Sir Frank's contest

Rabbit's Story entry.

Case of the Coin

******** Chapter the first **********

"Finally," he whispered to himself, the word wearily escaping his lips.

He crumpled back into his chair and watched the shadows play on the ceiling. The fireplace would need more wood if he were going to linger. He knew he should go home and sleep, let the minions handle carrying the paperwork to the various government officials in the morning while he took advantage of some well-earned rest. But his mind continued to flip through every page he had just read and signed, still looking for errors though he was positive everything was in order.

He thought back to his time on the battlefield, a time when he was Sir Frank the Knight, charging into battle wielding sword and shield in gleaming plate armor. Now, he was Sir Frank the Master of the Mint, wielding pen and quill and wearing simple leathers. As his muscles slowly began to relax, and his bones creaked, it occurred to him that battle had never left him this drained. He smiled and thought, "The great warrior... beaten by a desk job."

He stared at the stacks of papers on his desk, all neatly organized and labelled; his minions would have no trouble getting each stack to the proper recipient. Lord British's new coin could begin production within the week, a full month ahead of schedule. He had done well.

"Why is my mind so restless," he thought.

His left ear perked, the faint sound of scratching coming from one of the windows. He was near exhaustion, and his subconscious mind had noted the sound before he was fully aware. There was a time when that wouldn’t have happened. Slowly, he peered over his shoulder, his right hand inching towards his desk.

It was only Bongo, his little messenger monkey, probably trying to remind him to go home. Sir Frank reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a banana, stood up slowly, and walked over to the window to let Bongo inside.

Bongo made eye contact with his master and began jumping up and down frantically, and waving his little arms wildly, on the window ledge. It would have been a precarious position this high up were it not for the fact that he had wings. He looked distressed, and Sir Frank knew something was wrong. Sir Frank opened the window and Bongo began chattering, a continuous stream of eager little clicks and pops.

"Just a second, Bongo. You know how this works," Sir Frank said patiently. He turned around and grabbed his walking stick, then sat down at his desk and waved Bongo inside. "Come inside, my little friend."

Bongo gave a few flaps of his feathery wings and landed deftly on the ground. Normally, he would sit on the desk... but he knew the danger of flapping his wings near those large piles of paperwork. If Bongo disturbed the work, Bongo got the cage. And Bongo greatly preferred the banana.

Sir Frank held out his walking stick and pressed a small, silver button embedded at the tip. When Bongo heard the click, he began chattering incoherently again. Sir Frank waved him off, "Hang on. It needs a refill." He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a yellowish liquid. It was the spinal fluid taken from one of Bongo's race, but Bongo didn’t need to know that. It was macabre, but science often seemed wicked before being accepted.

Sir Frank flipped a switch on the walking stick and poured the liquid into one of the tubes running along its length. Then he held the stick up again and pressed the button. Bongo began to speak.

"Coin bad! Coin bad, Master! Coin go boom in sunlight!" the little monkey began squeaking madly.

"What are you going on about, Bongo?"

Bongo removed the little backpack he wore and reached inside to pull out a coin which looked huge in his hands, and probably weighed a ton to the little guy. Sir Frank recognized it immediately; after all, he had spent the entire night signing it into existence.

"Impossible," he whispered, taking the coin from Bongo. "Where did you get this," he asked his friend.

"Bongo show you! Not far!" Bongo didn't pause between words, even when he was calm, and the message poured out of him in a torrent. “But after treat” he exclaimed. He stared excitedly at the banana.

"Very well," Sir Frank said. "Eat your treat while I change, but then we're going to investigate." He handed Bongo the banana and then walked over to the fireplace. He studied the coin closely, noting that every detail from his design was implemented perfectly. The gold coin was trimmed in silver, with Lord British's coat of arms on the face, also silver-coated. It was a thing of beauty. And it shouldn't exist, yet.

These were meant to be gifts handed out to nobility, and persons of note, by Lord British, himself, at the mid-year faire. The Avatar Coin, it was called. Sir Frank turned the coin over and noted the Coat of Arms for Darkstarr, also silver-coated. The two sides represented the great struggle, Order vs Chaos, set within the same coin just as both Order and Chaos raged within every person.

