Gun for Hire.
"Yes, but isn't she a little on the small side?"
The Governor could see why the Town Council was worried. Not only had they a berserker ogre on the loose, their only ray of hope appeared to be a young woman with no visible weapons or talents.
"Listen," the Governor said, addressing the whole Council Table, "she was recommended to me on good faith. I'm sure she has some trick up her sleeve."
There was much murmuring and muttering. No one was quite convinced. From next door in the local tavern a great roaring cheer rose up as the girl in question successfully balanced a beer glass on her head.
Her name was Treestar and she hailed from somewhere around Valis. Her age wasn't known or any family background, but when in the mood she would chat happily about her numerous brothers and sisters and a handsome young man with laughing eyes who she had left at home.
She had helped another near by town who were having trouble with bandit Dark Elves. Every night they would appear, sweeping through the village and taking whatever took their fancy. After the war many of the Dark Elves had being disbanded or slaughtered by the Free Knights. But rumours had started to circulate. Nasty little whispered words that wafted around the taverns at night when the darkness outside the smoky windows seemed filled with monsters. Hushed words spoken behind hands, "The Elves are coming... the winds are changing."
And so this village was plagued by the Elves. Then a girl had appeared, all smiles and promises. "Leave the long-eared nancy-boys to me!" she had laughed and the village, which for so long had been living in misery, was swept along with her bravado. They turned in for the night, put out their lights and closed their shutters. They lay huddled in their beds, ears straining. The girl, 'Madam Treestar' as she had jokily asked them to call her, had begged them not to come out for any reason. So they waited, watching their breath rise in the cool air.
Then, around midnight, there was heard to be a scuffle and then six awful noises, like barley contained explosions, echoed out of the darkness and bounced off the walls. Even the air itself appeared to be stunned into silence.
In the morning when the villagers staggered out of their houses into the watery light, six Dark Elf bodies were waiting for them, slumped in clusters against a wall. They appeared to be untouched, certainly dead, but untouched apart from one, who had a strange, perfect red round hole in his forehead. Madam Treestar was stood over the bodies, smiling brightly. The only marks on her that said anything had happened were a smear of blood on her chin and a smoke burn across her forehead. "Told you to leave them to me." She grinned before leaning over and spitting into a Dark Elf's face. "Poor buggers didn't stand a chance."
The Governor had heard this story and went to see the bodies himself. They had been stripped and flung carelessly out of the village. With a handkerchief held over his mouth the Governor had stared in amazement at the bodies, all ready being seen to by the crows and vultures. How had she done it? A mere mortal taking on six Dark Elves...
"I love vultures don't you?" a voice drawled behind him. The Governor spun around, glad for any excuse not to be looking at the pitiful bodies. It was Treestar.
"I don't know what you mean." He stammered, suddenly flustered. He didn't know why he should be. She wasn't particularly attractive. An earthy, open-faced girl with brown hair tied up in a loop at the side of her head. On the other side of her head she wore a skullcap with a thick veil of beaded strings and a dragon's head fin (some dragons have elegant frills around their cheeks, usually used in display) that swept around the back of her head, acting as a guard. She wore a tartan kilt over her beige and green jodhpurs, massively armoured boots of white metal that reached up to just above her knees, and a light weight, leather shaped breast plate over a cream and white shirt. Despite being covered from her throat to her feet, her costume did nothing to hide her wide, curvy hips and heavy breasts that made the leather plate creak with every movement. She grinned wolfishly. The Governor decided he had every right to be flustered.
"I love vultures," she repeated coming to stand next to him, her scent wafting over him, a mixture of youth and sweat and soft curves, "no- one understands the job they do, cleaning up the rubbish we leave behind. Bit like me really." She turned that grin on the Governor, her large brown eyes wide and intense.
"I wouldn't say you were like a vulture my dear." He sputtered.
