Shinobi Train
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This is a short story I'm writing to help with my main work which I'm stuck on right now. >.> This is really just a confidence building exercise. It's been a while since I've completed a story of any kind, and doing something small will help a lot.
I hope you all like it of course, and I always appreciate feedback. ^_^ To all my peers who want a real challenge, take this apart and show me what you can do, and I'm especially looking at you, Uzumaki.
Show me where my mistakes are, Germanicus...c'mon, you can do it. ^_^
“About bloody time,” the Dark Elf mumbled, noticing a hooded figure had entered the tavern.
Two men and a woman sat in the far corner of a little hole-in-the-wall called “The Drunken Dwarf”. Emeril thought it was a stupid name; she had never seen a Dwarf that wasn’t drunk. She’d been waiting there longer than the two humans, Faendal and Eric, which allowed more time to hate the rat-infested dump.
The entrance to the place was tucked away in a nasty part of town and the bar itself was actually underneath another building. Patrons had to duck slightly since the stone steps downward had a low ceiling. With no airflow, smoke filled the small joint even though it wasn’t packed. At least people didn’t ask questions here, nobody talked to anybody they didn’t know and everyone minded their own business.
“What’s the matter? In a hurry?” Eric asked, knowing full well how impatient the Elf was.
He was a larger man, the muscle to be precise. Eric’s job was to protect the group, but he also had other skills that came in useful. His hair was short and black, and he always wore some manner of armor no matter what the occasion. His features were angular, his voice deep and his attitude cocky. The only thing in life that he trusted was the sword on his hip, and that seemed to get replaced after every battle.
“We’ve been in this city long enough. Even this last job is pushing it.” Emeril said, flipping a knife in her hand.
“You haven’t been quiet since we got here. Is there no end to your constant babbling?” Faendal asked.
A mage of high standing in low places, Faendal had a knack for the arcane and specialized in the illusionary arts, mostly concealment. Rumor told that he could even make someone go completely mad if given enough time to work on them. No one could ever tell if the many stories about him were true or not, even he wasn’t exactly sure which were real. Faendal always suspected that madness was getting to him as well as his victims.
The warlock’s face was long and thin and his cheekbones were so sharp they looked painful. His build was thin and wiry, but the man was tall. His hair long, brown and had a braid on one side. Unlike Eric’s full beard, he had only a five O’clock shadow. Both humans were in their thirties at least and the Elf was pushing two hundred and fifty, but their exact ages were unknown even to each other, let alone any other personal details.
These were professionals, the kind that would do anything as long there’s enough coin. While they didn’t like each other much at all, the trio made a great team and their pockets didn’t complain about their occasional partnership. After staying in this town for a couple weeks doing jobs, it was time to part ways for a few years, but a last minute client had promised a great payout for one more.
“Something…doesn’t feel right.” Emeril said, watching the robbed person make their way over.
The Elf’s skin had a blue tint to its otherwise colorless nature. Cloaked like she was and wearing a thin, leather cuirass, it was difficult to see her beauty. Her reddish eyes were piercing and a few minutes of her magic-laced charm would capture anyone. Also, there wasn’t a thief she had met that could pick a lock faster, and certainly none that could match her agility or guile.
The dimly lit room wasn’t making it easy to see faces under hoods, but something was especially black about the void where the person’s head should be. It was like their contact for this job was nothing but endless layers of robes, most likely a wizard using a spell to obscure himself. The man sat down, or at least it seemed like a man, occupying the fourth seat.
A band decided to strike up and play a jig, but even that sounded solemn in a place like this. Moments passed, mostly just the three of them looking at the figure at the table. After enough time, Emeril just couldn’t stand it anymore, she knew she had problems with patience but this guy was going to get on with it one way or another.
“Well? You just gonna’ sit there or tell us about this job?” She said, trying to keep her voice low so the music could easily drown it out.
“Do ya’ ever shut up, lass?” Eric asked.
“That’s precisely what I wish to know, hence asking myself.” Faendal remarked.
“Like anyone can understand what ya’ say…” Eric said, rolling his eyes.
“Simply because I elevate myself to a higher level of speech does not mean those around me cannot understand what I say. You, sir, are merely dimwitted.”
“Hoot yer’ horn all ya’ like, pointy hat. Me blade would cut that flapper right out yer’ mouth and them would be yer’ last words.”
“I could turn your weapons into serpents and bend your mind to my will before you’d ever get the chance, friend, and I don’t wear a pointed hat!”
“Enough!” Emeril said, pushing them both away before they actually started fighting.
“Will you just shut up?!” Eric and Faendal said together.
