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Writer's Guild / The Ballad of Mad Ankur
« on: August 29, 2013, 09:08:47 PM »
A kind of darker short story, in the same universe as Cordia, but not the same storyline.
The Ballad of Ankur
(short story)
A whip lashed out, towards the same target as before. A whip Ankur was all too familiar with. The instrument of torture lashed out again at the boy. Ankur was never a law-abiding child, neither was he bright. Beatings akin to this occurred regularly, and after one last slash of the whip, the punishment was over. “You should be ashamed of yourself”, retorted the whip-wielding soldier. All Ankur could do is grunt in return. The blood-coated fur on his back stung, but he knew it would heal soon. It always did. Ankur could never learn to behave; he never talked to the other children. He always seemed to be doing something to consequent him with beatings and whippings. Ankur had no friends, no acquaintances, other than his well-used fists. Everyone said he was a lost cause. Ankur considered all others to be as well.
It was 1522 PL (Post-lux), fifteen years after the whipping by the soldier. All was quiet in the small, rural city of Quillo. The streets were devoid of any life, other than a silent baker, quickly hauling his abundant load of wheat from the old windmill. Small bits of the load fell out, but the baker didn't pause to retrieve the wheat. The baker was not worried of loosing the cargo. There were larger, more menacing threats abound.
Quillo has one establishment that can be guaranteed to be frequented everyday. That one building was called the Quillo Pub. The place was a hive of scum and villainy, the thieves, murders, robbers, and general evildoers filled the area. The air had an evil aroma to it, as if the evil from the patrons rubbed off on the environment. The pub was bustling, with shouts, music, and clanking beer mugs together. In the corner of the pub, however, sat one lone soul, Ankur. Of all places in this town, he felt at most at home here. Here is where he could discover many like him, many forgotten by their families, many unloved.
Ankur had the same luck at making friends here, as he did when he was a boy. Tonight, Ankur felt mad. Ankur felt really mad. The madness felt inside him was unlike any he felt before. Ankur needed to punch something. Ankur needed to kill someone. Ankur ran outside, to quell his thoughts with fresh oxygen, but was only greeted with the soot-laced air coming from the large coal factories nearby. His lungs hurt, his head hurt. He needed to kill; it had been a while since he did last, and for good reason.
Although Quillo had its share of murderers, they were always the first to go, the first to “disappear”, after a new terror began to threaten the town two years ago. Stories told of an organization, it’s agents that wore ghost-white masks made of wood, whose leader’s heart so wretched, hell itself didn’t accept it into it’s deathly halls. No one knew why he hated death. That was just one of the many myths, and legends about the “Linfur Spirits”, the men who stab you at night, who’s cries ring out when another soul is lost. Through all these myths, they all seem to agree on one thing: The Linfur Spirits kill you when you kill, their white wooden mask unmoving, even as blood freely flows through the streets.
Ankur looked up to the sunset, barely visible through the rough haze. Ankur was calming down now, almost ready to go back inside. Unfortunately for him, fate wasn’t on his side, as one of the more feared patrons came outside, and kicked him down. “You sad, sad boy” were the words that escaped Dord’s mouth. Dord was the reaper of the bar, the only one who had killed, and lived. Dord seemed invincible, and thought so of himself as well. His dark fur blended in with the background, as if a setting for a horror story. Ankur quickly got up and stared at Dord, who followed suit. Both knew how this was going to end. A small smirk could be seen on Dord’s face. A group of people who heard the commotion outside created a ring of people around the two, making escape not a viable option. “You weak … thing, can’t even make it with us. I think we are going to have to put you down”, taunted Dord. Ankur was no longer a child. He has been through many harsh years, and he wasn’t going to end it like this.
Dord and Ankur circled each other for what seemed like ages, until finally, Dord lunged. Ankur was not expecting an attack of such ferocity, and was not able to block or dodge. Ankur went down and Dord came in closer, to start punching Ankur. Before Dord could begin, he got sweep off balance by a stray kick from Ankur. Dord could not react when Ankur swung his arm at his opponent. It connected as a bone-cracking sound could be heard. Dord was finally able to block an attack, throwing Ankur off-balance. Dord took this opportunity to swing back his arm for a large punch, but Ankur had just enough time to dodge and retaliate with his own punches.
By the time the brawl was getting stale, Dord was on the ground, with Ankur, full of hatred on top. Dord was barley able to cry for mercy. Ankur prepared to walk away, and avoid the consequence for killing, but a small fire burned in his heart. Ankur could not just walk away. His mind was shrouded in darkness, fear, and hatred. Hatred for the unknown, hatred for the darkness, hatred for Dord. Ankur tried to resist the temptation, but living his whole life as a villain was taking its toll. Ankur swiped a dagger from the crowd, and aimed it at Dord’s almost lifeless body. Everyone watching knew what this meant, and quickly dispersed to their own homes, knowing that tomorrow Ankur would be no more. Ankur was thinking something else, however. He thought he would survive the Linfur Spirits. He would live, even though his only weapon was a dagger. A dagger that felt foreign in his grip, a dagger with it’s own story of hardships and killings. Even though the dagger was his only weapon, and he only has some rags on his back to protect him from harm, he felt anger in his heart. Anger that could kill anyone, anger that could kill the Linfur spirits, anger that killed Dord.