"Oh but I Am." She replied, staring eagerly up into his eyes, her own flickering from each feature of his face, taking in very detail. "I'm an opportunist. I revel in other people's misery. Their suffering is my bread and butter. Their unhappiness puts food in my belly." She leaned closer, the Governor leaning down toward her, catching the smoky smell of her hair. She was about to impart some great secret. "And I love my job."
The Governor made a small noise. Treestar flung her head back, nearly catching him on the chin, and let out a barking laugh. "What can I do for you my kind sir? No, no wait, lets go somewhere where there's more agreeable company." She gave the Governor a juicy wink. "And you can tell me all about it."
And so the Governor had told her about the ogre who was attacking their livestock. It was a little strange for him. He was used to discussing plans over a Council Table, listening to the waffling of the Town Elders and hoping he wouldn't be called upon to speak. If he just nodded at the right times and gave knowing smiles to people who had just spoken then usually he could get away with... well, not doing anything at all. But this was so different. He was sat at a table by a window in the tavern, waiting for his newfound friend to come back with the drinks. It was the only way to describe her.
After one last look at the dead Elves she had slipped her arm through his and led him back through the town, all the time chatting to him and pressing her breast against his arm. He was starting to quite enjoy himself. She spoke and looked at him as though he were the only man in the whole world. She made a gesture toward the first tavern she saw and in they went. Heads had turned; the Governor had flushed with smug pride. He could see it in their eyes, the same unspoken question, "How had he got her?"
A little while later she appeared, a mug of beer in each hand and a couple of napkins held by the corners in her mouth. When she set the mugs down and placed the napkins on the table he could still see the delicate teeth marks, the slight moisture from her lips. He gave a little shiver.
"So this ogre's a bit of a pest really no?"
"A fly is 'a bit of pest'. This monster is a catastrophe." The Governor snapped, taking a calming sip from his beer. He looked down in surprise. It was good beer. He could almost taste its expensiveness. He glanced up and Treestar treated him to coy little smile and cock of the head. "You like it?" she purred.
"Oh yes." He smiled back, unsure whether she meant the beer or something else. "This ogre likes to attack during the day-"
"Cheeky bastard." Treestar muttered and the Governor smiled. Yes, that was how he saw it too.
"You think you can handle it?"
She gave a little nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. "Depends if the price is right y'know?"
Before he could answer she had spun around, flashing her slightly yellowed teeth at him. "Oh darling..." she breathed, her voice a sudden husky whimper. The Governor gripped the armrests of his chair. He was a married man. A happily married man. He was about to tell her this when she picked up his mug and gave it a wiggle. "You finished your drink."
The armrests snapped off in the Governor's hands.
And here she was, all smiles and curved lines. She had winked at the
Governor and kissed him on the cheek, then shook hands with the Council. Their jealously turned the air green. She was then introduced to the Home Guard. They were not impressed with this... this... intruder who was boastfully claiming to be able to beat the ogre. Lots of them had died trying. It was their job to take Treestar to the outer fields and wait with her in till the ogre appeared. But Treestar had asked to go and talk to the people of the town and had vanished into the tavern next door. What the paying council hadn't realised was that Treestar was making herself a little more money. " Surely," she was saying, "I'm protecting you, the good, kind people of this town, far more than your Home Guard is? Surely if I get rid of this ogre, a job, they were unable to do; I deserve the money they would have received? You're all smart people? I'm right, right?"
The gathered crowd nodded. Of course they were smart people. Of course the girl deserved the money if she did the job. Treestar gave a private smile. She really did love her job.
The next day, with the town once more gathered together, everyone watched as Treestar and the surly looking Home Guard set off into the fields beyond. A wind had appeared that caused the ripening corn to sway and move like golden waves out at sea. A dark and foreboding forest could be seen in the middle distance. Treestar moved away from the group. She now had two strangely shaped scabbards hanging either side of a belt around her waist. As she was fiddling with one all the birds in the forest suddenly flew up.
