A sigh.
    "I'm no good at this."
    "Quite, milord."
    The servant received a half-hearted glare for that.  "I can't accuse
you of sucking up, at least, Raevas."  The lord put down his feather pen
with an annoyed grunt.
    "I'm glad of that, milord," the servant, Raevas, responded with a
light, sardonic grin.
    After a moment of wallowing discontentedly in his ire, the lord glanced
over at his servant.  "You're supposed to be helping me put this down onto
parchment before I begin to forget."
    "Your memory is legendary, milord.  I doubt you're likely to forget any
time soon."
    "That was my point."
    A nervous grin.  "Ah, I see."
    There was a slight pause from the both of then.  "Well?"  The lord
grumbled questioningly at length.
    Raevas shrugged.  "Well, let's face it, milord:  a poet you're not."  
    "Obviously," the lord muttered irritatedly.  "That's why I invited you
here during the middle of the night, Raevas.  Because you -are- a good poet."
    "Strange, and here whilst I was growing up I was led to believe that
nobles were good at everything," the servant remarked with a decidedly
annoying smile.
    "You've got a very smart mouth, Raevas."
    "I got a lot of -that- during my early years, too."
    Another sigh from the lord.  "So, are you going to help me, or should I
send you back to bed?"
    "Anything to please you, milord," came the wry-toned response.
    The lord picked up the feather pen once more and dipped into into the
ink jar.  "Then start helping, Raevas.  What do you suggest?"
    Raevas glanced at the paper, licking his lips thoughtfully.  "Well,
your word choice is awful.  And not mystic sounding enough, considering you
said that you had a 'divine visitation' in your sleep."  A pause.  "When
did you become a prophet, anyway, milord?"
    "Actually," it was the lord's turn to grin slightly, "I've always
gotten them in my sleep.  This one just seemed so...visionary.  So
profound.  I need to write this one down, before I forget it completely."
    "Then rest easy, milord," his servant told him in a droll tone of
voice, "because you've apparently already gotten it written down."
    "But it's horrible."
    "Isn't that why you invited me here, milord?"
    "It is," the lord grunted.  "So would you please get to work?  We're
both losing sleep."
    "Concern for me?  I'm touched, milord."
    The lord glared at him scathingly.  "Just rewrite the damn thing!"  He
barked, looking irate. 
    "Alright, alright."  Raevas stared for a moment at the paper.  "Like I
said before, this doesn't sound nearly mystical enough to be a real
prophecy."  Seeing the hard look that his lord have him, he quickly
elaborated.  "Well, if this ever were to come true..."  He was careful to
keep skepticism out of his voice.  "...then for people to believe in it
ahead of time, it would have to sound really obscure and mystic.  Haven't
you ever heard the 'Canticle of the Golden Wyvern' before?"
    "That old tale?  It's too ridiculous to come true.  You know that."
    "True enough.  But it sounds so good when read aloud, that most common
people believe that it will eventually come true, sooner or later."  He
tapped the parchment with the lord's hastily written scribbles on it.
"That's what I mean.  This is too plain.  No one would believe it."
    "Okay, then what do you suggest, Raevas?"
    The servant looked over the lord's 'prophecy' for a moment.  "'The
wings over head casted long shadows,'" he read aloud thoughtfully, "'they
looked odd, for some reason, under the cold morning sky.  And there was an
beautifully dressed, armored king, who died later on; the dream escapes me
of just how he died.'"
    "What's wrong with that?"
    "It's hardly poetic, milord Shadras.  'Sky' and 'died' are decent
rhymes, but you didn't use the rhymes right.  Here, let me try..."
    With careful, slender fingers, the servant began to form neat, cursive
lettering onto the parchment:
    'White wing's shade...'
--

http://www.serve.com/guilds/lodoss/
guilds@mail.serve.com
[story � hkp]  02/14/1998

