A Coward's Tale [warning: "R-rated" content]

[Robbyn Jonathan]

Copper helped herself to the bottle of moonshine that was sitting beside her, then wiped her lips with her arms and held out the bottle towards Robbyn. “Swig?”

“No thanks.” Robbyn had gotten out the two rough metal mugs from their packs when Copper had brought out the bottle. She had filled his glass but then just tipped the bottle up to her lips. As they ate she had offered the bottle to him a few times and each time he had refused. He wasn’t that thirsty. Besides, it was pretty strong. Robbyn was amazed that Copper could down it so casually.

Robbyn scraped the pan as best he could and laid it out to dry, then went over to check the shelter. Back at Abercrombie's, Copper had taken all the leather scraps she could find and had sewn them into a large quilt. As they set camp, they had stripped the branches from three small trees, tied the tops together, and wrapped the quilt around the trees to make a shelter against the wind. Inside, they had gathered moss and leaves to make a bed. It was rough, but would be comfortable enough for one night.

Copper brought him up short with a casual, “You already checked it three times, man. It aint going anywhere.”

Robbyn blushed and stood for a moment wondering what he could do next. Everything was done. Too bad he didn’t have a book to read. Maybe they would have a library at Grand Hamlet.

“You gonna wear your armour all night?”

Robbyn looked down. The ruined chainmail leggings he had left behind with Abercrombie and he wore the leather pants Copper had made for him. However, he was wearing his breastplate, and his gloves, helmet and mace hung heavily from his waist. All told, it was probably thirty pounds of metal, but it gave him comfort. Still, he supposed Copper was right. He wasn’t going to sleep in his armour and could put it close by.

“S-sorry.” Robbyn removed his things and tucked them inside the shelter, then rolled his shoulders to get the kinks out. Turning back around, he noticed that Copper was watching him. He flushed, aware of how his substantial gut was now hanging out, and stammered, “W-what?”

“Nothin’. You know you apologize too much?”

“S-sorry.”

She regarded him coolly. Her eyes were dark blue and huge in the twilight. Then she turned back to look off into the distance. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?”

“Actually, I just started.”

Copper turned back to him, obviously surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. The Gen…my f-father didn’t think I should learn.”

“Why the $@%*! not?”

Robbyn shrugged and poked at the fire. “I’m not sure. He had high hopes for me, I guess.”

“High hopes?” Copper was incredulous. “High hopes means you can’t cook?”

“Well…that is…He wanted me to be an officer, not a c-cook. Maybe he thought I ate too much.”

“Light! That’s just $@%*!ing perfect! Can’t get your hands dirty. Can’t be one of the common men, is that it? You’re telling me that an officer is not a good leader if he can make sure that his soldiers are well fed? How well do you think that they will fight without food, Robb?”

“It's n-not me…”

Copper turned away angrily. “$@%*!ing Stormwind.”

Robbyn didn’t know what to say. Copper finished off the bottle of moonshine and tossed it aside. Finally, Robbyn mustered up his courage and said, “Have you lived your whole life an outlaw?”

“Basically. Ever since I was a child, anyway.”

“W-was it hard?”

“What the $@%*! do you think? No, it was a bed of roses living underground, surrounded by cutthroats and thieves.”

“Sorry. St-stupid question.”

“Bah. Not your fault,” she said, softening. “You’ve just grown up soft, pampered in the city. Do you even have any idea what’s going on with the resistance?”

Robbyn knew he didn’t. He didn’t even know what she was talking about. “You mean the…the Defias?”

“That name is a lie. Man, there is no ‘Brotherhood of the Defias.’ It was like a joke, based on the way the prince slurred his words when he was five.”

Robbyn was stunned. Now that she said it, he could hear the voice of the child-King crying out “Defias” in his mind. King Anduin Wrynn was ten years old and still had something of a lisp. It was worse when he was younger. A few years ago, Robbyn remembered the young king shouting out “they defy us” repeatedly in the throne room, much to the amusement of the assembled nobility. The boy had thought it wonderful to be so funny.

King Anduin Wrynn had been quietly crowned King a number of years ago when his father, King Varian Wrynn, disappeared while away on a diplomatic mission. The General was loyal to the boy-King, of course, but the fact was that he was too young to make any real decisions. Fortunately, the Crown was guided by the Lady Katrana Prestor, an uncompromisingly firm but extremely insightful noblewoman who acted as High Counsellor to the King. It was not publicly known, but the General generally took commands from the Lady Katrana or her High Council. The child-King merely signed the writs. Under her capable guidance, young King Anduin was sure to grow to be a shrewd leader one day.

“If you are not the Defias, then w-what are you called?”

Copper looked back at him coolly. After a long moment she seemed to make a decision, then answered, “Just…the resistance. The Westfall Resistance.”

“The Westfall Resistance,” Robbyn repeated. He wondered what had she decided not to say.

“Copper, do you remember telling me that no one paid the Great Tax?” he said, changing the subject.