Right now, Sir Frank found himself struggling with Chaos. He hadn't shared this design with many, let alone created a working mold yet. So how to explain the coin's existence? It was time to take to the shadows. He looked back at Bongo, happily devouring his treat, and thought about what his little friend had said: "Goes boom in sunlight."

Time to take to the shadows, indeed.

******** Chapter the Second *************

Sir Frank followed Bongo silently through the alleyways. He knew he should have reported the incident and gotten the royal guard involved, but this was personal. Someone had managed to gain access to his design and begin producing his coin. It worried him that someone under his direct employment may have betrayed him. It worried him more that whomever was producing the coins had access to considerable wealth, for the coins were made of solid gold and silver. A noble traitor, perhaps?

Bongo weaved through the shadows and Sir Frank continued to follow, adrenaline fuelling his steps. He calmed himself, remembering that a fast-pumping heart clouded the ears. He needed to remain alert. As he slowed his breathing and his mind found a state of calm, he also reminded himself that Bongo had been the one to deliver the message.

Bongo was a monkey; intelligent, to be sure, but still a monkey. Perhaps he had misunderstood his little friend, and Bongo was simply trying to explain having seen sunlight reflect off the shiny coin?

No, it would do no good to speculate. He must wait until he had facts before determining his next course of action. Bongo stopped at the city wall, a spot well away from prying eyes, and began pointing towards the wall, his arm pumping furiously. Sir Frank examined the section of wall closely and discovered a portion of it could be pulled away.

He slid the block-shaped section of wall out and found that it did not pass all the way through; instead, it simply led into the castle wall. He stepped inside, but Bongo refused to follow. The little monkey hovered there, just above the ground, with his tiny arms crossed and shaking his head, "Nope".

Sir Frank smiled at his little companion and whispered, "Very well. Off to bed with you, then!"

He could have sent Bongo to fetch some guards, but without a proper note they would probably just think he was playing. Better to simply keep him out of harm's way. The little messenger had already done enough. As Sir Frank pulled the stone block back into place, he saw Bongo slowly flying away while staring back over his shoulder. Sir Frank gave one last wave and sealed the entrance.

He hated magic, preferring the science which allowed men to craft steel and meet his opponents in true combat. However, when the King hands you a cloak and bids you, "Let this light your way,” you can't be expected to say "No," can you? So Sir Frank reached back and gave his cloak a firm shake, activating the Light spell it had been imbued with. The absolute, pressing darkness within the wall was cast aside as his cloak began to glow.

A few feet ahead he noted stone steps descending under the wall. This was not the work of simple smugglers, or of amateurs. This had required the work of a real engineer, and a team capable of extreme patience to perform all of this without attracting notice. How had they managed all of this without being heard, let alone seen?

Only one way to find out: Sir Frank was just going to have to ask them. Once he was certain he could hear nothing from down below, he drew two daggers from his belt and began his descent.

********** Chapter the Third *************

Sir Frank took each step cautiously, silently. He descended well beneath the earth, having counted 36 steps on the way down. The light emanating from the cloak meant he could see, but it also meant he could be seen. He knew he was a beacon coming down the stairs… but he had to be wary of traps, of alarms; whomever had put this much work into the project surely had the sense to setup a warning of some kind.

Sir Frank reached the bottom of the stairs and paused to listen; no sound of rushing feet, or clang of weapons, approaching. He found himself in a narrow hallway of earth with wooden braces set up every few feet, as you would find in a mine. Down the hallway, he could see what appeared to be an open doorway on the left wall with light streaming out, but the light looked... different. He studied it, trying to figure out why the light looked out of sorts.

Sunlight, torches, even his cloak, all gave the same yellow-hued glow. The light coming from the room was white, as though from the moon.

Sir Frank reached back and gave his cloak a quick tug, extinguishing the spell. If the danger Bongo had warned him about was true, walking into that room wearing sunlight might be a bad idea. The light faded and Sir Frank began creeping towards the doorway. He had taken only a few cautious paces when the noise of the room crashed into him. He took an involuntary skip backwards, hands coming up to cover his ears, and the sound was gone.