There was a horrified gasp from the town. Treestar felt a familiar rush of nerves and adrenalin bubble in her stomach.
At the edge of the forest, the back of its body still in the shadow of the trees stood the ogre, calmly watching Treestar.
Even from this distance Treestar could see what had caused the ogre to go berserk. On its massive head she could see an ugly lump, misshapen and blistered. It probably foreshadowed a tumour, pressing down on the ogre's brain, driving it into a pain driven frenzy. Treestar felt a little pang of pity. The ogre made a forlorn sound and rubbed unhappily at the lump. It lifted its head and snorted, catching Treestar's young scent. A deep rumbling began in its chest. It hurt so much. All over, a deep, hideous burning ache and consumed its very thought. It made one final whimper-
And then charged.
Treestar had read the movement. She dropped down to one knee and braced herself, in one fluid movement had drawing something from the short black scabbard and pointed it toward the ogre. The ground shook under its massive footfalls.
Then something strange had happened. There was an almighty noise that caused everyone to drop to the floor in terror. It was like a short, sharp crack of a whip, only magnified to a painful intensity. The ogre itself had stumbled, an arch of blood spraying out of the back of its head. It slipped on to its hands and then dragged itself back up again. It kept going, puzzled by the numbness that was spreading through its body. There were three more deafening bangs and a trio of massive red flowers burst over the ogre's chest and shoulders.
"Come on you bastard!" Treestar was heard to scream, "Go down!"
As though it had heard the ogre crashed to the ground. It was nearly on top of Treestar now. As it fell it vanished beneath the corn. Then it rose up, screaming and shouting, torn apart with agony and shrieking pain. It was inches away from Treestar, its tear filled eyes unable to focus. She pointed the weapon at its head and fired.
Her eyes flickered to the wave of blood that suddenly eclipsed the sun, a sail of red. Then she took a neat step back and let the ogre fall.
There was a full minute of shocked silence. Then the cheering started.
"Yes, but isn't she a little on the small side?"
The Governor could see why the Town Council was worried. Not only had they a berserker ogre on the loose, their only ray of hope appeared to be a young woman with no visible weapons or talents.
"Listen," the Governor said, addressing the whole Council Table, "she was recommended to me on good faith. I'm sure she has some trick up her sleeve."
There was much murmuring and muttering. No one was quite convinced. From next door in the local tavern a great roaring cheer rose up as the girl in question successfully balanced a beer glass on her head.
Her name was Treestar and she hailed from somewhere around Valis. Her age wasn't known or any family background, but when in the mood she would chat happily about her numerous brothers and sisters and a handsome young man with laughing eyes who she had left at home.
She had helped another near by town who were having trouble with bandit Dark Elves. Every night they would appear, sweeping through the village and taking whatever took their fancy. After the war many of the Dark Elves had being disbanded or slaughtered by the Free Knights. But rumours had started to circulate. Nasty little whispered words that wafted around the taverns at night when the darkness outside the smoky windows seemed filled with monsters. Hushed words spoken behind hands, "The Elves are coming... the winds are changing."
And so this village was plagued by the Elves. Then a girl had appeared, all smiles and promises. "Leave the long-eared nancy-boys to me!" she had laughed and the village, which for so long had been living in misery, was swept along with her bravado. They turned in for the night, put out their lights and closed their shutters. They lay huddled in their beds, ears straining. The girl, 'Madam Treestar' as she had jokily asked them to call her, had begged them not to come out for any reason. So they waited, watching their breath rise in the cool air.
Then, around midnight, there was heard to be a scuffle and then six awful noises, like barley contained explosions, echoed out of the darkness and bounced off the walls. Even the air itself appeared to be stunned into silence.
