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The Rogue [DRG2015]
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The Rogue sat in a dimly lit corner in The Green Gander idly cleaning chicken grease and dirt from beneath his ruggedly groomed fingernails.
Lying next to the remnants of his supper was a haphazardly stacked set of playing cards, the joker lay face up beside a greasy fork and a splotch of
red wine. A silvered dagger was struck through the card pinning it to the table.
The Rogue was just about to grow bored with his surroundings when a man approached his exiled table. The Rogue's eyes played ever so slightly to the silvered dagger pinning the joker card to the rough hewn oak table.
"Rogue?" Asked a thin voice.
"Who?" Murmured The Rogue.
The fat man was wearing slippers and smelled like some exotic spice. His jowls hung down past his chin giving him the appearance of some ridiculous dog. There was a ring on his finger with some unfamiliar sigil set in it, it looked like a coin with a tear drop on it. The Rogue grunted and reached for his lute, Fatbelly (ironic considering present company), and made to take his leave.
Before The Rogue could react the sweet smelling fat man had a very sharp looking stiletto in his hand.
"Look," he said sweetly, "there's no point in being coy, I know who you are."
"That right? Who am I then?"
"Why," he giggled, "you are the man they call The Rogue."
"Am I?" Asked The Rogue.
"Yes, you are. Otherwise I would not be here talking to you. My story, however intriguing, is not of importance. What is important is that I have information for The Rogue. Interested, Joker?" Finished the fat man as he fingered the Joker card on the table.
"Go on." Said The Rogue.
•°•°•
The Rogue waited outside a lavishly furnished manse as a carriage drawn by two Clydesdale horses pulled out through a sharply pointed wrought iron gate. The sound of hooves and iron clad wheels clacking against the cobbles faded down the thoroughfare as The Rogue made his way up the steps of the Manse. He was reaching for the door lever when he heard something growling on the other side of the door.
"Bugger." Said The Rogue, turning to head around to the back of the lavishly furnished manse. Shortly thereafter, he stumbled upon a rabbit hutch. Moving toward it, The Rogue noticed several large black and white rabbits. The Rogue opens the hutch and places a rabbit on the ground. Leaving the critter there he makes his way toward a nearby backdoor, opens the door and waits.
After a while, a very large cur of some variety began sniffing about and eventually found his way to the open rabbit hutch, at which point The Rogue deftly entered the domicile, closing the door gently behind him.
•°•°•
The Rogue was poking about the master bedroom when he heard a servant or two making a fuss outside regarding an incident involving a rather conspicuous rabbit hutch and a certain notorious cur, when he found exactly what he was looking for.
The jewelry box was nice enough. It was the lock that gave it away though. No one needs a Harrum Cobstein lock to keep bloody jewelry safe. It was amateurs like this that had caused The Rogue to become cynical and disillusioned with his work to begin with. At any rate, the jewelry box was harboring a button predictably concealed within, yes you guessed it, a false bottom. Clever.
Once The Rogue pressed the button a false wall swung slightly ajar, allowing a space large enough for two men to enter walking abreast. There was a button similar to the other mounted on the wall in a plainly decorated iron plaque. Pressing the button closed the false wall behind him, as expected.
The Rogue paused to listen but heard nothing out of the ordinary so he reached into a satchel at his belt and pulled out a small stone, giving it a rub, the stone flared to a brilliant glow. The Rogue began walking down the corridor. The walls were bare but well-quarried stone though not polished and quite ancient when compared to the construction of the rest of the manse. Curious.
The corridor wrapped and wound at a downward angle for some time until finally opening into an oval shaped room with a vaulted ceiling whereupon hung a chandelier constructed entirely of bones. Some twisted and ghastly others so large they could not possibly be of any humanoid race, most likely troll or ogre possibly even minotaur. Large gold colored candles burned in the chandelier occasionally dripping a splotch of golden wax onto the cold hard stone, no one said it was a good chandelier but it did have a certain aesthetic appeal that was typical when dealing with maniacal dungeon masters.