Prologue
Spirits

    And then the roaring ceased, and all was peaceful.
    Ashram opened his eyes, fearing that the pain would return, but
thankfully it did not.  He closed his eyes once again, lying prone amidst
the swirling eternity of nothingness, and breathed a silent sigh of relief.
 It was over.  It was all over.
    And Ashram was glad.
    He knew he was dead, yet he did not care.  He knew that floating out
here, outside the boundaries of time, in the infinite swirl of darkness, he
no longer existed, but it was no longer of any concern to him.  A brief
curiousity whether everyone's after-death was the same, but that flitted
out of his mind, and he submerged back into the welcome sleep of infinity.
    The dead man dreamed.
    It is said that spirits may dream of many things:  things they knew in
life, and things unreachable by those locked in mortal shells.  Of the
former, it was often so that they had pleasant dreams that made their
immaterial forms breathe easily and smoothly, and just as often that they
mourned over the greatest tragedies and loss of their lives, making their
invisble forms quake with agony and dispair.  And of the latter, spirits
would dream of the beauty of the heavens and the suffering of rebirth into
the mortal realm:  and they drempt of it clearly and vividly, and the
vision would haunt them forever, always in the back of their minds no
matter what their fate was decided at the Gate to heaven.
    Ashram did both, and for a long time, the spirit of the dark knight
slept, the slumber deep and wracked by both violent nightmares of the
horrors that he had seen, and cloaked gently by the peaceful recollections
of the few happy times he had experienced throughout his lifetime.
    Welcome to the end of time.
    The strange thought floated through his subconscious, steeped in both
foreboding and judgment, which, oddly enough, served to calm the trembling
soul.  He tried to awake, to no avail, the hold of the dreams was too
strong, and he found that, in the midst of the wonderful memories of his
loving mother, that he did not want to awaken.
    And so he lay there, floating in the depths of nothingness, contentedly
dreaming.  And he would have been overjoyed to continue as such until
forever was old and gone, but it was not to be.
    'Ashram.'
    The gentle, yet powerful, voice resounded through his mind, and he
awoke, strangely at peace.  He raised to a kneeling position as he tried to
answer the voice, but found that he could not speak.  His eyes searched the
intangible darkscape, but found nothing.  His ears strained to hear the
sound again, but found nothing, only silence.
    'Ashram.'  The voice came again through the blackness, this time
slightly firmer, but Ashram, try as he might, could not stop from thinking
that the ethereal voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.
'Welcome to eternity.'
    "T-to eternity?"  He stuttered, startling himself with his own ability
to speak.  "Then this is heaven?"  Somehow, Ashram had never quite pictured
heaven looking like this:  but then, in such matters, he had been too
idealistic, anyway, and he knew it.
    'This,' the voice responded, 'is the Gate to heaven, where your soul
will find peace and rest.'  So this wasn't heaven, after all.  Ashram
managed to find some comfort in that thought.  'You, young soul, have done
much wrong in your previous life - it should have been your destiny to be
reborn as some pitiful wretch in your new life.'
    Ashram's eyes were frozen with fear.  "P-pitiful wretch?"  He managed
to squeak out meekly.  "But, s-surely..."
    'But you helped prevent the reawakening of an evil goddess:  Kardis,'
the voice went on, cutting over Ashram's horrified protests.  'We look upon
that as deserving much credit, to your favor - so We are offering you a
choice, young soul.'
    Ashram didn't trust himself to speak, so he just knelt there, looking
pitifully into the spinning darkness.
    'You cannot be admitted into heaven,' the voice began, and Ashram
trembled as he felt his heart sink into his stomach with fear, 'but you
will not be born as something awful or hideous, either.  We do, however,
look with pride upon those who make wise decisions, so We are allowing you
to choose your destiny in your next life.'
    At first, Ashram didn't quite understand, then he narrowed his eyes,
wondering if he'd heard correctly.  "You...you're giving me the chance to
make a wish?"
    'Of sorts.'  Ashram tried not to flinch.  'There are limits on what We
are willing to do, but make a worthy request of Us, and you will be reborn
accordingly.'
    A multitude of thoughts rushed through Ashram's mind, as he tried to
figure out what would make a 'worthy request' to these spirits, and allow
him to be reborn as something not 'awful or hideous.'  Perhaps, he
realized, if he worded this request correctly, he might just be allowed
entry into heaven, after all...
    But what to wish for?  Perhaps it would be best if he relived his life
as it had been, changing it so that he had a chance to become triumphant -
though he supposed, from what the spirit said, that the young knight Parn
had managed to stop the resurrection of Kardis.  That much was good.  He,
Ashram, had lost out in the end, though:  he had died, Parn had lived.
Thankfully, he had managed to take Wagnard with him into oblivion, else who
knew what travesty might have befallen Lodoss.
    The root of his problems, he realized, was that he had decided as a
youth to venture into darkness, to learn the ways of becoming a dark
knight.  Without that, he would not have died on the foul island of Marmo,
would not have been killed by...
    Light dawned in his eyes.  There was a way to prevent his becoming a
dark knight, without forcing the spirits to intervene in his life overly
much - their methods of doing so might prove catastrophic for him,
physically and probably mentally, as a young boy.  And it was so simple,
that he felt a hint of pride for thinking of it.  It wasn't something he
cared to think about, but then, he would be a new person when he was
reborn, with a new mind.
    It wouldn't be so bad.
    "I wish..."
--

