I'm trying Mootinie, I swear!! In the meantime, here's one I submitted to a contest called "A Serpent's Greed".

Arivi shuffled through the soft, warm sand, barely able to lift his feet any further. Arivi had been travelling through the desert for five long days, and two of those had been spent in the middle of a sandstorm, choking on dust whilst being blinded by the grit stabbing into his eyes.

His brother, the Count of Amahset, had sent an invitation to join him in his castle nearly a fortnight previous, with the cryptic message "I have a secret to share with you". Arivi had slept on it, and wondered if this was another of his brother's treasure hunting schemes. He waited many more nights, yet finally he decided 5 days ago that he would make his brother wait no longer. Saddling a camel, Arivi stocked his pack full of provisions and left at once for his brother Latava's castle.

Sweat poured down his brow, and Arivi had regretted his journey since the moment he first set foot in the Darudine Desert. An endless expanse of hot sand and deadly sandstorms, Arivi looked above at the blazing sun, wondering if he would ever see his brother - or any of his family - ever again. It was at this moment that Arivi crested the shifting sand dune that he had been climbing, and set tired eyes upon the rocky crags of Amahset. Though the sharp rocky landscape seemed desolate and uninviting, he knew that his brothers castle lay nestled and well protected, far from prying eyes.

Two horsemen rode out towards Arivi from Amahset, bearing down with great speed towards his position atop the dunes. He was tense, for he had his fair share of experience in dealing with bandits and raiders, both to his detriment and to their own. Arivi's apprehension was short lived, however, as he recognized the family crest of the counts of Amahset on their tabards, signifying their allegiance to his brother, Latava.

Arivi was surprised, however, to see that his brother had come personally to greet him so far from his walls.

"Hail, brother. It has been far too long since last we spoke", Latava spoke, false tenderness behind his serpentine eyes. Before Arivi had had left the safety of Amahset, Latava had always been a kind-hearted sibling, ill-suited to the hard decisions one must make as a ruler.

"I must admit I am surprised to have been greeted so far from your walls, Latava. I trust all is well in Amahset?" Arivi replied. He had hoped that his brother's urgent message was not one of veiled danger - he was exhausted, and would not be of much help to Latava without proper rest and nourishment.

"No, no, Arivi, I assure you that the news I have brings with it the promise of gold on its heels", his brother told him. A glint of greed shone in his eyes, and his grin seemed more hungry than happy, to Arivi. Latava had dismounted from his horse, holding a waterskin in his hand.

"But where are my manners, you must be parched. Drink, drink!" Water was poured down Arivi's throat, and he took heavy gulps that nearly drowned his lungs. As he sputtered for air, Latava laughed aloud, for life was always a joke to him. "You have forgotten how to drink! The sand has addled your brain, Arivi!" Latava's teeth shone white, a sharp contrast to the dull brown hues of the desert sand that surrounded them.

As he recovered from his violent fit of coughing, Arivi noticed that the second horseman who traveled with his brother had dismounted as well. He was cloaked from head to toe in a fine black robe, and flashes of crimson and gold outlined his cuffs and sash, respectively. Only his eyes showed, thought this was not uncommon in the middle of a sandstorm, it was an odd choice of attire to wear under any normal circumstances. Arivi was perplexed by this visitor, doubly so because he was not garbed in the traditional colours of the Amahset royal guard - white tabard with the purple desert rose stitched into the cloth.

A dark shadow fell over the sand dunes as the sun set behind the cliff-side. The temperatures would soon drop to near freezing, and the group would have to begin their trek to the relative safety and warmth of the castle. But Arivi relished the cool air, and the breeze that tickled his warm skin and soothed his feverish mind. He relaxed his tired muscles, and the sickness he had been feeling over the past two days of his quest to Amahset left him in waves. He did not know if it was the intense heat or the lack of hydration he experienced, but he was glad it was finally over. Now, the sweet respite of a soft bed and cold stone walls pressed their dreams into the back of Arivi's head.

