It was an old farmer who saw them first. He was returning from the market and was ready to go home and relax. Word spread quickly in the village that a storm was coming, so it was all the more reason for the farmer to go back home. Storms, in many farmers’ opinions, were beneficial things because they grew the crops. In this area, thunderstorms in specific were seen as bad news because they were rumored to attract bad luck. And bad luck, indeed, had arrived.
Highlighted by lightning, the bandits rode along, cheering and ululating. These weren’t stealthy bandits. These were ruffians, fast and lethal.
“Pitch Dragon comes!” the farmer yelled. The commoners scrambled in fright as the maelstrom of vagabonds approached, brandishing scimitars, rapiers, and whips. In mere moments, chaos was upon the village.
“Ha-haaah!” guffawed Voracious Malcolm, known to the villagers only as Pyre Sword. He twirled around his enchanted long sword which he’d stolen, and the long sword burst into flames. People screamed and scattered, abandoning their houses and running, hoping, to find sanctuary.
Only few made it that far.
Silastrix leaped from his black mare and kicked down the door of a nearby house, where he immediately began looting.
“Here, Pitch Dragon, come and fight if you are truly a man,” challenged a man, pointing a crossbow at Silastrix.
Silastrix laughed. “And I am not a man.” With that, “Pitch Dragon” removed his helmet, revealing that he was in fact… a she. She was a lady with pale skin and deep, fiery red hair. Her eyes glittered with such a deep green like emeralds, swirling with every gem-like shade and hue. “Not only that, poor man,” said the woman, her voice no longer disguised, “but my name is ‘Silastrix’, not ‘Pitch Dragon’. Do you know what ‘Silastrix’ means?”
The man with the crossbow held his look of loathing, but Silastrix could see that the hands holding the weapon were trembling.
“It means ‘half-dragon’ in the draconic tongue.”
“Liar! Dragons don’t exist!”
Silastrix scowled. “You know, I really hate it when people say that!” She straightened her shoulders and red draconic wings spread from her back. It was almost like the armor moved to let the wings emerge into the open. The man dropped his crossbow and gave a shrill cry of disbelief.
They’re always afraid of the retractable wings, thought Silastrix with satisfaction.
“Why are you telling me this?” demanded the man in a harsh tone, perhaps to disguise his fear.
“Because dead men tell no tales,” she replied with a deadly smirk. She extended her claws and swiped at his throat, where he fell and did not get up. With her helmet back on her head and her bag filled with the loot she could find, she exited the building.
Smythe leaned against the wall of the house, his arms folded and still wearing his cloak. “I heard you inside of the house,” he said, his tone somewhat petulant.
“And you’ve always known who and what I really was,” she responded, looking for the next house to raid.
“I’m not talking about that."
“Then what are you referring to, Smythe?”
“The part after you finished gloating when you said ‘dead men tell no tales?’”
Beneath that helmet, she gave him an upraised eyebrow.
“I happen to take offense at that, you know,” the skeleton continued, pulling back his cloak to reveal his bony fingers, which he waved and twiddled.
“Oh, Smythe, give it a rest,” snapped Silastrix, finding a new target house.
Smythe stood up straight and shrugged. A myriad of children wielding sticks crowded him.
“Give us our stuff back!” one screamed, a boisterous male child with an especially thick wooden switch.
“Dearest children,” he replied sweetly, “I took nothing from you, only from your parents.” The group of kids howled and one whacked at him with a puny twig. It was so thin that it broke in the connection. Smythe laughed—a humorless laugh—and dropped the hood of his cloak. His grinning skull lit with a ball of fire and his eyeless sockets glared at the children.
“Boo,” he uttered in his utmost serious voice. The children screamed like banshees and fled. One child stood there, gaping around. He was a blind kid, using his stick to feel around.
“Well, go on,” Smythe urged, steering him away briefly before turning back around and awaiting Silastrix’s return. He could care less that there was still plenty of room to be filled in his loot bag, and he had nothing better to do other than terrorize the occasional villager. He watched as Voracious Malcolm rode his horse in circles, laughing and waving his flaming sword at all who came near. Armageddon Snow—the only name the villagers truly knew—set a heap of hay on fire, her dark tan skin and black hair illuminated by the firelight, her white teeth glinting as she laughed. Armageddon was already a notorious villain before she joined the Guild of the Black Rose.
“Out of the way, out of the way,” barked Kyto, who had his long blonde hair braided. His muscular body dashed past, nearly ramming into Smythe.
“Someone’s got a case of road rage,” the skeleton man hissed. Kyto the Titan was an arrogant and obnoxious man, as one could tell by his self-proclaimed title. When the Guild of the Black Rose had no leader, Kyto, with no contest or vote, demanded to take charge. He was promptly pushed aside in favor of the two highest in rank: Lord Soth and Mortal Coil.