In what felt like the longest knife stab in existence, Ankur pushed the dagger into Dord’s heart. Dord wasn’t even able to scream. The second he died, Ankur could feel something different in the air. He quickly looked around, there we no signs of anyone. Ankur looked down at the body of the man he killed. The man who almost killed him. Before he had any time to regret his decision, Ankur heard footsteps. He looked to his left hurriedly, but it was only Crimson, a local thief who had taken a small liking to Ankur. Of all the people in the town, Crimson was the one he liked best, although they were not friendly enough to even be acquaintances. Crimson got the name from his crimson red fur, blood-like some might claim. Perfectly fitting for a thief.
Crimson didn’t move. Was there something behind Ankur? Ankur turned around, and saw no one else. Ankur looked back at Crimson, only to suddenly lose his breath. Blood pooled from Crimson’s heart, and he fell, revealing a Linfur Spirit behind him. Ankur had never felt the way he did now, frozen, just as the spirit. He snapped out of it, as the spirit rushed at him at a supernatural pace. Ankur saw two more round the corner behind the first spirit. They were unlike how Ankur imagine them. These spirits were human-like, with the deathly white masks, and brown hair. Normal raggedy clothes were the spirits' attire. Ankur readied his rusty blade, as the first one approached. The blade pierced the air, but not the spirit, as the spirit ducked. Faster than Ankur could react, the spirit punched him in the gut, sending him flying back two human-lengths. Ankur quickly stood up in time for another attack. Ankur dodged it, and retaliated by stabbing the spirit, which surprisingly hit its target. What Ankur didn’t expect however, was the spirit disappearing, instead of dying.
The second spirit caught Ankur off-guard as it punched Ankur’s shins. He fell, and another spirit appeared before him. They all crowded around Ankur, all of them with the same cold masks, all of them deathly as death itself, and all at once, hitting Ankur. Ankur felt nothing before his soul entered the all-darkening void that is death. The spirits dispersed, and waited for the next time to be needed. Ankur’s madness could kill anyone. Ankur could have killed five men wearing deathly white masks. But Ankur couldn’t kill the spirits. He couldn’t live. Ankur died, because no matter how hard you try, no matter how mad you are, you can't kill death.
The Ballad of Ankur
(short story)
A whip lashed out, towards the same target as before. A whip Ankur was all too familiar with. The instrument of torture lashed out again at the boy. Ankur was never a law-abiding child, neither was he bright. Beatings akin to this occurred regularly, and after one last slash of the whip, the punishment was over. “You should be ashamed of yourself”, retorted the whip-wielding soldier. All Ankur could do is grunt in return. The blood-coated fur on his back stung, but he knew it would heal soon. It always did. Ankur could never learn to behave; he never talked to the other children. He always seemed to be doing something to consequent him with beatings and whippings. Ankur had no friends, no acquaintances, other than his well-used fists. Everyone said he was a lost cause. Ankur considered all others to be as well.
It was 1522 PL (Post-lux), fifteen years after the whipping by the soldier. All was quiet in the small, rural city of Quillo. The streets were devoid of any life, other than a silent baker, quickly hauling his abundant load of wheat from the old windmill. Small bits of the load fell out, but the baker didn't pause to retrieve the wheat. The baker was not worried of loosing the cargo. There were larger, more menacing threats abound.
Quillo has one establishment that can be guaranteed to be frequented everyday. That one building was called the Quillo Pub. The place was a hive of scum and villainy, the thieves, murders, robbers, and general evildoers filled the area. The air had an evil aroma to it, as if the evil from the patrons rubbed off on the environment. The pub was bustling, with shouts, music, and clanking beer mugs together. In the corner of the pub, however, sat one lone soul, Ankur. Of all places in this town, he felt at most at home here. Here is where he could discover many like him, many forgotten by their families, many unloved.
Ankur had the same luck at making friends here, as he did when he was a boy. Tonight, Ankur felt mad. Ankur felt really mad. The madness felt inside him was unlike any he felt before. Ankur needed to punch something. Ankur needed to kill someone. Ankur ran outside, to quell his thoughts with fresh oxygen, but was only greeted with the soot-laced air coming from the large coal factories nearby. His lungs hurt, his head hurt. He needed to kill; it had been a while since he did last, and for good reason.
Although Quillo had its share of murderers, they were always the first to go, the first to “disappear”, after a new terror began to threaten the town two years ago. Stories told of an organization, it’s agents that wore ghost-white masks made of wood, whose leader’s heart so wretched, hell itself didn’t accept it into it’s deathly halls. No one knew why he hated death. That was just one of the many myths, and legends about the “Linfur Spirits”, the men who stab you at night, who’s cries ring out when another soul is lost. Through all these myths, they all seem to agree on one thing: The Linfur Spirits kill you when you kill, their white wooden mask unmoving, even as blood freely flows through the streets.
