Hello W-E, long time no see, been taking time off from the hobby due to University, it's both expensive and time consuming, fun though. So yeah, writing a short story to get my self back into the swing of writing before I restart my novel.
I have written about these characters before but this is an entirely new story, set before my other writings as an introduction to the characters, and why they are who they are. If the feedback is good (unlikely) I may share more of my work for these characters.
All C&C welcome, especially criticism.
To Kill A Thief
'Let's not be to hasty with who we point our guns at, Thom' I said looking down the business end of an ornately crafted pistol that was -though Thom didn't know it- quite unloaded, the longer he felt he was in control the less likely he was to call for help. 'Hasty? You're trying to thieve from me, you arse!'
'Not just thieving, I've been drugging you as well' I said as he fell to the floor, I stepped forward to catch him as he fell, the pistol landed without a sound on the sofa we had been sitting on moments ago. I grabbed it and stuck it in a bag that was draped over the chair opposite the sofa. All the furniture was red velvet with gold painted wood work, more well padded than most beds. Thom was a monied individual with a taste for the finer things in life, including weapons. The pistol was Dwarf made with intricate carvings down the barrel, I might have considered keeping it for my self had I a taste for powder weapons. I looked around the room, the walls were painted white, with gold candlestick holders placed every 4 or 5 feet. Two of the walls were entirely covered in book cases filled with texts ranging from ancient tomes to fairy tales. Thom was a portly gentleman in his mid forties with a shaved head and a goatee, he had a sapphire ring on his right hand with a stone the size of my knuckle, I reminded my self to stick to the job, something that distinctive would not be easy to fence. I grabbed my bag and made for the window, I slid the window open and slipped out onto the balcony roof below and then down onto to ground, I took a second to check no one saw me then walked off under cover of darkness.
I
'And you're sure it don't lead back to me any how, Gareth?'
'Trust me, Thom won't have remembered a thing when he woke up.' I replied across the table at the back of The Huntsman, a small pub in the town of Morressette. He passed a bag of coins to me, '200'
'Come now Regis, that's two thirds what we agreed on.' Regis was a tall lithe man in his early thirties with long black hair, though the hood he had up didn't show it. His face was thin with high cheekbones, his piercing brown eyes studied me. 'Times are hard Gareth, money isn't as abundant as it used to be'
'by that I assume you mean you lost at the big game last night, how about you owe me the last 100?'
'Or how about I have that muscular gentleman behind you do something you'll regret.'
'Well, if that happens the finger over the trigger of the small but very deadly crossbow I have trained on you under the table might just have some kind of uncontrollable spasm, wouldn't want that to happen would we?'
'Last I heard Gareth, the Ostermark law enforcement don't take to kindly to murder, you're getting 200.' Regis said as he got up and started for the door, 'I hope you die in a fire, Regis'
'Likewise Gareth.'
'You can come out now Bull.' I said, well aware that the whole exchange was being listened in on by one of my partners in crime and occasional friend. 'He's a pleasant enough bloke isn't he.'
'Not especially' I said as he sat down in the chair Regis had been occupying, 'I knew he was going to dupe me, that's why I set the initial price at 300.' Bull was a huge man, six and half feet tall, and almost as wide, a wall of muscle, his beady blue eyes were sunk into an almost square face, with his hair short he cut an imposing figure. 'You spoken to Jess recently?'
'Yeah, why?'
'She's got a job planned, a job she needs help with apparently, sounds like it's worth being cut in on.'
'Yeah, she talked to me about it'
'reckon it's worth it?' Bull asked, the chair groaned uncomfortably as he shifted on it. The pub was dark, too much smoke and not enough light, part of the charm I guess, enough ambient chatter to conduct your clandestine dealings with some assurance of privacy. 'Does sound like it might be profitable, and more importantly sounds like it might be fun.'
'I can think of other things to do with Jess that might be fun'
'now now Bull, it's not worth it, she's psychotic.'
'You know this from experience?'
'Go get a drink,'
'don't have to tell me twice.'
I got up from the table and headed to the room I was renting above the bar, 'you gunna be eating boss?' the barman asked as I walked past him. 'No thank you M'Kai' I said to a short overweight man with thinning grey hair, 'give me a shout if you need anything, Gareth'
'will do' I replied as I climbed the stairs to my room. The wood walls were adorned with pictures I didn't pay attention to what they were, I slipped the key into the lock on my door and went inside. I saw the contents of my weapons bag arrayed across the small table, one small crossbow, the twin of the one I had pointed at Regis moments before. It was a magazine fed model of my own design, could fire four bolts with out the need to reload, there was a larger model of similar design, less concealable but more range and stopping power. There was a small dagger and, my favourite piece, a sword. It was Elven in origin, a gift from my father, it is thin engraved with elven symbols, the blade is the length of my arm with a grip long enough for me to wield it two handed but it is light enough to use with one hand, the blade has a slight curve up the length of it, there is no hand guard, almost a seamless transition from blade to grip, it was a work of art, but you'd expect nothing less from an elven weapon.
I am Gareth Flece and at that point in my life I was what my parents would have called a waster, I had skills taught to me by my father that I had no use for. My father was Witch Hunter Taran Flece, he taught me his combat skills in his spare time, then he went and got him self killed, so I was a mercenary, or as some would put it, a career criminal. 'It's a nice piece that' Jess said from the chair sat beside my bed, 'nice and long, any one who says size doesn't matter is lying.' She said with a giggle, 'it's not the size of the sword, it's the strength of the stab' I said as I spun the dagger around my hand. 'Long time no see Mr Flece.'
To be continued.