Bitterly, Smythe thought of Coil. Lord Soth was a much better candidate. Out of the rest of the others, Soth had been there the longest and had the best judgment when it came to plotting their targets. Coil was far too ambitious. He makes them strike more often, almost to the point where other places nearly had nothing to be taken from them. There will be a time, Smythe was sure, that Coil’s ambitions would take things too far and get them in trouble. Perhaps they would raid a large city and finally meet some successful opposition. And Coil—perhaps he would find himself in a situation where there would be no one left to back him up.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Jack, part 1 of 1 (The Dragon Bandit)
Okay. This was what was once intended to be part of the first chapter of my book. There are many parts to this scrapped chapter, and this is one of them. I got rid of it because Jack was forgotten in the rest of the storyline.
Actually, The Dragon Bandit was at first intended to be only one chapter, and that was it. It was only the encouragement of my friends that made me add more to it. ^^ I know that there are spelling and grammar errors! Just note that I didn't really edit this because this was a (piece of a) scrapped chapter. More will come.
The tale being told began a time long ago, when chivalry and evil were at war, when technology and magic were constantly at battle. The wind howled a sorrowful dirge of misery as a thunderstorm approached on the horizon. To the nearby village, it was a bad—no, a terrible omen.
The village that is spoken of really wasn’t large at all, by any means. Even by village standards, it was small. The people barely had enough to get by with; just enough crops, just enough livestock, and hardly any money to spare. The sad part was that it was the wealthiest village for miles; therefore, they were easily targets for ruthless bandits.
Bandits plagued the countryside and most cities for as long as anyone could remember. These bandits were not to be described as normal under any circumstances, for they were anything but normal. They were not the usual, cruel bandits that would, for an example, ambush and plunder a traveling caravan. They were more, for lack of a better term, more advanced, more organized. Most groups of ruffians preferred to be scarce and secretive, while this group didn’t care at all. No one tried to stop them. The only names they were known by were ones such as Leonine, the Black Death, Armageddon Snow, and Pyre Sword. These nicknames, whenever mentioned, struck fear into the hearts of those who hear them. Their real names were unknown.
However, the antagonist that was feared the most was seen more often than the other thieves. His name, given to him by the villages he plundered, was Pitch Dragon. His armor was as black as pitch, and the armor’s sheen was like light reflecting from a dragon’s scales.
It so happened that the thunderstorm did bring about a bad omen. The omen took the form of a seemingly solitary horseman atop a cliff overlooking the village. As the rain began to fall at a drizzle, the horseman clad in black armor observed the target village. The apparition gave a smug grin behind his helmet; as always, the plan was simple. Enter the village, raid it of what riches it had, then leave. No thing else was left after that than to return to the guild headquarters. It was solely for that reason that no one would stop the horseman—or the score of thieves behind him. No one ever tried to stop them when they came. As a rabbit facing a wolf, they were powerless to do anything.
Another figure on a horse cantered up to him. The other rider was wearing a large cloak, its hood pulled low over his face. The cloak seemed to fit him extremely loosely so no part of him could be seen.
“Hello, Smythe,” said the rider in black armor, his helmet disguising his voice and giving him deep, bass tones.
“You’re looking particularly ominous today,” Smythe answered. His voice was smooth and slightly deep with an accent.
“Thank you. Are you ready for this day’s looting?”
He sighed. “As ready as a skeleton like me can be, Silastrix.”
“You sound reluctant.”
“That’s only because I hope Coil knows what he’s doing, giving us the order to plunder so soon. We’d just raided this village not but a week ago.”
“Perhaps Mortal Coil is confident they’ve gotten more wealth to seize.”
“You know that Amyranth had always made a better leader than Coil is being right now.”
“The Guild of the Black Rose required someone to take Amyranth’s place. Amyranth had driven himself to insanity, so therefore he was no longer fit to be in a position of authority.”
“I realize that, Silastrix. But despite the fact that he would talk to himself like a madman, he always did have good plans.”
Silastrix turned his attention back to the unwary village. “Leader or not, this village is our target, and our men are getting impatient.”
“Fine, fine. Just wanted you to know that I don’t think Coil has his head on right.” Without another word, Silastrix spurred his black mare into a gallop, and the group of thieves followed suit. Smythe hesitated for a moment, watching their quarry, then rode down to follow the team.
Actually, The Dragon Bandit was at first intended to be only one chapter, and that was it. It was only the encouragement of my friends that made me add more to it. ^^ I know that there are spelling and grammar errors! Just note that I didn't really edit this because this was a (piece of a) scrapped chapter. More will come.
The tale being told began a time long ago, when chivalry and evil were at war, when technology and magic were constantly at battle. The wind howled a sorrowful dirge of misery as a thunderstorm approached on the horizon. To the nearby village, it was a bad—no, a terrible omen.
The village that is spoken of really wasn’t large at all, by any means. Even by village standards, it was small. The people barely had enough to get by with; just enough crops, just enough livestock, and hardly any money to spare. The sad part was that it was the wealthiest village for miles; therefore, they were easily targets for ruthless bandits.
