I wrote this at 1:00 - 3:00 a.m. It\'s a short story related to my guild, Ashes. I\'m interested in some criticism. I\'d like to hear suggestions on how to improve my style, and what weaknesses I have. I\'d also like to know what strengths I have.
The Ynnwn smiled cruelly. This would be too easy. The fools had lit a fire on a hilltop. What idiots. He?d never heard of such stupidity.
?The men are in position, Sergeant.?
?Good, Corporal. Keep them on full alert.?
?Yes, sir.? The Dermorian saluted and walked off. The Sergeant smiled. He loved military protocol. He didn?t know the first name of a single one of his twelve men, nor they his. No one cared. Even though it had been four years since they left the army, he was only ever referred to as ?Sergeant?, and he called his men by their ranks and last names. He loved it. He loved the cold practicality, for he was a soldier. No, he was the Sergeant.
He was brilliant and he knew it. He understood tactics better than anyone he?d ever heard of. He should have been made general, he deserved it. Jealousy had kept him a sergeant. His superiors feared for their jobs if he was promoted, knowing he was more capable than they.
So he left. He took his men with him. They knew of his greatness, and they understood that there was a future with him. They too were more than ordinary soldiers. Unlike most, his unit was fully self-sufficient, and not limited to one type of soldier. There were two archers, seven swordsmen of various types, two martial artists, and even a Xacha mage.They did not love each other per se, but they respected each other, for each knew that his life depended on the rest. And they respected the Sergeant, not only for his mind, but for his physical abilities, as well. The Sergeant was massive, even for an Ynnwn, and moved like a cat. Not a single one of his men desired to cross him, as good as they were. They were the best, and he was the best of the best.
In the four years since they had left the army, they had made a name for themselves. They were called the Unit, and they had a reputation for ruthlessness. They were never reckless in their robbing, never foolish. After their first few local robberies, the people complained to the government, which sent out some men to capture the Unit. A few of the Sergeant?s contemporaries warned their superiors of the Sergeant?s genius, so the number of men was upped from fifty to a hundred. They marched out, confident in their ability to locate and capture thirteen men. Three days later one man returned, bruised and exhausted, with a message from the Sergeant: if the army ever wanted to lose more men, the Unit was happy to oblige.
Of course, the Sergeant knew that even the Unit could fall prey if a large enough number of men were called out. So he kept the robberies few in number, and discreet, enough so that the army wouldn?t consider it worth calling out a large force. For their part, the army pretended to ignore the Unit, since it kept to it?s own territory, and the army had no desire to lose more men. In reality however, everyone knew that the Unit was law in it?s territory, and not even the army could rest that control from it. It could not be defeated.
And so the Sergeant stood staring at the brightly lit hilltop. There were only two men at the campfire, both sleeping soundly. One was a Lemur, thin and frail, holding a cane. Most likely an old man. The other was a young Diaboli with blood caked around his eyes, obviously blinded from a recent wound. Neither had any visible weapon.
?A blind man and his guide dog,? the Sergeant heard Tarkin, an Enkidukai martial artist, joke.
The corners of the Sergeant?s mouth twitched upwards at this apparently accurate comparison, but immediately dropped back down. ?It may seem that way, but we?re going to do this right, slowly and carefully.? The soldier knew better than to argue, so the Sergeant continued. ?It could be an ambush? Either that or they?re incredibly stupid, or incredibly arrogant. I don?t care which it is, and I don?t want them to live the night. Let?s start moving in.?
Slowly, carefully, under the expert direction of the Sergeant, the Unit encircled it?s prey. Finally, everyone was in position. The two archers and the mage were farther out, watching attentively, ready to attack if anything went wrong.The rest had closed to about 15 yards, and paused there, for fear of waking the sleepers. The sergeant motioned for Tarkin and Mane, an agile Nolthrir dagger wielder, to move in for the kill. His hope was to dispatch the two while they slept.