"An enchantment to keep the noise of their work from reaching the surface," he thought. "Clever."

He crept along the wall towards the doorway. The booming noise was back and he struggled to distinguish individual sounds. He could make out a forge, the roar of a smelter, laughter, and orders being barked. Then he caught the sound of coins clinking together and felt his blood run hot. Whatever operation Bongo had stumbled onto was big, and Sir Frank meant to shut it down.

He reached the doorway and slowly, keeping low to the ground, peered into the room. It wasn't as large as he thought, the noise merely magnified from being contained under the earth. Across the room were the forge and smelter, with men wearing red sashes working each. They were melting down gold and silver, lots of it, which they took from several small chests. Most of it was coin, but some were items one would find at a money lender: candelabras, napkin holders, decorative trinkets.

Sir Frank realized the Red Sashes must be funding their endeavor through their gambling halls and whorehouses. Men short of coin would often sell these trinkets for just one more night at the tables, or in the company of their favorite lady of the night. And the Red Sashes had no shortage of those establishments which meant they certainly had the finances to pay off a group of mages and circulate a number of expensive coins.

Sir Frank needed a better angle to see more of the room. He watched the small globes of moonlight hovering near the ceiling, timing the shadows they created. With a nimbleness defying his age, he moved quickly between the shadows towards a stack of crates. He caught the familiar scent of spell reagents once he neared the boxes and wondered at the amount of magic involved in this endeavor.

Now that he could clearly see more of the room, he could make out about 30 workers, all wearing red sashes, scrambling about. Some were sorting out money chests, gathering the gold and silver together while discarding the rest. Others, obviously the muscle, were sitting around playing dice or cards. But the clinking coins, now that he could pinpoint the sound, came from a black-robed figure standing watch near the forge.

The figure didn't wear the red sash. His robe had no markings at all, as a matter of fact. He stood there, playing with a couple of coins, watching the men labor to make more. Except... he wasn't just playing with the coins. Sir Frank recognized the ordered movements and realized the figure was casting some sort of enchantment over them.

He watched, almost mesmerized, as the figure methodically rubbed each coin and carefully placed it into a case at his feet. Sir Frank couldn't tell exactly how large the case was, but he could tell by the shine it gave off that it was nearly full.

A sound, almost a whimper, broke Sir Frank from his trance. He was so focused on trying to see the figure's face, and discovering what he was up to, that he had stopped scanning the room. He listened again for the sound. It was coming from a corner of the room, well away from the forge, and completely cast in shadow.

Sir Frank couldn't see the source, which had to be coming from behind the wooden equipment shelf he could just barely make out. Once again he used the shadows to move across the room. Not that the pirates paid much attention; they were either busy with their work, their games, or just lazy in their confidence. Sir Frank could only assume their true leader wasn't present. Otherwise, the "guards" wouldn't be so unaware.

He made his way to the corner and found a young man securely fastened to a chair. The boy looked almost utterly destroyed. His mouth was gagged with a piece of cloth that was completely drenched in blood, now dried and crusted. The robe he wore, though one could barely use the word to describe what was left of it, was tattered and lay about his body in strips. On one such strip, Sir Frank noticed a symbol stitched into the fabric marking this boy as an Acolyte of the Sun.

The boy gave a weak cough and Sir Frank realized he was awake, and suffering. When the boy coughed, blood bubbled from his nose. Sir Frank put a finger to his lips to signal the boy to silence, and then took a strip of cloth and wiped the blood from the boy's mouth and nose. Then he slowly, gingerly, removed the gag from the boy's mouth. One of the balls of moonlight shifted, and for a brief second the light shone on the boy and Sir Frank. No-one seemed to notice, but Sir Frank did notice the boy's body.

He had spent many years on the battlefield, and had seen the chests of many men crushed under the weight of a Warhammer, or beaten by the mace. This boy's chest looked similar. Sir Frank knew the boy didn't have long. He thought about how long the boy must have held onto his secrets to have sustained this amount of torture, and he wept both for the boy's courage, and his suffering.

These men would pay dearly.

