SCARECROW'S CHALLENGE #04!

[Nayru]

Thanks for the Memories

Reward: 25 Rupees

Everyone has a childhood, whether it is a good one or a bad one. What is one of the memories your character remembers as a child? In no less than 300 words, describe it! You can do this for multiple characters, if you have multiple.

[Lance]

"Come ooon, I'm only five, 'course I'm not good at this kinda stuff yet!"

"Well, get better! You know as much of us that are here are only here because we're pros at keeping ourselves hidden and secret, and keeping off our trail whoever we don't want to find us! You're going to go out into the world and regret it at this rate when you can't even make such a simple trap properly!"

Really though, it wasn't his fault that he... well... wasn't large. He'd evaded being the runt of the litter by a short ways, and to some credit, he was consistently curious and eager to learn. After all, those around had quite the stories to tell and things to teach! Centuries worth of life experience was bound to grant just such, and him? He wanted those centuries now. He wanted to learn everything he could, to grow as much as he could... and perhaps, eventually, to take some sort of 'territory' of his own. It didn't have to be anything big, just somewhere he could rain his tricks upon. When he actually had tricks of his own, anyway... he was still sort of working on that.

To his credit as well, though, he was a good learner, and just to aid that, had an apparently perfect memory. Few doubted that that perfection would only last so long as he grew old and such a proficient memory would only serve to cram his brain with quite the number of things. But that they might ever discover that such a memory would last even beyond the two century mark... but for now, he'd nowhere near that long of a life.

Now, he was having some small issues with pitfalls, things he was rapidly growing tired of with how much work he had to put his small paws through to even start to make them.

"Well... mm... this is dumb right now. Bye!"

It only took a slight whim, and the young fox was off, darting between trees and through narrow corners in every effort to elude should the elder Keaton decide to pursue.

It didn't go well in the end. So decreed the pitfall he himself fell into shortly after, as if just to taunt him for his own present ineptitude in the matter. Cursed older (far older, at that) brother even went that far, did he...

"Before you might complain, you're going to have to work your way out of there on your own. This is what you get for trying to escape, and just a little something to teach you what I mean by being really good at eluding pursuers."

"I'm gonna make you sorry when I get outta here!" the younger Keaton growled.

Of course it was a matter of getting out, but... he'd manage. Soon enough, somehow or other.

[Nayru]

Lance is on a roll with Scarecrow's Challenges!

+25 Rupees!

[Charles Antony]

ANGST ALERT, just warnin' ya.

---

"We gotta go...they're coming, they're coming!"

Panic was in the air as a group of nine silhouetted figures fled from the cover of a small sheltered home. There was a faint drizzle of rain, but it drummed like thunder in the ears of fearful gypsies. The stomp of hooves roared along with the rain, their hearts, too, adding to the deathly beat to which they ran.

They were gypsies. Branded by many as simple common thieves, their kind was hunted down by guards, rounded up and locked away in cages. Had he wanted to, Charles could have left - he could have fled, and been all the better off...but these people - not dirty bandits, people - had shown him a compassion so rare that he was obligated to remain by their side. Parched, starved and nearly dead, they had saved his mortal flesh, grounded his spirit and healed him till he could stand on his own. But rather than doing so, he remained with these kindly people, with this new family. He was their mentor, their teacher; they were his support, his shelter. He couldn't walk out on them, even now, chased down by the guards of many lands.

Unlike the other times, however, their futures looked grim.

Guardsmen from two neighbouring cities had joined forces to catch the vagabonds, and to make matters worse, the eldest of their crew, Daioh, was horribly ill, having come down with a fever that they simply couldn't cure. They hadn't the money for a medicine man, and even if they stole it, no doctors would treat the dirty gypsy filth. Farrah was the closest thing they had to a doctor, but all she could do was numb his body so he wouldn't feel the pain.

So, as they fled, Charles carried the old man on his back. But it wasn't long before the thunderous sounds of hooves and the shouting of many men caught up to them, surrounded them. They had no way out this time. Here in this field of grass there was no back-alley they could run to, and the guards knew it; they had steered the small band away from the city, away from any safety they might find. There was no sanctuary for them.