Ankur looked up to the sunset, barely visible through the rough haze. Ankur was calming down now, almost ready to go back inside. Unfortunately for him, fate wasn’t on his side, as one of the more feared patrons came outside, and kicked him down. “You sad, sad boy” were the words that escaped Dord’s mouth. Dord was the reaper of the bar, the only one who had killed, and lived. Dord seemed invincible, and thought so of himself as well. His dark fur blended in with the background, as if a setting for a horror story. Ankur quickly got up and stared at Dord, who followed suit. Both knew how this was going to end. A small smirk could be seen on Dord’s face. A group of people who heard the commotion outside created a ring of people around the two, making escape not a viable option. “You weak … thing, can’t even make it with us. I think we are going to have to put you down”, taunted Dord. Ankur was no longer a child. He has been through many harsh years, and he wasn’t going to end it like this.
Dord and Ankur circled each other for what seemed like ages, until finally, Dord lunged. Ankur was not expecting an attack of such ferocity, and was not able to block or dodge. Ankur went down and Dord came in closer, to start punching Ankur. Before Dord could begin, he got sweep off balance by a stray kick from Ankur. Dord could not react when Ankur swung his arm at his opponent. It connected as a bone-cracking sound could be heard. Dord was finally able to block an attack, throwing Ankur off-balance. Dord took this opportunity to swing back his arm for a large punch, but Ankur had just enough time to dodge and retaliate with his own punches.
By the time the brawl was getting stale, Dord was on the ground, with Ankur, full of hatred on top. Dord was barley able to cry for mercy. Ankur prepared to walk away, and avoid the consequence for killing, but a small fire burned in his heart. Ankur could not just walk away. His mind was shrouded in darkness, fear, and hatred. Hatred for the unknown, hatred for the darkness, hatred for Dord. Ankur tried to resist the temptation, but living his whole life as a villain was taking its toll. Ankur swiped a dagger from the crowd, and aimed it at Dord’s almost lifeless body. Everyone watching knew what this meant, and quickly dispersed to their own homes, knowing that tomorrow Ankur would be no more. Ankur was thinking something else, however. He thought he would survive the Linfur Spirits. He would live, even though his only weapon was a dagger. A dagger that felt foreign in his grip, a dagger with it’s own story of hardships and killings. Even though the dagger was his only weapon, and he only has some rags on his back to protect him from harm, he felt anger in his heart. Anger that could kill anyone, anger that could kill the Linfur spirits, anger that killed Dord.
In what felt like the longest knife stab in existence, Ankur pushed the dagger into Dord’s heart. Dord wasn’t even able to scream. The second he died, Ankur could feel something different in the air. He quickly looked around, there we no signs of anyone. Ankur looked down at the body of the man he killed. The man who almost killed him. Before he had any time to regret his decision, Ankur heard footsteps. He looked to his left hurriedly, but it was only Crimson, a local thief who had taken a small liking to Ankur. Of all the people in the town, Crimson was the one he liked best, although they were not friendly enough to even be acquaintances. Crimson got the name from his crimson red fur, blood-like some might claim. Perfectly fitting for a thief.
Crimson didn’t move. Was there something behind Ankur? Ankur turned around, and saw no one else. Ankur looked back at Crimson, only to suddenly lose his breath. Blood pooled from Crimson’s heart, and he fell, revealing a Linfur Spirit behind him. Ankur had never felt the way he did now, frozen, just as the spirit. He snapped out of it, as the spirit rushed at him at a supernatural pace. Ankur saw two more round the corner behind the first spirit. They were unlike how Ankur imagine them. These spirits were human-like, with the deathly white masks, and brown hair. Normal raggedy clothes were the spirits' attire. Ankur readied his rusty blade, as the first one approached. The blade pierced the air, but not the spirit, as the spirit ducked. Faster than Ankur could react, the spirit punched him in the gut, sending him flying back two human-lengths. Ankur quickly stood up in time for another attack. Ankur dodged it, and retaliated by stabbing the spirit, which surprisingly hit its target. What Ankur didn’t expect however, was the spirit disappearing, instead of dying.
The second spirit caught Ankur off-guard as it punched Ankur’s shins. He fell, and another spirit appeared before him. They all crowded around Ankur, all of them with the same cold masks, all of them deathly as death itself, and all at once, hitting Ankur. Ankur felt nothing before his soul entered the all-darkening void that is death. The spirits dispersed, and waited for the next time to be needed. Ankur’s madness could kill anyone. Ankur could have killed five men wearing deathly white masks. But Ankur couldn’t kill the spirits. He couldn’t live. Ankur died, because no matter how hard you try, no matter how mad you are, you can't kill death.