The boy tried to speak, to whisper, but his voice was hoarse and loud. One of the pirates yelled out, "Don't make me come over there, Travor! You've still a few bones that ain't broke!" The other pirates laughed.

Sir Frank could feel his muscles shiver, feel the rage pass over his body like a tidal wave. The boy was determined to speak, his eyes wide and angry. Sir Frank held up his hand, "wait!", then pulled out a small water flask. He gave the boy just enough to moisten his lips, his tongue, but no more. Hesitantly, the boy tried again to whisper.

"Plea... please...," he started, finding it painful and difficult to even breath. "Scatter coins, leave. Give me this."

Sir Frank struggled to make out the boy's words, and their meaning, while remaining aware of the room. One footstep heading their way could spell disaster. His mind worked frantically. He could move unseen easily enough, but not dragging the boy along. And the boy... he was done for. Trying to move him could kill him instantly, but the boy was most likely dead within the hour, anyhow. The boy said he wanted this, but this what? And then it struck him.

Bongo said the coins go boom in sunlight, and the boy was an Acolyte of the Sun. Sir Frank pointed to the ceiling, and simulated the earth raining to the ground. The boy shook his head, "No". He whispered, "No... collapse."

Sir Frank found himself with a dilemma. He knew from experience that the boy didn't have long to live, that trying to save him was almost certainly pointless. But part of him felt the need to try, no matter the odds, because that's what you do, right? The other part of him understood the boy's wish. Hadn't he earned Justice, and the right to carry it out? Sir Frank cut the bonds which tied the boy's hands, and whispered to him, "Are you certain you can cast?"

The boy flexed his fingers, and though it was obviously agonizing to do so, it was also obvious he could handle it. The boy nodded and gave Sir Frank a grim, determined smile.

So yes, the boy had earned it, and it was his choice to make.

Sir Frank whispered, tears of anger and sadness clearly running from his eyes, "When you hear the coins, do not hesitate. I am swifter than I appear."

The boy nodded, but Sir Frank's final word had choked from his lips and both he and the boy heard one of the pirates stand up.

"Did ya hear that, boys? Little Travor must'a spit out his gag! Guess his jaw needs broken next," the pirate bragged to the amusement of his friends.

Sir Frank stayed crouched, let the calm and the focus overtake him, and, like a cat, waited for his prey to step into view. The pirate stepped around the equipment rack grinning ear to ear, joyful at the prospect of getting to play with his toy. He had his thumbs tucked into his pants and walked with the air of confidence one expects from a bully. Sir Frank stood up with lightning speed, the momentum powering his dagger up through the pirate's jaw and into his brain with ease, and was crouched back down just as quickly. The pirate never saw, nor felt, a thing; one moment he was king of his domain, the next was only darkness.

Sir Frank gave a careful tug on the pirate so that he fell forward, and gently eased his body to the ground. The other pirates were back to their game, obviously bored over the whole affair of torturing Travor. Still, they would quickly notice the lack of screaming.

Sir Frank gave the boy a final nod, and whispered, "Be ready. You'll only get the one shot."

Travor nodded, still determined to carry out this final act of justice.

The case of coins had been over by the forge, clear across the room, at the feet of a mage. Sir Frank hated magic, but he had to learn to deal with mages over the years. He need to move, to get a clear view of the mage so he could watch for signs of a protective spell, an aura, around him. It would do no good to launch a dagger at his face, only to watch it bounce harmlessly away.

He crept along the wall, waiting for shadows to move just right, ensuring he did not get caught in a flicker of moonlight. He watched the card table where the pirate he killed had been playing, saw the other pirates start to get curious peering towards the corner. He was running out of time. Patience, he told himself; he wasn't out of time just yet.

Then he was behind the mage, could hear him whispering an incantation over another coin. The mage finished his spell and bent down to place the coin inside the case, which Sir Frank could see was half full. If those coins were as dangerous as he expected, that would be a lot of dead nobles. It was time to act.

He charged from the shadows and time slowed down, the awareness he once knew as a Knight taking over. He saw everything. He slammed into the mage who went tumbling head-first and cursing over the case of coins, while the pirates on this side of the room started to react. They were slow, disoriented. Sir Frank was not.