The Rogue moved beneath the chandelier but felt a breeze on the back of his neck. Turning, The Rogue was struck full force in the chest. He caught only a brief glimpse of a flitting shadow before tumbling to the ground.
The Rogue grunted and drew his magic dagger, Spiritspite, and swung to meet his foe.
Hanging upon the bone chandelier was a large leathery stirge. It was pale and flesh colored with bat-like wings and a long pointed stinger for a mouth. It looked like a bat crossed with a mosquito and twice as deadly.
The stirge dropped from the chandelier and spread its wings heading straight for The Rogue. Anticipating, The Rogue Jukes quickly to the right, dodging the stirge's attack and, lunging deftly with Spiritspite, the dagger strikes the stirge, just barely and bursts into flames as its ashes flutter to the stone floor.
Suddenly a voice echoes through the room.
The Rogue was just about to grow bored with his surroundings when a man approached his exiled table. The Rogue's eyes played ever so slightly to the silvered dagger pinning the joker card to the rough hewn oak table.
"Rogue?" Asked a thin voice.
"Who?" Murmured The Rogue.
The fat man was wearing slippers and smelled like some exotic spice. His jowls hung down past his chin giving him the appearance of some ridiculous dog. There was a ring on his finger with some unfamiliar sigil set in it, it looked like a coin with a tear drop on it. The Rogue grunted and reached for his lute, Fatbelly (ironic considering present company), and made to take his leave.
Before The Rogue could react the sweet smelling fat man had a very sharp looking stiletto in his hand.
"Look," he said sweetly, "there's no point in being coy, I know who you are."
"That right? Who am I then?"
"Why," he giggled, "you are the man they call The Rogue."
"Am I?" Asked The Rogue.
"Yes, you are. Otherwise I would not be here talking to you. My story, however intriguing, is not of importance. What is important is that I have information for The Rogue. Interested, Joker?" Finished the fat man as he fingered the Joker card on the table.
"Go on." Said The Rogue.
•°•°•
The Rogue waited outside a lavishly furnished manse as a carriage drawn by two Clydesdale horses pulled out through a sharply pointed wrought iron gate. The sound of hooves and iron clad wheels clacking against the cobbles faded down the thoroughfare as The Rogue made his way up the steps of the Manse. He was reaching for the door lever when he heard something growling on the other side of the door.
"Bugger." Said The Rogue, turning to head around to the back of the lavishly furnished manse. Shortly thereafter, he stumbled upon a rabbit hutch. Moving toward it, The Rogue noticed several large black and white rabbits. The Rogue opens the hutch and places a rabbit on the ground. Leaving the critter there he makes his way toward a nearby backdoor, opens the door and waits.
After a while, a very large cur of some variety began sniffing about and eventually found his way to the open rabbit hutch, at which point The Rogue deftly entered the domicile, closing the door gently behind him.
•°•°•
The Rogue was poking about the master bedroom when he heard a servant or two making a fuss outside regarding an incident involving a rather conspicuous rabbit hutch and a certain notorious cur, when he found exactly what he was looking for.
The jewelry box was nice enough. It was the lock that gave it away though. No one needs a Harrum Cobstein lock to keep bloody jewelry safe. It was amateurs like this that had caused The Rogue to become cynical and disillusioned with his work to begin with. At any rate, the jewelry box was harboring a button predictably concealed within, yes you guessed it, a false bottom. Clever.
Once The Rogue pressed the button a false wall swung slightly ajar, allowing a space large enough for two men to enter walking abreast. There was a button similar to the other mounted on the wall in a plainly decorated iron plaque. Pressing the button closed the false wall behind him, as expected.
The Rogue paused to listen but heard nothing out of the ordinary so he reached into a satchel at his belt and pulled out a small stone, giving it a rub, the stone flared to a brilliant glow. The Rogue began walking down the corridor. The walls were bare but well-quarried stone though not polished and quite ancient when compared to the construction of the rest of the manse. Curious.
