Lafayette
Man of Artistic Fingers
I thought that since I am writing and wondering about duels and weapons that I should give you all an idea where I'm coming from.
Percy followed suit, however he soon was out distanced and found himself in a clearing strewn with round and flat boulders and surrounded by trees. Determined to stay with the quest he spurred his mare. The mare picked up speed, but in doing so she swerve to avoid tripping on large rocks. The sudden movement caught Percy off guard and he lost his balance and on the ground he soon laid.
Wanting to swear and biting his tongue (for Trues do not cuss) he stumbled to his feet while his mount looked at him with sad brown eyes.
“That is one ornery nag you got there,” cackled a voice. “You need to get rid of her. Let us take her off your hands.”
Percy turned his head to see a scruffy brown haired man wearing brown scruffy clothes and a dirty grin. Behind him were four more scruffy men, all leering at him. They also wore swords.
Brushing the dirt off himself, Percy smiled back. “She’s a good horse. The problem is with me. I’m a poor rider. Besides that, she is not mine to get rid of. She belongs to the Duke of Dare.”
“Well, then,” said the scruffy man, “since you can’t ride her anyway, me and my friends will just have to take her off your hands and return her to the duke. I’m sure the good duke will reward us generously for our good deed.”
“No no. You don’t understand,” said Percy excitedly. “The horse is for me to ride. I’m part of the quest.”
The scruffy man turned toward his friends with a knowing look. His friends all snickered. The man placed his hands on his waist, bowed his head, and spat tobacco at Percy’s feet.
Percy jumped.
Hornice then grinned at him.
“Supposin’ you tell us what this quest is for.”
“It’s a quest for Magicwood.”
“Did you hear that Fornac? Magicwood!”
The five men laughed loudly. One called out, “He’s a liar! There is no such thing as Magicwood!”
When the men quit laughing, the leader stared and grimaced at Percy and asked, “Groneer what do you say?”
“I say, he’s not only a thief, but a liar too. But what else can you expect from a Truey?”
“A Truey! Are you sure?” queried the leader.
“Look at his ears, Hornice. They’re pierced with copper rings.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Groneer.” Hornice took two strides to Penoit and sneered, “Are you a Truey?”
Percy took a deep breath, “Yes, I’m a Truey.”
Hornice’s eyes burned, “Is it true if someone, like me, hits a Truey in the face he wouldn’t hit back?”
“Yes, the scriptures say we are to do no man violence.”
With a jar, Percy heard and felt a thud. He put his hand to his mouth; he was bleeding.
“Come on, hit me back, worm,” growled Hornice.
“No! I will do no violence.’’
Percy felt and heard a loud crack. He staggered and sensed more pain.
“Come on, you coward, fight back! I won’t hurt you too much if you fight.”
“No no no,” cried Percy as he essayed to retreat.
“Nooo, you aren’t going anywhere, fat boy,” said Groneer as he and the three others blocked Percy’s escape.
All five raised their fists and swung. Percy struggled to avoid their punches to no gain. He was too slow and too fat. Battered and spent, he soon was writhing on the ground screaming as they kicked him.
“Alright, Boys, you had your fun. Now, let him be.”
All eyes turned to see a green hatted redhead casually sitting on a stallion grinning at them.
“Who in the hell are you?” snapped Hornice.
“I am Lawrence Lee Fairmon of Renon The Fifth Son of Duke of Dare,” answered the redhead. My friends call me Daring of Dare.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of you. So, why in a vulture’s puke should you care about a Truey?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t. In fact, I don’t like him. However, my father, Duke Edward Faremon of Dare does and needs him to make an instrument of Magicwood for the coronation of our new king. And so, sadly, Mister Persy Pane is under my protection.’’
“Magicwood! Did you hear that, boys?” sniggered Hornice. “His father believes in Magicwood and he is supposed to protect a low life Truey. Ain’t that a bag of manure?”
The scruffy men hooted and hollered and pounded each other on their backs. Then one of them said, “His father is full of sh*t.’’
Hornice stared up at Lafayette and added, “Zehzon is right, your father is full of sh*t and I will add a fool’s ass.”
Like a flash of lighting in a midnight-black sky Lawrence somersaulted over his horse’s head, landed on his feet, and jabbed his Itching sword at the scruffy leader with blazing jade eyes and in a cold and growling tone said, “No one speaks that way about my father and keeps his manhood, peasant piss. En garde.”
“No one calls me peasant piss, especially a rooster boy,” snarled Hornice. Then pushing Lawrence's blade aside he added, “Come on, feel the blade of a real man before you whimper and die.” Breaking the solitude of his scabbard, his sword flashed forth.
The four scruffies snickered and jeered as they gave space for the duelists. “Don’t kill him right away, Hornice. Leave his ass for us so we can practice tattooing.”
Lawrence move with his back to a tree that was near some boulders and took a stance and waited.
The fool, thought Percy. Struggling and sweating to stand on his feet. He’s going to get himself killed all because of words. I just hope the other four don’t interfere.