The mage hadn't finished hitting the ground and Sir Frank had the wooden case in both hands; he knew it was going to be heavy. He put everything he had into lifting the case, tossing it straight up into the air with a powerful cry. Adrenaline surged, the case went flying, and now every pirate in the room was aware something was wrong. They started to draw their weapons, to run towards Sir Frank, and the mage was still rolling across the floor.

Sir Frank moved out from under the falling case and towards the center of the room. The pirates near the forge followed, while pirates at every other end of the room closed in. He heard the case hit the ground behind him, heard it shatter, heard the coins go bouncing and rolling in every direction. The pirates were almost on top of him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag. It was made of a fisherman's net, and held tiny balls inside just large enough to not slip out through the netting.

Sir Frank waited... half a second, one second... the pirates were closing in and coins were going everywhere. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the mage getting to his feet, angry. He didn't recognize the face. The mage would have to remain a mystery. Sir Frank was out of time and he slammed the bag into the ground. Smoke erupted around him and he vanished from sight.

The pirates paused. Sir Frank bent down and leapt forward, rolling to his feet between two pirates who never noticed he was there. Then he was past the smoke, heading towards the door. On his left, he passed the card table and he could see the pirates had been wagering bits of rabbit. On his right, the equipment rack was falling, pushed over clumsily by the young Acolyte of the Sun who stood there, impossibly, with so many broken bones. He looked like a walking mummy, covered in the tattered remains of his robe and skin so drained of blood he appeared as a corpse.

Sir Frank thought it fitting since Travor was to be the harbinger of death. No time to say a word, no time to even give a courtesy nod; Sir Frank was running for his life. He passed through the door, let the wall across the hall stop him, and then began running for the stairs.

Suddenly, the hallway filled with light. It was as if the Sun, itself, had exploded back in the room. He heard the coins explode, the unmistakable sound of metal shards slamming into everything: metal on metal, metal hitting the walls. He heard the screams of the pirates and imagined bits of coin ripping through the whole lot of them. And then the screaming stopped.

Sir Frank realized he had crossed over the enchantment. Part of him was glad, but another part, the part that wanted to KNOW Justice was being served, tempted him to step back and listen to the screams. Instead, he stopped at the stairs and sat down.

He was exhausted beyond words. But just in case someone came crawling out of that room alive, he would be waiting for them.

The seconds passed like minutes, the minutes like hours. Still, he waited. Then there was darkness as the spells ceased to function. He decided it was over.

He would send word to have this place cleared out, any remaining wealth sent to the King's coffers, and have the coin still in his possession studied for some indication as to who the mastermind was. Under moonlight, of course. And he would make sure Lord British knew of Acolyte Travor's Sacrifice.

He gave his cloak a quick tug to light the way, and Sir Frank climbed the stairs to leave.

*** The End ***

 

And done. Whew!

 

Sir Frank paused in the street between the tavern and the bath house. He drew a gold coin from his pouch and looked into the impenetrable face of the Oracle. Even as he flipped the coin, he knew the Oracle would not tell him where to go. Only where he had been.

 

I would like to thank the person that pointed me over here! I would have missed it!

With that said - Wonderful Sir Frank! I shall be sure this gets the coverage it deserves also

I am sorry I had not seen it prior to now (the forums are a vast thing to lose so much in.. )

~sits down to write~

 

Welcome to the party.

 

Yes!!! A Sir Frank Party... I might be late but i did not miss it!! <3 Sir Frank!

 

I asked Dallas to put it in the weekly update. Perhaps there will be a crowd on the way.

What's a party without a stampede?

 

I love competition... now where's my sword...

 

Sir Frank and the Tower

The slight creak of leather was the only sound to break the silence as Sir Frank adjusted his position. He could feel his bones aching in the chill of the deep night, he definitely wasn't as young as he used to be. Smirking at that thought, he dug into his pouch for his lucky coin, it was a bit smother then it had been when he first acquired it, hopefully it would bring him luck tonight.

Three long weeks of inquiries and cold nights had led him to this perch above the tower. Something was not right here in Owl's Head. Lots of rumors as to a man who was investigating strange problems with the tower and it's interesting technology. Perhaps tonight he would gain some valuable insight as to the inner workings, which unfortunately wasn't easy to find.