The corridor wrapped and wound at a downward angle for some time until finally opening into an oval shaped room with a vaulted ceiling whereupon hung a chandelier constructed entirely of bones. Some twisted and ghastly others so large they could not possibly be of any humanoid race, most likely troll or ogre possibly even minotaur. Large gold colored candles burned in the chandelier occasionally dripping a splotch of golden wax onto the cold hard stone, no one said it was a good chandelier but it did have a certain aesthetic appeal that was typical when dealing with maniacal dungeon masters.
The Rogue moved beneath the chandelier but felt a breeze on the back of his neck. Turning, The Rogue was struck full force in the chest. He caught only a brief glimpse of a flitting shadow before tumbling to the ground.
The Rogue grunted and drew his magic dagger, Spiritspite, and swung to meet his foe.
Hanging upon the bone chandelier was a large leathery stirge. It was pale and flesh colored with bat-like wings and a long pointed stinger for a mouth. It looked like a bat crossed with a mosquito and twice as deadly.
The stirge dropped from the chandelier and spread its wings heading straight for The Rogue. Anticipating, The Rogue Jukes quickly to the right, dodging the stirge's attack and, lunging deftly with Spiritspite, the dagger strikes the stirge, just barely and bursts into flames as its ashes flutter to the stone floor.
Suddenly a voice echoes through the room.
"Salutations, Rogue."
Pausing, The Rogue tentatively says, "Hello... have we... umm... met?"
A flash of flame and the room fills with laughter, The Rogue glimpses a horde of coins and other various artifacts both large and small. He briefly glimpses the hulking form lying atop of the treasure horde. Pale yellow eyes, pools of molten gold, the grinning visage, the horns twisting round and framing his scaled snout, the maw a razor filled vise of pseudo-wisdom and half-baked riddles. The Rogue was never a fan of Red Dragons. He says, "What's your name Draconairre?"
The dragon laughs again and says, "How formal short-life, you may call me Rhakalaskhazadan, I am elsewhere known as Bloodthrone the Twice-Forged but you can call Red. Do you know why you are here Rogue?"
"The money I assume."
"Yes, but why are you really here?"
"To kill you Draconairre."
"You spell as though you know me, short-life... Why did you ask my name?"
"You know why, Draconairre."
A burst of flame and a roar of frustration, "STOP CALLING ME THAT! You... you... inexcusable little up-jumped baboon! I have made feasts of your people! I sit upon their riches, tell me Mr. Rogue who is it that I killed that has caused you so much pain?"
His voice a hoarse whisper The Rogue says, "Everyone."
"Speak up human!"
"EVERYONE! You killed them all. The last city you razed Red. You killed them all. Men. Women. You killed the children Red. All but one..."
The dragon sighs dramatically and says, "And here you are after all these years to kill me. So you can be the dragonslayer, the man that killed the last living dragon in the world. Well, I've got a bit of news before I roast you, short-life, I am not, in fact the last living dragon so even if you have the Dragon Crucible and manage to kill me I have a well protected clutch of eggs in a well hidden fortress in a well defended mountain range. Hows that short-life? Twenty-three years Rogue. Do you know what that means?"
"You will have been dead for twenty-three years."
"Hmmph, stoic to the end I'll give that to you short-lives. No, in twenty-three years my eggs will hatch and a new Dragon Dynasty will regain dominion over Gæa. Imagine, humans and elves all pressed back into servitude. We left a lot of gold unmined you know. The new dynasty will need Hardy workers."
"Tell me Red, are all dragons so arrogant?"
"Only as much as all men are fools."
"What would you say if I told you all your eggs were dead, Draconairre? That I burned them myself, squishing the stragglers beneath the heel of my boot?"
"I would say you are a liar, short-life. And a bad one at that."
"Quite, what then, would you say if I told you I had recovered the Dragon Crucible?"
"Again I name you liar."
"If I were to prove one would you believe the other?"
"Do you presume to undermine my intelligence short-life?"
"Answer the question Draconairre."
"I suppose if you were to prove one then I may consider the other."
