Okay, so.
My name is Moosh. Just Moosh. Don't call me anything else.
I've decided to share a Stranger's Wrath fanfic i've started writing recently. I don't know if i'll continue it or not, but if anyone is interested in reading it i'll continue adding more each week. So without further ado...
Bandits, battles and violence...
...this is
- CHARLOTTE'S REIN -
-19 years ago-
The forest was alive with groaning timber, clashing trees and flames that licked her ankles and scorched her flesh. She had to run, had to flee this dying place, where the ground was as hot as an oven and the fire threataned to burn a hole in the sky! She forced herself forward, for her life and the life of the tiny bundle in her arms depended on it.
Suddently she saw it- a clearing, a gaping hole in the rumbling mass that was once her home. It was just yards away, so very close-
A flaming branch plummited down from the burning canopy and crushed her torso, and she screamed as the tiny bundle was thrown through the air and landed with a soft thump beside a badly singed tree.
By the end of the night, a fourth of the forest would be consumed by the flames that crawled inevitably forward, only to be washed away the next day by a rainstorm. And at the end of this catastrophie, the outlaw leader known as Buckner 'Bleached-bone' Royalle was skill pacing in his hideout, as he had been the night before.
Buckner resembled Blisterz Booty, only he was at least a foot shorter with pale, chalky skin, which is how he earned the nickname 'Bleached-bone'. He wore a thick black vest that was always buttoned up, and a pair of regular tan pants- he wasn't a fancy dresser. His left eye was covered with an eyepatch and his other eye was large, red, and, most of all, intimidating.
As buckner paced restlessly, eight outlaws burst into his shack and gave a hasty salute. Those who didn't salute learned respect the hard (and excrutiatingly painful) way.
Buckner swiftly glanced over at the crowd; two shooters, four cutters, and his own two sons, Willie and Clyde. They were both complete morons and stood at the back, looking anxious. Buckner gave a long sigh before speaking.
"You managed to contain the fire?" He asked in his cobbly voice.
"Yea, but we lost three boys doing it. The rain did the rest."
"And you took care of that pitiful-excuse-for-a-dumbass?" He hissed, remembering how the fire started. Apperantly, a foolish flamer had been fiddling with his weapons and accidentally set a tree ablaze.
"He's at the bottom of the river now." The shooter chuckled.
"Good. You can go now."
Just as the outlaws turned around, Buckner's son Willie spoke out.
"No, wait, we found something!"
He trotted over, his fat stomach swaying with each stride, and held up a small grey creature by one of its hind legs. It wailed and kicked piteously as it struggled to escape Willie's grasp, but to no avail.
"We found it in the forest."
"What is it?" Willie's brother, Clyde, piped up.
Buckner leaned closer towards the creature, looked it over quickly, and his red eye bulged.
"Its some sort of steef! Look, its got four legs! Oddammit, boy, stop holding it that way, you'll break its leg off."
Buckner snatched the infant from Willie's grip and whispered to it, his eye soft.
This was one side of his father that Willie truly hated. His father, the infamous Buckner 'Bleached-bone' Royalle, who could easily crush the skull of anyone who got on his nerves and not ask any questions, had a suprising disposition: he had a soft spot for children. All children exept his own, of course.
"Poor lil' bay-bee, left all alone in a fire..." Buckner tickled the baby's bottom lip, and Willie rolled his eyes. How could
anyone treat
anything that way?!
Willie glanced over at the other outlaws in the room, who were catching eachothers eyes and shuffling their feet akwardly. Willie coughed.
'Damn, this is embarassing.' Willie thought, 'If I knew he'd act this was in front of other people I would've just left that thing behind.'
"Go away." Buckner said, motioning towards to the door with his free hand.
Everyone filed out of the room and, as Willie left, he could still hear his father speaking quietly to the baby;
"Charlotte... a pretty name for a pretty girl... yeah, i'm talking to
you, my little Charlotte..."
Willie had to summon up all the self-control in his body not to turn around and throttle his father.
Not that he would be strong enough to, anyway...