A light appeared below as a older man walked towards the tower flanked by two imposing looking men dressed all in black. They were not at ease, the way they laid there hands on the hilt of their swords like panthers ready to leap out told Sir Frank that they clearly were not amateurs, these were trained killers. He unconsciously eased back into the shadows, it would not do to be seen here.

“Hello?” The older man who did not look as dangerous as his guards hesitantly said. “Are you there?”

There was a shimmering below in response to the sound of the mans voice. The shimmering resolved into the form of man in a cloak. “You are late.” He hissed.

The older man grimaced, “Do you have it?” raising a hand up, “I have come as soon as was possible, what you asked....it was not an easy thing.”

The cloaked character chuckled, “And? You agreed to this meeting. The tower door needs to be open.”

With a nervous shrug the older man turns to one of his guards,”Open the door, be quick now.” The guard turned towards the tower trudging up to the door when the sound of gravel falling from the far side of the tower makes him leap forward like a panther.

“Who's there!” he cried as he pulled his sword free.

Sir Frank watched incredulously as a man tumbled out of the bushes in a mess of cloak and books landing in a tangled mess in front of the guard. He instantly recognized the man as the scholar who had been investigating ghostly apparitions around the towers. Thad, yes that was his name, was in a very dangerous situation. He had to act.

The guard was was quickly eating the distance between him and the befuddled scholar. His sword arching back and forth like a viper eager to strike.

Frank quickly adjusted his staff, attaching the bluish vial trying to ensure as to not draw any attention to himself. He quickly placed the staff against the rock and clicked the release button. The vial flew out from the staff landing between the guard and the bumbling scholar bursting into an acrid cloud. Instantly the guard dropped his sword groping at his eyes.

With ease Frank leveraged himself with his staff over the stones dashing between the figures below. He still had it, he may not be as young but his body still remembered how to move.

Chaos had enveloped the area. The older man was in a full run to get out of the area as his guards were incapacitated from the gas. The man in the cloak stood silently watching the chaos unfold, then turned to stalk away slipping into the shadows.

Frank had a limited time to get to Thad and get him out of the area, knowing full well if he did not get out of the area he would not be able to stand up to the assault from the two trained killers.

He arrived at Thad side and grabbed him up, the gas was dissipated enough now to just be an annoyance to those not exposed to the initial blast. “Come.” He growled.

Thad stumbled to his feet sputtering.“Who are you? My eyes...”

Frank grimaced, the fool would be the death of both of them if he didn't move. “Not now...” He hissed. “Run!”

A torch light was approaching in the darkness drawn to the commotion around the tower. The guards! Frank chuckled as he grabbed Thad, “Run, it is our night tonight!”

They ran off like cats into the night leaving behind the two men in dark as the night dissolved into shouts and darkness.

******

After delivering Thad to his inn and discussing the meeting they both had witnessed, Sir Frank bid good night to his new acquaintance, promising to inquire more into his research when time permitted. Tonight had been an interesting night to be sure, but morning came early and he had work to do at the mint.

Smiling slightly he thought of the things that entangled his life, he flipped his lucky coin and thanked the gods that he once again defied the odds.

 

Mint Condition

High amongst the rooftops of the sleeping city, Sir Frank watched with interest as far below... the counterfeiters loaded their cart under cover of darkness. He frowned and noted that the many coffers being loaded caused the wagon to sit low on its coiled spring suspension. Fake currency in such volume could play havoc on the realms economy, this was more serious than the back-room operation he had expected to find. He plucked the fake coin from his pocket that he had discovered earlier in the week and examined it, moulded lead pressed with gold foil, a mockery of the workmanship of the royal mint but passable none the less to the untrained eye in a busy market.