At that the Rogue reached into his bag and produced a teak box with Ruby, sapphire and onyx inlay, he opens the box and the room is bathed in a ruddy blue glow. A mechanical whir is emitted from within the box and, shortly, a fist sized sphere floats upward from the box. The sphere begins to rearrange itself as human and dragon look on in awe. Gyros are produced from the sphere, they begin to rotate madly as the mechanical whir intensifies.
The dragon mutters, "No, but how did you..."
"Get past the Sphinx? Well, lets just say I'm a man of many mysteries my friend." Quips The Rogue, placing his hands in his pockets.
"I suppose this is goodbye then?"
"Yeah, it is Red."
"My eggs?"
"That's the fun of it Red, you'll never know. Not that it matters where you're going."
"You treacherous little... I bloody hate you humans, too damned determined! You never let well enough alone and it causes you nothing but misery! You NEED master's!"
"That's where you're wrong Red. All we need is love."
The Crucible had expanded to five times its original size and was whirring louder than ever. The wind from its gyroscopic spinning blew back The Rogue's hood and was tossling his hair as the Dragon was disassembled piece by piece and transported to wherever the Crucible relocates dragons. Hell, is what the legends call it.
At last Red had been fully dematerialized, at which point the Dragon Crucible reverted to its original state and fell to the floor.
The Rogue walks over and picks up the Crucible. He tosses it up and catches it again.
"Twenty-three years..."
Pausing, The Rogue tentatively says, "Hello... have we... umm... met?"
A flash of flame and the room fills with laughter, The Rogue glimpses a horde of coins and other various artifacts both large and small. He briefly glimpses the hulking form lying atop of the treasure horde. Pale yellow eyes, pools of molten gold, the grinning visage, the horns twisting round and framing his scaled snout, the maw a razor filled vise of pseudo-wisdom and half-baked riddles. The Rogue was never a fan of Red Dragons. He says, "What's your name Draconairre?"
The dragon laughs again and says, "How formal short-life, you may call me Rhakalaskhazadan, I am elsewhere known as Bloodthrone the Twice-Forged but you can call Red. Do you know why you are here Rogue?"
"The money I assume."
"Yes, but why are you really here?"
"To kill you Draconairre."
"You spell as though you know me, short-life... Why did you ask my name?"
"You know why, Draconairre."
A burst of flame and a roar of frustration, "STOP CALLING ME THAT! You... you... inexcusable little up-jumped baboon! I have made feasts of your people! I sit upon their riches, tell me Mr. Rogue who is it that I killed that has caused you so much pain?"
His voice a hoarse whisper The Rogue says, "Everyone."
"Speak up human!"
"EVERYONE! You killed them all. The last city you razed Red. You killed them all. Men. Women. You killed the children Red. All but one..."
The dragon sighs dramatically and says, "And here you are after all these years to kill me. So you can be the dragonslayer, the man that killed the last living dragon in the world. Well, I've got a bit of news before I roast you, short-life, I am not, in fact the last living dragon so even if you have the Dragon Crucible and manage to kill me I have a well protected clutch of eggs in a well hidden fortress in a well defended mountain range. Hows that short-life? Twenty-three years Rogue. Do you know what that means?"
"You will have been dead for twenty-three years."
"Hmmph, stoic to the end I'll give that to you short-lives. No, in twenty-three years my eggs will hatch and a new Dragon Dynasty will regain dominion over Gæa. Imagine, humans and elves all pressed back into servitude. We left a lot of gold unmined you know. The new dynasty will need Hardy workers."
"Tell me Red, are all dragons so arrogant?"
"Only as much as all men are fools."
"What would you say if I told you all your eggs were dead, Draconairre? That I burned them myself, squishing the stragglers beneath the heel of my boot?"
"I would say you are a liar, short-life. And a bad one at that."
"Quite, what then, would you say if I told you I had recovered the Dragon Crucible?"
"Again I name you liar."
"If I were to prove one would you believe the other?"
"Do you presume to undermine my intelligence short-life?"
"Answer the question Draconairre."
"I suppose if you were to prove one then I may consider the other."
