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The Griefer
In order to remain organized, I will be moving all chapters here!
I will also be updating the story from here from now on!
Chapter 1: Brewing Trouble
The tavern was a dingy, low-ceilinged, unfriendly little place filled to the brim with air heavy with smoke. The floorboards creaked so much under each step that it seemed if you so much as jumped, you would've dropped the whole tavern into hell itself. Nevertheless it was the only tavern within a hundred chunks from the cozy spawn village. Being so close to spawn also made it an ideal place for adventurers from all corners to trade trinkets and tell eager crowds stories of their heroism.
At the moment, though, the usual buzz of business had dropped off. The reason behind the lack of customers was sitting at one of the spill-stained tables next to the fireplace. He slammed his fist against the table, knocking over an empty tankard of ale in the process. Despite being drowned in alcohol, the man turned with surprising speed to meet the tavern keeper’s glare. His eyes burned with a drunken rage under the pair of knotted eyebrows as he scooped the empty tankard off the ground and shook it high in the air for the rest of the bar to see.
“It appears to be empty again,” he said grumpily. The heavy slurring of his words only served to remind the tavern keeper it was his seventh or eighth time refilling the tankard with the cheap drink. Normally he would’ve denied the request, but a sale was a sale. It would be a long while before he would be able to earn as much as a wooden pellet from a single sitting. Nevertheless, this particular customer looked no better than trouble waiting to happen. The keeper told himself the troublesome fellow would leave after this last tankard.
His usual crowd of customers, sensing the trouble brewing, had cleared out soon after the newcomer’s drunken ramblings had begun not wishing to be caught up in something they would regret. Just under a dozen stragglers remained afterwards. One of which was a petty thief who, upon deciding the man was easy pickings, made the mistake of approaching him. The thief has learned the hard way that as drunk and dazed as the man may have seemed; he was no less skilled with a sword.
The fight was over almost as soon as it started. Upon seeing the unconscious body of their friend lying on the floor, a few more of batch fled for a safer atmosphere. The few customers who remained threw nervous glances in the man’s direction every so often, and no one dared to approach him.
Then the trouble the tavern keeper was nervously anticipating started.
Chapter 2: Practically Treason
The drunkard banged the side of a half empty tankard against the side of table, letting the brew slosh out freely. This caught the attention of everyone in the bar and heads began to turn towards him.
“It has come to my attention,” the man begun as he climbed onto the table, enunciating his words so that they were audible through his heavy slur “that the good admins who dictate us are utter buffoons.”
The atmosphere of the little tavern had been anticipatory before, but now it was bustling with tension. In these lands, there were only two responses for those who insulted the admins. Those who weren’t listening before were now staring at the man with a nervous passion. The man gazed around; every eye in the tavern was now glued onto him. He puckered his lips, letting a smug grimace find its way onto his lips. Drumming his finger against the side of the tankard, he carefully prepared his next few lines.
“The lot of them is a group vacuous half-wits who are no more fit to lead us than a gibbon, as is every man who is foolish enough to say otherwise.” He said, making his words as clear as possible.
Nobody dared to break the fragile silence that followed. This was dangerous, no, perilous talk. For a commoner to speak abuse or spew insults regarding any of the ruling admins to such a crowd was a serious offence. To do so in public, it was close to treason. Anxious gazes were exchanged. Suddenly the few remaining customers wished they could leave silently, leaving the whole mess of a situation behind them. But the threatening turn of events fed the helpless feeling that it was no longer an option. The anxious atmosphere of the tavern was now close to sheer panic. The man’s sword was clearly visible, leaning carefully against the table. They remembered how the man had dealt with the thief and were hesitant to leave.
But to stay and not act against the abuse spoken of the admins would have no better results. If someone were to tattle to the admins of their silence, they would receive just as grave of a punishment as the offender in front of them.
“You know what I’ve heard?” the man said, nearly hysterical at this point “I hear from a reliable source that the top dog was never fit to the throne of lies he sits on! As a matter of fact, I hear that the head admin was the result of a hachacha between his father going head over heels for a common maid!” the man leaned his head back to let out a hearty laugh as if it were all some sort of elaborate game.
