That said, here’s the next chapter in the story of Herrick and Price.  You can imagine where Price is going to turn to for help, but what kind of reception is he going to get from Herrick after what the Order did?  Let’s find out.

Enjoy!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 7

Cold water thrown on his face woke Herrick out of his dreamless sleep.  For a moment, he thought it was Vesa trying to sober him up.  Yet, when he opened his eyes, he was looking into the face of Lars, one of the local woodcutters.

Herrick jumped to his feet, and instantly regretted it as his legs swayed under him.  Lars grabbed his arm, steadying him.  “Thanks,” Herrick said.  When he got his balance, he looked around the room.  “Where did they go?”

“They disappeared into the woods.”

“Herrick!”

Herrick turned and saw Cairan lying on the ground in a large puddle of his own blood.  The men who had been frozen in the inn were now kneeling around him, giving him whiskey and trying to stop the bleeding with the tablecloths.  Herrick went and knelt beside the big man.

“They took Vesa?” Cairan asked.  His eyes were clouded and he didn’t focus on anything in particular.

“Yes.”

“You must get her back.”  Cairan tried to stand but he was weak and didn’t make it more than a few inches off the ground.  Herrick placed a hand on the big man’s shoulder to keep him still.  “She’s all I have left, and she shouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“A battle – one that never should have happened.”  Cairan’s eyes drifted closed.  “When you find Vesa… tell her I love her.”  And with that, the last breath Cairan would ever draw was released.

Herrick held back the tears that threatened to flow as he realized that all the eyes of the men were watching him.  Setting a stern face, he turned to face them.

“Lars, go upstairs and find a proper outfit for Cairan to be buried in.”  The man nodded and left.

“You four work on digging a grave outside near the family plot for him.”

“Someone needs to run to the stonecutter and get a headstone.”

“… and you inform the villagers and any other family he might have.”

After assigning all the jobs that he could think of, Herrick found himself alone with Cairan’s body.  He found he couldn’t look at the dead man, so instead he started to pick up the overturned chairs and tables to make the place presentable again.  When he was almost done, Lars returned with a soft tunic and pants, and a beautiful silk cape.  “These were his favorites,” Lars explained.

“They’re perfect.  Help me lift him onto the long table so we can dress him.”

Lars and Herrick lifted Cairan, then stripped him of the bloody clothing and dressed him in the nice ones.  When they were done, Lars turned to Herrick.  “What are we going to do about the elves and Vesa?”

Herrick didn’t answer.  He was staring at the long silver dagger that lay on the ground where Cairan had died.  He walked over to it and picked it up, wiping off the blood on the discarded shirt.  “Leave that to me.”

The funeral was short with only a few mourners.  When Cairan had said that Vesa was all he had left, he had really meant it.  There was no family left in their line except for his daughter to speak for the great man. But I will get her back, he thought to himself, and we will continue on the bloodlines of both our dead end families.

Herrick had returned to the Open Trough Inn to close it up for what could possibly be a long time.  Everyone in town had agreed that Vesa would be the next owner of the inn, or Herrick if Vesa never returned.  Since Herrick was the only one there, he opted to close the inn down until he returned, then give it back to Vesa.

He had just finished putting up the final chair when a stranger entered the inn, draped in a black cloak.  “Sorry, Mister, but we’re closed.”

“I’m not looking for a room,” a voice returned, one which made Herrick look up with hard eyes.  He knew that voice.  It had an elven tongue to it, and he didn’t know any elves except…

The stranger pushed back his hood, revealing the half-elf who had held him with the garrote wire.  “I’m looking for some help.”

Herrick gritted his teeth and stared at Price.  “The only help you’ll find here is the path to your grave!”

Charging, Herrick tackled Price right into the wall, the half-elf’s head hitting backwards to stun him.  Herrick then drew the silver dagger from his pocket and held it at his throat.  “Where is Vesa?”

“I don’t know, human, but I know who has her.”

Herrick held the dagger a little closer to Price’s voice box, anger making his whole body shake.  “You have three seconds to explain before I start cutting.”

Price closed his eyes.  “I’ve been outcasted from the Order because I refused to kill you and objected to the taking of your woman.  You want her and I want back in.  Both can be accomplished together… with the destruction of one elf.”

Herrick locked eyes with the half-elf, looking for any signs of treason.  “What kind of help do you want from me?”

“I can get in, talk to them, but I can’t fight them.  Not alone.  The love you have for your woman will help you through the battle, and we will succeed.  We have to.”

“How do I know you aren’t trying to make up for what you got outcasted for?”

Price looked down at the dagger.  “You realize it is easier to talk without a blade pressed against your throat.”

“It’s also easier to fight when you don’t have a wire wrapped around your neck,” Herrick replied.  “Until I make my decision, the dagger stays.”

“Very well.”  Price took a deep breath and he did feel the dagger loosen a bit.  “I don’t believe in killing innocents, and I consider you one.  If I didn’t have this moral, that garrote would have sliced your head off the second you came through that door.”

Herrick considered the words and then released Price but he did not put the dagger back into its hiding spot.  “And what is your plan, elf?”

Price dusted off his clothing.  “Half-elf.  My father was human.”

“You hang with elves, you’re an elf.”  Herrick shrugged his shoulders and pulled down a chair to sit in.  “You said you had a plan.  You do have one, right?”

Price nodded.  “We’re going to need some supplies.  It is a long journey.  The compound is a good three day ride from here.”

“That makes it a ten day walk.  Through the west or south woods?”

“West.”

Herrick whistled.  He had walked through those woods on his way to the village all those months ago.  He had been jumped multiple times and had almost become dinner to other creatures every step along the way.  “You must be fools to live in those woods.”

Price raised an eyebrow.  “Who is more foolish: the one who lives in the woods, or the one who would try to seek the ones who live there?”

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

Okay, so maybe I pulled those from Twitter trending topics.  Which, by the way, if you want to know what I’m “tweeting” about, I have a feed on the left hand side of the blog that links to my profile.  Feel free to friend me if you’re human, feel free to not if you’re a spam-bot.  I feed the spam-bots to my mythological dragon that’s in an upcoming book.  It keeps his wings shiny and metallic-like.

Tonight’s chapter is part one of two with the fallout from the incident at the Open Trough.  It also has one of the main characters running against a moral wall that will change his life forever.  So please, enjoy, and feel free to comment and let me know what you think so far.

Thanks for stopping in and see you next week!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 6

“Why did you take her?”

Price stood before Zantos, his eyes burning with anger as he stopped the older elf.  He had stayed quiet as they had fled the village, knowing that the safety of the group meant they needed to get into the shadows first.  But now that they were out of danger, he couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.  “She did nothing except try to defend her father!”

