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Member
Join Date: Feb 2004
Location: ca
Posts: 14
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Vino
"Revenge is a dish best served cold."
-Spanish Proverb
The shields were everywhere on the tree. Various logos and devices; lions, bears, dragons, crosses and swords, all of varied colors and shapes. Every one of the shields hung on a branch, dozens upon dozens, all testaments to the Baron's prowess in battle. Simon walked under the tree and took in the unsettling sight. The tree was the marker of the Baron's domain; a sign that allowed visitors to acklowledge whose land they were treading upon. Simon didn't care; he had business to conduct with the Baron. Simon unsheathed his short sword and walked away from the tree, a grim smile spread across his lips.
The Baron's estate was ahead, almost a half mile in the distance. By the time that Simon had trekked onto the Baron's land, the sun had already began its slow descent cresting over the horizon. When he had reached the castle itself, darkness had enveloped the countryside. He tooks pains to move quietly, and to utilize the shadows when he could. The entrace to the castle was lit by enourmous torches, and Simon was sure to evade their orange glare. He crept around the side of the estate, watchful of every movement of the area. At the back of the building, a door was left ajar. Simon stepped through.
He stood in the castle's kitchen. The room was a disaster, with various pots and pans strewn about the counter tops. Something was bubbling on the hearth. He heard a footsteps approaching from somewhere near as he darted into a poorly lit corner of the kitchen. A maid walked into the room cradling armfulls of dirty linens. She dropped the fabric on the stone floor and tended to the food that was cooking in the fire. She appeared to be young, barely a woman. Her mangy hair fell in her face as she stirred the broth with a wooden spoon. She soon finished, collected the linens, and left the room. He crept out of the archway that the maid disapeared into. He watched the maid walk down the hall, as she turned to the right and disapeared from sight. Simon was fairly certain that the Baron only had a handful of maids circulating thoughout the house. He resumed his search; it wouldn't be long before he found what he was looking for.
The Blacksmith plunged the red hot sword into the water, creating a cloud of hissing steam. His body glistened with sweat as he wiped his brow with a rag. He walked out of the forge and embraced the day. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun shining bright. The light felt good on his face, and he smiled. He walked down the way to his cottage. Once outside, his wife opened the door. She was dressed in a casual fashion, but wore it well. Her body was curvy in all the right areas, as she ran to her husband. She lept into his arms and peppered his face with kisses, to which he returned. She led him into the cottage by the hand, and then towards the bedroom. They made love, and then he drifted off to sleep.
The Blacksmith awoke to a scream. He sat up in the bed and looked around. His wife was not by his side; she was gone. Another scream. He was up and rushing outside of the room. The house was in disarray, as if a tornado had swept the interior. And there she was, her frame bent over the table, skirt hiked up above her ass, face visably bloodied. A giant man in black stood behind his woman, taking her by force, a giant broadsword sheathed at his side. The Blacksmith could hear the man's savage grunts, as his wife screamed again. The Blacksmith sprinted to the man, and tried to push him away. The man barely moved an inch, but he did turn around. The Blacksmith looked into his smiling face, as the man in black slammed a gauntlet clad fist into the Blacksmith's head. The Blacksmith stumbled backwards and fell on his bottom, his nose crushed. He started to get back up when the giant man in black kicked him in the face. The Blacksmith fell back to the ground, instantly swimming in and out of consciousness. He could hear his wife's shreieking, and the man grunting and laughing to himself.
The Blacksmith wasn't sure how long it went on for, but before it was over, he saw the man in black standing over him, holding a bottle of the Blacksmith's finest wine in one hand, and something else in the other. He tipped the bottle back, and drained it.
"Wine tastes its best after either murdering or f*cking. In this case, it works both ways."
He threw what was in his other hand onto the Blacksmith's chest. His wife's face looked up at him, a study of fear and misery to be forever stamped onto her features. The man in black threw the bottle at the wall, shattering it into a dozen shards of glass. He belched and left, laughing as he departed. The blacksmith looked at his wife's severed head and tried to hold it in his hands, but instead passed out. Before he did he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes and the taste of copper running down his throat. The sound of the man in black's laugh rang in his ears as he sank back into the darkness.
Simon stood in the doorway and watched the maid on her hands and knees, scrubbing the stains out of the linen. She reminded him of someone from his past, but he shook it off. He walked into the room as she looked up. She did not scream or holler, instead just regarded him with a set of tired eyes. She lowered her head and resumed scrubbing.
"I know what ye want." The maid said.
"Yes." Simon replied, looking down on her. "I'd assume that you do."
"Aye. But it doesn't matter. He'll kill you. He kills all of them. What's the use of it?"