The tavern keeper let a sigh of worry escape his lips. This was getting more and more dangerous with every word that left the man’s mouth.
Chapter 3: Guards Come Marching In
The tavern keeper glanced quickly at the drunkard, but the man’s attention has shifted towards a merchant who had tried sneak out of the tavern amid the chaos.
The man jumped off the table, brandishing his sword as he approached the merchant. “Do you sir… not agree that a man off such upbringing should not be permitted to play with the lives of an entire kingdom?!” The merchant mumbled and shifted uncomfortably in his spot just a sparse few feet from the door. Risking a nervous glance towards the main entrance, his only chance of escape, the merchant tried to make himself as small as possible.
The tavern keeper took the opportunity to lean towards one of his colleagues, who was watching the scene unfold white-faced, and tapped him on the back. As the two exchanged a nervous glance, the tavern keeper made a subtle gesture towards the back entrance. The man who was now pale with fear looked towards the exit and back towards him before nodding understandingly. “Bring them as quick as possible” the keeper mouthed as his friend crept towards the exit. Once he was certain his friend had safely escaped the building, he let a sigh of relief escape.
As the following minutes dragged by, the drunkard’s ramblings and insults towards the admins grew worse and more horrendous. A good fifteen minutes had passed, surely his friend should’ve returned with the guardsmen by now! The offender and his treacherous thoughts would wind up getting every single man in the bar locked up in chains if they allowed it to go on any further.
Just as if someone above had answered his silent prayer, the door was banged off its hinges to make room for a squad of four men followed by a hulking iron golem. The four men were each equipped with bows strung onto their backs and long swords hanging from their belts.
The man who appeared to be the leader of the squad barked out a series of commands and the rest of the squad fanned out to different positions in the room. As the golem clumsily marched towards the entrance to block any chance of anyone escaping, the leader’s eyes narrowed as they made out the figure drowning himself in brew.
“Do we have a problem here?” the leader demanded as he approached him. The offender turned and simply smiled. It was a cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Chapter 4: Talking Politics
“We’re just catching up on each other’s lives” the drunkard said as he tossed an empty flask to the side. The sarcasm in his voice was not lost on the guardsman. “You know; local news… politics.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard” the guardsman replied, his lips puckered. “Little bird told me you were speaking treason towards our admins.”
The offender brought his hands to face in an exaggerated gasp. “Treason you say?” he asked in mock surprise. “Why that’s unheard of!” the offender continued turning to glare at the other customers of the tavern, clicking his tongue against his teeth in mock disappointment. “Has one of you twats here been spreading rumors? Someone here been telling tall tales, whose tongue should be ripped out of their mouth?!”
In a flicker of movement, the man threw unsheathed his sword and flung it, embedding it by the blade into a wall. The sword continued to quiver for a little while from the force of the impact. The crowd stared with wild eyes and begun to back away from the man, which he took note of.
“You think distance is a disadvantage?!” he cried out.
“Sir, that is quite enough.” the guardsman responded as he brandished his own sword. He started to move forward, but incredibly the man had unsheathed a second blade already. In a blur of movement, the tip of the man’s blade was pointed at the guardsman’s throat, gleaming dully. With the point of blade still aimed at the guardsman’s neck, the offender began to circle him slowly; much like a shark would close in on its prey. On the other end, the guardsman stiffened as he stared into the face of death.
“Lower your blade” he said. The ever so slight quiver in his voice was just enough to strip away all authority from his voice, and he knew it. This wasn’t the normal tempered drunk or alcohol induced brawl he was used to dealing with. The man before was clearly a skilled warrior. Under the influence of the brew, there was no telling how far the offender was willing to let the situation go.
However, the guardsman was by no means a coward. He would not buckle under the pressure to a rowdy drunk and fail his duty. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously lowered his own blade, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the offender.
“I’ve lowered mine… Now you. Lower… Your… Blade…” he strained. There was no immediate answer. The guardsman could’ve sworn his heart was beating loud enough for all in the tavern to hear. The man’s sword has not changed position, still centered at his exposed throat.