“Why did you not kill the man who tried to attack me?”  Zantos looked at the young half-breed’s angry face with his own anger.  Now was not the time to relish in the past.  It was a time to celebrate the victory of another vengeance returned.  “You disobeyed a direct command.”

“He would not have attacked you.  He just wanted you to leave the woman alone.”

“How do you know that?  How do you know he didn’t have a dagger hidden in his cloak?”

“He wasn’t wearing a cloak.”

Zantos growled at that.  Of course the human hadn’t been wearing a cloak.  It was the point that mattered.  Price should have been obedient to his elders, not letting his morals stray into the care of others.  “You’ve grown soft.”

“I was not raised to kill the innocent.”

The other elves of the Order had now stopped and were watching Zantos and Price argue.  Zantos felt their stares and knew he could not let Price overpower him in their presence.  “When they killed your parents, did they care about who was innocent?”

“There were no innocents in that battle.  My parents fought and they died; so goes the life of a soldier.  They knew it was an option going into that battle, and they went anyway to protect the ones like me who they didn’t want to grow up in this kind of hatred.  I mourn their death just like everyone else, and believe in the vengeance to a point, but others do not need to suffer for the mistakes of the guilty.”

The elves exchanged glances at each other, and then they all turned their attention to Zantos.  The elder elf looked away from them, trying to find a way to reprimand Price so that they could continue on their way.  “We will discuss this later,” he said finally and made to leave.

“No, we will discuss this now.”  Price ran and stood in front of Zantos, stopping him from passing.  “You have changes the ways of the Order!”

Zantos gritted his teeth and slapped Price across the face with enough force to knock him to the ground.  “You speak of things you do not understand.  Now be quiet and let’s return home.”

Price raised a hand to touch his cheek, and as he pulled it back he found blood from the opened scar there.  “I’m not a child, and I understand perfectly.”

The other elves had now grown tired of the fighting and went to stand behind Zantos.  “He is no longer one of us,” one whispered into Zantos’ ear.  “Destroy him and be done with it.”

“We cannot kill the Master’s son.”

“Maybe he is right.  We have never taken innocents before.”

“No one in this world is innocent.”

“Price has the right to ask these questions, but now is not the right time.”

“Stop it, all of you!”  Zantos waved his hand in the air, making a slashing motion to silence the elves.  They did instantly, and Zantos looked down at Price.  “Is this what you wanted; bring doubts into the Order, your parents’ order, Master Price?”  Zantos twisted the title, making it seem more of a bad word than the honorific it was.

“Doubts only arise when there are problems within the structure.”  Price rose to his feet.

“And I know what the problem is.”  Zantos approached Price and grabbed his pendant, pulling it from the young man’s neck.  “You are now an outcast from the Order.”

A hushed exclamation of shock went through the group, and Price glared at Zantos.  “You can’t do that.”

“You said yourself that doubts rise when there are problems within the structure.  You are the one who raises the doubts; therefore you must be the problem.  As the one who has been given the power by vote, I am in charge of keeping the Order free from danger.”

“Including the destruction of the heir to it?”

“If that is how it must be, it shall be.”

“So will you kill me now too?”  Price lifted his chin, exposing his neck to Zantos but continued to glare at him down the bridge of his nose.

Zantos pocketed Price’s pendant.  “It is not for me to do, now.  My mission is to return all of us home safely.  However, the next time I see you, I will not hesitate.”

Zantos turned to face the other elves.  “Master Price, the half-breed, is now one of the outcasts.  Tonight his life shall be spared out of respect for his lineage, but the next time he is seen, you are all ordered to kill him without hesitation.  Now, let us return.”

Without a look back, all the elves moved past Price, including the one still carrying Vesa.  None of them dared to look at him in fear of Zantos’ wrath after such a proclamation.

Price watched them disappear, and then smirked as he brought his hand out from behind his back and looked at the blood red pendant that lay there.  He carefully put it back around his neck, sent a silent thanks to the stars for his skills and sparing his life, and then walked back into the woods to plan his next course of action.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

So here we are, over a month into Free Fiction Tuesdays and now that you know all the main players, it’s time for the action to start.  There’s a good chance that the people you thought you knew may not be as good or bad as you thought they were.  And as I said before, someone’s gotta die.

Enjoy!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 5

From the shadows of the woods just behind the Open Trough Inn, two sets of eyes watched the interaction of the human lovers in the kitchen.  Price had actually enjoyed the choreography of the exchange; watching as the man tried to best the woman, and yet it was the woman who truly held the power in this relationship.

Zantos snorted, not amused.  “Humans are confusing, don’t you agree?”

“I’m not confused,” Price replied.  “Women are very powerful in their race.  Every heroic man has had a stronger woman behind them as their support.  Men just have the assumption that they are the weaker race so they have a reason to protect them.”

“I guess being part human yourself, you can understand them better than I ever could.”  Zantos laughed and then started to move around the side of the inn.  “But we must not let this distract us from our business here.”

Price followed closely in Zantos’ wake as they walked to the front of the inn.  There was a group of ten other elven men in dark cloaks waiting in the shadows.  Their hoods hid their faces, but each of them stood taller than the average man, and around each of their necks were various designs of a blood red pendant.

“What exactly is our business here?” Price asked.

“The same as always: hunting out those who were the murderers of our elders – of your parents.  The man in here, Cairan, was a young soldier who has their blood on his hands.  He may have forgotten, but we have not.”

“The Order’s memory lives forever,” one of the cloaked figures spoke softly at Price’s side.  “And we avenge those who have fallen due to the hatred of others.”

“This man spilt the blood of ours,” Zantos spoke to the group, summing up his strength and feeding it to the others in his words.  “Now we will take his blood, and those who stand in our way, to pay for his crimes against the Order.”

“Innocent souls do not need to die,” Price stated.  “This is only a debt that Cairan owes.”

Zantos turned and scowled at the young half-breed.  “Did the soldiers care about the innocents when they killed your parents?  Did they not kill every man, woman and child in the village that was not hiding safely in the town beyond?”  He glared at Price until the young man looked away, and Zantos smirked before pulling his hood up.

“And after all, they are only human.”

Vesa has humming to herself while working in the kitchen, thinking about Herrick who was now outside chopping firewood.  After they had finished kissing – something neither of them were too quick to end – they had talked quietly about how to break the news to her father.  Vesa was pretty sure Cairan already knew about the attraction between them as her father tended to have the annoying habit of knowing everything, but she did want to make sure that he wouldn’t try to beat Herrick up on some fatherly principle.

The joyful noises from the other side of the kitchen door went suddenly silent, which made Vesa stop and wait a moment to see if her father walked in after seeing the last guest out.  When he didn’t enter, curiosity got the better of her and she walked to the kitchen door and opened it a crack to look in.

