Paddywhack Posted August 2, 2012 Report Share Posted August 2, 2012 (edited) OK - I haven't written in a very long time and I am playing catch up on the background for Malifaux and this is still too long (just wrote it today - first draft at the last minute), but here it goes. Hopefully someone likes it out there, even if I can't get it down to the limit (I'm quite a bit over sadly). It was still fun writing it Though not sure about the name really... Down to 1540 words - hopefully thats close enough. Was fun either way! A Cod of Cash ------------------------------ “Do you really want to die here?” William lay shaking, his vision blurry and heart racing as the large man loomed over him, the point of his sword at William’s small chest. William screamed as the sword jabbed - piercing flesh and bone. He grasped his bloody chest...wheezing… gasping…. *** William woke with a start, his heart racing and body trembling. Thankfully he hadn’t screamed out – you don’t last on the streets of Malifaux screaming at every nightmare. William lay tucked in a pile of dirty threadbare rags in the loft of an old ruined house. The rags weren’t thick enough to pad his bones from the rough wooden floorboards. With a quiet sigh he laid his head back, eyes closing as his beating heart slowed. “I said, do you really want to die here!?” William’s eyes snapped open as the harsh voice bounced through derelict house. His heart raced again as sweat beaded his forehead. That wasn’t a dream. He turned and slowly pulled himself up to the loft’s fluted balusters. He winced but kept his tongue as a large splinter stabbed his thigh. As he crawled his body left a streak over the dusty floorboards like some giant slug. He reached the edge of the loft and carefully poked his heads between the rails. He saw the room he had scouted earlier that night. Various pieces of broken furniture and household detritus lay scattered about the room covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Directly below him, half under the loft area where he hid, and half in the room, was a large thick table - too big and heavy for the scavengers. On the wall to the right and opposite a large ruined stone fireplace was the single door. There were broken windows throughout the house, including in the loft area – possible escape routes. What wasn’t there earlier were the three guardsmen surrounding a finely dressed man bound to the remains of a chair, his back to the fireplace and his face a bloody mess. One Guilder stood near the door, not far from the table on which now lay a fine pistol – the prisoner’s maybe. Another Guilder leaned against the crumbling mantel of the fireplace, rolling a bit in his fingers. Two standard Guild guardsmen - trench coats, pistol, sword, and scarred cruel faces. Mean spiteful men who’d kick your grandmother in the teeth for a slice of bread. The last Guilder was different. He was big - fatter than any honest guardsman could be. His trench coat splayed over an impressive gut confined under a fancy red vest. The buttons pulled against the fabric, the shirt underneath poking through the gaps between– small mountains of fabric escaping the stale stench of sweat. He wore a wide brimmed hat made of fine black leather with a pair of boots made to match. William had seen this type of guardsmen before. They made their living on extortion, theft and murder backed up by a badge. He began to ease his way backwards intending to slip out a window when he paused. The fat man had bent forward, one hand on his fleshy thigh as he dangled a leather pouch in front of the bound man. He pulled a small stone from the pouch, gazing at the bright light emanating from it before plopping it back in the bag. “Tell me where your master keeps his stash and I promise…well”, the man snorted as he stood up shaking his head, “…well we both know you’re not getting out of here alive. But if you tell me what I need to know I promise to kill you quick,” he said with a smirk. William’s eyes popped at the sight of the small glowing stone. Soulstones! Even a small bag would be worth more coin than William would know what to do with – a right cod of cash as his father would say! It could change his life in one swift snatch – if he could get it and out the door safely. hhhmmmm… The bound man remained silent, his head hanging down and blood dripping from his lips. The fat man turned away shaking his head and tisking under his breath. He strode to the table and removed his coat and hat, laying them down. More importantly, he also dropped the bag of stones next to the pistol. The Fates were smiling on William tonight! One distraction and he could drop onto the table, grab the bag and pistol and scamper out the door a rich man. He knew he could duck a dozen guardsmen in the alleys of the Slums. “OK… one more time,” the fat Guilder said rearing back his pudgy fist… “Where…” thwack “is…” crunch “the…” phoonch “stash?!” The fat man was already wheezing from exertion, his heaving gut stretching the vest to the breaking point as a button skittered across the floor. He daintily pulled a white handkerchief from his vest pocket, wiping the blood from his knuckle as he inspected the mess he had made of the prisoner’s face. “Well?” he asked. “… I’ll… tell,” the bound man gasped, spitting a tooth across the floor. “Finally!” the Guilder crowed, tossing the stained handkerchief over his shoulder. “It’s…in…,” the man began, his head lolling as if he were drunk. “Yes,” said the fat man gently, leaning in closer, coaxing the words out. The beaten man’s head flopped back, eyes to the ceiling. “It’s in…,”he began, sighing deeply, “in… your mother’s corset you bacon-faced slumgullion!” he screamed swinging his head into the Guilder’s stubby nose. William cringed at the mighty crunch as blood spurted from the fat man’s face. As the Guilder fell to his rump the other guardsmen rushed to his side and William took his chance. He squeezed his small frame through the railings, gaining more splinters in his hurry, hung from his fingers and dropped onto the table below. A