Gavanaugh: The Eve of an Ambush

     You know the feeling you get when you are witnessing something awesome, something so wonderful and breathtaking, so incredible, that it sends a shiver up your spine and goosebumps along your limbs? Then suddenly you're cold, as if you'd stepped into an icy cave and a wave of chilly air had washed over you.

    That's what Gavanaugh, the Gold Dragon of the South, felt as he looked at the woman standing beside him. They stood on a small, relatively flat area of a mountain that overlooked a valley of alternating plains and forest, through which several rivers twined. In the valley below spread the twinkling lights of a small town, hearthfires sending flickering light through the windows of each house, small lanterns swinging gently in the breeze that swept down from the mountainside. The air was pleasantly warm, it being the middle of summer. Even high up on the mountain as Gavan was, the temperature was simply cool, despite the shiver he now experienced making him feel like he needed a coat.

    The source of his shiver stood not three paces to his left, her arms crossed. A pensive look adorned her features. Her dark, slim brows curved down in thought over amber eyes, and her thin lips were covered by a fist as she exhaled. Behind her on the horizon rose a bright waxing moon, not quite full, but illuminating her delicate, high-set cheekbones with its pale light all the same. Her straight brown hair fell around her shoulders, shifting softly in the wind, which blew with just enough force to reveal her slightly pointed ears. Gentle starlight completed the picture with an almost ethereal touch. 

    And so it was that Gavanaugh (or Gavan, as he was more commonly called) felt his heart skip a beat as he beheld the scene. Never before had someone incited this feeling in him, this...excitement, this feeling as if he was always on his toes, and couldn't wait for the next moment with this person...or elf, as she was. Then again, he was a very young dragon, if you counted five hundred and seventy-one in dragon years. 

    "I don't know, Gavan," she finally said, her voice cutting through the still night air - soft though it was. "You think he'll show?"

    "I'm sure."

    His companion dropped her arms to her sides, her right hand fingering the hilt of her shortsword. She was simply dressed in light and dark green robes, a leather cuirass covering her torso and leather travelling boots that would all appear surprisingly clean to anyone who cared to look twice. The perks of being a mage. Prestidigitation was a handy spell.

    "I don't know. Are you sure your information was correct? He's been surprisingly hard to track, even for the Lotus. Maybe...maybe he's given us the slip again."

    Gavan let a barely audible sigh escape his lips. "Don't worry." He reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I know you're anxious to bring him to justice for what he did. Just...trust me." She looked over at him, and again his heart skipped a beat. He offered a reassuring smile. 

    "All right." She lowered herself into a sitting position, letting one leg dangle over the edge of the small shelf they occupied, resting her chin on the other. Her arms wrapped around herself as the wind picked up.

    "Cold?" She nodded. Gavan spread his hands and muttered an incantation, and suddenly an invisible barrier of force shimmered briefly into existence around them, disappearing as it turned transparent to the surroundings. The wind ceased around them, and the atmosphere became comfortably moderate.

    "Thanks." She smiled at him, and yet again his heart skipped. How did she do that?

    "Always." Gavan sat down next to her. He looked over the plains spread out before them, the gently rolling hills and swaying sheaves of wheat. It was all so peaceful. 

    This. This is what we fight for. He didn't know why his heart pulled him towards this feeling, this way of life, but somehow he knew: this was what everyone should have, what civilization was for - peace. Family. A home. He'd grown up on his own, roaming from place to place, fighting for his very survival, and since then involving himself in the endless wars of men. Even still, seeing the serenity of this simple town enflamed within him a desire he knew he'd always had.

    Would it ever come to pass? He didn't know. All he knew, right there and then, as he sat with the one person who mattered most, was that this was enough.

The Scrambles of Robin Hood, Chapter Two

The Scrambles of Robin Hood

Chapter Two

(Based off the classic by Howard Pyle)

Well the Sheriff wasn't too happy that the Communist Robin Hood hadn't been locked up yet, and people laughed at him. The Sheriff didn't like this, so he went a-pouting and a-crying to jolly King Whatever-His-Name-Was and complained about this troublesome outlaw.

"A banana, a banana," quoth he, kneeling in front of the King.

"Those are hard to come by, good chap," replied the King. "I sense you want more than just a banana, though. Let's hear it."

"O good Lord and Sovereign and King and Beloved One and Mighty and Powerful and-"

"Fine! Here's your banana."

"I wanted to tell you about this rebellious bugger called Robin, of the Hood, whose increasing gang has been stealing and redistributing funds. It's hurting the local economy."

"What the devil?! A Communist, here in Mother England? You'd best sort him out, my good law-abiding citizen."

"But your majesty -"

"Off with you now, enjoy the banana. They're bloody hard to obtain, those things."

So the Sheriff returned to Nottingham, disheartened because of the Kings dismissal and with a stomachache from the imported banana.

On the way home, however, a thought struck him.

"Eureka!" He yelled, stripping off all of his clothes and galloping home naked. "I know - I'll organize a shooting match! No way the bugger could resist coming to that!"

So he did.

When Robin of the Hood heard of this nefarious competition, he saw it for the trap it was quite easily. "Not many men can go riding through the countryside naked and shouting plans to the wind and not be noticed," quoth he. And one of his men, standing nearby, wrote down the words to be forever immortalized on paper - except none of them could write, and it came out as something like "Workers of the World, unite!"

Well, Robin wanted to put one over the bloody Sheriff of Nottingham, so he disguised himself and went to the match.

