing people out of the way. What could be causing this commotion? Truly, the College of Demonic Arts is located next to the Abyssal Maw, a black pit torn open during the dark civil war that created the Scar of Shame and divided this continent into north and south regions. What could possibly shake an entire college filled with talented Spellslingers and guards?

After a long walk that he regretted, he made it to the courtyard of the college. Looking at the battlements, he saw numerous archers nock and release arrow after arrow from their long bows. The commander screamed order after order, and the catapults were being prepared a few feet away from where Melchas stood.

Melchas floated up to the top of the battlements next to the commander, which didn’t notice him at first. “Uh, commander?”

“Huh? What is it- oh Professor Melchas, I’m sorry.”

“Never mind that my friend. What has the college in such a frenzy?”

“That.” The commander grabbed Melchas’ shoulder and turned him towards the eastern forest. The massive bald head of a rampaging giant drew closer and closer. Two more followed the one in the lead. One thing was obvious- their faces were twisted with blind anger and grim joy. They were well over two hundred feet tall.  “I don’t see anything. I left my glasses in my chamber.”

“Oh, for God’s sake you old bastard, look!” The commander handed Melchas a spyglass.

“Fuck me,” he said, “there are Godamn giants out there!” The commander rolled his eyes.

“Yes, that’s why we’re scared!”

“Scared? You have arrows, catapults, and seven master wizards here including myself, why are you scared?”

“Magical theory and fireballs won’t save us from that, Professor!” The commander pointed towards the giants once more. When he turned to face Melchas again, the wizard was gone. The smell of his odd cologne remained. When the commander looked around, he saw Melchas outside of the college’s drawbridge, walking slowly towards the giants.

Are you insane?!” he screamed down. “They’ll eat you alive!”

Melchas turned his lips into a frown, and furrowed his brow. He lifted his hand and flapped it vigorously, dismissing the obviously concerned commander’s fear.  It wasn’t long until the archers stopped, and the whole college was silent, watching Melchas from the safety of the massive stone walls.

Trees snapped and cracked, leaves, limbs, and other forest debris flew high into the air, a strange wake in the destruction the giants left behind them. The two in the rear looked dull- but they were bulkier than the one in the lead. The brains, and the brawn. Melchas thought. He remembered the leader’s bald head and changed his thought with a snicker. More like a cock and two shriveled balls. The giants breached the tree line, and Melchas flew with incredible speed towards the bald leader, stopping the beast cold in its tracks. Perplexed, the giant stared at the wizard, unable to process why a human was flying without wings. Melchas spoke to the leader slowly.

“Buddy. Listen. What are you doing? What’s going on?”

The giant looked behind his shoulder at his comrades, and then cast a wary eye back to Melchas. “You…you don’t plan on destroying the college over there, do you? A lot of people live there, you’re not gonna kill em’ all, right?”

The giant stared at Melchas with an expression of anger and awe. Melchas had gotten used to seeing this on people’s faces when he spoke to them. A massive bead of sweat rolled from the giant’s brow down to the bridge of his nose. It fell to the ground, making an audible slap as the bone white sand below accepted the sudden moisture with greed. The giant gritted his teeth in a snarl. “Now, now, now, easy my friend. There is no need-“ the giant grabbed Melchas. The sudden force hurt his back and ruined his pleasant mood.

“I’m guessing, boy, that you understand English?” The giant grinned, flashing massive, yellow teeth. The head and leg of some poor cow was wedged in-between his two front teeth, crammed up against the gum line. “But you can’t speak it?” Another nod in confirmation. “Okay, you speak Giant, yes?” The beast squeezed Melchas a little bit. He felt a rib crack and his wrist break. He remained even and calm, not showing the agony. “Then listen to this.” Melchas begun speaking to the beast in a perfect stream of fluent Giantspeak, “Put me the fuck down maggot or I’ll break your Godamn legs and choke your friends back there with your fucking intestines.”

All three giants let loose thunderous bellows of laughter. The leader looked at Melchas and struggled a phrase in broken English- “Time you die!” And started to tighten his grip. Melchas shot his hands out and snapped the giant’s finger’s back.  The beast roared in pain as the wizard floated to the ground. Enraged, the two other giants rushed forward, screaming with their clubs high in the air. Melchas turned his palms up, and then snapped them forward, his fingers outstretched towards their targets. Two translucent spheres flew from his hands with incredible speed, blowing back his sleeves and pushed his beard to one side.