As his heart drummed within his ears, he had the eerie feeling one of them would not be leaving the tavern with their life.
Chapter 5: Foolishness Is But A Toy
As the moment dragged on, the situation only seemed to become tenser. The leader of the guardsmen had risen among the ranks easily, dealing with petty thieves and other minor criminals. But now the stakes were much higher. Failure would result in nothing short of his own death.
Just as he thought he would burst, the dull rhythm of heavy footsteps filled the room. Both the guardsman and the offender barely had time to react as the squad’s iron golem flung itself at the offender. The offender stared incredulously at the hulking giant who had him pinned to the ground. His own sword lay uselessly several feet away, knocked out of his hands by the force of the impact.
The scene seemed to freeze frame for a full ten seconds. Then, realizing the opportunity at hand, the rest of the guardsmen leapt into the fray, swinging their fists as they swarmed over the disarmed figure. Their leader on the other hand fell to his knees, rehearsing a silent prayer; thanking Notch for sparing him from an early end.
As the offender went down under a rain of blows, the leader of the guardsman set to work emptying the tavern.
The metal doors clanged shut, followed by the sound of keys jingling in the lock. The footsteps of the officer echoed, growing fainter and fainter as they approached the exit of the dungeon. Mumbling obscenities under his breath, the newest resident of the dungeons of Castle Amethyst tossed a lazy gaze around his new home. Immediately he could see there were no windows, the only source of scarce light creeping its way from the cracks under the door. The cell bore a musty stench, likely wafting from the piles of hay that were scattered along the cells floors. The cell was also bare of any furniture, letting the smallest of sounds explode into echoes with nothing to dampen them.
Scattering a small pile of hay with his foot, the offender sat down on the ground. His head ached as they effects of his long night of drinking begun to catch up on him.
“They said I was a fool…” he muttered under his breath. “What do they know of foolishness? Foolishness is just a toy for children. In their age of innocence it is acceptable, even embraced. But as the years go by, foolishness is shunned. It is no longer a commodity but a sin. Those who demonstrate it are exiled, shunned or worse. Stripped down to the core, the monotone base that renders us all the same. The false illusion of perfection. Idiots. Have they yet to realize that true beauty comes from imperfection? This world could use a bit of an imperfection… Perhaps that’s just what I’ll do.”
Grinning to himself, the offender begins the makings of a plan.
“I have three days to compose myself for an upcoming trial in front of the head admins.” The offender begins “They will confront me with the choices of death or banishment. I no longer need the liberty of death. I am burdened with a purpose now.”
“You’re insane, you know that?”
Tilting his head up, the offender turns to meet the eyes of the sole spectator of his drunken ramblings.
“I’d be crazy to say otherwise.”
Chapter 6: A Unique Person
“So, why not tell me your story?” the grizzled man said chirpily. “It might make the time go by quicker.”
The offender, not the slightest bit amused, shot him an incredulous look.
“And what makes you think I have a story?” he replied.
“Well there must be some reason you’re in here.” the man said with a shrug, gesturing to the dull stone walls that encased them.
Mumbling under his breath, the offender turned to face the wall; leaving the man behind him to face his back. The offender was in no mood to play around. The effects of his night of heavy drinking had finally caught up with him. After several hours of maddening headaches, violent hurling and shudders; he barely had the energy left in him to pass out afterwards. Of course waking up to his cell mate trying to poke out his eyes didn’t exactly help his already sour mood.
“I guessing that’s a no…” the man said disdainfully.
The awkward silence dragged on until it reached the point where it was almost too painful to bear. Finally giving in to the maddening silence, the offender turns, hoping to start a conversation with his cellmate. To his surprise, he finds the other man staring back at him intently. Beginning to have his regrets, the offender shakes his head.
“So you wanted to know my story?” he began. His cellmate clapping his hands and giggling to himself like a child on Christmas morning only served to fuel the doubts he was having.
“Tell you what,” the man began, seeing the hesitant look. “I tell you my story first. You tell me yours once I’m done.” After waiting for what he deemed as a suitable pause he stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Sighing to himself, the offender reached out and shook his cellmate’s hand.