Their client didn’t seem to notice any of this nor care at all; he just produced a small scroll with no seal on the wax. “I have here the details. A caravan arrives in town tonight and will leave in the morning. This is the one and only time they are stopping before reaching their destination, so I suggest you do not fail for there won’t be a second chance. You may take whatever you wish. I am only interested in a specific item and will pay handsomely for it.”
Even from the voice it was hard to tell the gender of this person, or if it was even alive and just a spirit. Regardless, the team was paying attention now.
“How much are we talking about?” Emeril asked.
Despite not seeing anything, it felt like the client was smiling as it put a sack in the middle of the table. “Let’s just say that only the Dark Elf has a chance to spend this much in a lifetime. You could consider this your last job ever, and here is a very small down payment.”
Eric grabbed the sack and poured some of the contents out, which sent slackness to their jaws. “That’s…these are…” He snapped out of it and started scooping the diamonds back in the bag while looking around at the other patrons to make sure no one noticed.
“Holy mother of Agrivatty, that must be nearly a hundred thousand-” Faendal suddenly found Emeril’s hand over his mouth.
“Who is it that needs to shut up now? Are you actively trying to get us killed?” She asked.
“We’re probably jinxed too, I’d wager.” Eric added.
“And if we weren’t before we are now.” The Elf noted, glaring at Eric to drop the subject entirely. The last thing she wanted was to start panicking about how much currency was on them, an easy way to get a knife in an alley; nervous targets are always picked first.
Faendal reached over and grabbed the sack from the dumb brute before he could think to put it away. “Hey-” Emeril’s boot stopped Eric when it kicked his shin, “Right.”
The mage buried it in the folds of his tattered and faded blue robes, but placed a sealing spell on it before removing his hand.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be tonight, but the sooner the better.” Emeril said. “Where should we meet after we have what you want?”
“I’ll find you, have no doubt. I should tell you that the sum which awaits is grand in scale, what you have now is a pittance. Do this right, understood?”
“Hold on.” Eric said in a low growl as he grabbed the man’s arm. “Yer’ payin’ a lot for a simple job.”
“…and?”
Emeril leaned in and tried to peer through the veil of shadow over the man’s face. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. My master pays for excellent service, which you will provide. After you do this none of you can ever return to this city, but I know you won’t anyway. You’re not like the other thieves and mercenaries. You take the high risk jobs then disappear. The best group in town and I hear that it’s time for you to move on right about now. You just happen to be in the right place at the right time.”
Everybody relaxed for a moment, and Eric withdrew his hand. Emeril opened the scroll and looked it over. All that was on it was intelligence on which cart it might be in and a drawing of what the object looked like. Apparently they just had to find a man named Garrick and lift a small stone from his person, this was more of a job for a street pickpocket and they’d do it for a few gold pieces.
“Let me see that.” Eric said, trying to grab the scroll from the Elf.
“Take it, not much to see.” She said.
Suddenly Faendal was grabbing it away from him. “There must be something else.”
“Let me take a look first, not everything has magic, ya’ know!” Eric said, batting off the mage’s hands.
“You wouldn’t recognize invisible ink even if you could see it, now give it here!”
“Stop!” Emeril said forcefully, but without trying to draw more attention.
Faendal gave it up and sat back in his seat. He looked over to ask the man something then noticed he wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. “Where’d he go?”
“What?” Emeril asked.
“I don’t see him anywhere.” Eric replied.
“He was just here a second ago. He couldn’t have left.” The Dark Elf said.
“Dear lady, did you happen to see a man in dark robes leave this table a moment earlier?” Faendal asked a barmaid that was in earshot.
“Ain’t seen no one here but you three all night. Want me ta’ top ya’ off?” She asked, holding up a pitcher of ale.
“No…umm, fine, thank you.” He told her and then turned to whisper to his partners. “I have the astute feeling that we should vacate this pub at the earliest possible moment. I’m leaving first.”
“Oh no you don’t, pal, not with what yer’ carryin’, I’m not lettin’ ya’ outta’ me sight.” Eric said.
“Be careful, and we’ll meet up at the stump.” Emeril told the mage.
“Yer’ just lettin’ him walk? Ya’ feelin’ alright?” The barbarian asked, standing up and putting his hands on the table in protest.
The Dark Elf sat forward, pulled a small knife, twirled it and stabbed it between Eric’s fingers in one fast, smooth motion. “He knows what will happen if he double crosses me, all the money in the world can’t help you when you’re dead.”
“You’re scary, you know that?” Faendal said.
Looking up from the dagger, Eric asked in a calm tone, “What if ya’ had missed?”
“Hm?... Oh, I did miss.”