The smashed into the top of the clubs, ripping them from their owners hands and back into the forest. While confused, Melchas launched two more projectiles, aiming at a knee each of the assaulting giants. Both joints broke backwards with a loud pop, and the two giants fell (thankfully away from the college), howling in pain. The leader, now infuriated, roared and charged Melchas, aiming to trample him underfoot.

In a split second, Melchas crossed his hands in front of him, one palm in, on out, and then extended his limbs towards the giant’s face. Two massive columns of twisting white fire roared forth from the vacant space in-between his two outstretched hands, a hose of flame, burning the giant’s face. When the spell was finished, the giant stood, still in shock, still not dead, with his skin charred down to the skull. The beast started to fall forward towards the college which would have crushed almost half of the structure under its incredible weight.

Seeing this, Melchas threw a fist at the beast, launching a massive translucent sphere which smashed into the giant’s chest, and flung him like a rag doll several hundred feet backwards. A massive plume of sand exploded off in the distance, indicating where the carcass landed.

The two wounded giants looked up in fear of Melchas as he hovered above them. He said, very clearly in Giant, “Never. Ever. Come back here. Or I’ll harvest your organs for potions. Now go die somewhere else. Got it?” The beasts blubbered in agreement and hobbled off back towards the forest. Melchas watched them disappear amongst the titanic trees. Still floating, he turned back towards the college. He cast a healing spell on himself, and then took a bow.

Everyone celebrated his name.

 

 

WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

Sample Chapter: Path of the Monk

Just got struck with inspiration and wrote the intro for one of my novellas. Tell me what you think:

 

99 Cent Novellas: Path of the Monk, Book One

All ideas and concepts by The Disfigured, 2013

Sunshine was expected in these parts, and it was beautiful to behold when filtered through the gnarled branches of the mangroves nearby. He smiled thinking about them, holding his groceries in a cloth bag. He shook his head as a small insect buzzed in front of him, smiling as he watched it dart off. The sunlight caught its wings- a flash of a dagger in a well lit room.

He had walked this trail many times before. It was easy to navigate, free of bandits, and civilized enough to deter some of the more…unsavory creatures located in Melias. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was a pleasant walk through a lightly wooded path in the middle of nowhere.

Nowhere, however, had residents. And they had been watching him for a little over a half an hour now. Five men, armed to the teeth, stalked their prey methodically. They intended to rob him of his goods, his money, his dignity, and maybe his life. The men looked at each other, and then to their leader. He smiled and shook his head “no”. They walked behind him, careful to mask their approach.

Flower petals jerked with the haphazard force of the wind, which also carried with it the scent of pond water and wild flowers. His soul finally felt like it had a place to rest. To call home. He turned to the south as the wind picked up again, hoping that he could smell the mixture of seawater and mangrove tea. He knew that the coast was close, but he could not smell its salt.

One of the five men broke off from the group and moved ahead of them all, waiting in ambush. The remaining four stayed behind their target, watching. He was completely oblivious- this would be the easiest money they’ve made in a long time.

The scout made his move, and stepped in front of their target. “Hold it monk,” the bandit said. “got a question for you.”

“How do you know I’m a monk?”

The thug snorted. “Ha! Those faggot robes? That shitty crew cut? The vacant expression of moronic bliss? You’re a fuckin’ monk alright.”

“I want no violence.” The monk backed away, only to be stopped by the remainder of the gang.

“Too bad sweetie.” One bandit said. His nose was massive and scarred; his eyes cruel and his skin unclean. He pulled a twisted dagger from his belt, and flashed a single silver tooth. It wasn’t long before they were upon him.

*             *             *

                It also wasn’t long before the monk returned home to Cheldas, dozens of miles away from the nearest town, or city. This…was not something he was sad about. Townsfolk greeted him as he returned, showering him with gifts that he did not accept, and compliments which he thanked them for. He pulled a large loaf of bread from his bag and gave it to a few children playing in a puddle. Cheldas was a poor community, and this food would not go to waste. They looked at him, shy and smiling. He gave them a steely glance trying hard not to crack a smile. Suddenly, he lifted his arms up and yelled ‘BOO’!

The children squealed in delight as they scattered and ran back to their homes. Once more, the monk found himself smiling. He looked into his grocery bag and noticed three teeth resting in a patch of blood that had saturated the bottom of the bag. One was silver. “I think I’ll pawn you.” He said to the tooth, and hid it in his robes.

Today was going to be a good, good day.

 

Ah, I love misdirection. Good? Bad? Indifferent? Lemmie know.