“Alright, we have a deal.” He said. “So, what did you say your name was?”
“The name’s Howard.” He replied “And yours?”
“Pac. You can call me Pac.”
Raising his eyebrows with the slightest hint of disbelief, Howard lent back.
“That’s a… unique name.” Howard mumbled.
“I’m a unique person,” Pac replied. “But you’ll hear about that in time.”
Chapter 7: Howard's Tale
“So Howard,” Pac said as he tried to make himself as comfortable as possible in the dingy cell. “Let’s hear it, how’d you end up in here?”
“Nothing to fancy,” Howard began grimly. His chipper expression was now lost as buried memories began to plague him once more. “I’ve just been charged for stealing a hen from the next farm over.”
“And why would you do that?” Pac replied.
His cellmate remained silent for a few moments. Swallowing a mouthful of air, as if to steady himself, before continuing.
“Times are tough.” Howard began simply. Looking up to meet his cellmate’s eyes Howard continued. “My wife left me, leaving me to care for our son. She was the real breadwinner of the family, eventually my boy and I found ourselves resorting to scrounging for scraps to get by. People aren’t as generous as they used to be. But I can’t blame them really; there simply isn’t enough to share.”
Pac nodded in agreement. Seeing that Howard was beginning to tremble slightly, he spoke up.
“You don’t have to continue.” Pac began. “If it’s too hard for you, I understand.”
“I don’t want these thoughts burdening me to my grave,” Howard replied shaking his head. “If the court will hear me out as a criminal alongside murderers and smugglers, I want someone to know the truth.”
“I understand.” Pac said. He found himself developing newfound respect for the man. “My apologies please continue.”
“You see, my son fell ill.” Howard began, waving the apology aside. “At this point I was desperate. I needed my son alive. He was all I had left.”
Howard's Flashback:
It pained Howard to see how much the illness had tormented his son. His son’s eyes had once been piercing and sensual, with a touch of mischief. But now they stared back at him listlessly, dull and lifeless.
This was not the boy he knew. His son was robust, vibrantly healthy and possessed a spirit that filled him with an endless love of life.
The young boy before him could barely breathe. His body was nearly lost in the sheets of the makeshift bed and he didn't move. The only sign of life emitted from the lifeless figure was the occasional hoarse fit of coughing.
This was not the boy he knew.
Chapter 8: A Game Of Chicken
Howard’s flashback:
His decision was instantaneous. Leaving his son’s side for a painful moment, Howard dashed to the storage chest. Rummaging through a collection of the few valuables they owned, he counted a pitiful collection of twelve copper pellets; barely enough to buy a flask of water in this day and age. They were flat out broke.
Mumbling a curse under his breath, Howard buried his forehead into the palm of his hands as he tried to formulate a desperate plan. With every moment that passed, his son was growing more ill. By now he couldn’t be so far from meeting death. Howard needed to get his son food, proper food. Not the unpalatable scraps they manage to scrape from the bottom of rubbish bins. If he couldn’t afford to go out and buy food… he’d just have to find another way to get some.
Drumming his fingers against the side of the bed, Howard hastily threw together the makings of a plan. One of his neighbors who lived a farm less than an hour’s walk away owned a fairly successful chicken farm. Surly he wouldn’t miss a single missing hen?
Howard felt as if he were hung out on a line, suspended between bad and worse. If he didn’t go through with the crazy plan, his son would starve. If he did go through with and was caught, he would be locked up and executed as an example for other potential “villains”. His son would starve either way.
Feeling his vision blur, Howard picked himself off the floor. Everything from this point was instinctive. He barely acknowledged what he was doing as he grabbed his jacket off the coat hanger and marched out the door. He stumbled over his steps own as he walked aimlessly down the gravel street.
…..
“Come back here you miscreant!” The farmer’s wife called out to the fleeting figure.
In the adrenaline, Howard chuckled as he turned back to glimpse at the boisterous woman’s red face. He waved the limp body of the stolen prize high in the air for the woman to see; a dead hen which he held by its snapped neck, before turning back and smashing into a firm chest.