Hunter Kid Publications presents...

		White wing's shade, under the cold sky,
		a glorious king, doomed to die.
		Purest gold for a game of dice;
		knight mute as stone and cold as ice.

		Spirit's wish, Gate for a shield,
		ways of thought and the kiss of steel.
		Roses of dust, the Song of Rhyme,
		and ancient walls, fallen with time.

Kiss of Steel
a Record of Lodoss War fanfic by 
George Masologites [Hunter Kid]

"The nameless are like dust.
No one shall come to lay flowers by their grave.  
Only those who earned their names are ever remembered."
-parchment found on the late Sir Parn's writing desk; original author unknown
 
1
Forest

    A warm breeze whistled softly through the dark green woodland of
Kurweil Forest.  It spun itself out gently, rustling the leaves of a nearby
great oak tree, and wound slowly through the thick underbrush.  The
strength of the meager wind dissipated with a light sigh, and was replaced
quickly by another quiet breath of wind, once again winding slowly through
the neverending green and brown of the forest.
    In the distance, a faint splashing sound could be heard through the
wall of leaves, followed by a sigh of relief.  A dark shadow was all that
an onlooker would see; the perennial shade of Kurweil's seemingly endless
woodlands, with a shadowy silhouette of a unclothed girl emerging from the
clear waters of a small, deep pond, shaking the water out from her short
brown hair in a fine spray of sparkling liquid.
    The girl, upon closer inspection, was probably around seventeen or
eighteen years of age and in actuality closer to being a woman than a girl.
 She wasn't what would have been considered 'beautiful' by most people, but
perhaps rather as 'cute' - she had large, slightly slanted wood-toned eyes,
a small, upturned nose, and nicely shaped lips, though they had a bit of a
stern look to them, as if she was one who could defend herself easily and
was well aware of it.  If an onlooker looked past the beautiful appearance
of the brown eyes, it would have been revealed that her eyes had the same
hard tint to them as her lips did.
    But for now, she was smiling, so it didn't seem to matter whether she
was cute or beautiful, or whether her eyes and mouth looked steely and
tough:  anyone who looked at her now would have decided that she was a
pretty, winsome, and utterly helpless girl.
    That image of her quickly vanished when the smile of relief from the
hot weather fell off her face, and the wood-colored eyes changed from
cheerful to wary and alert.  She licked her lips apprehensively, tensing -
there was something moving around in the dark shadows of the brush, but
whom - or what - ever it was, it had not been silent enough to escape the
sharp senses of the brown haired girl.
    She moved silently, gliding quickly over to her rough wool tunic and
light leather boots, pulling them on hurriedly as her watchful eyes stared
into the thickets on the sides of the secluded pool, as if she could flush
out the stalker by a glare alone.
    It obviously didn't work, so she edged warily over to the leafy bushes
separating the pool of water from the forest path, then suddenly broke into
a run.  She crashed noisily through the underbrush, tripping on a
outjutting root, and landed in the middle of the small, barely visible
trail, stunned for a second.  The girl quickly gathered her bearings and
rolled to her feet, and began to pound down the path as fast as she could
without losing wind, the powerful muscles of her darkly tanned legs used to
the long exercise and barely even straining.
    But her pursuer was obviously no sloth, either.  Rushing swiftly
through the opening that she had left by smashing through the brush, it was