In the morning when the villagers staggered out of their houses into the watery light, six Dark Elf bodies were waiting for them, slumped in clusters against a wall. They appeared to be untouched, certainly dead, but untouched apart from one, who had a strange, perfect red round hole in his forehead. Madam Treestar was stood over the bodies, smiling brightly. The only marks on her that said anything had happened were a smear of blood on her chin and a smoke burn across her forehead. "Told you to leave them to me." She grinned before leaning over and spitting into a Dark Elf's face. "Poor buggers didn't stand a chance."
The Governor had heard this story and went to see the bodies himself. They had been stripped and flung carelessly out of the village. With a handkerchief held over his mouth the Governor had stared in amazement at the bodies, all ready being seen to by the crows and vultures. How had she done it? A mere mortal taking on six Dark Elves...
"I love vultures don't you?" a voice drawled behind him. The Governor spun around, glad for any excuse not to be looking at the pitiful bodies. It was Treestar.
"I don't know what you mean." He stammered, suddenly flustered. He didn't know why he should be. She wasn't particularly attractive. An earthy, open-faced girl with brown hair tied up in a loop at the side of her head. On the other side of her head she wore a skullcap with a thick veil of beaded strings and a dragon's head fin (some dragons have elegant frills around their cheeks, usually used in display) that swept around the back of her head, acting as a guard. She wore a tartan kilt over her beige and green jodhpurs, massively armoured boots of white metal that reached up to just above her knees, and a light weight, leather shaped breast plate over a cream and white shirt. Despite being covered from her throat to her feet, her costume did nothing to hide her wide, curvy hips and heavy breasts that made the leather plate creak with every movement. She grinned wolfishly. The Governor decided he had every right to be flustered.
"I love vultures," she repeated coming to stand next to him, her scent wafting over him, a mixture of youth and sweat and soft curves, "no- one understands the job they do, cleaning up the rubbish we leave behind. Bit like me really." She turned that grin on the Governor, her large brown eyes wide and intense.
"I wouldn't say you were like a vulture my dear." He sputtered.
"Oh but I Am." She replied, staring eagerly up into his eyes, her own flickering from each feature of his face, taking in very detail. "I'm an opportunist. I revel in other people's misery. Their suffering is my bread and butter. Their unhappiness puts food in my belly." She leaned closer, the Governor leaning down toward her, catching the smoky smell of her hair. She was about to impart some great secret. "And I love my job."
The Governor made a small noise. Treestar flung her head back, nearly catching him on the chin, and let out a barking laugh. "What can I do for you my kind sir? No, no wait, lets go somewhere where there's more agreeable company." She gave the Governor a juicy wink. "And you can tell me all about it."
And so the Governor had told her about the ogre who was attacking their livestock. It was a little strange for him. He was used to discussing plans over a Council Table, listening to the waffling of the Town Elders and hoping he wouldn't be called upon to speak. If he just nodded at the right times and gave knowing smiles to people who had just spoken then usually he could get away with... well, not doing anything at all. But this was so different. He was sat at a table by a window in the tavern, waiting for his newfound friend to come back with the drinks. It was the only way to describe her.
After one last look at the dead Elves she had slipped her arm through his and led him back through the town, all the time chatting to him and pressing her breast against his arm. He was starting to quite enjoy himself. She spoke and looked at him as though he were the only man in the whole world. She made a gesture toward the first tavern she saw and in they went. Heads had turned; the Governor had flushed with smug pride. He could see it in their eyes, the same unspoken question, "How had he got her?"
A little while later she appeared, a mug of beer in each hand and a couple of napkins held by the corners in her mouth. When she set the mugs down and placed the napkins on the table he could still see the delicate teeth marks, the slight moisture from her lips. He gave a little shiver.
"So this ogre's a bit of a pest really no?"
"A fly is 'a bit of pest'. This monster is a catastrophe." The Governor snapped, taking a calming sip from his beer. He looked down in surprise. It was good beer. He could almost taste its expensiveness. He glanced up and Treestar treated him to coy little smile and cock of the head. "You like it?" she purred.