Oh, Creator, please give us a miracle. And please forgive Lawrence’s pride and foolishness.
Hornice swung high to decapitate the redhead. Lawrence ducked and sliced into his foe’s belly, drawing blood. Hornice snarled and backed away, then charged and lunged low, aiming for the stomach. The redhead caught the blade and quickly and effortlessly countered with another belly slash, drawing more blood. Hornice charge again, steel met steel, and a cacophony ensued and ended with the scruffy one wearing lacerations.
Within minutes, Hornice backed peddled, breathing hard. Anger lived in his eyes, and so did fear. Trying to ignore his growing pain, he cautiously stepped forward with his arm and sword pointing outward.
Without a word, four men emulated Hornice, drawing their swords and stepping toward Lawrence with grimness in their eyes.
Lawrence pounced on a flat boulder, and laughing, threw two oriental daggers.
The two sais found their marks into the chest of two scruffies. Groneer and Fornac crumbled to the ground with a gasp.
The other three men blinked, then they stormed, yelling and swinging their weapons angrily.
Lawence leaped and danced, evading three swinging blades whilst swinging back rendering wounds. Then, adding to their frustration, he leapt over them. Lawrence being behind all of them now (including their leader), caught Hornice off guard and ran him through.
The remaining two with bulging eyes, witnessing their leader crashing to the ground, ran.
As they ran, Lawrence bellowed, “Remember, when insulting my father, you are dealing with the Master of the Sword!”
After gathering his daggers from the dead and meticulously cleaning his sword, Lawrence stood before Percy, staring.
Percy was a mess. He had a black eye, both cheeks were purple and one had a cut on it, his mouth was swollen and oozing blood and his clothes were tattered and dirty and he was limping.
Lawrence didn’t know if he felt pity or anger.
“Didn’t you know they were thieves trying to steal your horse?” barked Lawrence “Didn’t you realize they wanted to kill you? Why didn’t you at least try to fight back? How could you let them abuse you like that? I’ve seen mice put up a better fights.”
“Oui, I had an idea that they were intent on stealing the horse,” answered Percy, “but I thought being non-confrontational, I could talk them out of stealing the horse.”
Lawrence rolled his eyes.
“As for killing me, I thought not. Why should they? I posed no threat to them. At first, I thought that they only meant to make sport of me until they started hitting me. I didn’t try to fight back, because a Truey is to turn the other cheek.”
“Damn it, Percy,” said the redhead. “You only have two cheeks, unless you count your ass, and they kicked that one pretty bad too. You’re a mess, Percy Do you have any broken bones?”
*****
Percy followed suit, however he soon was out distanced and found himself in a clearing strewn with round and flat boulders and surrounded by trees. Determined to stay with the quest he spurred his mare. The mare picked up speed, but in doing so she swerve to avoid tripping on large rocks. The sudden movement caught Percy off guard and he lost his balance and on the ground he soon laid.
Wanting to swear and biting his tongue (for Trues do not cuss) he stumbled to his feet while his mount looked at him with sad brown eyes.
“That is one ornery nag you got there,” cackled a voice. “You need to get rid of her. Let us take her off your hands.”
Percy turned his head to see a scruffy brown haired man wearing brown scruffy clothes and a dirty grin. Behind him were four more scruffy men, all leering at him. They also wore swords.
Brushing the dirt off himself, Percy smiled back. “She’s a good horse. The problem is with me. I’m a poor rider. Besides that, she is not mine to get rid of. She belongs to the Duke of Dare.”
“Well, then,” said the scruffy man, “since you can’t ride her anyway, me and my friends will just have to take her off your hands and return her to the duke. I’m sure the good duke will reward us generously for our good deed.”
“No no. You don’t understand,” said Percy excitedly. “The horse is for me to ride. I’m part of the quest.”
The scruffy man turned toward his friends with a knowing look. His friends all snickered. The man placed his hands on his waist, bowed his head, and spat tobacco at Percy’s feet.
Percy jumped.
Hornice then grinned at him.
“Supposin’ you tell us what this quest is for.”
“It’s a quest for Magicwood.”
“Did you hear that Fornac? Magicwood!”
The five men laughed loudly. One called out, “He’s a liar! There is no such thing as Magicwood!”
When the men quit laughing, the leader stared and grimaced at Percy and asked, “Groneer what do you say?”
“I say, he’s not only a thief, but a liar too. But what else can you expect from a Truey?”
“A Truey! Are you sure?” queried the leader.
“Look at his ears, Hornice. They’re pierced with copper rings.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Groneer.” Hornice took two strides to Penoit and sneered, “Are you a Truey?”
Percy took a deep breath, “Yes, I’m a Truey.”
Hornice’s eyes burned, “Is it true if someone, like me, hits a Truey in the face he wouldn’t hit back?”
“Yes, the scriptures say we are to do no man violence.”
With a jar, Percy heard and felt a thud. He put his hand to his mouth; he was bleeding.
“Come on, hit me back, worm,” growled Hornice.
