Firewood (Soloish)

[The Puppet]

The Puppet Massacre Trilogy - Part I: Firewood
((OOC: I don't like doing solos, but I am very nervous about letting anyone into this quest. If someone does wish to haggle with me then they may PM me. I will not let just anyone in, however. If you wish to join you must convence me.))

It was early in the morning. The bluebirds were all singing their merry little tunes. The sound of water trickling off rocks could be heard through the dense fog. The night’s stalkers were returning to their nests and burrows while the day’s hunters scurried around in hopes of catching that first sight of meat waltzing through the forest. Some creature had other things on their mind that finding food. Those poor creatures were the food. The now had a day of dodging predators to look forward to. Some of these sad beings were the puppets.

Led by Number 14, a puppet recently escaped from servitude to an evil master, the puppets were forced to keep a cautious eye out in case any woodpeckers spotted to group. It was a stressful life for those wooden toys, but they felt slightly reassured knowing that they had someone with them who promised he would provide a safe journey to a land where the puppets could live in peace not having to worry about the dangers of kids breaking them, carts running over them, or birds picking away at their tiny bodies.

They would have willingly paid for the services of the outsider, Number 14, but 14 had to much pride for that. It was his duty, as he saw it, to free these puppets from the hard times they had gone through. It was the same as being a slave in his mind. Anyone who lives a life controlled by fear is truly a slave.

He had heard in many taverns that he had passed trough in his pursuit of evil-doers that a life in the mountains was a peaceful life. He was sure that if he could lead the puppet caravan to the Comb Mountains his own wrong actions would be slightly righted. It is for that reason that he blazed through the pecker’s home, for a home fit for a king.

The caravan of wooden beings marched forth in hopes of reaching the mountains where they could build a home for those of their kind. It was the dream of any one who had ever been discriminated against because of who they were. Every race needs their home, their sanctuary, their haven; puppets were no different.

They followed Number 14 blindly. If they turned on him now deciding the journey was to perilous to continue they would never make it out of the demonic forest alive. There was no one else strong enough to defend them against the constant attacks from the wild life; there was no one else who even knew the way out. The only thing distrust would cause now would be chaos. They bottled every doubt and pressed forward without question.

Every time a wild creature eyed one of their numbers they would always do the same thing…

[The Puppet]

“Number 14… Aaah… Save us, please.” The sound of dying puppets reached the ears of 14 as he walked at the front of the long caravan. He spun around quickly with alarm. Seeing that several of his followers were currently falling victim to a flock of ‘peckers he rushed off toward the attack without any hope of being able to kill all of the birds by himself. As he drew nearer he pulled his wooden crosses off of his back.

“Maybe if I kill just one the rest will leave us,” he thought to himself as he wondered how he would manage to drive them away.

The wooden pioneers ran past him as he charged at the birds who were now concentrating on a single puppet. He was only a little boy. He stood no chance against the harsh mob. 14 was not fast enough to reach them in time. He was forced to watch as one of the travelers who had trusted him so dearly died a painful death.

“Die you damn vultures!” he cursed as he threw the two crosses at the flock one after the other. He had watched them kill the boy; he would not sit still to watch them desecrate the boy too. He would make them suffer in any way he could for the life they had stolen.

[The Puppet]

His twin crosses flew threw the center of the pack as the birds scattered to avoid them. 14 grabbed his strings ready to yank his weapons back, but before he could pull them to him he felt himself pulled toward them. A few of the devilish birds had become tangled in the strings as they tried to escape into the air. 14 was now being carried into the skies behind them as if he were some covered wagon and they a herd of horses.

14 screamed as he realized he was becoming air born. “Let go of me,” he cried as if the fiends could understand him or would obey if they could understand him. 14 was not used to the air and rightly so. The air was no place for someone whose ancestors had been rooted to the earth.

He felt as if his arms were going to splinter as the birds flew in separate directions. He could feel the birds stretching his body to the limit. Every time the string reached their limit the birds would be forced to fly in another direction. Every time this happened the birds would fly faster in their frustration. “No please, I beg you. Stop!” 14 pleaded every time the strings snapped tight.

He could feel his circulation slowing as the strings squeezed against his wooden body. He quickly turned dizzy as the evil birds continued to spin him around in the air. Ughh, the sight of his vomit hitting the ground below him was the last thing he saw before blacking out.

[The Puppet]

Thud!

14 Returned to his sense as he crashed into the earth. His whole body was throbbing. His arms and legs were aching from the brutal stretching they had received. His head was still spinning from when the string had cut into his circulation. His ears were ringing. His back was pounding from the fall he had just experienced, but luckily nothing appeared broke.

14 moaned as he pulled his body up, but before he could even stand up the ruthless ‘peckers dove at the puppet knocking him back to the ground. One after the other, they pelted at him clawing him, pecking him, doing anything imaginable to his already strained body.

“Back off!” he screamed, his temper rising, but the birds would not release him. He had interrupted them during their meal, so now he would replace the boy as their feast. The very thought made the puppet cringe. If he had blood it would have been boiling over. This had never been the death he had envisioned for himself. He had figured he would go out in some magnificent battle for some enormous cause, not to a bunch of buzzards in a mere brawl.

“No,” he bellowed in fury, “I will not be defeated by you! I will not go out like this!” Fire engulfed his hand as tears poured from his blue button eyes. He grabbed a hold of the closest feather-brained ruffian as he came flying toward 14. “Die,” he said as if bidding it farewell. With rage still swelling inside himself he squeezed the bird sending to its next life.

Startled the other bird squawked in fear as they saw their companion burst into a ball of fire. Before the singed feather even reached the ground the others had fled. They had no sense of loyalty or thoughts of revenge. They only cared for themselves, and none of them wanted to be the next one to ascend to the afterlife in a flash of autumn light.

[The Puppet]

14 collapsed in exhaustion after the battle. His tiny body had clearly not been made to withstand such a horrific assault. He had done well not to burst into a mound of sawdust. It was always risky business when dealing with those vermin known as ‘peckers, but when dealing with so many at once, one would think it suicide.

With the ‘peckers gone the pilgrims rushed to the hero’s side. Some wanted to make sure he was alright. Others only wanted to whine and complain about the attack. Those who whined seemed to have forgotten that he had warned them about the ‘peckers before leavening. They had said, “Anything is better than this place,” but now they chanted death threats at him for leading them to their deaths.

14’s dizziness did not help the situation. He laid in confusion as people babbled on incomprehensibly pointing their fat knobby fingers at his face. “Look at what happened to that poor boy,” the self-proclaimed governor, an old puppet with cracks in his arms and a fat mustache that had been glued on crooked, screamed. “Do you plan for us all to end like that?” Although not intentional 14 could not have picked a more perfect time to vomit again. “Insolent little prick,” the governor said as he raised his cane over head. “I’ll teach you some respect.” As he brought the wooden stick down it caught a hold of someone else.