quickly gaining on her.  She shot an apprehensive glance back to the place
where the sound of the running footsteps was coming from, when the noise
suddenly stopped.  She stopped her dead run, puzzled, when she sensed
movement in the patch of greenery to her left.
    Snarl.
    The second after the guttural noise rolled over her ears, she spun,
preparing to attack, when she felt a crushing blow fall upon her left
cheek.  She was sent reeling backwards onto the roots of an old oak near
the overgrown path, where she landed with a dull thump.  She clambered back
to her feet, spitting a small amount of blood out from her mouth,
thankfully noting that nothing seemed to be broken.
    Finally facing her adversary, she took note of its appearance:  it was
a goblin.
    She was not surprised, at least not at first.  Goblins weren't usually
prone to attack villagers - even unarmed ones - but they could be spurred
to action fairly easily if they felt threatened.  She couldn't imagine what
she had done to make them feel as such, but she was well-informed enough to
know that goblins were so temperamental that the slightest thing could set
them off.  This one was unarmed, but its heavily muscled arms could prove
to be difficult to...
    Something dawned in her eyes.  
    "Goblins are night creatures," she murmured, staring the maliciously
glowering goblin back straight in the eye.  What was this goblin doing out
in the forest in broad daylight?  Goblins slept during the day and hunted
at night; that was why villagers feared to travel into the woodland after
nightfall.  "Why...?"
    The goblin smiled, showing long, dagger-like fangs, and it occured to
the girl just how easily those fangs could tear apart her flesh.  Slightly
nervous, she began to step backwards, her gaze locked solidly on the
goblin, which stared right back, the smile still twisting its hideous face
nastily.
    She took another step back, glacing furtively about for anything that
could be used as a weapon:  a large branch, or a rock...nothing.  She
gritted her teeth, still staring hard at the goblin's dusk brown skinned
face, then ventured a glance at the rest of it.
    The goblin was dressed in a fairly beaten-up iron breastplate, and had
a pair of shoddy greaves strapped to its legs that looked as if a good
weapon would cut through them like a knife and butter.  Its small, beady
eyes glinted with a bloodthristy malignance, and its dark skinned arms were
thick with wiry muscles that looked strong as rocks.
    She swallowed, her eyes darting about for some way to escape - she
didn't think she was a match for this goblin, especially since she was
without a weapon.  She glanced back at the goblin, still facing her on the
overgrown trail, not showing any signs of advancing.
    Snarl.
    "Eh...?"  She turned, and standing on her other side was another
goblin, this one armed with a knobby cudgel.  It gave her the same
unnerving, vicious smile as the first one:  it knew there was no escape for
her now, and the two goblins started to advance slowly on her, their
iron-shod legs echoing with an eerie loudness in the girl's ears.
    Swallowing again, she thought quickly.  There was no way to escape;
these goblins could probably outpace her, especially if she had to run
through the brush and would clear a path for them as she went.  Fighting,
with as small of a chance for success as that had, seemed to be the only
option - after all, she had never heard of anyone successfully negotiating
with a goblin before.  
    -Strange,- the sober thought whispered morosely through her mind, -I
hadn't thought that I would die today.  I'm not even sixteen yet...-
    And then the goblins rushed her.