The mysterious rider stepped forward, his hand outstretched to Arivi. They clasped forearms, recognizing each other as friends, and Arivi stared into his eyes. There were no dark pupils or colourful irises that greeted him though. Only dark clouds marred the man's vision, swirling and churning in an endless storm. It was frightening, and Arivi knew this man was more than he seemed.

"You have brought a demon before me!" Arivi jerked his arm away.

"I was hoping you would see through his disguise. There is always a tell-tale sign", his brother replied. He smirked, and gestured towards the horseman that he had asked to meet with Arivi. The robe around the hooded man began to unravel itself, strand by strand, to reveal a purple-skinned creature, its eyes glowing red.

"I am Razim, Djinn of the Red Western Desert", it said to Arivi. "I apologize for the deception, but I am required to gauge the perceptiveness of all those who greet me. It is required by the law of my people", Arivi gaped openly at the Djinn, for he never thought he would ever meet so mystical a being in his life.

"Why do you bring this creature with you, Latava?"

"He holds the secrets to finding the Black Diamond of Amahset, my brother. He only asks that we answer one riddle correctly, and all the riches of this desert shall be ours, together!" Latava's greedy grin gleamed in the night, and it reminded his brother of a sly serpent. It made him shudder.

"I need no promise of treasure to help you, Latava." He turned to the Djinn, "Tell me the riddle. There has not been a man, human or magical being that has ever stumped me."

"Your wish is my command", the Djinn smiled. "There were once five men who travelled to a church, when it started to rain. The four that ran swiftly inside got wet while the one that remained still, stayed dry. Which of these five men stayed dry?"

Arivi considered his answer for a moment, knowing too well the tricks that Djinn were said to play upon those slow of wit. But the answer came to him quickly, and he looked to his brother first, though Latava seemed thoroughly stumped.

"The man who stayed dry was the one carried within a coffin", Arivi answered. He was certain that this was the answer, and saw the look of understanding that dawned behind his brother's eyes.

The Djinn declared, "You are correct. Your brother did not lie to me when he spoke grand tales of your intelligence, and it has been many moons since an answer has rung true for my riddles. You and your brother truly deserve this treasure", the Djinn smiled slyly, like a cat that watched its prey.

Small tendrils of lightning and sparking magic floated through the air, and the clouds that swam across the Djinn's eyes slowly began to fade away. In their place, a bright golden glow shone out like a hundred chandeliers, their crystalline structures reflecting the light of the moon from within the Djinn's body.

Arivi had prepared himself for this sorcery, but even he could help himself from feeling a little fear -and awe - at the power the Djinn so clearly possessed. The electricity began to crackle, and it singed the skin of all present, including the horses. They jolted, running away from the group while they wildly neighed into the night.

With a dull crack and a blinding flash of light, the Djinn was gone. Only smoke trailed the ground where once his feet had been firmly planted in the sand. Even his boot prints had disappeared, a mere memory now in the brothers minds. Something heavy pressed itself into Arivi's hand, and when he looked down he discovered an ornate, beautifully carven golden key.

Latava looked to his brother to discover that they now held exact copies of a golden key in each others hands. Dark amethysts were set in the keys, and the brothers could feel the magic pulsing from the cool metal.

They had done it.

A smile plastered Latava's face, and the Count slinked towards his brother with arms outstretched, "We have done it, Arivi. The treasure is ours now, and nothing will stand in my way from claiming my birthright of this desert".

"This is why you wanted the treasure, brother? A campaign of war?" Arivi curled his lip into a sneer. This was the exact reason he had left the court of Amahset all those years ago. His brother's endless ambition had grown intolerable, and though he had hoped that Latava would have put these dreams aside, it seemed he would never change.

"Brother please, you don't underst-" Latava began.

"I understand perfectly. And so long as I live you will never have this treasure, or your wars", Arivi stalked away, the knowledge that the Djinn had given him secure in his mind. The Black Diamond of Amahset would remain locked away, hopefully for eternity.

But it would not be so.