Bandits plagued the countryside and most cities for as long as anyone could remember. These bandits were not to be described as normal under any circumstances, for they were anything but normal. They were not the usual, cruel bandits that would, for an example, ambush and plunder a traveling caravan. They were more, for lack of a better term, more advanced, more organized. Most groups of ruffians preferred to be scarce and secretive, while this group didn’t care at all. No one tried to stop them. The only names they were known by were ones such as Leonine, the Black Death, Armageddon Snow, and Pyre Sword. These nicknames, whenever mentioned, struck fear into the hearts of those who hear them. Their real names were unknown.
However, the antagonist that was feared the most was seen more often than the other thieves. His name, given to him by the villages he plundered, was Pitch Dragon. His armor was as black as pitch, and the armor’s sheen was like light reflecting from a dragon’s scales.
It so happened that the thunderstorm did bring about a bad omen. The omen took the form of a seemingly solitary horseman atop a cliff overlooking the village. As the rain began to fall at a drizzle, the horseman clad in black armor observed the target village. The apparition gave a smug grin behind his helmet; as always, the plan was simple. Enter the village, raid it of what riches it had, then leave. No thing else was left after that than to return to the guild headquarters. It was solely for that reason that no one would stop the horseman—or the score of thieves behind him. No one ever tried to stop them when they came. As a rabbit facing a wolf, they were powerless to do anything.
Another figure on a horse cantered up to him. The other rider was wearing a large cloak, its hood pulled low over his face. The cloak seemed to fit him extremely loosely so no part of him could be seen.
“Hello, Smythe,” said the rider in black armor, his helmet disguising his voice and giving him deep, bass tones.
“You’re looking particularly ominous today,” Smythe answered. His voice was smooth and slightly deep with an accent.
“Thank you. Are you ready for this day’s looting?”
He sighed. “As ready as a skeleton like me can be, Silastrix.”
“You sound reluctant.”
“That’s only because I hope Coil knows what he’s doing, giving us the order to plunder so soon. We’d just raided this village not but a week ago.”
“Perhaps Mortal Coil is confident they’ve gotten more wealth to seize.”
“You know that Amyranth had always made a better leader than Coil is being right now.”
“The Guild of the Black Rose required someone to take Amyranth’s place. Amyranth had driven himself to insanity, so therefore he was no longer fit to be in a position of authority.”
“I realize that, Silastrix. But despite the fact that he would talk to himself like a madman, he always did have good plans.”
Silastrix turned his attention back to the unwary village. “Leader or not, this village is our target, and our men are getting impatient.”
“Fine, fine. Just wanted you to know that I don’t think Coil has his head on right.” Without another word, Silastrix spurred his black mare into a gallop, and the group of thieves followed suit. Smythe hesitated for a moment, watching their quarry, then rode down to follow the team.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
How to Blog?
Well. This is the first time I've ever written a blog before. How do you do it? Maybe I should poke this button here--oh, wrong idea, wrong idea... (Clean up on aisle four!)
This is a blog. This is my blog, in fact, about The Dragon Bandit (and myself). I made it today. I'm impressed with myself.
However, I'm not quite sure what to put. I'm thinking of updating people on how my book's coming along or something, if anyone is interested. Other than that, I wouldn't expect this to be a big hit or anything. But those who are, I will *try* my best to update this as much as I can. It's like writing in a diary; I can't remember to keep up with it. Anyhow, first post. Crossing my fingers it won't be a disaster.
Derek Landy, if you're reading this, your books are amazing. I don't know if you would read this. Am I worthy? I don't know. >.> (A character, Smythe the skeleton, was based off of your Skulduggery Pleasant. He's a cool guy. I'm sure you'll like him.)
By the way, I may or may not post a few bits and pieces of The Dragon Bandit on here. I'm thinking I will, but not the stuff that'll actually be crucial to the book.
Well, cheers to all who are out there reading this!
-Silastrix
This is a blog. This is my blog, in fact, about The Dragon Bandit (and myself). I made it today. I'm impressed with myself.
However, I'm not quite sure what to put. I'm thinking of updating people on how my book's coming along or something, if anyone is interested. Other than that, I wouldn't expect this to be a big hit or anything. But those who are, I will *try* my best to update this as much as I can. It's like writing in a diary; I can't remember to keep up with it. Anyhow, first post. Crossing my fingers it won't be a disaster.
Derek Landy, if you're reading this, your books are amazing. I don't know if you would read this. Am I worthy? I don't know. >.> (A character, Smythe the skeleton, was based off of your Skulduggery Pleasant. He's a cool guy. I'm sure you'll like him.)
By the way, I may or may not post a few bits and pieces of The Dragon Bandit on here. I'm thinking I will, but not the stuff that'll actually be crucial to the book.
Well, cheers to all who are out there reading this!
-Silastrix
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