Short story (is it really a short story if it's over several hundred words?) for a fantasy setting. Uploading it here for public critique.
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That morning, as
the clouds over the forest lightened and melted away to reveal the
clear light sky, a small girl dressed in drab burlap cloth shifted
behind a thatch-roof dwelling. As she pats away the straw in her
hair, the smell of rotted fruit and moldy bread rises into her
nostrils. Opening her rawhide sack she dumps the last of the inedible
rations onto the dew-covered grass, grimacing the entire time.
The sounds of the
town begin to rise, as people begin going about their days, working
and living their lives. The pitter-patter of laborers walking across
the unpaved roads mixed in with the clanking steps of the town guards
as they patrolled the outskirts of the town. Into this crowd ran
several small children of varying races – human, dwarf, elf –
shouting and playing, dancing under the legs of deliverymen and
craftsmen.
From behind the
straw-layered building, a young woman, unwashed and covered in
various fluids, stood watching with a sour look on her face. She
could not help but take in all the various smells – the dried fish,
the warm pies, the odorous cheeses – and feel a little bit hungry.
She strode forward, staying close to the minuscule shade offered by
the small roofs of the nearby buildings, and walked near the open
window of a bakery that had just opened for the day.
On the windowsill
sat four large pies, baked to perfection and held there to cool,
giving off long trails of steam. Behind them, the baker sat,
carefully measuring the fillings for his next creation, his back
towards the windowsill.
A hand, moving
quickly and quietly, rose from under the windowsill and felt the pans
for each pie before darting back below. The girl acted calm as a
guard made his rounds before entering the nearby apothecary's hut.
She shot her hand back up and grabbed one of the pans, muffling her
cries as the hot tin threatened to peel her skin off. With a breath,
she darted away from the bakery, staying as low to the ground as
possible.
She made it behind
a building, out of sight, and removed her filthy brown cloak as soon
as possible, wrapping it around the tin to shield her hands. She
placed the tin on the ground and began caressing her hands, rubbing
them gently to soothe the burns. Once she no longer felt the burning
on her palms, she reached into a hidden satchel she kept underneath
her ripped skirt and pulled out a small fork and knife, both rough
but relatively clean. She sat down onto the ground, next to the dried
mud wall, and cut into the pie, watching as steaming and spiced mince
slowly emerged, the mixing scents entering her nostrils and
triggering her stomach to growl fiercely.
With a piece on her
fork, she popped the mince into her mouth and began crying, both at
the intense flavor she tasted and at the intense heat that began
burning her. It had been a week since she had eaten anything not
salted to oblivion, and to finally eat something so warm and freshly
prepared brought her back, emotionally, to her days playing alongside
the maids of the manor.
For the first time
in almost a year, Aofie, the estranged heiress of the Yuisi family,
felt homesick and dearly missed her father and brother. She wiped the
tear from her eye, trying not to cry, and turned her attention back
to the mince pie at her feet – which was attracting the attention
of a stray dog, which began growling at her, trying to scare her away
from the pie. Aofie, with what little pride she still held, growled
back, trying to deepen her voice in order to drive away the dog. It
lunged at her, attempting to intimidate her, and started leaning to
take the pie tin.
Within a second,
the dog cried, as several tendrils of warped energy that streamed
from Aofie's hand crushed it's body. With a flick of her wrist, the
dog's corpse was tossed far away from the building, landing beside a
nearby fence post with a loud and wet splat. The tendrils retreated
and subsided back into a black sheath that vanished from around her
hand, which had been marked with countless scars and wounds. She felt
the energy through her veins, burning like needles, and shook her
head, trying to make the feeling disappear.
A loud yell to her
left brought her back to her senses: “Thief! Witch!” She looked
and saw a young man, just out of adolescence, in a baker's apron,
pointing directly at her as he cried to an nearby person. Within
seconds, a guard appeared behind the man, investigating what he
pointed at.
Aofie removed her
cloak from the tin, dropping the mince pie onto the ground in a
scattered heap, and scrambled to her feet. As the guard rounded the
building, she turned to her right and started running.
She tore through
the cobblestone streets, moving past shocked kids and frozen adults,
as she ran from the now-four man strong entourage of guards that
pursued her, brandishing short steel swords. She turned right,
passing behind a pair of homes, before stopping, as she realized the
dead-end she unintentionally trapped herself in. She drew a dull
stone blade that she kept in her pouch, before turning back to the
alleyway opening. There, the guards stood, in formation, blades front
and ready, slowly approaching her. The man in front, a man as young
as her, had a look of fear and nervousness painted on his face, and
his steps became more and more uneven as he approached her.
With a slight
pitch, he started: “H-halt, thief!” He lowered his blade
slightly. “You have stolen from a citizen of Danesorrow. Surrender
now, and accept the punishment.” The men behind him, all clearly
more experienced than him, gave Aofie a deathly glare.
Breathing heavily
and sweating profusely, Aofie cried back. “I-I was hungry! I-I
didn't even get to--”
“Enough!”, went
the older man behind the young guard. “Surrender quietly and accept
the consequences, young lady!” He moved closer, even passing the
lead guard.
Aofie stepped back,
knife forward, and felt her back coming up against a clay wall. Her
mind started swirling, her stomach in pain, and her veins started
burning. Almost without thinking, she spoke an arcane chant and
directed her other hand at the guard coming near...
She forgot exactly
how long that moment lasted, but she still remembers the scream of
the old guard as his arms were torn from his body. The guards around
him stared, frozen in panic, as the old man fell to the ground,
letting out his dying scream as the tendrils returned to Aofie.
Before the burning in her veins stopped, she felt a sharp and
piercing pain in her stomach, as the young man drove his knee into
her in order to keep her from chanting. The tendrils disappeared and
Aofie dropped to her knees clutching her stomach, gasping for breath.
The guard grabbed
her by her blouse and pulled her up to eye level, yelling. “Witch!
What the hell did you do to Lars?!” She looked past him and saw
Lars on the floor, in a pool of his own blood, being hovered by one
of the other guards. The fourth had run out of the alley, screaming
for backup against the witch. The young man shook her, regaining her
attention. “Why didn't you surrender?!” He kept screaming at her,
with tears in his eyes for his comrade, as tears formed in hers in
response.
She couldn't speak,
both for the pain and for the scene. The burning in her veins had
subsided, and all she felt was the heat of her tears and the breath
of the guard pinning her to the wall. All that she could hear was
screams and crying.