Many years later, Latava, the Count of Amahset has discovered the location of Arivi, and the golden key he still held. Latava was now an old man, but his ambition still burned strong. He needed the Black Diamond, and all the riches that it would produce for him, or he would never see his dream of a great desert kingdom realized.

A small man stood to his side and his face was a portrait of stone. He was a loyal servant to nobody but the golden coin, and he served his master diligently. Cloaked in black, if Latava had not sent for him he would never have known he was there in the shadows.

"Are you capable of this task, Csal?" Latava whispered breathlessly. This was the only decision left open to him now.

"As long as I return to my weight in gold, all will unravel as it should, my lord", Csal rasped. He was growing weary of the endless planning.

"My brother's death shall bring you the reward you deserve, Csal. Now begone."

Csal bowed mockingly low, and stalked out of the Great Hall. The orders were crystallized in his mind, and he had never once failed his master. The simplest of tasks sometimes bring the greatest of rewards, he mused.

Latava smiled to himself. Finally, his ambitions would be realized.

This is actually really well written. Have you ever thought about putting your content on Figment? I'm positive you'd get a ton of views there.

Aside from that, looking forward to reading more. Keep it up!

Did you read them all Focus?

I'm glad you liked Jade Dragon! :D Tell me what you think of Serpents Greed!!

I'm lovin' it so far (McDonald's pun not intended). It was a bit rushed in the beginning; there could have been a ton more that you could have added to broaden up your writing. However, aside from that, I'm really liking your style of writing and choice of vocabulary. Keep it rollin'!

Thank you! The reason why it was rushed actually is cause it was a contest piece, 2000 words max. Here is my next one, entitled "Distant Shores"

His seax slid through the meaty flesh and tough sinew of the deer, as if they were no more than thin, dusty parchment. Crimson blood seeped through the open wounds, greasing each careful cut, each methodical mark. Gritting his teeth, Wagluk sliced again, pulling apart a thick cut of meat that shone bright in his hands. He relished his work as a scavenger, and he respected the animals that he hunted in this strange land. They were plentiful and naive, very unlike the scarce and hesitant beasts of his homeland.

This was Wagluk's bloodiest raid under the command of Rognwulf - having landed only a vika ago at the shores of a town the Saxon's called "Ythanceaster", Wagluk and the other Norse raiders had slaughtered or enslaved the populace, and afterwards had burnt much of it to the ground. One of very few structures still standing was a small chapel that carried the same name as the town. It was made of stone, and Rognwulf now used it as a base of operations for further raids into the countryside of Angleland.

Most of the meat had now been sliced into proper herbergi and packed away inside the burlap that Wagluk had brought with him. He bent forward, seizing hold of the animal at his feet, and heaved with a mighty grunt to carry it upon his shoulders. Without the excess meat, Wagluk inwardly remarked how light the deer was that now sat astride him.

"Wagluk! I was told I might find you out here!" A familiar voice called out to him. Wagluk turned, a small grin already spreading across his mud-painted face.

"I can't imagine you're disturbing my peace for anything urgent, now can I, boy?" The "boy" that Wagluk spoke to beamed back, though he had been a man for over five vetra now. Old habits died hard for the grizzled veteran.

"Being a pain is the eternal duty of the apprentice to his master." He replied impishly. Wagluk had trained with him for nine long years, and throughout the course of his training - and his rebirth as a feared warrior - the boy had become more like a son to him than anything Wagluk had ever known. "Sometimes I fear that you come on these voyages not to breathe the open air of the sea, or for your blade to taste the flesh of the Saxons, but so that you can sit dressing deer all day, Wagluk. Will you ever tire of it?"

"Will you ever tire of your incessant questioning, Aleifr?" The banter between the teacher and his student knew no end. "Though it was fortunate that you came upon me at this moment, boy." Wagluk grinned mischievously, his teeth yellowed and broken from old age and mistreatment.

"Why do you say that?" Aleifr was wary now, narrowing his eyes.