“No! I will do no violence.’’
Percy felt and heard a loud crack. He staggered and sensed more pain.
“Come on, you coward, fight back! I won’t hurt you too much if you fight.”
“No no no,” cried Percy as he essayed to retreat.
“Nooo, you aren’t going anywhere, fat boy,” said Groneer as he and the three others blocked Percy’s escape.
All five raised their fists and swung. Percy struggled to avoid their punches to no gain. He was too slow and too fat. Battered and spent, he soon was writhing on the ground screaming as they kicked him.
“Alright, Boys, you had your fun. Now, let him be.”
All eyes turned to see a green hatted redhead casually sitting on a stallion grinning at them.
“Who in the hell are you?” snapped Hornice.
“I am Lawrence Lee Fairmon of Renon The Fifth Son of Duke of Dare,” answered the redhead. My friends call me Daring of Dare.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of you. So, why in a vulture’s puke should you care about a Truey?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t. In fact, I don’t like him. However, my father, Duke Edward Faremon of Dare does and needs him to make an instrument of Magicwood for the coronation of our new king. And so, sadly, Mister Persy Pane is under my protection.’’
“Magicwood! Did you hear that, boys?” sniggered Hornice. “His father believes in Magicwood and he is supposed to protect a low life Truey. Ain’t that a bag of manure?”
The scruffy men hooted and hollered and pounded each other on their backs. Then one of them said, “His father is full of sh*t.’’
Hornice stared up at Lafayette and added, “Zehzon is right, your father is full of sh*t and I will add a fool’s ass.”
Like a flash of lighting in a midnight-black sky Lawrence somersaulted over his horse’s head, landed on his feet, and jabbed his Itching sword at the scruffy leader with blazing jade eyes and in a cold and growling tone said, “No one speaks that way about my father and keeps his manhood, peasant piss. En garde.”
“No one calls me peasant piss, especially a rooster boy,” snarled Hornice. Then pushing Lawrence's blade aside he added, “Come on, feel the blade of a real man before you whimper and die.” Breaking the solitude of his scabbard, his sword flashed forth.
The four scruffies snickered and jeered as they gave space for the duelists. “Don’t kill him right away, Hornice. Leave his ass for us so we can practice tattooing.”
Lawrence move with his back to a tree that was near some boulders and took a stance and waited.
The fool, thought Percy. Struggling and sweating to stand on his feet. He’s going to get himself killed all because of words. I just hope the other four don’t interfere.
Oh, Creator, please give us a miracle. And please forgive Lawrence’s pride and foolishness.
Hornice swung high to decapitate the redhead. Lawrence ducked and sliced into his foe’s belly, drawing blood. Hornice snarled and backed away, then charged and lunged low, aiming for the stomach. The redhead caught the blade and quickly and effortlessly countered with another belly slash, drawing more blood. Hornice charge again, steel met steel, and a cacophony ensued and ended with the scruffy one wearing lacerations.
Within minutes, Hornice backed peddled, breathing hard. Anger lived in his eyes, and so did fear. Trying to ignore his growing pain, he cautiously stepped forward with his arm and sword pointing outward.
Without a word, four men emulated Hornice, drawing their swords and stepping toward Lawrence with grimness in their eyes.
Lawrence pounced on a flat boulder, and laughing, threw two oriental daggers.
The two sais found their marks into the chest of two scruffies. Groneer and Fornac crumbled to the ground with a gasp.
The other three men blinked, then they stormed, yelling and swinging their weapons angrily.
Lawence leaped and danced, evading three swinging blades whilst swinging back rendering wounds. Then, adding to their frustration, he leapt over them. Lawrence being behind all of them now (including their leader), caught Hornice off guard and ran him through.
The remaining two with bulging eyes, witnessing their leader crashing to the ground, ran.
As they ran, Lawrence bellowed, “Remember, when insulting my father, you are dealing with the Master of the Sword!”
After gathering his daggers from the dead and meticulously cleaning his sword, Lawrence stood before Percy, staring.
Percy was a mess. He had a black eye, both cheeks were purple and one had a cut on it, his mouth was swollen and oozing blood and his clothes were tattered and dirty and he was limping.
Lawrence didn’t know if he felt pity or anger.
“Didn’t you know they were thieves trying to steal your horse?” barked Lawrence “Didn’t you realize they wanted to kill you? Why didn’t you at least try to fight back? How could you let them abuse you like that? I’ve seen mice put up a better fights.”
“Oui, I had an idea that they were intent on stealing the horse,” answered Percy, “but I thought being non-confrontational, I could talk them out of stealing the horse.”
Lawrence rolled his eyes.
“As for killing me, I thought not. Why should they? I posed no threat to them. At first, I thought that they only meant to make sport of me until they started hitting me. I didn’t try to fight back, because a Truey is to turn the other cheek.”
“Damn it, Percy,” said the redhead. “You only have two cheeks, unless you count your ass, and they kicked that one pretty bad too. You’re a mess, Percy Do you have any broken bones?”