    Liarus had always loved the forest.
    Enjoying a certain amount of freedom, being the mayor's only son, he
had more leisure time than most boys his age, who were forced to work on a
farm for the majority of the hours in a day.  But he was not idle; Liarus
couldn't abide those who were idle, and always tried his best to convince
him that they were not doing themselves nor anyone else any good by idling.
 It didn't often work to change anyone's attitude towards anything, but
Liarus always felt good about himself for a short while afterwards for
doing what most folks would consider 'a good deed.'
    Instead of idling about, he took long walks in the forest.  He
delighted in the endless splays of green leaves and beautiful browns of the
bark and branches, and adored the sweet scents of the woodland in the
spring and summertime, when everything was green and healthy.
    The other boys of the village often gave him a bit of trouble for his
love of the woods, and he had been called a 'sissy' more often than once,
but he didn't let it get to him.  After all, his own loves were for him,
not for the other boys - and for all their teasing, he was glad that they
didn't share his feelings for the forest.  It wasn't as if he wanted them
to accompany him on his walks.
    A light breeze stirred, blowing his long, ponytailed brown hair
slightly.  He glanced up at the sky; saw the sun obscured by shadowy grey
clouds.  He frowned.  The sky had been clear but a second ago...  A
superstitous chill ran down his spine, and he quickly suppressed it.  He
did, after all, pride himself on not being prone to such foolish
superstitions as so many people were.  And if he were to...
    A girl's shrill cry cut off his thoughts.
    He started slightly, perking his ears to try to hear the direction of
any abnormal sounds for the forest, and heard, much to his surprise, the
faint sound of goblin snarling.
    "Goblins..."  he mused aloud, "in broad daylight..."  He shook his
head, scattering his thoughts, as he realized that he had better divert his
attention to helping whoever it was who had screamed.  Did he recognize the
voice?  He shook his head as he began a fast-paced, long-legged dash
towards the sounds of the goblins and the girl.  There was no way to tell
the sound of a voice simply from a scream, he rationalized after a moment.
    Barely pausing in his run to scoop up a thick, freshly fallen branch,
he swallowed grimly.  Goblins, from what he knew, never having met one
before, could be quite ferocious when they set their minds to it.  And if
they were trying to savage some poor maiden, than they would have to be in
a ferocious temper, indeed.
    He brandished his wooden weapon, slightly apprehensive, as he reached
the scene of the clamor.
    This was not going to be fun.

    "Aralia!"
    The short haired girl grunted as she turned around, rolling under one
of the goblins' off-target swipe with the wood club, and slamming into the
flying fist of the other nastily smiling creature.  She wobbled, slightly
dazed, and the goblin quickly closed in on her and slammed another fist
into her gut.  The girl stumbled backwards, coughing up blood slightly but
managing to stay mostly in control.
    The pair of goblins, obviously expecting an easier fight, once again
began to warily close in on her in a 'v' shape, both from her frontside.
She grimly resumed a fighting stance where she could face them both at once.
    "Hello, my handsome hero," the stern-eyed girl, Aralia, grumbled, her
voice dripping with sarcasm.  "Won't you help this helpless young maiden
fend off these evil fiends?"  She licked her slightly bloody lips as she
proceeded to face off against the goblins again and ignore the newcomer;
this time she would only have to fight against one, since the goblins
wouldn't want the newcomer to flank them with that big branch.
    The newcomer, a young man with ponytailed brown hair, looked slightly
confused.  "Um...are you alright?"  His voice positively reeked of the
question he really wanted to ask: Why aren't you happy that I'm here to
help you?
    Aralia, being reasonably perceptive, realized this, snorted, and didn't
pay any attention to him.  The answer to his unasked question was simple,
really:  Aralia didn't like men.  No, that was too mild.  She -hated- men,
and as a general rule, couldn't abide them at all in any way.  As she was a
fairly attractive young girl, men seemed to see three things in her - a
potential mate, an object of affection, and someone that was completely
helpless. 
    Like now.
    And she especially couldn't stand this man in particular.  No, not man,
boy.  He was the son of the Mayor of the nearby village of Kurweil, and was
an utterly and completely spoiled brat, and if he didn't always get his
way, he had an annoying tendency to throw a temper tantrum about it.  He
never did work on any of the farms - or at least no appreciatable amount -
and instead spent his day wandering aimlessly around the forest.  Worst,
she could tell by venturing a furtive glance at him that he fulfilled all
three criteria for 'annoying male' at this moment, and she wanted to walk
up to him, smile sweetly, and maul him for it.
    Unfortunately, right at this moment, she had another something to worry
about mauling, and it had just charged at her.  She leaped nimbly out of
the way of its flailing fists - thankfully, the young man was fighting the
goblin with the knobby cudgel - and landed a solid blow in its unguarded
side.  Its beady eyes flashed as it dropped, spun swiftly toward her, and
lashed out with its iron-shod legs, sweeping her cleanly off her feet.
    She landed with a soft thud, rolling over with a grimace of pain, and
leaping back to her feet, desperately fending off the again-charging
goblin's meaty fists.  -Got to end this quickly,- she thought, barely
managing to block a well-placed strike that would have broken her nose.
-But how...?-
    She stumbled slightly, and the goblin broke through her already
weakened defenses, speedily executing three powerful blows that sent her
staggering backwards.  Narrowly avoiding a fall, she swayed slightly as she
parried another strike with her left forearm, flinching in pain
nonetheless, and returning the attack with a surprisingly strong punch that
smashed solidly into the goblin's ribs.  She stumbled again as she fell
into a defensive stance, cursing for not being able to continue her attack.
    Yes, she had to end this quickly, before her endurance reserves ran
dry.  And if she survived, she might even actually thank the interfering
young man.
    Might.