"Oh yes." He smiled back, unsure whether she meant the beer or something else. "This ogre likes to attack during the day-"
"Cheeky bastard." Treestar muttered and the Governor smiled. Yes, that was how he saw it too.
"You think you can handle it?"
She gave a little nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. "Depends if the price is right y'know?"
Before he could answer she had spun around, flashing her slightly yellowed teeth at him. "Oh darling..." she breathed, her voice a sudden husky whimper. The Governor gripped the armrests of his chair. He was a married man. A happily married man. He was about to tell her this when she picked up his mug and gave it a wiggle. "You finished your drink."
The armrests snapped off in the Governor's hands.
And here she was, all smiles and curved lines. She had winked at the
Governor and kissed him on the cheek, then shook hands with the Council. Their jealously turned the air green. She was then introduced to the Home Guard. They were not impressed with this... this... intruder who was boastfully claiming to be able to beat the ogre. Lots of them had died trying. It was their job to take Treestar to the outer fields and wait with her in till the ogre appeared. But Treestar had asked to go and talk to the people of the town and had vanished into the tavern next door. What the paying council hadn't realised was that Treestar was making herself a little more money. " Surely," she was saying, "I'm protecting you, the good, kind people of this town, far more than your Home Guard is? Surely if I get rid of this ogre, a job, they were unable to do; I deserve the money they would have received? You're all smart people? I'm right, right?"
The gathered crowd nodded. Of course they were smart people. Of course the girl deserved the money if she did the job. Treestar gave a private smile. She really did love her job.
The next day, with the town once more gathered together, everyone watched as Treestar and the surly looking Home Guard set off into the fields beyond. A wind had appeared that caused the ripening corn to sway and move like golden waves out at sea. A dark and foreboding forest could be seen in the middle distance. Treestar moved away from the group. She now had two strangely shaped scabbards hanging either side of a belt around her waist. As she was fiddling with one all the birds in the forest suddenly flew up.
There was a horrified gasp from the town. Treestar felt a familiar rush of nerves and adrenalin bubble in her stomach.
At the edge of the forest, the back of its body still in the shadow of the trees stood the ogre, calmly watching Treestar.
Even from this distance Treestar could see what had caused the ogre to go berserk. On its massive head she could see an ugly lump, misshapen and blistered. It probably foreshadowed a tumour, pressing down on the ogre's brain, driving it into a pain driven frenzy. Treestar felt a little pang of pity. The ogre made a forlorn sound and rubbed unhappily at the lump. It lifted its head and snorted, catching Treestar's young scent. A deep rumbling began in its chest. It hurt so much. All over, a deep, hideous burning ache and consumed its very thought. It made one final whimper-
And then charged.
Treestar had read the movement. She dropped down to one knee and braced herself, in one fluid movement had drawing something from the short black scabbard and pointed it toward the ogre. The ground shook under its massive footfalls.
Then something strange had happened. There was an almighty noise that caused everyone to drop to the floor in terror. It was like a short, sharp crack of a whip, only magnified to a painful intensity. The ogre itself had stumbled, an arch of blood spraying out of the back of its head. It slipped on to its hands and then dragged itself back up again. It kept going, puzzled by the numbness that was spreading through its body. There were three more deafening bangs and a trio of massive red flowers burst over the ogre's chest and shoulders.
"Come on you bastard!" Treestar was heard to scream, "Go down!"
As though it had heard the ogre crashed to the ground. It was nearly on top of Treestar now. As it fell it vanished beneath the corn. Then it rose up, screaming and shouting, torn apart with agony and shrieking pain. It was inches away from Treestar, its tear filled eyes unable to focus. She pointed the weapon at its head and fired.
Her eyes flickered to the wave of blood that suddenly eclipsed the sun, a sail of red. Then she took a neat step back and let the ogre fall.
There was a full minute of shocked silence. Then the cheering started.