Anyway, your feedback is appreciated. Keep in mind that this is all done on a lark, and when I feel like it. I would love critical feedback, but I'm also not very serious about this stuff (so, feel free to let the love/hate/tacos flow).
And 'ere we go, 'ere we go! (Part II will be up soon, as it's already done. Yay?)
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THE RAGE OF OGNARK: Part I
The Fruits of One's Labors
By S. G. Saunders
[This
excerpt of something probably most horrible was found by Imperial
archaeologists studying the now-dead world LZ-486c. Numerous translations have
yielded only this result. More research is currently underway. As for the
terrible fate that befell LZ-486c… that information is unknown at this time.
– Perseus Fractalthorpe Benzene IV, associate professor University of Doron
Ognark viewed the scene before him.
Carnage.
Absolute carnage.
Ognark thought of what he’d had to do to survive, he thought of his family and friends-- he thought of home. But not his home, nor his friends, nor his family could help him. No, all they would be is a carnage ridden mess if they'd been there. Ognark Thistlespoon let loose a low whistle. He was actually rather impressed with himself.
Absolute carnage.
Ognark thought of what he’d had to do to survive, he thought of his family and friends-- he thought of home. But not his home, nor his friends, nor his family could help him. No, all they would be is a carnage ridden mess if they'd been there. Ognark Thistlespoon let loose a low whistle. He was actually rather impressed with himself.
Ognark was impressed that he then
remembered that any friends and family he once had were dead, many by his own
hand.
Normally, it was unfortunate tavern patrons across theland of Evarmoore
What was different, exactly?
Ognark thought for a moment. Well, for one thing, the gentlemen at his feet had been killed with one of those stick things that held up a kiosk awning thing. Ognark had not expected some random person in theMarket Plaza
So much beautiful blood.
Normally, it was unfortunate tavern patrons across the
What was different, exactly?
Ognark thought for a moment. Well, for one thing, the gentlemen at his feet had been killed with one of those stick things that held up a kiosk awning thing. Ognark had not expected some random person in the
So much beautiful blood.
The mighty bipedal mass of meat thought
again. How many people had he killed? He tried counting a few times.
One, two, three... fifteen, sixteen... twenty, twenty-one?-- it had to be
scores. Ognark had trouble counting past the twenties, anyway. He didn't know
what a score was, really, or how many victims that could represent; but Ognark
was quite sure scores of foes littered the plaza.
At this moment, the morose silence was
abruptly shattered.
"Hoy! What is the Seven Hells has happened here? By Flurgstein's enormous balls, this is madness!! You! You there! What has transpired here?"
Ognark saw a man dressed in what he believed to be the city’s garish colors yelling to him. The man had black hair, dark eyes and lots of facial hair, which was also black. Ognark decided to quit noticing him, because unless he was slaying him or loving him, he cared not for such trivial details.
"Hoy! What is the Seven Hells has happened here? By Flurgstein's enormous balls, this is madness!! You! You there! What has transpired here?"
Ognark saw a man dressed in what he believed to be the city’s garish colors yelling to him. The man had black hair, dark eyes and lots of facial hair, which was also black. Ognark decided to quit noticing him, because unless he was slaying him or loving him, he cared not for such trivial details.
Or entrails. Entrails are tasty if fried up
right.
Ognark felt hungry all of a sudden.
"Trans... pired?" Ognark let the words flow slowly from his mighty jaws, "I don't think weather has much to do with this, friend."
The man screwed his face into an expression of sincere confusion. "WHAT? Who are you, sir? From whence do you hail? And what manner of creature was responsible for this slaughter?"
Ognark took in a deep breath. He then spied another dead body, this one covered in pieces of various fruits. Ah, that's right, he mulled (or is it muled?). He had killed that particular fellow with the contents of a fruit cart.
His voice now a proud growl, Ognark spoke. "I would be that port-icular manner of creature, sirrah. 'Tis me who purpose-trated this righteous fury."
The man looked ill. He seemed to be trying to catch his breath.
"Trans... pired?" Ognark let the words flow slowly from his mighty jaws, "I don't think weather has much to do with this, friend."