The main room held about a dozen figures in dark cloaks.  All but one hid their faces in their hoods, hands wrapped around glowing red pendants.  The guests who had been sitting with her father barely moved – almost as if they were all frozen in place; everyone except her father who was being confronted by the large elf that had his hood down.

“How dare you barge in here like this?” Cairan asked as he looked at his friends and guests in shock.  “Who are you?  What have you done to them?”

“Are you Cairan the Torch; hero of the Human-Elvin war in the westward kingdom?”

“That was a long time ago.”  Cairan paled at the words from.  “I was a different person then.”

Vesa jumped as she felt a body press up against hers from behind, and turned her head to see Herrick there, looking into the room as well.  “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Lower your voice,” she hissed, then turned back to watch the men in the main room.  “And I don’t know, but they want my father.”

“You still go by that name; therefore you shall answer to the crimes of that name.”  From his robe the elf drew a long silver dagger and held it up for the larger human to see it.  Cairan started to retreat back, but the other elves had moved behind him to block his way.

“Leave my father alone!”  Vesa ran through the door, unable to watch any longer.  Herrick made a grab for her, but she was too fast and across the room in the matter of moments.  She was almost to her father’s side when she stopped suddenly, frozen in place.

Zantos turned to look at Vesa, his lips turning up into a smirk.  “This is your daughter?  Very beautiful specimen.  Perhaps I should allow her to witness the death of her father the way many of us did.”

“Please, no…”  Cairan’s voice begged.  “She has no part of this…”

“Now, she will.”

“Let her be.”  Herrick came out from the kitchen holding a short sword in his hands.  His eyes looked at each of the elves in the room before locking on Zantos.  The numbers were even now in each elf that was holding a human frozen.  It gave him an advantage he was hoping he could use.

“Ah, the lover; finally the picture is complete.”  Leaving Cairan and Vesa behind, he moved towards Herrick with his arms outstretched.  “You want to fight with me for your woman, human?  Then come at me.”

Herrick raised his sword to attack, but as he took his first step forward, he felt a wire wrap tightly around his neck.  He was still able to breathe, but the wire cut into his skin as he tried to move away from it.  “Drop your sword,” a voice stated firmly from behind him.

Doing as he was told, Herrick dropped the weapon and then fell to his knees in front of the elf they were kicked out from behind.  Zantos smirked and stood in front of Herrick, looking down as if his eyes were judging the soul in front of him.  He then held up the dagger in front of Herrick’s face so that the human could see the engraving on the weapon.

“I want you to remember this night, human.  It is your memories that will make you into the man that you want to become.”

With that, Zantos spun on his heel and tossed the dagger across the room.  It landed deep in Cairan’s chest, and the larger man stumbled back into the wall.  His hands went up to the dagger to stop the blood that was starting to flow from the injury – he was a warrior and knew better than to remove it – but he slowly slid to the ground from shock.

“Cairan!”

“Father!”

With the deed done, Zantos motioned for the other elves to leave.  They started for the door, walking backwards with their hands still on their pendants.  Zantos ignored Vesa as he walked by until she spat on the back of his neck.  “You monster!  You can’t even fight your own battles except to pick on poor, defenseless old heroes and their friends.”

Wiping the spit from his neck, he turned and looked her in the eye, then smiled.  “You have a very sharp tongue, woman.  Don’t force me to remove it.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

He laughed at that.  “You might just provide me with some amusement, human.”  He turned to the one elf that still remained in the room, holding his pendant and facing Vesa.  “She’s coming with us.  See to her.”

The elf nodded and approached Vesa.  She wasn’t able to move away as he whispered a few words and touched the pendant to her forehead.  She gave a small cry and then her eyes rolled back into her head as she collapsed into the elf’s waiting arms.

“Leave her be!  You don’t need her!”  Herrick resisted the urge to struggle against the wire around his neck, but he did manage to turn his head a bit to look at the man behind him holding it.  He was surprised to see the face of a man that was half human, and not the graceful traits of a full blood elf.  What was more surprising, though, was that the same look of shock at the turn of events was in the half-breed’s eyes as he watched the elf take Vesa out the door.

Zantos turned his gaze to Herrick, then the man behind him.  “This time, I expect you to fulfill your task,” he stated before turning to walk past the still frozen humans in the room and out the door.

The half-elf looked down at Herrick and for a moment they just looked into each other’s eyes.  Gritting his teeth, the half-breed took one hand off the wire as he grabbed a mug from the table.  Herrick felt the wire loosen and tried to move to attack him, but the mug landed soundly across the back of his head and pitched him forward to the floor.  Questions filled his mind as the blackness fell over him, the largest wondering just why he was still alive.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

Oh, and that thing you’ve been waiting for since the end of chapter one?  It’s going to happen.

Enjoy!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 4

Herrick worked hard all day to make up for his late start, and as the dinner rush ended, he was in the main hall washing the tables.  This was the point of the night where Cairan and his friends gathered around the fireplace with some warm ale and traded stories from their times in the war, or other memorable times.  Some of the stories Herrick found hard to believe, but he couldn’t help but listen into the tales the older men were talking about.

That evening, Cairan looked up and noticed the younger man listening in.  When Herrick looked over again, he saw the large man wave him over to join them.  “Jarak, tell the kid the tale of Tomli,” Cairan ordered, looking at the wizened man who was sitting in the rocking chair with the pipe.  “If he expects to be sticking around these parts for awhile, he needs to know the story of this village’s founder.”

“The boy doesn’t want to hear fairytale stories about ancient heroes,” Jarak stated.

“You want another mug of ale?”

Jarak laughed, coughing a moment on the smoke from his pipe before he relaxed back into the rocker’s cushion.  “You drive a hard bargain, Cairan.  All right, where to begin…”

“The beginning is usually the best,” Herrick said, putting his rag down and sitting on the edge of a bench.

“These kids, thinking they know how to tell a story?  Boy, you never start at the beginning.  Beginnings are boring and no one cares about the work a hero does on his path to greatness.  It’s that moment where the villain appears – now that’s where a story should start.”

Herrick rolled his eyes at the older man.  “I stand corrected.”

“Tomli was the first man to ever travel all of Mora in his life.  At first, he went to just explore.  Then, as he passed through places like ours, the villagers asked him to act as a judge over disputes.  You see, a stranger is often the best judge in problems.  He does not look at a problem with anything but his own heart.  There are no influences from alliances and agendas.  He is just himself, and to these people he was fair and honest.

“But at the same time, there was an evil demon that traveled the same trails, just a few steps behind Tomli.  He would cause anger and discord among the people in the villages, and soon wars broke out over the same issues that Tomli had resolved.

“Years later Tomli walked the trails again to find the destruction in all these villages, and he asked ‘How is it I left here in peace, and come back to find war?’ And in each village someone would say that a stranger came and showed the people greed and distrust.