    Liarus glanced fleetingly over at Aralia's lithe, quick-moving form.
Blessed Falis, but she was beautiful...
    He was brought back to reality with a healthy dose of pain as the
goblin's cudgel delivered a hard blow to his left arm, not hard enough to
break his bone, but hard enough to hurt.  A lot.
    "How dare you cause me pain," he declared angrily, and more than
slightly exaggeratedly.  "Foolish goblin, now you will-"  He was cut off
abruptly by the goblin charging and flailing around wildly with its knobby
club forcing him to dive aside, as he was posing a little too much to be in
a decent position to parry.
    He caught the edge of a withering glare from Aralia at his little
proclamation as she backfisted her stumbling foe in the face, and then
proceeded to pointedly ignore him again.  He hurumphed, and swung a heavy
blow at his opponent, which it nimbly danced to the side of, and attacked
him again, this time connecting with his exposed backside.
    Pain ripping through him like a wave of fire, he collapsed into a heap
on the ground, grimacing.  Dammit, but that goblin was -strong.-  Looking
up, spitting up a small bit of blood, he barely managed to roll over on one
side to avoid a crushing blow that smashed a small hole into the ground
where he had been a second earlier.
    This shook him to his senses.
    Leaping to his feet and trying his best to ignore the pain that shot
through his backside as he did so, he grasped the branch tightly and
charged.  Although he missed somewhat pathetically, the goblin jumped to
the side, alarmed, and left itself completely vulnerable to the follow up
attack.
    Liarus smiled toothily.
 
    The goblin stumbled to one side, barely managing to evade the feint,
and falling prey to Aralia's follow up punch, slamming her quick-moving
fists into its square-jawed face.  She felt a certain comforting harshness
as she heard the jaw crack slightly, fueling her surge of bloodlust.
    She grinned nastily as she continued to pummel the goblin, bashing it
in the face over and over again, until it fell to the overgrown path,
bloody and unconscious.  She spat a little blood onto it, which felt
satisfying, in a way - well, the damn monster deserved whatever it got,
anyway.  She hoped that a wolf ate its sorry carcass.
    Realizing that she had forgotten her impromptu rescuer, and reminded of
him mainly by cries of pain and shouts of rage coming not ten feet away
from her, she glanced over to see how he was faring.
    Liarus had just knocked the goblin off-balance so it was completely
open to his next attack, and he grinned evilly as he charged at it, club
upraised...
    ...and stumbled.
    Aralia slapped her forehead disgustedly.  "Moron," she growled, annoyed.
    The goblin, realizing the opportunity, leapt at the unbalanced Liarus,
preparing to maim him with a full-powered shot to the head.  And Aralia,
realizing that however annoying this boy was, she should really save him
from being maimed, sighed regretfully, wound up, and barreled into the
creature's side, sending it - and her - rolling off the path and slamming
into a tree.
    Liarus, who had regained his composure, stood there with the branch in
his hands, looking confused, then flinched as if he was the one who had
just smashed into the tall, thick-trunked tree.  "Ouch," he commented
sympathetically.
    Thankfully for Aralia, the goblin had taken the brunt of the tree's
blow, and had been knocked out, while she had only received a large bruise
on her left shoulder.  -Ha,- she thought, irritated.  -Let those stupid
boys in the village see my nice, ugly, blue-black bruise.  Maybe they'll
stop chasing me and drooling...-
    She clambered to her feet, panting, and glared hard at Liarus, who was
looking back at her expectantly.  
    He was expecting her to thank him.
    And after a moment, she realized this.
    She growled at him.
    "E-eh...?"