He twisted a bronze fixture on the head of his walking stick, revealing a hidden compartment into which he loaded a tiny vial before snapping the lid back into place and aiming the strange device at the cart below. Flipping a switch with his thumb caused the vial to launch from the end of the stick at great speed, striking the cart and exploding into a thick purple cloud that quickly enveloped the alleyway below. Shouts of confusion erupted and the sound of blades being unsheathed caught Sir Franks ear as he expertly made his way down the side of the building and silently dropped onto the cart. Still unseen and cloaked by the purple mist, he produced a flask of viscous fluid from his leather satchel and emptied its contents over the coffers. "You there!" one of the counterfeiters screeched as he spotted the intrusion "Stay where you are! Do not move!". With a wry smile Sir frank stepped back off the cart into the shadows, seemingly vanishing into thin air. As the artificial fog cleared the counterfeiters closed in on the wagon, confused as to what had just happened.

"Spectre?" one of them offered up weakly, but before he could continue that train of thought his attention was caught by the glow of a tiny ball of fire falling from the sky... a lit match. The resulting fireball could be seen from miles away, engulfing the alleyway and consuming the cart and its contents, as well as two unlucky counterfeiters that had been standing too close. The strange chemical blaze burned fast and with extreme heat but quickly extinguished itself before the conflagration could spread to the surrounding buildings, leaving a bubbling pool of molten lead that hissed and sputtered as it cooled. From his rooftop perch Sir Frank looked on in satisfaction, this did not solve the counterfeiting problem but it certainly was a good start. With a sigh, he stretched and tossed his fake coin into the pool below... there was more work to be done.

 

Returning from the morning market, Sir Frank dumped a bag of blood oranges into a large serving bowl on the corner of his desk where the messenger waited.
Frank sat and opened the mail pouch.

The messenger plucked an especially ripe fruit out of the pile and deftly separated the peel from the inner flesh. He divided the orange in halves and stuffed one half in his mouth. The other half, he thrust under Sir Frank’s nose.

“Thank you, sir”, Frank said, and began to read.

 

Cleaned up the story a bit.

 

Ok, thanks! I'll grab the changes.

 

so can i count the stories i've already submitted ie. https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/forum/index.php?threads/my-life-my-love-and-my-lady.14477/



just wonderin, totally dont mind having to come up with something new

 

If the story centers upon Sir Frank, or if a coin plays an important role, you can submit previous work to me for this contest.

 

I've hardly done any creative writing but have always wanted to get started. Saw this contest and thought why not try a little something. Hope you enjoy this humble submission.


Posea's Fables of Morality
Translated by Master Ancient Runic Scholar Jennevah Stroick with notes.

Fable #33: The Woodsman, The Llama, and The Coin

One day a woodsman was walking home to Soltown through the North Brightbone woods with his pack llama filled with maple and pine wood to sell to the local crafters. Good healthy trees were fewer near town, only enough to provide a meager living for a few more years. So on this day the woodsman had venture deeper into the woods then he ever had in the past, in hopes of finding some lucrative groves to earn extra money. This part of the woods was filled with wolves and there were rumors of bandits seen in the area. But he needed to earn a living so he had braved the journey and had been rewarded with choice trees to cut down and even found some fabled Pine Tar.

While still deep in the woods the woodsman spotted something catching one of the sun rays laying in the middle of forest path. When he got to the spot he reached down and picked up it up. In his hand was a heavy yellow coin the likes of which he had never known. One side held the image of a snake entwined around a cross upon the face of a shield. On the reverse side of the coin was a small ball of fire with eight arrows pointing away from it in different directions. It looked and felt like gold so the woodsman praised his luck and put it into his pocket before heading home.

The next day he again went deeper into the North Brightbone woods to chop down trees and gather the wood to sell. On the way home in the same area as the day before he spotted something glittering in a sun ray but this time off to the side of the trail. He went to investigate and again found another of these strange gold coins. He again picked it up and put it in his pocket praising his fortune once again. He spent a few minutes looking around in case there were others but didn't see any other glimmers of gold upon the ground. So the woodsman went back to town.

Every day on the way home from the deep the woods after cutting down wood and filling up the packs his llama carried, the woodsman spotted a glint in the distance and would keep walking towards it until eventually he would find a single strange gold coin. Each day it was a little further off the path and even deeper into woods. Months of this passed by and the woodsman grew rich. He and his wife could buy anything and everything. They moved out of there small two-story row home and into a three story wood and plaster town with a five story basement. They both grew fat, lazy, and drunk upon all the luxuries they could buy. They also began to throw lavish, no expense spared, parties for the whole town, just so they could show off their growing wealth. They soon became the talk of the townsfolk who looked on them with both envy and pity.