Reacting quickly, Howard jumped back and unsheathed a short blade that had been previously concealed by his cloak.
“And where do you think you’re going?” the guardsman called out as he unsheathed a sword of his own.
Chapter 9: Stupefied
Howard’s flashback:
“Out of my way,” Howard growled at the guardsman. “I don’t have the time for this!”
Howard caught a flash as the guardsman swung a sword high and brought it down on him. He snarled angrily as he jumped backwards. He felt a rush of cold air as the blade narrowly missed his face. Howard slashed wildly with his sword. The blade hissed as it cut through cold air, aimed at his opponent's midriff. A clang of metal resounded through the night as his assailant parried his blade. The sheer force of the clash yanked his sword from his hands and it plunged into dust.
His eye’s connected with his assailant, who stared back with an unforgiving glare. The guardsman held his sword up high, intent on plunging the blade deep into Howard’s thigh. He chanced a glance at his sword on the ground, contemplating whether he was quick enough to grab it and avoid his opponent’s blade at the same moment. Realizing it wasn’t worth the risk, Howard raised his arms high in the air.
“Alright, you’ve got me. Just give me a minute to explain and-“ His pleads were cut off as the guardsman snorted and stepped forward.
The guardsman brought the handle of the sword down onto the side of Howards head. Howard gasped in pain. The sound of his heart pounding against his chest blocked out any form of thought except that of death. He gaped at the hilt of the blade, glinting in the moonlight as it descended for him.
Reality:
Pac had been completely absorbed as his cellmate recounted his tale. But he couldn’t help but notice one detail Howard has skipped around.
“So what did become of your son?” Pac asked.
The look of dread that overwhelmed the man’s face was enough to tell him what happened. Immediately, he regretted asking the question.
“With nobody to tend to him, I’m not sure.” Howard said with a sad smile. “But wherever he is now, I’m sure it’s better than this hell.”
Chapter 10: A Waiting Game
Telling his tale had drained Howard of all his energy. Promising that he would hear his cellmate’s own story the next day, Howard collapsed in a pile of hay to doze off.
Pac on the other hand was far from tired. Whistling an empty tune as he circled lazily around the cell, he was facing his greatest challenge since entering the cell; boredom. Declaring a war against boredom, Pac began to pace around the room.
About an hour later Pac had closely examined every brick, counted every straw of hay and identified every nook and cranny of the crammed little cell. He was beginning to feel that this was a battle he simply could not win. Shaking his fist in the air, Pac slumped against a wall and admitted defeat. But boredom was still eating away at him.
He was curled up in the corner of the room, if you could even call it one, eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. His eyes were dark, and the rings below them even darker; periodically his eyelids would droop downwards, only to have them snap wide open again, feigning alertness. His clothing was unkempt and ruffled, and only grew worse in condition as the clock ticked on.
Finally he succumbed to fatigue. The dull sight of the chipped stone brick walls faded away and was replaced with a foggy white blur. Pac’s previous feelings of drowsiness had dispersed, making way for newfound alertness.
Some people may say that lucid dreams a way of understanding yourself, exploring you own consciousness. After the recurring nightmares, Pac though they were nothing short of a pain.
By now he knew exactly how the dream would play out. If he walked forwards into the nothingness, he would be snatched up into the air by a swarm of crows. They would peck and scratch at him. Their horrid cackles become laughs of mockery as they tore at his flesh. Finally the black cloud of claws and feathers would vanish, dropping him into the void. That was normally when he woke up.
At first it had been horrible; somehow it got worse every time he managed to nod off. Maybe there was a way around it. Pac closed his eyes and spread open his arms. Holding his breath, he fell backwards into the fog, as if it were a sick trust game.
As he fell, the fog began to melt away.
Chapter 11: Why In The Name Of Notch?
Just as Pac began to panic as the fog swallowed him whole, his eyes shot. He breathed short, heavy breaths. Sweat beads ran down his face and his hands. He looked around the room, wide eyed, finding an ironic sense of comfort at the sight of the cell walls.