At that the Rogue reached into his bag and produced a teak box with Ruby, sapphire and onyx inlay, he opens the box and the room is bathed in a ruddy blue glow. A mechanical whir is emitted from within the box and, shortly, a fist sized sphere floats upward from the box. The sphere begins to rearrange itself as human and dragon look on in awe. Gyros are produced from the sphere, they begin to rotate madly as the mechanical whir intensifies.
The dragon mutters, "No, but how did you..."
"Get past the Sphinx? Well, lets just say I'm a man of many mysteries my friend." Quips The Rogue, placing his hands in his pockets.
"I suppose this is goodbye then?"
"Yeah, it is Red."
"My eggs?"
"That's the fun of it Red, you'll never know. Not that it matters where you're going."
"You treacherous little... I bloody hate you humans, too damned determined! You never let well enough alone and it causes you nothing but misery! You NEED master's!"
"That's where you're wrong Red. All we need is love."
The Crucible had expanded to five times its original size and was whirring louder than ever. The wind from its gyroscopic spinning blew back The Rogue's hood and was tossling his hair as the Dragon was disassembled piece by piece and transported to wherever the Crucible relocates dragons. Hell, is what the legends call it.
At last Red had been fully dematerialized, at which point the Dragon Crucible reverted to its original state and fell to the floor.
The Rogue walks over and picks up the Crucible. He tosses it up and catches it again.
"Twenty-three years..."
10/10
"You... you... inexcusable little up-jumped baboon!"
Bravo!!!
Really made me laugh with that one!
& I want a damn Chandelier made of Bones!!!
Thanks for the entertaining read Cagliostro!
"You... you... inexcusable little up-jumped baboon!"
Bravo!!!
Really made me laugh with that one!
& I want a damn Chandelier made of Bones!!!
Thanks for the entertaining read Cagliostro!
a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
Ummm...Nice...I like it that you left opening's for the story to develop...I have only two questions...
Where DO...the dragons go...?
How about those eggs...?
Don't answer here...obviously I want to read about it in the continuing saga...
YouSir
Ummm...Nice...I like it that you left opening's for the story to develop...I have only two questions...
Where DO...the dragons go...?
How about those eggs...?
Don't answer here...obviously I want to read about it in the continuing saga...
YouSir
a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
Gasp! I've come over all mediaeval!
That was excellent, Cagl, loved it!
Gasp! I've come over all mediaeval!
That was excellent, Cagl, loved it!
a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
A very nicely told Tale!!! Very Good!!! Wish I could give more than the one star and flag here!!! Syx.
A very nicely told Tale!!! Very Good!!! Wish I could give more than the one star and flag here!!! Syx.
Aaah, a good, classic story of a struggle against a Dragon. Very well done sir! Take my praise, stars, and flags.
a reply to: CagliostroTheGreat
Hey Cagliostro!!
That was great!
I'm really impressed with the stories I've read so far. It would be hard to pick a winner. (I also happen to be a big fan of dragons!)
S&F
jacygirl
Hey Cagliostro!!
That was great!
I'm really impressed with the stories I've read so far. It would be hard to pick a winner. (I also happen to be a big fan of dragons!)
S&F
jacygirl
originally posted by: CagliostroTheGreat
a reply to: jacygirl
This one is humbled by your kindness Khaleesi, thanks for reading!
ahh...hahahahaha....
Calling me by title, eh?
I WAS going to say earlier, that 'The Rogue' sounds like a character from Game of Thrones. But I deleted it, because everyone doesn't know Game of Thrones.
Apparently you do.
Sheez, I'd give you another star if I could.
jacygirl
Booo Targaryen! Yay House Stark!
originally posted by: jacygirl
originally posted by: CagliostroTheGreat
a reply to: jacygirl
This one is humbled by your kindness Khaleesi, thanks for reading!
ahh...hahahahaha....
Calling me by title, eh?
I WAS going to say earlier, that 'The Rogue' sounds like a character from Game of Thrones. But I deleted it, because everyone doesn't know Game of Thrones.
Apparently you do.
Sheez, I'd give you another star if I could.
jacygirl
....please don't set me on fire.
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