“So one starless night Tomli waited in one of the villages, watching as the demon appeared and walked into an inn just like this.  He sat among the people and listened to their stories and instead of trying to solve their problems, he fed into their fears and anger until everyone at the inn was shouting at each other.

“At that point Tomli stood up and shouted for the people to stop.  ‘Don’t you see what the demon is doing?  He is turning you against one another!’ The demon laughed at him.  ‘They don’t need me to do that.  I just help them along.  Everyone feels anger.  Everyone hates.  You cannot stop that.’

“The demon started to come after Tomli and they fought as the demon clawed at him and tried to find the anger and the hatred inside of Tomli.  But Tomli was a rare soul, as he had never hated a single thing.  Even the demon, as he attacked, could not bring out that emotion.  And that was when Tomli grabbed his sword and stabbed the demon through the heart, killing it.

“When the demon was gone, the people of all of the villages in Mora were released from the spell he had put them under.  Tomli, however, had taken all the damage from the demon and was lying on the ground as his blood started to stain the earth.  No one knew how to help him, but he held up his sword to one of the young men.  ‘There are demons like that in all of our hearts.  Remember that when you think of me, and do your best to kill the demon before it destroys you.’”

Everyone was quiet as Jarak finished his story and took a sip of ale from his mug.  Herrick had been listening intently the whole time, and finally spoke up.  “Were you the boy that Tomli gave his sword to?”

“What?”  Jarak nearly spat out his ale.  “Boy, that’s a story… a legend.  You don’t really believe its true, do you?”

The other men in the inn started to laugh and Herrick felt his ears growing red as he stood up.  “No, I guess not.  Thanks for the story, but I should get back to work now.”

He quickly grabbed the tray of dishes he had left on one of the tables and headed back to the kitchen.  As he pushed the door open with his backside, he noticed that a familiar set of eyes backed away from the doorway moments before he opened it.  As he entered the kitchen, however, Vesa was at the prep table, folding the dough to rise overnight for the morning bread.

She chuckled a bit as Herrick set the tray into the sink.  “Don’t feel bad.  Jarak’s been telling that story for years.  I remember the first time I heard it.  I was seven and even though he told me it wasn’t real, I didn’t want to believe him.  My friends and I used to pretend we were big heroes and we would fight demons with sticks from the trees.”

“I think we all did that as kids.  Then we grow up.”

“That we do.”  Vesa turned to watch him as he focused on the dishes.  She hadn’t found time to talk to him at length since the morning incident, and now it was almost as if she was seeing a different side of him.

“So, you weren’t lying this morning, were you?”

Herrick turned to look at her as he wiped his hands dry.  “About what?”

“The boar.”

“Oh, that.”  Herrick tossed the cloth away and shrugged.  “I don’t blame you for not believing me.  I was there and I still don’t believe it.”

“But how?”

“How what?”

“How did you…?”  Vesa shook her head, laughing to herself.  “Forget it.  I don’t want to know.”

“Hey.”  Herrick grabbed her arm and turned her around to look at him.  “Where are you going?”

“We’ve still got customers…”

“Cairan’s with them, so they’re fine.”  He tilted his head to look into her eyes and she quickly looked away.  “What’s going on here, Vesa?”

“Nothing.”

It took a moment longer, and then a smirk came to his lips.  “Oh, I see what’s happening.”

“What?”  She turned back to look at him.

“You’re starting to fall for me, aren’t you?  You’re falling in love but you’re trying to fight against it.”

“I am not falling in love with you!” Vesa stated firmly as she pulled her arm free.

“So you’re not?”

“I don’t see how anyone could love you.  You’re arrogant… annoying… scruffy…”

Herrick just nodded as he walked closer towards her.  Vesa, in return, kept backing up until she felt her back up against the wall.  When she couldn’t move any further, Herrick stepped in and cupped her cheek with both hands before kissing her.

She struggled at first, but the gentleness of his kiss wasn’t what she was expecting and soon she felt herself relaxing into it.  Herrick felt her relax as well and smiled, deepening the kiss until he finally pulled back and smiled at her.  “Now was that so bad?”

Vesa slowly wiped at her mouth, then smiled back at him before she slapped him hard across his face.  Herrick stumbled back as he grabbed his cheek.  “Damn it, must you always do that?”

“You just don’t give up, do you?”

“I never give up when I want something bad enough.”

She watched him a moment, then grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back to her as this time she initiated the kiss.  His eyes opened wide and after a moment he pulled away.  “What was that for?”

“Because when I want something bad enough, I just take it.”

“Then why did you slap me just now?”

Vesa smiled.  “To remind you that I’m still the one in charge here, hero.”

Herrick smiled, and there were no complaints as he wrapped his arms around Vesa’s waist and they kissed again.  He had finally gotten the one thing he had wanted for a long time now.  Life was finally starting to look good.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

The cover art was designed by the wonderful Merel Newton, an up and coming graphic design artist from just south of England.  Please take a moment to visit her website and her deviant art page.  I think you will really enjoy what you see.

I also need to thank Bethany Kesler for acting as an editor for me on this chapter.  Remember that sometimes a second pair of eyes will help you in those spots that you stare at the page and go “something’s wrong… what is it though?!”

And now, onto the chapter!  You’ve been introduced to the main characters now, so it’s time for a little fun before the drama starts.  Enjoy!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 3

It is a very well known fact that the darkness of night is the best time to hunt, or to be hunted.  Once the sun sets, a person walking on unmarked paths must watch for the dangers that the creatures of the night have set for the unwary and unprepared.  Some dangers are obvious, like a sharp toothed bear charging down on you as they crash through the forest brush.  Others are not and even the most skilled of outdoorsmen can sometimes be ensnared in one of these more subtle traps.

Vesa stood outside the back door of the Open Trough with her arms crossed, waiting impatiently.  The sun was starting to rise and Herrick had still not returned from his firewood gathering trip into the forest the night before.  Chores still needed to be done before breakfast could be served, and she couldn’t do it all on her own.

She hated to admit that she was worried.  It had been a few months now since Herrick had started working at the inn, and she still hated him.  Every time she turned around he was there; acting like the annoying, hormone driven male that she had seen that first moment they had met.  So why was she worried about him now?  For all she cared, he could have been eaten by some beast in the forest and she wouldn’t miss him for a moment.  Then he would be out of her life forever.  She should be grateful to the beast…  But what if he’s hurt, or in danger… he was going to gather the firewood late last night just because I asked…

There was a noise from behind the woodshed that made her turn around and grab the ax off the chopping block.  “Who’s there?” she called out.

No response came to her question, yet instead she was able to make out some drunk singing very off-key.  A few seconds later, Herrick appeared around to side of the shed, holding a jug of ale that was broken on the bottom.

He was also naked except for the strings of a ripped cape that hung behind him.

