(Hey all! Welcome to my first series of short stories. I might at some point try to write a longer one, so if you like a character a lot from my stories, give me a scream and I'll consider them playing a part! R&R, and I'll use any flames to power my furnace. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS good, however, and if something swings the wrong way with me or so many others, I'm likely to rewrite it… anyway, I ramble. Read on!)

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The Squire

He'd made a miscalculation. . . quite a large one. . . The thing was huge, like a ball of tentacles surrounding a gaping mouth that didn't have a single human-shaped tooth in it… The teeth were all serrated, cracked and broken like jagged glass. The bestiary had called it a Morbol, or an Ochu. . . But he couldn't remember the coloration difference. What was it? Red for O. . . no, that couldn't be it. This was green.

Lukim Ethersmith was a strongish lad of fifteen, his arms being more tendons than muscle, however. He wasn't like most of the other cadets in the school. Where all the students opted for a breastplate and leather pauldrons, he went for the opposite. Steel pauldrons helped him more, and the right one was spiked for good reason. His chest was only covered by leather, though. . . he'd have opted for metal, but it would have been too heavy. No helm, no real leg protection. . . Had he been a fool? No… but fighting this thing was probably foolish. His drill instructor had told him to bring back a chunk of one of these things as proof of his skill, to achieve the next rank…

Still, it was a bit of luck to find one this far away from the swamps. It was perfectly healthy-looking, unfortunately. . . Well, so was he.

Lukim braced himself for impact, and stood up from the rock he'd been crouching behind. Sixty paces away, the Morbol/Ochu thing gurgled and roared. It had seen him, he was sure. Seven eyes on those strange stalks had swiveled to face him while the others twisted and spun madly. Lukim broke into a run, his rather lightly-armored self making better time than any football player on a field. Twenty feet. . . Ten feet. . .

At school, they'd called it the Lukim Slam when he'd become so accurate with it that it was impossible to get out of the way. His teacher had declared it useless until he'd hit him so hard with a twenty foot start that the instructor had needed a chemist. His dash was about to pay off again.

Just two feet from the slimy green ball of lard, he leapt, turning just lightly to the right and leaning forwards to bring his spiked shoulder to bear. There was a sensation of 'whumpf', and Lukim heard the thing scream in agony. Switching the momentum to his legs, he used his hands to spring backwards off the creature and land on his feet. Not turning away from the creature, he backed up. . . And drew his sword.

OW! What was this thorn in me? It hurt. I, Ganger, do not like hurt. It came from the human's arm. The human's arm has thorned me. My liquid is on the human's arm, and it is also leaking from my side. I will eat this human. One pitiful human cannot hurt Ganger again, if Ganger can see the thorns.

Lukim braced himself as the thing turned fully around, it's mouth opening wide with the eerie purple tongue lolling out. "Disgusting." As the beast roared, he swung horizontally once, the blade cutting air as the nightmare slid backwards as if on a slicked practice mat. One of the longer tentacles whipped forward, and wrapped around Lukim's neck before he even had a chance to yell. This thing was fast. It was strong too, as Lukim soon found out. He couldn't breathe.

Ha ha ha, Human. You are food for Ganger now. Your breathing tube is too easy to see, easy to target. You have no shell there. Wait. What is the human doing? He raises the shiny metal. Why does he raise the shiny metal? It is pointless. His head is purple, and he will die soon. OW! He cut off my arm! That is not fair! I would have made his death quick, but now I see why all the Cuar play with their food. Maybe I eat his legs first, then bite off his head! Yes!

"Alright, you sly son of a bitch… that was one hell of a cheap move!" Lukim massaged his neck, knowing that there would be scars there in the morning. Razor protrusions on the tentacles. Few more seconds, and the thing could have simply cut his head off from constriction. Where was the thing's weakness? Stones probably wouldn't get through the thing's thick hide, and he didn't have a bow or one of those nifty new guns. His mad dash hadn't helped matters much, and he wouldn't be able to do it again with so much surprise. There was no way he'd be able to throw and grapple the thing, despite whatever his wrestling instructor had said.

No, he was wrong. Sir Drigget had said something about the art of the Zen strike. Putting the limitations of your muscles somewhere else, that was the key. Just think about your target, and your sword. When you're in a state of Zen, you can break your sword on the edge, if whatever you strike doesn't snap first. Lukim backed up even further. The thing was starting to refocus on him, rather than it's amputated whip. State of Zen, Lukim. State of complete, total, utter ignorance of how heavy this sword is in your hands. You have muscles that haven't even been used yet.

Lukim closed his eyes, still walking quickly backwards to stay out of this thing's arm reach. The ache in his neck disappeared from his thoughts, the strain of walking to this place and running shoulder-first into the mass of flesh was sent somewhere else for the time being. When he opened his eyes, the sword was feather-light, and he could barely feel it in his hands. One of the beast's tentacles whipped forward, seeking presumably to disarm him. It was simply too bad that it took only a flick of his wrist to sever the limb. Lukim had put his troubles elsewhere. In doing so, he'd accumulated every last ounce of power he had into his arms, his limbs, his perception.

I have lost another arm! Ganger has never lost this many limbs on one human before. I am beginning to feel afraid. If Ganger lets the shiny metal stab him, it will hurt much worse than a thorn, and Ganger will lose a lot of blood. Human does not retreat. Humans do not eat Morbol meat. Does that mean the human wants to kill Ganger for fun? Human is faster than Ganger, and I won't be able to escape if he chases me. I retreat slightly, half-hoping that the human will leave me alone.

"What, giving up already?" Lukim couldn't help but wonder if the thing was more intelligent than it appeared to be at first glance. How big of a morbol piece did it have to be for Sir Drigget to be satisfied?

Better yet, did the thing understand a bargain? He'd heard the mediators had learned to speak to the monsters, whom they said all spoke the same language in a sort of simpler Morse code. Maybe it would. . . picking up a severed squid-like protrusion, he sheathed his sword with his other hand. Two more tentacles would probably be enough. He wouldn't be able to carry five all the way back to Dorter.

"Alright, ugly. I need a chunk of you before I go back. I've got two nice trophies here, but I need two more. I have one really expensive potion right here. I dunno if it'll work on a squid like you, but you can have it if you give me two more. It should get you at least halfway towards growing those things back."

What was this? The human does not press the attack, instead holds out my lost arms and a bottle of really blue glow-y water. The Humans always drank these things when they were hurt. Did the human mean to call a truce? Did he mean to give me the blue glow-y water? No. . . The human wanted a trade. My arms for the water? The water would grow my arms back. Well, he can hand me the water, for he has two- no. he wants two more. Ganger cannot give two more! He is already half-blind on one side. He wants two more from the other side? Maybe, if he finds a stump and a clean cut. Ganger does not like pain, but Ganger cannot beat the human anyway. Do it.

The creature growled, but Lukim couldn't figure out if that was consent or just unintelligible. Whatever it was, the thing was moving over to a rock and laying a pair of extra-long sushi dinners across it. If that wasn't consent, Lukim didn't know what was. There was a sensation of 'thunk', and the two tentacles were lopped off cleanly.

"Alright. Oh, screw it. Here's my belt's worth of health vials, and a day's rations. Good luck to you, Morbol. . . Ochu. . . Whatever you are. The guys are never going to believe me. . . I guess I'll just never tell them." Whatever happened to the morbol now, as it munched delightedly on the glass, the meat, and the liquid, Lukim would be one step closer to becoming a knight.

(And so concludes the first class. . . Next up, Chemist! yes, this one was short and kinda fast, but I'm warming up, honest. remember, if you like the character and want more of him/her/it, scream at me until I right something about them!)