There were eight altogether, and while the gypsies had them outnumbered, these people were on horseback and bore deadly arms. Three among the troupe carried weapons - Farrah and Moira had with them a knife, and the eldest of the five children had a staff - but he was closely guarded by the two women, for no child could ever fight a guard and win.

"Come with us quietly, filth...and we might give you an easier sentence." ...A lie, of course, Charles knew it. But the lie did not bother him...rather, it was the look in that man's eyes, a look of utter, deadly malice. Charles could feel Daioh squirming on his back, and tried to grip the man's legs tighter to keep him from falling.

"Yah think we gon' believe you lyin' money-grubbers? Must think we're feckin' stupid, unh?" Charles froze. No. No, Daioh, stop...don't.... he breathed, but the guards had heard it, and looked none too happy. The man who had spoken to them first was positively fuming, but was talked down by another, calmer - yet equally displeased - man. "...Mind your tongue, thief, we only offer you the truth." Liar. "No matter what you do, you will be taken into custody. Cooperate, and you will be treated well." Liar. "We might even have that friend of yours looked at for his injuries - but whatever you do, you will be coming with us." LI-

"LIAR!"

A flash of silver caught Charles' eye in its blinding light, and he watched it sail through the air towards the guards. The world slowed down then, and he could feel his body grow numb and cold, even as the ring of metal striking armour wailed in his ears. Charles could feel himself falling, and soon found himself lying in the sopping grass with Daioh shouting beside him. Dazed, he lifted his head and saw the guards all but in a riot, with one of them having dismounted. He could hear shouting, loud and horrified shouting, but none of the words were discernible. His eyes, however, could see sharply - far too sharply - as that guard marched forward, drawing his sword and, despite the roars of what he could only assume were 'no', plunged the blade into the young woman's chest.

There was silence, then. Nothing but silence, as Farrah dropped like a rock.

And then, wailing and crying - and a much louder howl of despair from Daioh beside him. Charles' body was trembling s badly, but even as he tried to push himself up, he slipped back down again, helplessly watching as Daioh ran towards the man who had killed their beloved sister, armed with nothing but his fists, and....and fell, without landing a single punch. The guard let out a frightened sort of sound, something between genuine fear and paranoia. With his blade still embedded in the girl's body, he turned and grabbed Daioh by his cloak, and as a struggling Charles watched, the man had started whaling on the elder, each punch resounding horribly in his ears. Charles' eyes were swimming, and he crawled forward, pulling himself to his knees and shakily lurching to his feet, making an awkward and lopsided attempt at running towards the carnage.

"NO!" he heard himself shouting, "stop it...STOP IT! Don't!" But his pleas fell on the ears of a madman, whose head snapped up at the sight of the approaching youth, and instead of a pleading, weeping child...he saw another attacker. With a wail, he grabbed his sword, awkwardly pulling it from Farrah, and swung it towards the teen.

Charles screamed, faltering for but a moment and he doubled over, hugging himself against his knees as the sword swept down towards him. Steel bit into flesh, and he cried out in agony - but instead of slicing through his body, the weapon made a deep gash all the way down along his back. Charles shut his eyes. He was finished, he knew it; he was going to be killed like this. He was going to die....

...But agonizing moments passed by. Shouldn't it have happened by now? Shouldn't he have been cut down already?

Lifting his head painfully, Charles saw two guards holding the frantic man back. Looking around, he could see now that the other guards had all dismounted, and were standing protectively in front of the remaining gypsies. Then...they hadn't been standing around watching, he realized; they hadn't been egging him on with their shouts. They...had protected the gypsies.

One of the guards knelt by Charles, but he could hear nothing beyond his own crying, could see nothing through the tears. He was only vaguely aware of being lifted off the ground before finally losing consciousness.

--

"We've confiscated any effects on your person that you stole, and each of you has been appropriately treated. The old man who was...wounded in the altercation has been admitted to a proper treatment center where we hope he will make a full recovery. You may stay until then, but we advise that you leave immediately after. I can assure that you will not be chased, and the Lieutenant has been admitted to a psychiatric ward, but be aware that if I catch any news of thievery, I won't be letting you off the hook. This, though, is the least I can do after what has happened."