Seeing her, his eyes lit up and he smiled at her.  “Vesa, I killed a boar!  It’s out in the shed…”  That was about all he was able to utter before he passed out, landing a few feet away from Vesa.

She stared at him a moment, then started to laugh as the shock finally wore off.  First she put the ax back on the cutting block, then walked over and dragged Herrick to his feet.  “Come on hero; let’s get you sobered up before father wakes up.”

“AH!  Ok, ok, I’m awake!”

Herrick ran his fingers through his drenched hair as Vesa stood beside him with a bucket that had contained ice water up until she had tossed it on him.  “I was just having some fun.  What’s wrong with that?”

“Getting drunk and walking around the village naked, then coming to work drunk and late… what else am I missing?”

Herrick smiled at Vesa scolded him.  “You forgot about the boar.”

“No, I’m looking at him.”  She tossed the rest of the water in the bucket on him before throwing it to the side.  “And I’m telling father.”

Jumping out of the tub he was in, Herrick grabbed her arm to stop her.  “Vesa, please…”

“Let go of me!”

“Just let me explain, will you?”  He did let her go though, instead reaching for the pants that were on a nearby chair.  “I was gathering the firewood when I met up with a group of friends.  I haven’t seen them in forever, so we had a few drinks.  I told them I needed to get back, and I was stupid and went back into the woods even though I couldn’t see where I was going.  I got lost, and then I ran into this… halfling.  Yeah, it was a halfling.  I asked him how to get back here and I told him I would lose everything I own unless I got back.  He said that he would take me back then if I gave him everything I owned.”

“Which were your clothes?”  Vesa raised her eyebrow, not believing the story at all.

“Yes!  And I knew you’d hurt me more if I didn’t show up, so I figured it was worth it.  I gave him my clothes but he gave me this cape so I wouldn’t get cold.  We started back here and that’s when we got attacked by this big, dangerous wild boar.  I hit it over the head with the ale jug and I think it bashed in its skull or something.”

“That is the worst lie you have ever told me, Herrick.  I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I’m not lying, Vesa…”

“Just get dressed and get me the firewood you were supposed to find me last night.”

“But Vesa…”

The back door burst open at that moment and Cairan walked into the room.  “Herrick, my boy!”  He was in a cheerful mood, and for some reason that put the young man on guard as Vesa glared at him.

“Yes, sir?”

“I saw the boar you brought back for supper tonight.  Good work, lad!”  The large man slapped Herrick hard on his back and then moved past them to head into the inn to start greeting the morning guests.

Vesa just looked at him in shock, and Herrick just smiled in return and walked out the back door to get the firewood.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

This week, however, you’re about to meet the other main character of this story – Price.  I’m not going to tell you much more as not to spoil the story.  So enjoy – and feel free to leave comments and let me know how you are enjoying the story so far.  I really appreciate it.

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 2

Grace and skill come with experience and age. The young can only watch their elders in the hope to gain the knowledge that they wish to process. Once they gain it, though, arrogance is surely the next to follow.

As was the story of Master Price.

“Come down from there, you little thief!”

“I am not a thief. I have only taken what is owed me.” Price looked down from the tree limb he was currently resting on. Below him stood a blacksmith, his arm held up in outrage while wielding a hot poker at him. “You charged me double on the shoe repairs, and then my horse’s shoe came off and he broke his leg. He was in so much pain that I was forced to end his suffering. I’m out a horse now, all due to your negligence.” Finished with his reasoning, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree.

The blacksmith, however, was not satisfied. “You’re blaming me for the death of your horse? That horse was older than me! I was amazed it was still able to walk when you brought it in. You should have destroyed that beast a long time ago.”

Price glared down at the blacksmith. “That was my father’s horse.”

“All the more reason. Your father was an annoyance – he should have been put down the moment he decided to join with the elves instead of killing them. Then we wouldn’t have to put up with his thieving halfbreed bastard of a child.”

With a cry of outrage, Price jumped down from the tree and tackled the larger blacksmith. The poker fell from his hand and landed a few feet away, and without giving the blacksmith a chance to regain himself, Price started to strike the man first in his stomach, then face. It didn’t take long though for the blacksmith to get his bearings and use his height and girth to his advantage. His thick hand wrapped around the neck of the smaller half-human half-elf and picked him up easily. The man then slammed Price into the trunk of the tree a few times until he stopped struggling against him and just hung limp. “Now give me back my money and I’ll let you go.”

Narrowing his eyes, Price locked them with the blacksmith. “Never,” he said in a calm, controlled voice. “You wronged me, and I took what is rightfully mine.”

“What you rightfully deserve is a royal beating…”

The blacksmith cocked his free arm back when suddenly his whole body froze. The only thing he was able to move was his eyes; ones that looked around in growing panic as he realized he was trapped inside of his own body. The eyes then turned back to Price who now had a satisfying smirk on his face.

Gently, Price removed the blacksmith’s hand from around his neck, and in particular the blood red pendant that hung from a gold chain around his neck. He took his time as he adjusted his shirt and flicked a few pieces of bark from his shoulder before he started to pace around the frozen man.

“I believe you are mistake. No one ‘deserves’ a beating, no matter how much they ‘ask’ for it. The only thing I have ever asked for was to be treated fairly.” He turned away from the blacksmith to look at the town beyond them.

Elsieke was one of the major towns in the Land of Mora, and at one time had been a focal trading point between the elves of the hills and the human farmers of the valley. Price had lived there all his life, first with his parents and then his grandparents after their deaths. He had watched it nearly fall to ruins during the Great War, and saw it rebuilt into what it was now – a town that was a merchant’s delight, but also one that no longer acknowledged the elves as their friends.

“But it seems that this place , the only home I have ever known, does not welcome me anymore.” He looked back at the blacksmith, all emotion gone from his face. “Your actions today have made that perfectly clear.”

The blacksmith stumbled backwards as Price touched his pendant and released the man from the spell he had been put under. He glared at Price and started towards the safety of town. “You’re evil, just like your mother. If you ever step foot into town again, I will see to it personally that you are strung up in the center of town and left there until you rot.”

Price laughed at his retreating form. “I would love to see you try.” He stared at the distant town a moment longer, then turned and started to walk deeper into the forest, lost in his own thoughts. After a few minutes he stopped, not even looking up but instead closing his eyes. “So, do you approve?” he asked the individual who had appeared behind him.

“Somewhat. You let him live.” Price sighed and turned to face Zantos who sat on a rock a few feet away. Zantos was the current leader of the Order, a group of magic wielding elves that were left after the Great War. Price’s parents, Evans and Serene, had formed the group before Price was even conceived, and it had helped heal a lot of hurt between the two species for decades.