The two men crept slowly forward, soundless in the night. The Sergeant smiled as he watched from his position, proud that his men could move so silently. Tarkin reached the Diaboli before Mane reached the Lemur, and raised his hand to strike at the nape of the neck. He smirked, this had been too easy. A blind man and his dog, he thought. His muscles tensed for the downward movement, but froze as he heard a voice say, ?How can I get any rest with all the racket you?re making?? The next sensation was pain, blinding pain as his sternum was crushed by a blow that threw him backward off his feet. The blow was delivered by the hand of the blind Diaboli. At the same instant, Mane was knocked off his feet by an identical blow, only this time, there was no hand to deliver it.
The Unit watched in shock as two of their number died, the first two ever, one at the hand of a blind man, and the other for no apparent reason at all. The next second they were all moving in to the sound of the Sergeant?s ?Charge!?
By the time the defenderes had gained their feet, the Unit was only a few yards away, moving in unison, one body, one machine, rage tempered with discipline. Two arrows whistled through the air, aimed directly at the heads of the strangers. The one aimed at the Lemur mysteriously changed course in mid-flight, and pierced the heart of the nearest swordsman, a Dermorian, who fell to the ground dead. The other arrow was inches from it?s target when it was snatched out of the air and flicked through the head of Narb, the Unit?s best swordfighter.
The Unit paused and silence filled the air as each member took a few seconds to comprehend what had passed. Four of their number dead, and not a blow struck from their side. Rage hit them simultaneously, and the air was rent with a scream of pure fury. Discipline forgotten, they charged forward, each eager to be the first to wreak revenge on the intruders. They didn?t stand a chance.
Before they even realized what happened, three more lay dead. The blind Diaboli had struck one on the nose, sending shards of bone up into the brain. In the same movement he brought his leg up to slammed his foot into another?s spine, snapping it in two. The third man had been running at the Lemur when he suddenly collapsed on the ground, dead. Blood trickled from his mouth. All the Lemur had done was to raise his hands and frown in concentration.
This time the remaining members of the Unit didn?t even pause to consider that over half their number were dead. They pressed their attack, mindlessly intent on the destruction of their enemies. Morak, the Kran, swung his massive, two-handed sword at the blind man, only to decapitate Nylor, his Klyros companion, as his elusive quarry dodged the blade. The Diaboli then leaped into the air, curling into a ball and lashing out with both feet to knock the Kran?s head clean off, as two more arrows whistled harmlessly beneath him. The arrows attracted the attention of the Lemur to the two archers. He flicked his hand at one, and the man stared in shock as his bow caught fire suddenly. He threw it down, but it was too late. The fire spread like lightning across his body. He opened his mouth to scream, but the flame entered his lungs, and he collapsed to the ground, blackened and charred. The frail Lemur then turned his attention to the second bowman, who was staring in horror at his dead companion. The Lemur raised his hand and pointed at the archer as an arc of white fire shot from his finger, exploding on contact and leaving nothing of the archer than charred debris.
The Lemur turned just in time to see a massive fireball hurtling towards him from the Xacha mage. He just smiled, and as the fireball reached him, it was absorbed into his body. The then slowly raised his eyes to the Xacha. A look of wonder crossed the other mage?s face ? and he dropped down dead.
Less than a minute. Just one minute ago the Sergeant had been the leader of the most feared band of robbers for leagues. Now he was the sole survivor. He stood rooted to the spot as the blind Diaboli walked toward him. He felt a strange emotion, a feeling that was new to him. Sheer terrror. Terrror caused him to lunge at the Diaboli, swinging his sword wildly. The blind man dropped to the ground as his foot shot out to knock the Sergeant?s legs out from under him. The last thought that crossed the Sergeant?s mind as the Diaboli?s foot descended towards his head was that it wasn?t stupidity, arrogance, or an ambush that caused these two to take no precautions. It was because they had literally nothing to fear.
Silence once again regned as the Diaboli and Lemur looked around at the bodies laying around them. The Diaboli grinned as he said, ?Well Phin, I guess we?d better camp somewhere else till morning. I don?t much care for the stench of rotting corpses.?
The Lemur grunted in acknowledgment, but then looked up, ?You realize I?d sensed their mage?s presence five minutes before you heard them.?
Tybalt, the Diaboli, smirked, ?Sure Phinehas, whatever you say.?
They both chuckled as they walked off in the night to find another place to camp.