I hope you all like it of course, and I always appreciate feedback. ^_^ To all my peers who want a real challenge, take this apart and show me what you can do, and I'm especially looking at you, Uzumaki.
Show me where my mistakes are, Germanicus...c'mon, you can do it. ^_^___________________________________
The Last Job:
Part 1 of 3
About Bloody Time
The Last Job:
Part 1 of 3
About Bloody Time
“About bloody time,” the Dark Elf mumbled, noticing a hooded figure had entered the tavern.
Two men and a woman sat in the far corner of a little hole-in-the-wall called “The Drunken Dwarf”. Emeril thought it was a stupid name; she had never seen a Dwarf that wasn’t drunk. She’d been waiting there longer than the two humans, Faendal and Eric, which allowed more time to hate the rat-infested dump.
The entrance to the place was tucked away in a nasty part of town and the bar itself was actually underneath another building. Patrons had to duck slightly since the stone steps downward had a low ceiling. With no airflow, smoke filled the small joint even though it wasn’t packed. At least people didn’t ask questions here, nobody talked to anybody they didn’t know and everyone minded their own business.
“What’s the matter? In a hurry?” Eric asked, knowing full well how impatient the Elf was.
He was a larger man, the muscle to be precise. Eric’s job was to protect the group, but he also had other skills that came in useful. His hair was short and black, and he always wore some manner of armor no matter what the occasion. His features were angular, his voice deep and his attitude cocky. The only thing in life that he trusted was the sword on his hip, and that seemed to get replaced after every battle.
“We’ve been in this city long enough. Even this last job is pushing it.” Emeril said, flipping a knife in her hand.
“You haven’t been quiet since we got here. Is there no end to your constant babbling?” Faendal asked.
A mage of high standing in low places, Faendal had a knack for the arcane and specialized in the illusionary arts, mostly concealment. Rumor told that he could even make someone go completely mad if given enough time to work on them. No one could ever tell if the many stories about him were true or not, even he wasn’t exactly sure which were real. Faendal always suspected that madness was getting to him as well as his victims.
The warlock’s face was long and thin and his cheekbones were so sharp they looked painful. His build was thin and wiry, but the man was tall. His hair long, brown and had a braid on one side. Unlike Eric’s full beard, he had only a five O’clock shadow. Both humans were in their thirties at least and the Elf was pushing two hundred and fifty, but their exact ages were unknown even to each other, let alone any other personal details.
These were professionals, the kind that would do anything as long there’s enough coin. While they didn’t like each other much at all, the trio made a great team and their pockets didn’t complain about their occasional partnership. After staying in this town for a couple weeks doing jobs, it was time to part ways for a few years, but a last minute client had promised a great payout for one more.
“Something…doesn’t feel right.” Emeril said, watching the robbed person make their way over.
The Elf’s skin had a blue tint to its otherwise colorless nature. Cloaked like she was and wearing a thin, leather cuirass, it was difficult to see her beauty. Her reddish eyes were piercing and a few minutes of her magic-laced charm would capture anyone. Also, there wasn’t a thief she had met that could pick a lock faster, and certainly none that could match her agility or guile.
The dimly lit room wasn’t making it easy to see faces under hoods, but something was especially black about the void where the person’s head should be. It was like their contact for this job was nothing but endless layers of robes, most likely a wizard using a spell to obscure himself. The man sat down, or at least it seemed like a man, occupying the fourth seat.
A band decided to strike up and play a jig, but even that sounded solemn in a place like this. Moments passed, mostly just the three of them looking at the figure at the table. After enough time, Emeril just couldn’t stand it anymore, she knew she had problems with patience but this guy was going to get on with it one way or another.
“Well? You just gonna’ sit there or tell us about this job?” She said, trying to keep her voice low so the music could easily drown it out.
“Do ya’ ever shut up, lass?” Eric asked.
“That’s precisely what I wish to know, hence asking myself.” Faendal remarked.
“Like anyone can understand what ya’ say…” Eric said, rolling his eyes.
“Simply because I elevate myself to a higher level of speech does not mean those around me cannot understand what I say. You, sir, are merely dimwitted.”
“Hoot yer’ horn all ya’ like, pointy hat. Me blade would cut that flapper right out yer’ mouth and them would be yer’ last words.”
“I could turn your weapons into serpents and bend your mind to my will before you’d ever get the chance, friend, and I don’t wear a pointed hat!”
“Enough!” Emeril said, pushing them both away before they actually started fighting.
“Will you just shut up?!” Eric and Faendal said together.