"You can carry the carcass to Aktorn for me!" His belly nearly bursting with laughter, Wagluk's barrel chest rumbled with the mirth he felt at his own cruel joke. He shouldered the body onto the ground and continued walking in the direction of Bradwell-on-Sea. His old apprentice sighed as he crouched down to clutch at the burden his master had left with him. Aleifr sensed that he had a long day ahead of him.

The camp's butcher grabbed for the burlap sack that Wagluk carried strung across back. He stepped away, just out of the rotund man's reach, playfully grinning as he did so.

"This is Rognwulf's meat, Aktorn. I trust that he will be receiving all of it, this time?" Wagluk intoned, a faded smile on his lips.

The butcher pointed to a jagged scar that stretched across the taut and leathery skin of his left cheek, "I know what happen, if I make same mistake." Aktorn's thick accent always managed to garble the beautiful language of the Norse peoples. He had been taken a slave from the far eastern shores, and had never quite mastered the native tongue of his captors.

Wagluk dropped the burlap at Aktorn's feet, already turning away to make his report to Rognwulf. "See to it you never forget." He walked away with wind on his heels.

"No man should rest his head beneath the roof of a false prophet." Wagluk muttered under his breath.

Rognwulf drained the ale of his tankard swiftly, grunting at the effort. A Christian priest grovelled at the foot of the stairs that led to Rognwulf, to no avail. The Viking paid him no mind, instead focusing his attention upon the man who strolled easily into the hall of the chapel, with a blood soaked tunic and his seax blade sheathed behind his back. Rognwulf was normally delighted to see his comrade, but this time he greeted Wagluk with a toothless smile, and a grimace that hid behind his eyes.

"Your return, Wagluk, is the only good news I have." Rognwulf heaved his great mass from the high chair he was seated in. He rose to his full height, and at nearly seven feet tall he was a veritable giant both on and off the battlefield. "I bear reports from my son, Welf, that a large Saxon force marches upon us, no farther than a tími from Ythanceaster. I pray to Odin your blade remains sharp.

"Always, Thane." Wagluk replied simply. As he looked about the great hall, the carnage and bloodshed that the walls of the chapel had seen were almost sickening. Priests and nuns lay dead, their carcasses strewn about like sacks of refuse. The Bishop had been tied to a tapestry that hung on the far wall, with numerous arrows that jutted from his torso. The Saxons would give them no quarter after seeing such brutality, and he knew that he would have to find Aleifr, that he must escort him to safety in the coming battle before it was too late. He had promised the boy's father on his deathbed that so long as Wagluk still drew breath, no harm should ever befall Aleifr.

His word was his lifeblood.

A horn sounded from one of their sentries. "The Saxons bear down upon us!" Wagluk heard the soldiers outside the chapel calling out commands. He drew his seax, turned to make his way outside with Rognwulf and the other members of the inner circle. Through the doors of the Chapel, the Viking men were greeted with absolute chaos. The few remaining buildings of Bradwell had caught fire from the flaming arrows that rained down upon them, while the screams of dying men and the clash of weaponry against armour echoed across the renewed battlefield.

Rognwulf roared a battlecry before he lifted his great axe high and charged against the enemy. Wagluk was more cautionary, he knew he was growing too old to attempt a battle against a far superior enemy. His only hope for Aleifr was to retreat to the docks. He began jogging towards the sand of the beach, praying to the gods that Aleifr did not attempt to win his place in Valhalla.

"Wagluk! Help!" Aktorn's terrified voice called to him. Wagluk turned in an attempt to locate the former slave, and he saw the butcher wielding his meat cleaver against two Saxon warriors. Wagluk took a step forward, but his help was too late. Aktorn now gurgled on his own blood, a swift cut from one of the Saxon's slicing cleanly through the folds of his neck.