"What of Farrah? What will you do with the body?"

"The girl's body....it was our intention to bury her remains properly in the cemetery. Should you have a preferred burial location, we will allow you to take the body instead."

"...Yes, please. We would like to take her ourselves."

"Very well."

Charles was unable to speak as Moira made the arrangements with the Captain, his body still shivering just being in the man's presence. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Daioh and Farrah, brutally beaten and slain. He could feel the bite of a sword in his back. And all his mind could tell him was that he could not trust law enforcers....they sought to criminalize even those who couldn't afford to live any other way, and there were those among them...like the Lieutenant...who simply couldn't control their wretched desire to end others' lives. It was disgusting. People like them...were disgusting.

True to their word, Charles and the remaining six gypsies left that city together, with two bodies in their charge. They din't know where they would go next....but they would find somewhere better, somewhere safer. All Charles knew was that they needed to find somewhere to settle down, where they could get honest jobs and support each other without resorting to thievery. They couldn't lose anyone else.

[Nayru]

+25 Rupees!

[Josh Dragonsflame]

Nayru



“Mommy, can you tell me one of the Daddy stories? Please?”



The little brown eyes of a young Joshua DragonsFlame, with short blonde hair and the looks of a 6 year old, stared up at his mother with a begging look in his eyes, pleading with her to tell his favorite story again. He loved it when she told him the story about daddy being a Labrynnian Knight! She always described him as brave and bold and courageous, and she would use her big scary voice when voicing the monsters, and then a big deep voice for daddy! And she would tell about how he’d take on all these scary monsters, oh Hylia that was his favorite parts!



A red haired woman looked down kindly at her little boy and ruffled his hair. “Did you finish helping herd the goats today?” he asked. “Yes mommy!” Josh chirped in response with a big eager grin on his face. Was he gonna get his story? He’d worked hard, he swore! This was always the deal, if he worked hard on helping out on the ranch, he’d get a Daddy story.



“Alright, I trust you did” the woman, Serena DragonsFlame, rancher, former Labrynnian Knight and wife to the incredibly famous Knight known as Philip DragonsFlame said as she smiled down at him. “Go get ready for bed and I’ll meet you there!”



An elated grin crossed the energetic child’s face as he ran to his bedroom to get dressed for bed. The woman would peer into her own bedroom to see her husband, the great retired Knight Philip DragonsFlame sleeping in bed after a hard day’s work on the ranch. She smiled, remembering the days she’d spent at his side as he pulled off all these amazing exploits that made him famous… She didn’t regret the fact that she hadn’t become near as famous as he did, and was really only accessory to his feats. But they were experiences that she would never forget, and ones she would never take back. She knew they both deserved the rest now.



She would come to her child’s bedroom to find him eagerly lying in bed, having tucked himself in and staring at her with big eager eyes, obviously excited for the story.



“Alright, how do you feel about the story when your father and I took on a horde of Moblins?” she asked as she sat on the side of the bed. Out came an excited gasp from little Joshua, who nodded. “Yes, please!”



He listened excitedly as she began. “Well, there came a time where one of the important outposts were being assaulted by a mass of moblins, your father and I were right on the front lines, ready for the fight of our lives… Your father looked out at the Moblins and said…



And then she imitated him in a deep gruff voice, puffing out her chest and trying to sound heroic.



“Looks like we’re having Moblin Steak tonight….” She would say in that masculine voice, drawing a giggle from the six year old blonde.



And as the night drew on, she told stories of his every move, as he hacked and slashed and bravely took down every creature in his way in order to protect his country.



After an hour, she was just winding down.



“Then he stared down at the hill below as the soldiers and Knights cheered in victory, having protected their country from evil once again…. The End”



Looking over at her son, she noticed that at some point, likely just a minute or so ago, Joshua had fallen asleep happily and soundly. She smiled then and kissed his forehead, slowly walking out of the room to rest herself…

[Nayru]

Sorry it's so late! +25 Rupees to Josh Dragonsflame!

[Anabella Orin]

"Again."