Copper nodded.

“Did the…Resistance…refuse to pay the Tax for some reason?”

“Man, I told you before…no one paid it. How much do you know about the Stormwind nobles, Robb?”

Robbyn shrugged. “I see them… I mean I used to see them around. My family wasn’t nobility, if that is wh-what you are asking.”

“I figured that out already. They ever strike you as destitute? Impoverished? Unable to feed themselves or to clothe their children?”

“Well, no. They’re pretty rich, mostly.”

“Pretty rich?! Man, ‘pretty rich’ is, “I feel like buying a new horse,” and you go and do it. ‘Pretty rich’ is buying a new suit of clothes every week and not worrying if you will have enough silver to make it through the winter. You sure that’s the word you mean?”

“Alright. Alright. Very rich.”

“Son-of-a-$@%*! Robbyn! Those $@%*!ing nobles build new castles for themselves on a whim, and then don’t live in them. They go and buy every scrap of mageweave for sale at auction just to create a fashion of undergarments for their w-hores that none of their buddies’ w-hores will have. Have you ever seen a noble do a scrap of work?”

Robbyn found it hard to talk to Copper when she was agitated. “S-s-sometimes?”

“Really?! Really work? Get their hands dirty?”

“W-well, not exactly, I guess.”

Copper nodded, satisfied. “Man, I wish I could open your eyes. There are people, commoners mind---the kind that cook their food?---who work themselves into their graves trying to make a decent life for their children, and failing, mind, because of the $@%*!ing Stormwind nobles and their $@%*!ing taxes. Why are they paying tax? What do they get for their money? Respect? Justice? Courtesy even?” Robbyn knew they were rhetorical questions and he kept his mouth shut.

Copper continued, “The fact is, I know there was enough gold in the King’s treasury to build that $@%*!ing city three times. The money was set aside before the work ever began! The levy was…” Copper trailed off for a second, trying to find the right word to express her outrage. “The levy was a light-damned evil act, Robbyn. There is no other way to describe it. It was intentionally designed to weed out the strong, to break the will of the common people, and to keep them destitute, weak, and dependant.”

For a second, Robbyn just stared at Copper. Her cheeks were flushed and she spoke with such passion that it was clear that she was absolutely convinced that what she said was the truth. But what she was saying was crazy. Finally, he asked, “If what you say is true, why have I never heard of any of this?”

“You’ve been raised on lies, Robbyn. You can’t grow up in Stormwind and see the truth.” She raised her arm and pointed down below them to the noxious fog corrupting the Duskwood Forest. “A cloud of lies sits over Stormwind that makes that forest look like a joke.”

[Robbyn Jonathan]

After a full day of walking, they were pretty high up in the mountains, and the evening chill was coming on as the sun went down. Copper stood up and padded over to sit at the small fire. She wobbled slightly, showing the effects of the moonshine. Robbyn sat puzzling thing out in his mind.

“You are nothing like I imagined,” he said.

Copper casually reached over and took the stick he was poking the fire with out of his hands. Her hands were rough but light and dextrous as they rubbed against his, and he hardly even knew what was happening before it was gone. “You’re driving me crazy with that,” she said, tossing the stick into the fire. She held up a finger threateningly. “And don’t apologize!”

The apology died on his lips. “I mean, I always imagined that the D…the resistance was… sort of like…well, criminals, I guess. Not committed to j-justice, like you are.”

“You see? That’s just what I’m talking about. Did you ever stop and think about it? Why would our people choose to live in the Dagger Hills and to lurk about broken-down farms without proper water or decent supplies? And what kind of farmer is going to pick a fight with the Stormwind military?”

“When you put it like that, I guess you’d have to be pretty c-crazy…or I guess you’d have to believe in what you were fighting for. But...what do you want? To conquer Stormwind and kill all the nobles?”

Copper threw back her head and laughed musically. “I wish! No. Man, can you imagine a bunch of farmers storming the capital? Climbing the walls? Breaking down the gates? With what?! $@%*!ing throwing knives and rusted swords? We might as well just line ourselves up for the hangings.”

“S-so then, w-what?”

“Ah…it doesn’t matter.” She tipped drunkenly and waved a hand dismissively at him.

“No, really! I need to understand w-what it is you are fighting for.”

Copper fixed him with a long look. When she answered, her pattern of speech took on a strange singsong quality. Her statements were quick and short, and between them she would pause, as if letting the meaning settle in before moving on. She had either heard or said this speech many times before, and knew it by wrote. “We have a document. It’s called a ‘Writ of Rights.’ It sets out rights that every person should have. That every person should be able to take for granted. These are ‘presumptive rights.’ You are right to presume that you have them. Freedom, dignity, law, morality, security, expression. These are the rights we give our children. These are the rights we give our neighbours and our friends. And yet, we do not enjoy them. They have been denied us. But we will not be denied. Because these rights are worth fighting for. Because these rights are worth dying for. And we will die, if we have to. We will die fighting for them. For if we do not have these rights, we are not yet alive.”

