Contests

Contest #2 - 1st Place: @Cameron_Jones

Congratulations, Cameron_Jones! You made 1st place in Contest #2!

Here's the story!

***

 It was stunning. Graceful movements danced in the twilight shine. Twirling majestic arcs created serene silver strokes in the air, accompanied by the sweet whistling of blades. This deadly symphony played out before my very eyes. Scary yet safe. Horrifying yet beautiful.

My slack jaw hit the floor the instant it began. I had simply forgotten the dangerous I was in. Monsters no longer panicked my racing thoughts; my eyes nor seeking a place to hide. Instead they focused on the gorgeous golden locks waving around, flawlessly escaping the sprays of blood that threatened to dirty its silky sheen. It's like every strand knew how to move, how not to impede in the fight; avoiding attacks and dodging her own face.

I marvelled at her speed. She flashed from side to side, tip-toeing on the slushy ground leaving nary a footprint. Speed such as hers came from years of firsthand experience. Exceptional training can only take you so far. First-hand encounters are another matter entirely, thrusting you into deadly situations where you can not afford to make a mistake. That most certainly meant death. Yet she spat at death, stared it down with a defying glare and jumped head first at it.

She always prevailed. She was a walking legend among hunters. Up against the siblings she came out on top with impassable ease. Nobody has faced was she has. Witnessed what she did and still kept some shred of their mind. In a glance she was angelic, radiating beauty like the sun radiated light. But, she was a demon in disguise. How else could she saunter into the depths of the forest and return without a scratch? Angel or demon she was a legend, a master hunter.

There was no one better, than Goldilocks.

——

"I swear to you, I saw her! I wouldn't be alive otherwise!" Turner exclaimed, pounding his hand on the chipped excuse of a bar. The aged wood had definitely seen better days, considering those days were centuries past it was surprising to see how run down it had become. Men drinking too much and smashing their mugs against it. Drunkards smashing their - or someone else's - head into the poor plank.

Years of spilled drinks caused it to wrinkle and stick like an old hags sweaty face. The stench alone could drunk a man as soon as the toxic air hit his nose. Disgusting smells of ale and piss fused with the rotting floorboards sitting atop musky sludgy soil. No concrete beneath this place, just dirt and water; horrible mix when churned with the faceted cobbled streets of Grovel. Turner had gotten used to it, having spent most of his childhood as the owners errand boy he would whiz around the small village gathering any tabs that needed paying, or finding someone who hadn't payed. Nasty business that only dirtied the streets, only with more crimson than brown.

"There ain't no weh! Shis imposs-ible t' find," Kiven spoke in his thick voice, cleaning out a mug. A bit of spit and a dirty cloth go a long way when shining mugs.

Turner hung his head. There was no way to get through to Kiven's thick skull that he was telling the truth. It didn't matter who he told either, Turner was an outsider, nobody believed those who were outcast as a 'Witches pet'. He was lucky enough to have been spared after saving this village from monsters, that didn't mean they trusted him however. Kiven only conversed because he had to, no one else was in the tavern at this moment.

"Hm. How ol' 're ya kid?" Kiven asked, picking up another mug, spitting bile into it. The dirty old man wasn't small but didn't class as big. His body had all the points of a knight; broad shoulders, toned muscles, and experienced brown eyes. Yet his scruffy grey beard and bald head gave him a gruff exterior. Didn't help with how thick his accent was either.