Anger Options

[Darkwing]

The wooden ceiling was spattered with flashes of candle light as the coin danced over Dreinin’s whitened knuckles before they span upon the gnarled table top, dancing towards the ever growing pile of Drakes. His lips curled as he marvelled at his own dexterity, quickly reaching into the chest beside his chair and deftly flicking another coin onto the back of his hand. The office was small and bland. The only light was the candle resting on a smaller table in the corner of the room. He peered through the small fractured windows and could see leaf litter gusting past, occasionally sliding near enough so that the leaves stuck briefly on the warped glass before being thrown back into the maelstrom. Dreinin’s only concern right now was how to deal with the unruly rabble that was doubtlessly heading his way, even in this unwelcome weather.

He wasn’t a rich man, but he was stubborn. His keen sense of business had gained him a certain reputation as a thug. Although dressed in expensive clothes and being slight of frame, he presumed his reputation was fairly accurate, as he cast his eye over the heavily armed men standing outside of his door in the torrential rain. But it did not worry him in the slightest. Certainly, the smaller businesses in the area had faltered and tripped, and certainly it was he who had helped them on their way to bankruptcy, but he firmly believed that for a business to survive, it needed to cope with these sorts of difficulties.

Not that he would ever consider himself a difficulty, as such.


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The wind wrapped itself around the cloaked figure emerging from the icy waters surrounding the town. A quick gesture and the freezing water evaporated into the air leaving the stranger’s clothes dry, only to be soaked through once more by the unforgiving rain carried from the North. Sighing, the stranger decided against another spell and raised his head to peer over the muddy embankment. The shifting of the lamp in the wind made is hard to pick out the movement of the town dwellers but after a while any movement that there had been had stopped. The area was unguarded and easily accessed.

Pulling his hood up around his face, the deafening sound of the pummelling rain was all that the stranger could hear, but he knew that his eyes would not fail him in this murky darkness. Off to the right, away from the town centre in a small field surrounded by a low broken wall, he saw his target. The small shack seemed to glow as light flickered merrily through the cracks in the soaking boards, blocked out on occasion by large shadows that glinted as armour caught the light. Although small, this weathered building was certainly a challenge to get to, let alone enter. He narrowed his eyes and lay low to think of an approach that would leave him both protected and with an escape route should things go awry. Then it came to him.


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The three guards were restless. Understandably, considering they had been standing in the open for many hours in the relentless hissing rain. They were wet through and through, to the point where it no longer bothered them. It was the cold that made them shiver, moving from one aching foot to the other to fight it off. The larger of the three, Gerin, reached into his leather pocket and retrieved a bottle of strong ale and passed it to his fellow guards, then finished the remainder off himself, much to their annoyance. This hadn’t been the first bottle that had been passed around, and by now the three men were trying to shrug off the cold in an attempt to raise their spirits and the ale certainly helped matters. Perhaps too much as their loutish drunkenness had caught the attention of some of the nearby occupants, who peered out curiously into the pitch black, trying to pinpoint where the disruption was coming from. And it was this joviality that the stranger had come to realise was of great use to him.

The guards never noticed the dark shadow scale the buildings in the centre of town, crouching low and then leaping from rooftop to rooftop, hastily approaching them through the gloom.

Nor did they notice this same cloaked figure launch himself into the thick air and softly land atop the decaying hut they were charged to defend. Their attention was already trying to focus on a group of disgruntled townsmen slowly stalking towards them with hoes and pitchforks raised aloft. As they leaned forwards to better place the heavy handed mob, each fell facedown in the suffocating mud, their consciousness knocked from them by the notorious accuracy and speed of the thieves’ blackjack. But they should be thankful for this small mercy, as they were spared the fear and despair that the agonizing screams from inside the hut created. Even the ever courageous mob fell quiet and pulled back a few paces. The gurgling scream stopped suddenly and silence, save the wind and rain, followed, punctuated by the soft sound of fluttering cloth in the gale.

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[Elongar]

Very nice indeed. I like your descriptions a lot. Very mysterious. This deserves some thumbs up: :goodjob: :goodjob: :goodjob:

[jonajosa]

Very good. Its like a thief(The game) story. Dark, creepy and the reader is always in the edge of his seat because you never know when a guard might catch you. Keep it up. I will read this one more than once when your done with it!

[Burnt Sierra]

Well, Darkwing! I'm impressed, not only talented at art I see. It's taken me a while to get around to reading all the stories on these boards, but this one seems like a good place to start on the ones I missed. Hopefully, seeing as you posted this on the 3rd of March, a little critique here might inspire you to update this as well.

It's easy to see that you are an artist, the descriptions are superb, painting a dynamic world that's incredibly expressive. Perhaps dialogue would add even more to it, when I was reading about the three guards loutish drunkeness, I started to imagine the drinking song they might have been singing, their feet stamping on the floor.

Here's hoping you'll be able to find the time, in between Daedra's and real life work, to be able to add to this occasionally. There's a story here crying out to be told, and I'd love to read it. I'm going to finish this with a quote from your story, that I particularly enjoyed, in the hope it will reawaken the thought process you had when you were writing it, and inspire you to step back into the world you described. I know I'd like to.

"The small shack seemed to glow as light flickered merrily through the cracks in the soaking boards, blocked out on occasion by large shadows that glinted as armour caught the light."