The warriors now turned upon Wagluk, marching calmly with purpose towards this new threat. Wagluk swung his seax, but was easily parried by his more youthful opponent. The second Saxon raised his sword high, but before he could arc it downwards a sword stabbed through his throat. With a soft choke he collapsed, revealing Aleifr as Wagluk's saviour. The remaining warrior spun to face this new threat, but Wagluk proved to him how fatal a mistake this was, as he stabbed his seax deep into the man's ribs, piercing his heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"My thanks, boy. This is no time for errant words, however, we must make it to our ships!" Wagluk spoke quickly, with an urgency that rose in his voice. Aleifr nodded soundlessly, and they continued their way towards the docks.

A guttural scream of rage reached Wagluk's ears, one he knew too well. They had just reached the soft sand of the coast, and he looked to the nearby dock to see Rognwulf with a spear protruding from his gut. One of their two ships burned fast behind him, with the other unfurling its sail away from shore. Aleifr made a move towards the dock.

"It is too late for him, Aleifr." Wagluk held his charge back with one arm and a heavy heart. He had stood beside Rognwulf near his whole life, and he had been a stalwart ally both here and in his home. A great Saxon bear stepped toward Rognwulf, a broadsword held firmly in both hands. With a single swing he cleaved the Viking warlords head from his shoulders, and blood sprayed over the warriors that encircled him.

Rognwulf never loosened the grip upon his axe.

"Bídsteall, hæðene!" A rough voice demanded. Wagluk wheeled around to the sight of four Saxon warriors that stalked forward.

"Aleifr, listen to me. You must swim to that ship. Now." Wagluk muttered.

"I'm not abandoning you."

"I gave your father my word, Aleifr. You will not dishonour me. Give me your sword and swim, damn you!" The Saxon's were edging ever closer to their foes. Aleifr chewed his lip, unwilling to leave Wagluk, but with a sigh he handed his sword over to his former master.

"You will be missed, félagi."

"Swim well, boy." Wagluk gripped his sword confidently, the splash of Aleifr diving into the water barely audible above the blood that rushed to his ears. The first combatant, a bearded Saxon on his right, charged at Wagluk soundlessly. He parried a blow that came high, disorienting his opponent before stabbing his sword cleanly through the Saxon's chest.

The remaining warriors charged as one, slashing and stabbing at Wagluk as they cried their fury over their fallen comrade. Wagluk kicked the man who held a short spear in his hand backward, and struck at the man to his left. A sliver of pain stabbed through Wagluk's adrenaline as his third opponent sliced open his right side. His attempt to cut into this man was met with futility as he was parried by his shield, the sword in his hand knocked free from his grip.

A mailed fist struck Wagluk on the left cheek, sending him spinning to rest in the shallow sea water. Sand and salt filled his mouth, and he struggled through his disorientation to rise to his knees, fighting his body's cries for mercy. He stared ahead to the ship that remained moored just off the shoreline, before his concentration was broken by the light tinge of pain that came of a fresh wound. He felt the sting of a wasp in his chest, but as Wagluk glanced downward he saw the tip of a spear protruding from his chest. Blood oozed from the hole it made in his heart, and a cough sent his essence spewing out of his mouth.

Wagluk looked ahead one last time, to see a shape that he prayed was Aleifr being hoisted over the edge of the ship. The wooden prow was forced out of his focus, but he felt a sense of calm wash over him, with the knowledge that he had kept his promise to an old friend.

The spear was ripped from his body, and blood sprayed into the water below him. Wagluk fell to the ground with a smile on his lifeless lips, and distant shores now ran red with the blood of the Norse.

Let me know if you'd like a translation of the words :D

Astounding, I think this is honestly my favorite piece yet! A violent and jarring piece all wrapped up into less than 2000 words, brought with nearly constant suspense....I couldn't stop reading.

It's not my intention to criticize too much, though at some points in the dialogue I felt it was a bit.... robotic? If I do say so myself. Then again, I could be mistaken being it looks as if it were settled in the 11th Century....maybe that's how they spoke. Overall, brilliantly plotted and perfectly paced. Ah, but the ending! I wanted more!

(absolutely loving the names too). & if you don't mind me asking. How do you pronounce all their names?


& yes. Ha! There were a few words I had absolutely no clue what meant such as Bídsteall, hæðene (heathen?), and félagi.