The Great War had been a sudden and deadly battle. The human warriors came through town without a care and attacked without mercy. The war didn’t end until the elves retreated far from the area, and it claimed the lives of Price’s parents. Zantos graciously stepped into their position until such time that Price would be old enough to take on the role himself, but the Great War had forever destroyed the bond between the humans and elves.

Price had learned through the years that this bond was broken on both sides – each with their own reasoning – and his childhood ideals to heal that rift were slowly fading away, just like the memories of his parents.

“The man did nothing to warrant death,” Price stated.

“Yet he was going to kill you. he may still do so one day if you ever return.”

“The ignorant are afraid of what they don’t know or understand.”

“You did steal from him. He understood that quite well.” Zantos approached the young man. “Though you only took a certain amount of money you felt due and not a cent more.” He tsked with his tongue as he fingered the pendant around Price’s neck. “Where has my training gone wrong on you, Master Price?”

“I took what I was owed, and nothing more.”

“And where have you suddenly developed these human morals from, half-breed?”

Price hissed at the degradation and pulled away from his teacher. “This group was formed on the love of a human man and an elven woman. My presence in life and here is to remind you of that bond. Yet all your lectures are of blood and murder.”

The slap that fell across his face was unexpected, and a welt of blood came up where Zantos’ fingernail scratched Price’s skin. “The Order has changed, young Master, and you should have more sense and see that. You will never be accepted fully into the Order if you do not follow our ways.” Without another word, Zantos turned and started to walk into the forest, expecting Price to follow him.

Instead, Price stood his ground and didn’t move or even reach up to wipe the blood off his face. “Then perhaps I no longer wish to be a member of the Order.”

Zantos spun back, surprise in his eyes. “You are losing your balance on life, child, or do you really wish to die?”

“I’m tired of being something I am not, and yet everyone else believes me to be.”

“And you believe that by leaving us you will find yourself?”

Price took a moment to reflect on that. It was true that he was the embodiment of the love between the humans and the elves, but Zantos had protected him in a time where the world wanted to kill him for his parents’ part in the war. Turning against the man would be like turning against his parents. “I don’t know.”

“You do know that by leaving us, you will mark yourself for death. Once you are a member of the Order, you are not allowed to leave.”

“I understand that. But I need to find a purpose. So far, none has been presented to me.”

Zantos reached up to wipe the blood from Price’s cheek and rubbed it between his fingers. “Then perhaps it is time for you to start taking your place. I shall speak with the council, but for now let us return. Darkness is falling, and we must not get in the way of the creatures of the night.”

He held his hand out, motioning for Price to follow him this time, and they both disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

I’ve decided to start off this event in my blog using a novella that I’m currently rewriting. I started it back in college as a gift for three guys who were like brothers to me – Paschal Frisina, Josh Bradley, and Robb Zahm. We were also gamers and enjoyed a late night game of D&D with a bag full of Hostess goodies (there was a outlet near campus) and a jug of “dwarven spirits” – aka pink lemonade – that got stronger as the hours went on to sunrise.

Instead of recycling one of the adventures we went on, instead I took each of them and created a character that was their representation in this new world. It was to serve as a reminder for years to come of the fun we had, and the creativity that we all sparked in each other for those four years.

And now I get to share this novella with you. Every week I will post a new section of the story, and keep a master link of all the sections in the Free Fiction Tuesday tab. Once the story is completed, it will remain up as a complete work for another two weeks before it is taken down and the next story is started.

This novella is called A FINE LINE. Enjoy!

A Fine Line
By Alison Sky

Part 1

Every heroic tale has a beginning. However, that hero has to be brave enough to admit that sometimes his beginning may not be the most beautiful, the most charming, or even the cleanest beginning that has been recorded in all of history.

Such was the tale of Herrick Rafin.

The young man lay face down in the mud a moment before he slowly pushed himself up enough to look at the wild-eyed woman who stood over him, clutching a basket full of wild berries. “If you ever try that again, you jaw won’t be the first thing I aim for!” With that, she picked up her skirts and stalked off towards the village that was just in the distance.

Herrick sat up the rest of the way and worked his jaw around to make certain it was still attached. There was a hint of a smirk on his aching lips as he muttered, “I know you want me.”

As he stood up, he noticed that his tunic and pants were completely coated with mud that had started to dry as the sun broke through the spaces between the trees. He cursed softly, trying to brush it off with no luck. No clean clothes until I get some money or find a river, he thought as he gave up and reached for his satchel. At least that was still clean.

It was a short walk to the small farmer’s village. There was nothing distinctive to it – the Land of Mora was filled with tiny villages like this where farmers gathered to live far from the big cities. On his travels, Herrick had made his way through many of them and they were always the same.

This trip, however, was filled with people looking at him and laughing at his mud covered appearance. He tried to ignore them as he looked around town, wondering if they had never seen a dirty person before.

He had been looking for a job for the past few days as he traveled from town to town, but every place he walked into immediately told him that they weren’t hiring and kicked him out. Finally, on the edge of this village, he found a place that he hoped could solve his problems. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the Open Trough Inn. The second he entered he realized that the name of the inn suited itself well.

Inside the door was the inn’s eating area. All seven tables were filled with men whose clothing was as dirty as Herrick’s; only they didn’t seem to mind their appearances. Each man had the look of a hard worker who was living just on the inside edge of the law.

A large, burley man with long red hair stood up to block Herrick’s path as he started for the back. “Where do you think you’re going, little man?”

Herrick was by no means a “little man”. He was tall, but his slim, muscular build was nothing in comparison to the burley man’s beer belly and arms as thick as a tree. “I’m looking for a place to work, or else to sleep for a night so I can move on tomorrow.”

The man looked him over, taking in Herrick’s muddy clothes. “How’d you get that filthy? Sleeping in a hog’s pen?” Laughter from the man’s table joined the rest of the inn as Herrick felt his cheeks start to burn.

“No, actually I met up with a wild beat just outside of the village and had to do a little mudslinging.”

The man gave him a glance, and then burst out laughing. “You’ll work out just fine, kid.” He held his arm out. “Name’s Cairan. Last three lads who’ve tried to get a job have wet themselves under my little interview there. You stood up, so you get the job.”

“What kind of job?”

“Whatever I find for you to do: errands, cutting firewood, cleaning up after hours. You still want it?”

Nodding, Herrick shook his hand. “Sure thing.”

“Then you start now. Lunch’s almost over and Vesa will need help in the kitchen.” Cairan pointed towards a door at the far-most right corner of the room.

“Is there a chance that I can clean myself up first?”

Cairan laughed his hearty laugh again. “I suggest you do. Get a set of kitchen clothes and there’s a bucket of rainwater just outside the back door. Any other questions, ask Vesa.”

Herrick grabbed his bag and started for the door. As he swung it inwards, he felt it connect with a person on the other side. “Son of a goat!” a female voice exclaimed as the sound of something hitting the floor echoed in the main room.