quick grab a leap and a laugh put him one step from the door, the guardsmen turning in surprise at his sudden appearance. He smiled and laughed as his foot crossed the threshold. The next second he was flying through the air, the smile forgotten as his breath was knocked out of him. He skidded in an aching heap across the floor adding yet more splinters to his growing collection. He was beginning to feel a bit like a porcupine. A fourth Guilder filled the door, glaring down at William. Of course they’d have a lookout William realized too late. The fat man stood up, “Good job Rigel. Now boy,” he took a step towards William, his hand stretched out before him, “give me that pouch and I’ll forget I ever laid eyes on you.” William wasn’t stupid. He knew he was done for – brown bread, Father Ted, Dead. He clutched the leather pouch tighter, trying to think of something that might get him out of this in one piece, when he felt a prickly sensation running up his arm. A swarm of beetles crawled across his skin, their little feet on fire. “Fine,” sighed the fat man turning his back. “Rigel, do me a favor and kill the lad.” Rigel grinned widely and pulled his pistol in a smooth practiced move. “Sorry youngster, nothing personal,” he snickered. Might as well go out fighting William thought and pulled up the pistol he held – fast – faster than he thought possible as those flame wrapped beetles began tap dancing across his skin in a stinging flurry… bang-bang The blink of an eye, bang-bang the space of a breath, bang-bang! and three men lay dead. William’s finger never touched the trigger... He lay shaking and panting as the fire across his skin subsided. His shoulder wrenched and aching. “You little sneaking, murdering, bastard witch!” bellowed the fat man as his panicked eyes took in the carnage about the room. He pulled his sword, towering over William, blade drawn back for a fatal thrust - just like in William’s dream earlier. Now William frantically pulled the trigger himself. …click, click, click…. Well shoot… The fat man sneered and laughed. “Now die you little…ghhuuhhg…wwhrg…sshrgeth” he gurgled, falling with a thunderous crash, a storm of dust billowing around his corpse. “No,” the prisoner said, swaying on his feet, a long knife dripping fat drops of blood to the thirsty floorboards. “To answer your first question,” he rasped, “I do not want to die here. And you should learn to tie better knots,” he scoffed, spitting on the big man’s corpse. He helped William to his feet, “Let me see that bag lad.” William, still in shock, numbly handed over a small fortune. The man poured out a half dozen stones, all but one glowing brightly. He grunted and quickly tipped the stones back into the bag. “You’ve got talent lad, untrained, but maybe we can fix that,” he said. “I know a place. Food, sleep and,” he smiled patting William on the shoulder, “I believe I owe you a reward for your assistance this night.” William only nodded, glad to be alive, as they stumbled to the door. “What’s your name kid?” “Uumm,” William mumbled, “call me… Billy.” Edited August 4, 2012 by Paddywhack Last Edit. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ukrocky Posted August 4, 2012 Report Share Posted August 4, 2012 Awesome, I'd honestly love to see the characters develop in future stories if the chance arises Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paddywhack Posted August 4, 2012 Author Report Share Posted August 4, 2012 Thanks! I haven't written in a long time so this was fun. I could see taking Billy a bit further. I need more background on Malifaux though (waiting for some books right now). Not sure why I waited so long to jump in here - its a great universe. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
El Indio Posted August 5, 2012 Report Share Posted August 5, 2012 Neat! As an Arcanist fan, I approve. Well drawn characters, nicely done descriptions, and a premise that had enough potential to pique the interest without so much complication that it overwhelmed the word count. I liked William and the Mystery Man, and it would be nice to see more of them; it's a pretty classic master-apprentice set-up. I did have a few quibbles, mostly involving your use of font sizes and boldface. I largely think that such tricks are unnecessary to sound storytelling, which is why I roll my eyes whenever a Tyrant opens its psychic mouth in a rulebook story. Italics and caps are about as far as I go myself; anything more comes across as a bit much to my eye. I also wondered where William got his gun from; I didn't remember seeing it in any of the earlier passages. As Chekov said, "If there is a gun on the wall in Act One, it must be fired in Act Two." Conversely, if I don't see a gun on the wall in Act One and someone whips one out in Act Two, I feel a bit confused. Overall, though, well done, and I hope you keep on writing. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Paddywhack Posted August 6, 2012 Author Report Share Posted August 6, 2012 Thanks! Its been a while -good to get back in it though. The font thing was a stylistic experiment. I know its a bit campy, but wanted to try it anyway - its not something I would do in everything. For such a short story I thought it wouldn't be too annoying The gun was difficult. It is mentioned earlier when he first looks through the railing as sitting on the table below him and he grabs it when he grabs the bag of stones. I struggled to find a way to add it in in a logical way at this word count. Originally the fat man was going to take his belt off and drop it on the table, but when I was cutting down to size, I couldn't word it the way I wanted and in the end it didn't make much sense to me to have him take it off. I got close enough in word count though that I should have described it in more detail when he sees it on the table. It is supposed to be the prisoner's weapon that they took off of him and threw on the table. Thanks for the feedback! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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