The Sheriff, as could be expected, thought his plan was brilliant and flawless. He was looking through all the competitors, and he knew most of them, but there were a couple he didn't know. And he couldn't see any Robin Hood.

"Blast and curse it, where is the varmint?" he asked his chief adviser.

"Well, sir, maybe he's wearing different clothes to change his appearance," his adviser replied. "There's a word for it, probably French - disguise, I think."

"Bah, well, if it's French, it's definitely flawed," the Sheriff snorted. "No way he'd do something like that. Well, keep a weather eye out for him anyhow."

But in spite of them keeping many a weather eye out, they still didn't see the infamous Robin Hood.

"Blast it! I fully expected him to waltz into a party where he's the most wanted man, surrounded by my men-at-arms, fully visible and just asking to be arrested!" cursed the Sheriff. "What could have possibly gone wrong?"

Meanwhile Robin was snickering with his gang in the Forest, 'cause he'd won the prize - a rather snazzy looking bling item: a golden arrow.

"Say, good chaps, I'd like to stick this up the Sheriff's rear a little more," he commented. "And I know just the way to do it."

The very same night when the Sheriff and his wife and kids sat down to dinner, an arrow flew through the window and impaled one of his children through the neck, pinning him to the table.

"Oh dear, someone's killed Julius!"

"Et tu, arrow?" quoth the Sheriff, and then he laughed at his joke. "Oh, I mean, Julius! My youngest son! Whatever shall I do?"

"'Ey look, there's something attached to the arrow."

"Methinks that arrow came from Sherwood Forest, milord."

The Sheriff raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And just how can you tell?"

"It's got a 'Sherwoord Forest tm' emblazoned on the shaft, milord. And I think it's got a message for you."

They took the piece of paper from the arrow, peering at the blood-soaked scrap.

DISGUISE

"BLOODY OUTLAAAAAAAAAAWS!!!"

The Scrambles of Robin Hood - Introduction and Chapter One (English Twang)

So I have this app on my phone that has most of the biggest classical pieces of writing. And I can read them. So, partly so I can actually build up credit for having read them and to have a little fun on the way, I thought of starting this series where I read a piece of classical literature and parody each chapter with a distinctive style of speaking each time.
If you didn't get that, move on.

The Scrambles Of Robin Hood

Chapter One

(Based off of the classic by Howard Pyle)

In good ol' Brittania when the jolly King Henry Junior was ruling, there lived in the dingy forests of Sherwood near the decrepit town of Nottingham (whose sheriff had a slight case of OCD when it came to jolly good fellows squatting on his land) a jolly good fellow called Robin, whose last moniker was Hood. He wasn't black, just so you know.

Apparently there weren't a bloke within a kilometer or ten that could out-shoot the bugger, and with his band of jolly good fellows they had a grand old time breaking the law in the woods. Remember, kids - crime pays. If you can shoot better than anyone within a ten kilo radius. Everyone who didn't have much money loved the bloke, because he was a fan of the working class. All hail Stalin! I mean, Robin! The first Communist.

And now I will tell the tale of how jolly good Robin was painted white-and black, and became a brother of the Hood. I mean, of the Sherwood.

When good old Rob was eighteen, he hadn't got his drivers' license yet. So there he was, strolling along in the woods, doing bugger all and thinking he'd like to faff about with his shooting skills. 

"Methinks I'll get me a good beer and lassie if I compete in the regional shoot-off," hethought. So off he went in that general direction.

'Twas the dawn of day, you know, when the sun comes up - an' everything was looking right chipper when lo and behold, Rob stumbled across some foresters. After having a brief chin-wag with the blokes he accidentally killed one of them for some reason or other. Oh right, the blighter chucked an arrow at him.

So now, alas! Rob was on the wrong side of the law. But sod that, he was having loads of fun with his new mates in the Hood. I mean, wood. Sherwood. 

They had a rout good time, pillaging the rich and feeding the poor, championing the working class and generally laying down the basis for Communism in the most dashing way possible.

One sodding nice day Rob decided that it was too pretty, so he decided to go for a walk. One never goes for a walk in the Motherland, you see, because if you do the weather will decide you're having too much crack and put you back where you belong with a hailstorm or two, cheeky blighter.

He met a bloke or two, but then he got to a bridge where he met a really BIG bloke. One who could probably rearrange your moniker with his fingernails.

"'Old up there matey, it's my turn to cross the bridge," Rob said.

"Shut your trap, ya twat, I'm the better man, so I go first," quoth the latter.

"Now hold thy sorry rear a minute, whilst I prepare to smack it into the next century," replied Rob, "an' they arrest your face for public indecency."

Thus they went at it, hammer and tooth, sticks and stones, words and chin-wags all around. The fight was epic, destroying cities and towns alike, throwing down rulers from their high places and...

Wait, wrong story. No, Rob got poked in the head with a stick and called it quits, and they were best of friends. Rob christened his new mate Ugly Mug, which in Slovakenian means Little John. 

Turns out Little Mug...Ugly John...John Mug...Jo was also a blimey good archer, and he was able to split hairs with the best of 'em. One thing led to another, and he became a member of the Hood. Of Sherwood. 

The Hood of Sherwood. And they all lived happily ever after until the next chapter came along.

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So that was that...tell me how I could make it better. Recommend 'twangs' or themes or something. I'll be doing this probably a chapter or two a week. Or three. Or five. We'll see how much I want to do.

Chow, mates.