    Aralia couldn't stand this.  This was unexcusable.  This stupid boy had
had the nerve to bust in on -her- fight, and then try to save her and
nearly get himself killed, and she had to end up saving him!  And now he
wanted -thanks- for it?  How dare he, how dare he, how dare he, how dare he!
    And the worst part of it was that she knew that if he hadn't come
along, she would never have beaten those goblins.  In other words, that
meant that he -had- saved her.
    Which did absolutely nothing to improve Aralia's temper.
    Liarus backed away from the angry girl uneasily.  "W-whoa, hold on
here, Aralia," he stuttered in a nervous voice.  "What's wrong?"
    "Y-you..."  She glowered daggers at him.  "You...you..."  She couldn't
think of a word bad enough to describe him, so she stuck with the truth.
"You -male-!  How dare you!"
    Liarus swallowed.  "Uh, what'd I do?"
    "You saved me!"  She raged furiously.  "How dare you save me, you-"
    He cut her off, confused.  "Isn't that kind of what you wanted?  I
mean, if it was me getting beaten to death by a couple goblins, then I...I
would have..."  He trailed off, licking his lips apprehensively, under her
fuming stare.  "W-what?"
    "You sloth!"  She ranted, not really paying any attention to what he'd
said.  "You sit around all day and don't work, thinking you're all great
because you're the stupid mayor's son!  Ha!  You're not so great, you lazy
troll-faced scum!  All you are is a pathetic little..."
    She went on like this for another short while, with Liarus watching in
astonishment.  It had been maybe half a minute, and she didn't seem to be
pausing to take breaths...oh, there it was.  She inhaled deeply, and before
she could start on him again, he asked her a very intelligent, calming
question:
    "How do you hold your breath for so long?"
    She gave him the most awful look that he had ever been on the receiving
end of.  "What?"  She demanded.
    "I, um, said that-"
    "I heard what you said!"  She fumed, utterly furious.  "You weren't
listening to word I said, were you, you stupid, arrogant-"
    He intelligently cut her off again.  "Huh?"  He interjected smartly.
    She growled at him.
    "E-eh...?"
    
    Aralia paused for another breath.  Liarus had to admit it:  she really
was good at coming up with varied insults.  He had to wonder, however,
whether she had created some of those oaths herself.  They sounded pretty odd.
    "Hey."
    The girl looked him hard in the eye.  "What?"  She inquired coldly.
    "You, um, haven't even told me why you're so mad..."  He trailed off
nervously, more than slightly afraid that he might set her off again.
    "You mean you don't know?"  She asked incredulously.  "Isn't it obvious?"
    "I saved your life," he told her matter-of-factly.  "I guess I don't
see why that would make someone so furious.  I mean, shouldn't you be
grateful?"
    She was giving him the evil eye.  "You did not save my life," she said,
slowly and punctuating each word exactly. 
    "Well, you were screaming and were getting beaten pretty bad, so it
seemed like-"
    "I don't care what it seemed like!"  She roared at him, getting angrier
by the second.  "I was in perfect control of the fight until you butted in,
and made me lose focus, and I got pounded by that damn goblin!"
    He sighed as he came to a realization about what this was probably
about.  "Look, Aralia, your pride isn't at stake here.  It would be tough
for an unarmed man to beat two goblins, let alone a -girl-!  No one'll
think less of you for having to het help, Aralia..."
    There was an extended pause, as Aralia tried very hard to get her anger
under control, breathing deeply.  It seemed to work.
    "I don't like that comparison," she stated at length, surprisingly
calm.  "At all."
    And with that, she leaped towards him and sent her fist rushing toward
his face.  Taken completely unaware, Liarus wasn't prepared to block it or
even move out of the way.  So he didn't.
    The loud thud of the punch when it connected was nothing compared to
the scream that followed from the unfortunate mayor's son.
--

Read the information blurb that I sent out for author's notes on this
story.  Thanks for reading! :)

Hunter Kid
http://www.serve.com/guilds/ranma/
guilds@mail.serve.com

open hk.sig

    "They're my friends, Akane," he insisted stubbornly, "and I know that-"
    Akane cut him off.  "You know that they're in China?"  She gave him a
withering look.  "Look, mister 'I-laughed-while-Ryoga-slept-with-you,' you
can't just go running off to another country based on some stupid dream!"
    "Don't bring Ryoga into this," Ranma grumbled sourly.  
						 	-from Brother, chapter 2
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