Oh the corsairs on the great black ship
came raiding off the coast!
The villagers stood all agog
at the bloody wave, which came crashing in.
And the motley crew drew forth their swords
and hacked them all to bits!
Oh! They smashed in heads and beat out brains
and burned two men 'till only ashes remained!
A heart on a pike run through and through
And several limbs were hacked up too..
And livers sliced and eyeballs diced
and....“Oh now there's a thing...what else rhymes with dice? Lice....mice....twice?”
A boisterous and clear voice boomed out in it's jumbled and gory song as a cloaked and hooded figure came riding through Sherwood forest. Once the improvised song had been forgotten the singer carried on with other tales of battles, raids, and murders; complete with graphic descriptions of the dead and dying. For all of there macabre themes, the songs carried with a cheerful air.
'Twas with a flick of his great big sword
he lopped of the old man's ears!
And as the blood came pouring out
The robber laughed with glee
while the old man fumbled
with his tongue in a jumble,
“Speak up, lad, I can hardly hear!”
This last note was held quite long for dramatic effect, and only came to a stop as an archer appeared in the middle of the road. The rider tugged hard on the reigns, bringing the chestnut mare to a halt. “Beg pardon, sir, would you mind clearing off the road?” the rider coughed, although the voice was still full and loud naturally.
“Certainly, just as soon as you oblige me and your men with a few of your valuables.” The archer said with a slight grin, and as if on cue three men and one rough looking woman emerged from the thickets.
“This is an ambush.” The man carrying sword and shield crowed triumphantly.
“Highway robbery is it?!” The rider cried, leaping down from the mare and drawing forth a dangerous looking broadsword, “Have at thee, cur!” the rider cried.
The gang exchanged looks of awkward astonishment and amusement at the challenge. The archer took a step back. “We mean you no harm.” he said.
“Oh, a coward is it? You shall have no mercy from me! On your guard!” The rider swung the sword at the archer, who immediately ducked and rolled to avoid getting his head lopped off.
The archer exchanged bow for a curved blade, which he wore by his side. He brought it up to meet the hulking and swinging sword with graceful ease. With a vicious and sudden twirl he easily disarmed his opponent; who hardly knew how to handle a blade in the first place with the way the rider kept swinging it like a great ax. The hooded rider looked to the fallen sword. “Ah, now there's a thing....”
“Now,” the archer sighed, sheathing his blade. “Are you quite finished making a fool out of yourself?”
“A fool? Now listen you rogue,” The figure lowered the hood, revealing round and fiery hazel eyes set in a freckled, pale face. The woman appeared to be in her twenties, her stocky build suppling the careful illusion of a hooded man out for a ride in the forest. Her mahogany colored hair fell in waves behind her, as it had been tucked under the collar of the clock to hide its curls, “I may have been called many things in my day, but Clorinda of Ashfield has never been called a fool.”
YOU ARE READING
The Storyteller
Fanfiction(A Robin Hood BBC fanfic) After suffering the loss of Marian, Robin Hood has fallen into despair and Sir Guy is rapidly spiraling into madness. The imprisonment of a Locksley weaver girl and storyteller may recall them both to life. One will find hi...