“I’m sorry!” Herrick said as he grabbed the door and opened it in the opposite direction, planning on helping the woman on the other side. Then he saw her and stopped.

“What are you doing here?” the wild-eyed woman from the path asked, glaring up at him.

He couldn’t help but smirk, even as he felt his jaw to remind him of the pain she had inflicted earlier. “I just got a job here. You must be Vesa.”

The woman lifted her chin, letting the long brown hair fall back from her hardened face. “Yes, I am, and my father owns this place.”

Herrick felt Cairan appear behind them, and watched as he saw the look Vesa was giving the younger man. “Wild beast, huh?” Before Herrick could explain, Cairan held up a hand. “Go get washed up and get to work, lad. Every minute counts in this place.”

“Yes, sir.” Herrick grabbed the clean pants and tunic from the pile near the door and ran outside to wash up, not risking the loss of his new job on an argument. When he was gone, Vesa turned to look at her father with those same hard eyes, but he just smiled and walked back out to be with the customers.

Please remember that all content published on this website is property of the author unless noted otherwise. Please do not reprint without permission of the author.

A Fine Line © Alison Sky Designs 2010

1. Walk-ons and placeholders. You won’t develop these characters at all: they’re just people in the background, meant to lend realism or perform a simple function and then disappear, forgotten.

2. Minor Characters. These characters may make a difference in the plot, but we aren’t supposed to get emotionally involved with them, either negatively or positively. We don’t expect them to keep showing up in the story. Their desires and actions might cause a twist in the story, but play no role in shaping its ongoing flow. In fact, rule of thumb is that a minor character does one or two things in the story and then disappears.

3. Major Characters. This group includes the people we care about; we love them or hate them, fear them or hope they succeed. They show up again and again in the story. The story is, to one degree or another, about them, and we expect to find out what happens to them by the end. Their desired and actions drive the story forward and carry it through all it’s twists and turns.

This definition was published in 1988, and from the way I see books and television going, minor characters have gone from being in the background to being more involved in their stories. For instance, look at the television show CHUCK. The series revolves around a nerd, Chuck, who ends up with a military super computer inside of his head, and there is an CIA and NSA agent (Casey and Sarah) assigned to protect him and go on missions. That’s the major plot of the series, and if that element goes missing, you lose the essence of the story.

However, you also have the stories of Elle and Devon – Chuck’s sister and her “awesome” fiance – as well as Morgan, Lester, Jeff and the rest of the staff at the Buy More. The actions that happen within these two groups sometimes effect the story, or sometimes happen completely separate from the story.

Card’s definition would make Casey, Sarah and Chuck the major characters. His definition would also state that we should not get emotionally involved with anyone else. But what is Chuck without these other characters then, even if they are not involved with the story, nor are they even seen every week consistently? They have no effect most of the time at all on the “missions” that Chuck goes on, but yet they get a good amount of screen time for their own subplots.

Are they major characters though? No. You can remove their element from the episodes and the stories will still continue on. But do they fall into the Card’s definition of minor characters? No.

From my experience, there is a group of characters that falls between the two definitions – the “Minor” Main Character. People who slip in and out of the story, but appear in stories or episodes that capture the attention of an audience that moves them beyond the rank of a minor character. The audience gets attached to them. They want to see more of these characters. They cry when these characters are killed off.

And in some instances, fans of certain shows have such strong attachments to minor characters that they can even change the writer’s minds on killing off a character and expanding them into even a major character – I.E. Spike in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series was only supposed to last for a few episodes and DIE at the end of the season he premiered in. Instead he lived on, became a major character through the rest of the series, and even was pulled into the series Angel because the fans did not want to see him go.

Another example is Wedge Antilles in the Star Wars empire. Wedge was the X-Wing pilot in A New Hope who pulled out of the trench before Biggs was shot (for those who don’t know). To date now, Wedge has been immortalized in no less than a dozen Star Wars novels – 9 of which as a main character – as well as a successful comic series by Dark Horse comics and written by Michael Stackpole. Not bad for a guy that had 3 lines and maybe 2 minutes combined of screen time in A New Hope, and about another 6 or 7 lines in the sequels with about 3 more minutes of screen time.

When you are writing, look at your minor characters and see how you use them. Are they just there to deliver dialogue and walk off, or are they an important part of your Main Character’s lives. Do they show a personality that you want to explore more? If so, let them be a bit louder – but not too loud as to shift the story plot away or disrupt the hierarchy of who the main people really are. Let them have their five minutes of read time. Rein them back if they start to get out of control. Perhaps they hold clues for you when the story seems to come to a standstill. Maybe they are actually main characters you didn’t realize you needed.

And who knows, they may end up being the gateway to another series for you when you think the story is done. Which means more work, more stories and more fun in a world you’ve already spent so much time creating, but through a new set of eyes.

Last Christmas, I came upon a movie that touched my soul deeply, and it has become on of my favorite movies to share with friends. The movie is also the story of Thomas Kinkade and his mentor, Glen Wesman, during a hard December in 1977. The movie is called Christmas Cottage. (And I will admit two things – before watching the movie I didn’t really care for Kinkade’s work [which changed dramatically after the 103 minute movie] and that the only reason I even picked the movie up was because Jared Padalecki is in it [and he does a damn good job in it too])

During the movie, you see the evolution of Kinkade from his fancy art student life back to a dedicated son in a small town, and finding himself and his art while dealing with the problems and the people around him. It pulls at your heartstrings while making you laugh gently at the antics of a small town where everyone really does know one another. Each time I watch it, I find more and more drawn into the nuances that are sprinkled throughout that bring more and more understanding to what it means to find your inspiration and celebrate those who are a part of it.

One of the lines that gets to me is “You told me you weren’t going to teach me how to draw, but why to draw” and that is a thing I believe every artist needs to know before they can truly understand themselves and their art. If you don’t know why you are doing the craft, then you will be lost in it and never be able to fully show yourself and your talents in the work.

Another moment is where Tom is staring at the sky, looking at the stars and notices that even on the darkest night, even a little bit of light shines through, and then telling his realization to his mentor. To me, I see that no matter how crazy life it, how lost I feel in the world, if I can find the focus and why I’m here and what I’m doing when I sit down at my computer, then I can still find that “light” in my own work.

So, dear readers, I ask you… why do you write?

For me, the answer is still forming. I write because there are characters in my head who have stories that want to be told. Those characters are ones who are thrown into depressing situations that no one should have to endure, and then show the path they take to find their own strength to overcome it. I write to show hope for readers who think that they can never pull themselves out of the basements of their lives. I want them to know that like the characters, they can be “saved” if only they take control and find their own paths and faith in themselves.