"Woman, I'm already dead. Where is he?"
"Upstairs, in his quarters."
Simon knelt down, and looked her in the face. She stopped her scrubbing.
"What's your name?"
"Lucida."
"Lucida, I think you should leave. Now."
Lucida chewed on her lip, and then rose. She hiked up her skirt and ran out of the room. Simon followed and watched her retreat towards the kitchen, and out of the castle. He walked down the hall, and saw the staircase, one leading upwards to the Baron's quarters, and another downwards, toward the cellar.
The Blacksmith wandered the land, looking for the man who took his life away. He ventured into every inn and pub, questioning and prodding, threatening and pleading, asking everyone for any sort of heresay that would lead him to what he was looking for. Three monthes and a day after his wife was slain, the Blacksmith hit his goal. A man in rundown pub revealed information about a man who was known as the Baron. This man owned an estate a few miles down the road. He had many enemies, but no one could defeat him in battle. He was a beast of a man, hulking, intimidating, and always dressed in black. A skull was engraved into the hilt of his considerable broadsword. The Blacksmith urged him about the location of this Baron's estate, but the man hesitated. After serveral pints of mead, the man finally loosened his lips. The Blacksmith was on his way.
Simon kicked down the door to the Baron's room and bustled into the room. The Baron's quarters were sparse yet spacious. The Baron stood by an open window at the end of the room, his back to the door, a maid residing on her knees in front of her employer, earning her keep. He wasn't wearing black this time, but rather a plain cotton longshirt. The maid, a painstakingly beautiful girl, jumped up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Simon unsheathed his shortsword.
"Prepare to die, fiend." Simon spat.
The Baron threw back his head and laughed. His broadsword was leaned up against the wall, as the Baron snatched it up.
"I'm not sure who you are," he said, leaning the sword on his shoulder, "but that's alright. Your head looks like it might go well on a stake. En garde, maggot."
The maid stood where she was, frozen scared. Simon rushed at the Baron, ready to plunge his sword, as the Baron quickly smashed Simon in the head with his sword hilt. Simon hit the deck, sprawled out. The Baron raised his broadsword, ready to stick in into Simon, when he rolled out of the way. Simon slashed at the Baron, drawing blood across his arm.
"Aw, fuck. Now you've gotten me angry." the Baron said thoughtfully.
The Baron swiped with his sword, knocking Simon's weapon out of his hand. The short sword slid across the floor as Simon lept after it. The Baron walked over to where his assailant was on his stomach, and plunged his broadsword into Simon's back. Simon cried out, as the Baron extracted his blade. Simon continued to crawl after his short sword, and the Baron stuck his sword into the back of Simon's neck. Simon twitched and shuddered, then fell limp.
The Baron planted his foot on Simon's back and yanked out his sword, wiping the blood on Simon's shirt. The maid was stood by the wall, petrified. The Baron put his sword back against the wall and called out to the maid.
"Wench, go down to the cellar and grab me a bottle of wine. I've the thirst. Then we can get back to business."
The maid scurried out of the room as the Baron yanked up Simon's corpse. He tossed the body out of the window and watched it hit the ground. He clapped his hands together as the maid returned, holding a bottle of wine from the cellar. She walked over to the Baron and handed it to him. After taking it, he slapped the maid's behind and uncorked the bottle with his teeth. The Baron knocked the vino back and took a deep drink, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. He relented, and sighed, feeling the warmness coarse down his throat and into his stomach.
The Blacksmith opened his pack and pulled out the medium sized bottle containing a green elixir. He stood in front a collection of wine bottles. Starting from the top shelf, he pulled out out a bottle and carefully extracted the cork. The Blacksmith poured a tiny amount of the green elixir into the botttle and replace the cork, shaking the bottle up, spreading the mixture into the wine.
He put the bottle back and continued to the next one, and then the next. By the time he was finished, the Blacksmith had exposed every single one of the Baron's bottles of vino to his green elixir. The Blacksmith smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. He headed out of the cellar and up the stairs, to meet his fate.
The Baron felt the lump in his throat as he let out a choking cough. He dropped the bottle to the floor as wine spilled onto the ground. The Baron's eyes began to bug out and his hands clutched at his neck. His thoat started to close up like a vise, and he could no longer breathe. He sank to his knees and stared helplessly at the maid standing across from him, a green frothy foam pouring out of his mouth. She backed up and retreated from the room. He pounded his fists onto the ground, spittle flying from his lips. With a grimace on his face, he fell face down into a pool of the poisoned wine. The Baron died less than a minute later.
The Blacksmith died knowing that he would win. And his victory in death was sweet.
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