A green haired girl no older than ten was sitting on the ground holding her right arm. She was wearing a white tunic, if one could even call it that. It was closer to a potato sack than that of a tunic, and it was soaked with sweat giving it a tint of brownish coloring. Her purple eyes glared upwards at a man crossing his arms. He was not wearing a shirt, but had brown pants tied by a blue fabric. He held a large wooden branch. His green eyes locked down on the girl as a low disappointed growl emmmiated from him. "I said again."

The girl snarled and picked up her thick stick and rose to her feet. She stanced herself placing two hands on the stick and facing her torso directly to the man in front of her. She was breathing heavily and her face was becoming more and more red from anger and irritation. There was some sort of spite that she felt looking at the man before her, but at the same time, it wasn't so spiteful that she wanted him to be eternally injured. There was respect there. And so, she charged forward, releasing a scream as she tilted the stick to point at the man. He stood there as she approached not smiling, not moving, not blinking. As she was approaching the other man, her stick was swatted away with his branch and she was jabbed in the stomach with the "hilt" of his weapon.

Coughing, she fell back onto her butt and gagged for several seconds. Her hands went to her stomach and her stick flew across the grass. "Did you learn nothing, boy? Swordplay isn't power. Power means nothing when you haven't any grace." The man rested his branch on his shoulder and frowned at the girl struggling pathetically on the ground.

"But it's not fair!" she cried through her heavy breaths. She lifted up her stick and waved it around carelessly while using her free hand to point at the large branch the older man had. "Yours is heavier than mine! Even if we hit them together right, you'd win because it's heavier and it's not fair!" She threw her stick to the ground and sat with both her arms and legs crossed giving a fat lip to the man in front of her. She was done with him and done with his antics. She wanted fairness and she wasn't getting it. How was she supposed to learn how to fight if the match was so one sided?

His expression didn't waver, not even for a moment. He let out a small sigh and furrowed his brow at the girl. "The world isn't going to be fair to you, boy. The man you face on the battlefield isn't going to wait for you to get the same equipment so that the fight is fair. I'm not training my son to be a sissy like you are acting now." He walked over to the girl and grabbed her by her tunic forcing her onto her feet. Once she was standing, he leaned over to grab her stick and shoved it in her hands. "Now again. This time, with grace, not power. You need to focus unless you want to die."

This was the point at which she honestly wanted to collapse and cry. She had been going at this for hours with this man, but nothing was coming to fruition. And this wasn't even the first nor the second time they had been doing this sort of thing. Day in and day out, she was getting beaten up by this man, and she couldn't do a thing about it. Why? Because her father wanted a son, and so he was making a son out of his daughter. Was it fair to her that she was born a woman when her father wanted a man? No, but he just told her that the world isn't going to be fair. She held her stick towards him again and this time, lunged without yelling; a single lunge for the outside portion of his shoulder so that when he swung to retaliate, it was weaker.

Instead, the plan was flipped on its head as he checked the stick out of the way using the area of the branch he was holding and kicked the girl in the chest, sending her down on her back. He held the branch just inches from her nose. "Dead," he said in a cold unwavering tone. Frustrated, the girl got back up and jumped at the man swinging the stick vertically down to his head. Instead of blocking the attack, he whapped the girl in the chest which knocked her down onto her butt again. "Dead." This process repeated four more times until she justs at on the ground panting and wanting to give up. No matter what she was trying, she was dead in the end. It wasn't like this was worth it at this point. It was so useless.

She threw her stick as far away in the other direction as she could and yelled. She picked up rocks throwing them as well and ripped the grass from the ground. She pounded on her knees and on her arms and face. She was beating herself up more than she already was. The man stood there watching her. He watched as she threw her tantrum and ultimately ended up throwing herself to the ground and whine. He heard nothing from her mouth that meant anything to him. He loomed over her and shook his head. "A son doesn't disgrace his father like you do. You fail me all too oft--" His speech was cut off as he felt a small prick on his stomach. He looked down and saw a small dagger shaped stick that the girl had kept in her pant leg poking at his stomach. She was holding it firmly between her toes on her right foot. She couldn't help but smile as he did.

"Dead."