Is it me trying to find my own faith in myself in my own life? Perhaps. But I look at it as building character, and strengthening souls. They are fictional… but perhaps one day they will provide inspiration for someone who finds themselves on their own broken road, and gives them the faith to save themselves.

At least, that’s what I hope for.

“It’s the light, Tom, that’s what lasts. The leaves are transient. They grow, turn green, turn red, and die… but behind them, the light lasts forever.”
Glen Wesman – The Christmas Cottage

But there’s a big different between a bad guy and a true villain, and most of that has to do with their development.  Your villain needs to be designed not only to truly be that threat, but also that lets you see that yes, he too is human just as much as your hero is.  And you know what… it’s okay to actually like them too.

Let’s look at a few of the more successful villains in popular media:

Sylar from HEROES: The young man who wanted to be special. In the first season you are introduced to Gabriel and his fall from grace into Sylar. He’s killed, tortured, and been given so many chances to redeem himself and always takes the wrong path. Sure, he tries to save himself sometimes, but the lust of his powers always brings him back.

Everyone knows what it feels like to be different and wanting to be special. This is the reason why so Marvel Comics is still in business with more mutant superheroes than a wiki can keep track of. As humans, we related to that need, sometimes much more than a cheerleader who likes to cut off her own finger to watch it grow back.

Sylar is us. He’s what we could become if we don’t watch our need for power, and what happens if we are willing to do anything for it. And we watch him and want to see if the next time he tries to take the good path, that he will do it. Because we want to think that if we were in that spot, we could too. We love him because we want to know if that was us, we could still be loved and saved too.

The writer’s achieved this in a very simple way – they showed it. You get to see in flashbacks the path that Gabriel took and the manipulations that happened to make him start on the path. They also show that deep inside, he’s just a scared man who just wants to make his mother proud; wants to be accepted by a group for who he is, and allowed to grow into maturity.

And of course Zachary Quinto then takes the writer’s words and is able to translate it onto the screen, using his vocal inflections, acting intentions and facial expressions to expand beyond the dialogue to round out the way Sylar is shown and in return embraced by the fans. And the fact that Quinto is attractive to boot doesn’t hinder him at all.

The Joker from the Batman Comics:

The crazy, maniacal, car wielding clown from the Batman empire wouldn’t be as well loved of a villain as he is today – Wizard magazine named him the Greatest Villain of All Time. His background differs depending on which form of media you look at him in – comic, cartoon, live tv series, or the movie portrayals by Jack Nicholson and of course, the Academy Award winning performance by the late Heath Ledger. But what keeps people coming back to wanting to see this character again and fear the way they might approach him in the new way?

Part of it is history – the Joker appeared in Batman #1 in 1940. He was the first villain, and has yet to be able to stay behind closed doors in Arkham. He’s hurt a LOT of people in his almost 70 years of mischief and mayhem, including the death of Jason Todd, the second Robin, as well as the paralysis of Barbara Gordon. He’s caused a lot of pain to the main hero, and so he’s earned the respect of the audience as a force to be reckoned with.

And then there is the fact that the Joker is a MURDERING CLOWN!!! He’s crazy, unpredictable, a genius and goes into his crime sprees with a painted smile on his face and putting them on all his victims too. The character sees and plans in so many circles and layers that if he wasn’t insane he would be in politics.

It’s the “what’s he going to do now?” factor that keeps the Joker going 70 years in popularity with his audience. He has never disappointed in entertaining, always gives his best performance when the writers bring him out for a job, and we have the knowledge that Batman will tuck him back into the little padded cell with his name engraved over the door at the end of the story. But unlike most villains who have a signature style every time they appear, the Joker consistently changes things up and the tricks will just keep coming until Batman figures out the endgame.

There’s no relation that can be drawn between the reader and the joker, however. The Batman series pulls it’s reader relationship in through its heroes. But you are able to respect and even love the Joker because of the feelings that your heroes go through while dealing with him, and knowing that his insanity brings depth and perspective to the heroes that lesser villains would not be able to accomplish. Its a symbiotic relationship – to love one means you must love the other.

Darth Vader from the Star Wars Saga:

Let’s face it – when Vader first appeared, he was a flunkie to the Emperor with an old school religion and awesome powers to choke people just by holding out his hands. But he wasn’t interesting then. With just the first movie out, the story was the three main characters – Han, Luke and Leia. Vader had no established history shown on screen or in the novelizations to make anyone give a care to him.

It was when Empire Strikes Back did Vader become interesting. You could tell that in writing the second story, George Lucas was starting to plot out the origin story. Yoda had the secret that Obi-Wan hadn’t told Luke about, or that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru died protecting Luke from. Was it that Lucas didn’t know he would make Vader into Luke’s daddy dearest until then…

That doesn’t matter when you look at it on screen. Empire is where you have the climactic moment. “Luke, I am your Father.” That is the moment right there where suddenly Vader’s character changes, and you’re forced to watch everything again to reanalyze the villain and see him for more.

Why? Because now he’s human. He’s a father. He’s not trying to manipulate Luke – he’s doing what he thinks will save his son. He’s trying in some really unsuccessful fashion to even bond with him. Father and son taking over the universe? Sure, why not Dad!

When you rewatch, you then start to see the hints of humanity that you might have missed. The little things that Lucas put in that shows that this was once a man who lived and loved and wasn’t completely evil. And it sets up the expectation that now this is a man who can be saved.

Luke is already the hero of this movies, and now he sees his goal. We already know Luke can win space battles – but can he save his father’s soul? It’s that arc in the Return of the Jedi that keeps you on the edge of your seat in that final lightsaber battle, and when Luke is then on the ground screaming in pain for his father.

The prequels, no matter your opinion on them, are then trying to then take you back and show that origin story. Some of the reason why it failed is because Lucas had such a high expectation line from the fans that he would truly never be able to meet it. Everyone knew the story without it needing to be shown on screen.

It was that lack of a complete background story that had given the fans had twenty years of their own creativity to make up the missing pieces, pulling things from their own lives and putting them into Anakin Skywalker to make him someone they could all sympathize with.

In conclusion – You need to look at your villains as if they are the most important character in the novel, along with your hero. They are symbiotic, have had some kind of fall from grace, and there has to be either some hope for redemption or else showing that they are completely irredeemable in order to have them be believable. Then you need to make them human so that your readers can look at them and understand how they work – or think they can try in the cases like the Joker.

Know their background, even if you don’t plan to reveal it. Know the path that brought them to where they are at the beginning of your book. Write your origins story for them, and keep that in your pile of research. You already know your hero is going to win, but make it so that your readers may not believe that until you want them to.

And don’t be surprised if they get upset when they lose, and if you kill them off?… I would avoid any fan mail with black envelopes and pictures of bloody knives on them. But take comfort in knowing that if you got this response – you did it right.