Their client didn’t seem to notice any of this nor care at all; he just produced a small scroll with no seal on the wax. “I have here the details. A caravan arrives in town tonight and will leave in the morning. This is the one and only time they are stopping before reaching their destination, so I suggest you do not fail for there won’t be a second chance. You may take whatever you wish. I am only interested in a specific item and will pay handsomely for it.”
Even from the voice it was hard to tell the gender of this person, or if it was even alive and just a spirit. Regardless, the team was paying attention now.
“How much are we talking about?” Emeril asked.
Despite not seeing anything, it felt like the client was smiling as it put a sack in the middle of the table. “Let’s just say that only the Dark Elf has a chance to spend this much in a lifetime. You could consider this your last job ever, and here is a very small down payment.”
Eric grabbed the sack and poured some of the contents out, which sent slackness to their jaws. “That’s…these are…” He snapped out of it and started scooping the diamonds back in the bag while looking around at the other patrons to make sure no one noticed.
“Holy mother of Agrivatty, that must be nearly a hundred thousand-” Faendal suddenly found Emeril’s hand over his mouth.
“Who is it that needs to shut up now? Are you actively trying to get us killed?” She asked.
“We’re probably jinxed too, I’d wager.” Eric added.
“And if we weren’t before we are now.” The Elf noted, glaring at Eric to drop the subject entirely. The last thing she wanted was to start panicking about how much currency was on them, an easy way to get a knife in an alley; nervous targets are always picked first.
Faendal reached over and grabbed the sack from the dumb brute before he could think to put it away. “Hey-” Emeril’s boot stopped Eric when it kicked his shin, “Right.”
The mage buried it in the folds of his tattered and faded blue robes, but placed a sealing spell on it before removing his hand.
“I wasn’t expecting it to be tonight, but the sooner the better.” Emeril said. “Where should we meet after we have what you want?”
“I’ll find you, have no doubt. I should tell you that the sum which awaits is grand in scale, what you have now is a pittance. Do this right, understood?”
“Hold on.” Eric said in a low growl as he grabbed the man’s arm. “Yer’ payin’ a lot for a simple job.”
“…and?”
Emeril leaned in and tried to peer through the veil of shadow over the man’s face. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch. My master pays for excellent service, which you will provide. After you do this none of you can ever return to this city, but I know you won’t anyway. You’re not like the other thieves and mercenaries. You take the high risk jobs then disappear. The best group in town and I hear that it’s time for you to move on right about now. You just happen to be in the right place at the right time.”
Everybody relaxed for a moment, and Eric withdrew his hand. Emeril opened the scroll and looked it over. All that was on it was intelligence on which cart it might be in and a drawing of what the object looked like. Apparently they just had to find a man named Garrick and lift a small stone from his person, this was more of a job for a street pickpocket and they’d do it for a few gold pieces.
“Let me see that.” Eric said, trying to grab the scroll from the Elf.
“Take it, not much to see.” She said.
Suddenly Faendal was grabbing it away from him. “There must be something else.”
“Let me take a look first, not everything has magic, ya’ know!” Eric said, batting off the mage’s hands.
“You wouldn’t recognize invisible ink even if you could see it, now give it here!”
“Stop!” Emeril said forcefully, but without trying to draw more attention.
Faendal gave it up and sat back in his seat. He looked over to ask the man something then noticed he wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. “Where’d he go?”
“What?” Emeril asked.
“I don’t see him anywhere.” Eric replied.
“He was just here a second ago. He couldn’t have left.” The Dark Elf said.
“Dear lady, did you happen to see a man in dark robes leave this table a moment earlier?” Faendal asked a barmaid that was in earshot.
“Ain’t seen no one here but you three all night. Want me ta’ top ya’ off?” She asked, holding up a pitcher of ale.
“No…umm, fine, thank you.” He told her and then turned to whisper to his partners. “I have the astute feeling that we should vacate this pub at the earliest possible moment. I’m leaving first.”
“Oh no you don’t, pal, not with what yer’ carryin’, I’m not lettin’ ya’ outta’ me sight.” Eric said.
“Be careful, and we’ll meet up at the stump.” Emeril told the mage.
“Yer’ just lettin’ him walk? Ya’ feelin’ alright?” The barbarian asked, standing up and putting his hands on the table in protest.
The Dark Elf sat forward, pulled a small knife, twirled it and stabbed it between Eric’s fingers in one fast, smooth motion. “He knows what will happen if he double crosses me, all the money in the world can’t help you when you’re dead.”
“You’re scary, you know that?” Faendal said.
Looking up from the dagger, Eric asked in a calm tone, “What if ya’ had missed?”
“Hm?... Oh, I did miss.”
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