The man screwed his face into an expression of sincere confusion. "WHAT? Who are you, sir? From whence do you hail? And what manner of creature was responsible for this slaughter?"
Ognark took in a deep breath. He then spied another dead body, this one covered in pieces of various fruits. Ah, that's right, he mulled (or is it muled?). He had killed that particular fellow with the contents of a fruit cart.
His voice now a proud growl, Ognark spoke. "I would be that port-icular manner of creature, sirrah. 'Tis me who purpose-trated this righteous fury."
The man looked ill. He seemed to be trying to catch his breath.
Men who looked like this, Ognark thought,
should be put to death for the good of the women who will avoid them anyway.
Ognark continued. "I pray fear you are next, for mighty Ognark Thistlespoon of Yonder Waystes will suffer no fools... uh, fool."
The man whimpered. "But... but why?"
"Because ‘fool’ is all I can think of—Oh, uh, prices," Ognark huffed, moving his long, jet black hair from his mighty face with a mighty hand, "Now be a nice man and fetch me my axe. It's over there... in that rather portly fellow's chest."
Ognark continued. "I pray fear you are next, for mighty Ognark Thistlespoon of Yonder Waystes will suffer no fools... uh, fool."
The man whimpered. "But... but why?"
"Because ‘fool’ is all I can think of—Oh, uh, prices," Ognark huffed, moving his long, jet black hair from his mighty face with a mighty hand, "Now be a nice man and fetch me my axe. It's over there... in that rather portly fellow's chest."
The man dressed in the city’s garish colors
promptly fainted.
“Useless,” Ognark muttered. People dressed
as guards, or watchmen, or guards usually tended to be useless. Bribeable,
sure, which made them slightly more useful when he needed to get in to places
unnoticed, or hide in whorehouses, or to pay them to look the other way…
Ognark placed some coins in the trousers of the city guard (if that’s what he was). It was time to get going, and Ognark grabbed a nearby cart and started filling it with corpses. Finally, after a few minutes, locals began to show their faces, feeling safer in the fact that they could see what’s going on without losing said faces.
The barbarian looked around, made eye-contact with a few of those horrified faces and he smiled. He couldn’t really recall why he murdered all of those people. Was it a price issue? Did one of them aggress him? Hmmm… think to think about.
One thing was for sure. It was best to just slit the guard’s throat. The gold was left in his trousers… for the man’s family, if he had one. That was the right thing to do. Now Ognark had to leave this city, whatever it was called… he counted his blessings that everything occurred just outside the walls in the open market. He hated it when things got complicated and lead to putting yet another settlement on the list of places to avoid for awhile.
Ognark placed some coins in the trousers of the city guard (if that’s what he was). It was time to get going, and Ognark grabbed a nearby cart and started filling it with corpses. Finally, after a few minutes, locals began to show their faces, feeling safer in the fact that they could see what’s going on without losing said faces.
The barbarian looked around, made eye-contact with a few of those horrified faces and he smiled. He couldn’t really recall why he murdered all of those people. Was it a price issue? Did one of them aggress him? Hmmm… think to think about.
One thing was for sure. It was best to just slit the guard’s throat. The gold was left in his trousers… for the man’s family, if he had one. That was the right thing to do. Now Ognark had to leave this city, whatever it was called… he counted his blessings that everything occurred just outside the walls in the open market. He hated it when things got complicated and lead to putting yet another settlement on the list of places to avoid for awhile.
His mighty face let loose a mighty grin…
Once a mercenary captain he worked with, and eventually decapitated, told him that “it’s always best to look on the bright side of things”. Of course, the captain had said it when his head was still attached. His head didn’t say much after it was cut off, but once it was placed into a small burlap sack, local children seemed to enjoy playing games with it.
Our hero, heeding this dead decapitated
mercenary captain’s words, continued to grin as he ventured back into the
Wilderness. The cart creaked and the captured mules made unhappy noises. But
Ognark didn’t care.
He now had meals and trade goods for his long
and hunger-inducing journey.
***
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