Every time he entered the woods, the woodsman found a coin making his greed grow. Each day he would search longer and harder to try to find more coins laying about. He no longer cut down any trees and just spent his days leading a llama through the woods in hopes of finding the stash these coins were coming from, but each day he left the forest with only one strange gold coin.

Then one cold winter's morning the greedy woodsman saw the now familiar glint and went racing after it. His poor llama could barely keep up. In the distance a cave appeared in the side of the mountains that skirted the Brightbone woods to the north. The glint of the coin was coming from inside the cave. Thinking that this must be the source of the of the coins the woodsman moved forward to enter the cave, but his llama would not budge from the cave's mouth. Driven by greed, the woodsman suppressed his own fears and went into the cave on his own.

He followed the glint through the darkness, stumbling over rocks protruding from the floor and walls of the cave. Further and further he went until finally he saw a red glow of a fire along with the glint of the coin. The cave opened up into a small hall with a campfire burning and bedroll set up outside a steel door. Beside the bedroll was the coin, sitting upon a book. The woodsman snatched coin up, ignoring the book since he had never learned to read.

The woodsman tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. There seemed to be some sort of lock on the wall next to the door. The woodsman searched around the small camp for a key but found none. He waled down the hall and looked in the crates and barrels but they were empty as well. A little further along there was a hole in the ground that seemed like one could drop down into another hallway a few feet below. So that was what the woodsman did.

Very late that night the woodsman wife was sitting at the table in her kitchen wondering where her husband was filled with worry. Around midnight she heard the sounds of the woodsman llama walking around near the door. She rushed to the door to berate her husband about being out so late, but when she opened it only the llama was there. Her husband wasn't in sight. She looked around their property but could not find him.

Night after night she sat there with worry for her husband. She asked the townsfolk to go out to the woods to find him but to no avail. After a week of looking they had all given up hope of finding him. The woodsman's wife overcome with grief went out out to the barn and shouted at the llama to take her to her husband. The llama snorted with acknowledgment and ran off into the woods with the woodsman's wife in tow.

The llama went deep into woods twisting and turning along the path with the wife breathlessly trying to keep up. After many hours the wife followed the path around a curve and saw the llama standing there in the middle of the path. When the wife reached the llama she asked it if her husband were nearby. It snorted and pawed at the ground. The wife looked down and saw a glint partially hidden under a leaf. She bent down and picked up the object. It was one of the strange gold coins her husband had been bringing home. She searched the area for the woodsman but he was nowhere to found. As dusk approached she returned home with a strange gold coin and no husband.

Every day she went back to where she found the coin to search again for her husband, but everyday only found one of the gold coins leading deeper into the woods. Months of this passed by and the wife grew even richer. Her search of the woods became more about finding more gold instead of her husband. Then one day the wife too never came back from the Brightbone woods.

Moral: Greed often over reaches itself.

*******

In this story we see how greed often makes you lose something more valuable then money. In the case of the woodsman first lost all sense of who he was given up his life as woodsman, growing fat, lazy, and drunk. Only caring about finding more and more gold to get richer and richer. Feeding his own desire to live wealthier and more decadent. He ultimately lost his life in his search for more and more gold. The wife first loses her husband and then she too becomes ensnared by greed to search for more and more gold until she too loses her life. Posea is telling us to be happy with what we have in life and not get too caught up in getting more than we have earned.

 

Six carefully arranged submissions lay upon Sir Frank's desk.
The deadline was nine days away.
There was still time.

He wrapped his hands around a mug of coffee, and let the warmth ease the stiffness of his fingers.

 

Now that I have finally time to write I have one question. What the hell is a Master of the Mint? What are your duties?

 

I oversee the making of coins of the realm.
I approve the designs, inspect the quality, and see them distributed among the people.

And apparently, I make problems disappear.

 

thanks for the fast reply, I now have an idea how to put you into my story *g*