Fighting to ignore the faint beads of light that crept from under the door, Pac tried to return to sleep, but the moment had passed. He could hear the dull echo of heavy feet thumping against the floorboards out in the hallway. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes to drive off his drowsiness and tried to steady himself.
Flexing his arms in a yawn, Pac turned and nearly jumped back as he met the intent stare of his cellmate.
“Look decided to wake up.” Howard said with a chuckle as he tossed a slice of bread in his direction. “A rather unpleasant man dropped breakfast off.” Howard explained.
Pac snatched the chunk of bread from the air bite a piece off. In truth the loaf was unpalatable and hard enough that you would likely chip a tooth if you were to bite hard enough. However it dawned on him that he hadn’t eaten anything since his drunken show the previous night and he was starved. Ignoring the dry taste it left in his mouth, Pac began to gobble the chunk of bread.
“How long have you been up?” Pac asked in-between bites.
“Not too long,” Howard replied. “The guard woke me up about half an hour ago”
Wiping the crumbs that stuck to his shirt with the back of his hands, Pac let out a satisfied sigh.
“Now that you’ve had your stomachs full,” Howard began, rubbing his hands together. “I think it’s time we here your story.”
After matching his cellmate’s remark with a raised eyebrow, Pac let out a hearty laugh at Howard’s anticipation. Pac gestured to a spot on the floor and the two sat.
“So what did you do to get locked up in chains?” Howard said with a chuckle.
“I called that admins out for what they were, a group of incompetent gibbons.” Pac said his joking mood vanished.
Howard couldn’t help but widen his eyes in disbelief. He searched his cellmate’s face for any sign of mockery but failed. Noticing that awkward silence that was created, Howard cleared his throat.
“Why in the name of Notch would you do something like that?” Howard mumbled shaking his head.
“I was a bit tipsy.”
Chapter 12: Too Late To Go Back
Pac’s Flashback:
The staircase was wide, fashioned of bleach white quartz, reasonably worn after a few years or so of use. The banister was a polished display of iron. Squeezed into the centre of the stairwell was a small, more recently installed lift for at most two people to fit into.
Pac scouted out the stairwell cautiously before setting off upstairs. He was heading to the second floor. The small palace evidently had a wing built out into the rear courtyard, seeing as there were doors off in that direction after every half-flight. He made a mental note of each door and window he passed by the time he reached the third floor.
There were three doors, all of them with neat wooden signs and one of them, the farthest to left, with the right name neatly printed onto it. So far, everything was going according to plan. At this point his heart was pounding in his chest, and not just because of the stairs.
He tossed a final look around the stairwell and landing before setting to work.
First he pulled an old wooly balaclava over his head. In truth it was just an old hat he had dug up from his attic which he had cut holes out for his eyes and mouth. Then he began fishing items out from his bag. The first item, a little wooden wedge, he pushed under the door that he had targeted earlier. He kicked at it to ensure that it was properly inserted before taking a deep breath and knocking his knuckles against the door frame.
The moment he heard the door-handle pushed down from inside the room; he pulled a handful of red dye, which had been shoved into the bag alongside the wooden wedge, and set to work.
It took a few moments for the man inside the room to realize what was happening. Pac was nearly finished writing out the text before the man started trying to open the door seriously.
The aimless jerking of the door handle suddenly stopped and a moment later the door shook, as if the man had thrown his entire body weight against it. To his utter horror Pac had noticed that the wedge had slid out a bit on the slippery stone floor, and that there was now a centimeter-wide gap between the doors.
He caught a fleeting glimpse of the furious red faced man yelling at him. His face was contorted in pure consuming fury; his nostrils were flaring, his eyes flashing and closing into slits and his mouth quivering with rage.
“Too late to stop now” Pac mumbled with a casual shrug.
Hey guys! If you like this series and want to see more; leave a comment below!
| Credit | Chapter 1 was entered in vikki7783's blogging contest! |
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You should post some more!
Right now I'm busy with exams, so I promise that'll I restart writing chapters regularily once they're done!!!