Despite himself, Robbyn’s heart was racing, just listening to her. Her voice had risen in volume as she spoke and when she stopped it echoed off into the distance. For a moment they sat in silence. Then she said, dismissively, “There’s a sh*t-load more, but I’m tired and drunk…and it’s time for the sack.”

She got up and moved off towards the shelter. Over her shoulder, she asked, “Coming?”

Robbyn felt a lump in his throat as he turned to watch her. She was already unstringing her leather jerkin as she walked and, likely on account of the booze, her hips swayed more than usual. The fact that they would be sleeping together had been in the back of his mind all night, but Robb had been trying to not think about it. Back at Abercrombie’s they had slept next to each other, and he tried to tell himself that it was really no different here, without success. His body told him that it was one thing to sleep beside Copper on the floor of the shack with the dogs all about and the old man in the bed nearby, and another thing entirely to sleep next to her in the little leather shelter, alone. He took a breath and tried to answer her casually, but on his first try all that came out was a squeak.

Blushing furiously, Robbyn corrected himself, “I mean…in a b-b-bit. I’m enjoying the s-sunset.”

“Suit yourself, liar.”

She disappeared inside. For a few minutes Robbyn stared out at the darkening sunset that spread over the grassy plains of Westfall in the distance. It was, in fact, spectacularly beautiful. But he could hardly pay attention to it. He had a lot to think about.

“Copper?” he called out, a few minutes later.

Her voice floated sleepily out from the darkness of the shelter. “Mmm?”

“If you believe in the resistance so much, why was Hatch trying to kill you?”

There was a pause. Then, “If Hatch had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead. No, he was just an errand boy, come to take me back ’cause I ran away from home.”

“You left the resistance?” Even with all the new information Copper had just given him, Robbyn’s heart leapt at the thought that she might have defected from the Defias.

There was a long pause. Then, out of the shelter came Copper’s slurred and sleepy voice, “Robbyn, either come in and $@%*! me, or shut the $@%*! up.”

Robbyn’s breathing stopped. Suddenly his heart was racing and he had broken out into a cold sweat. For a second he could not believe his ears. Surely he had not heard her right! But in his head, her words repeated over and over in his mind like a mocking echo. She was drunk and had just invited him to do…that. He had never. His mouth soundlessly opened and closed. Visions of the Goldshire prostitute burst into his mind: the touch of her hands, her soft skin, her strange glowing eyes. Of course he wanted Copper. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. What was wrong with him? She could not have been more plain! But, for some reason, he just could not do anything. He was terrified. His head fell into his hands as he sat helplessly transfixed, unable to even feel aroused. Time ticked past agonizingly; too much time. The moment was lost. Copper would have fallen asleep. But he never did respond. He just sat still as a stone, cursing himself for a fool and a coward in his mind, as the sun sank away and the cold night wind blew right through him.

[Robbyn Jonathan]

[It's a strange thing about writing. Often, the characters in the Tale have their own ideas about what they are going to do or say. It is both exciting and a bit nerve-wracking to be involved in this process. For example, I had no idea that Hatch intended to kill Colley. It turned out to be a very ugly scene, but very true to Hatch's character. Now it has happened again. Of course I knew that Robbyn had fallen for Copper. I also knew that Copper was a rather coarse woman. I had no idea she was going to proposition Robbyn, however, and so...crassly. Last night I stared at what I had written for a long time before posting it. Robb and I have some things in common, and I wasn't very comfortable with it. But it was her voice, so I posted it. When I woke up this morning, I still felt that it was "over the line" somehow. If anyone is uncomfortable or would prefer a rewrite, please let me know. I keep agonizing about it.]

[Celera]

((Are you asking if the story has become too ...frank? Or whether the proposition works for the character?

From a writing standpoint, I think it works. It was surprising, but since the story is told from Robbyn's pov, the surprise is appropriate. And it's not out of character for Copper, really. It is coarse, but also shows that she is not invulnerable, and Robbyn isn't the sort of guy a girl would proposition in that way unless she had some feelings for him beyond physical attraction. And no, I'm not going to explain how I know that .

Now, if he had accepted the invitation, I would have objected to that. He is timid, but also has an innate sense of decency that makes him admirable. If Copper really wants him, she is going to have to take a different tack. But that's good - you have well-rounded characters here. They should grow.

This is a fairly frank, even rather adult story. You've already established that from the beginning with Hatch's violence, and with the events in Goldshire. I really like that -- I love that we have not restricted ourselves to cartoon-level stories here. But it is a bit more R-rated (despite the "bleeping" of the bad words) than what some visitors to the site might expect. Sticking a warning on the beginning to head off anyone who might find it too R-rated for their comfort would solve that, IMO.))

[Robbyn Jonathan]

((Thanks Celera, for your kind words as well as your advice. I did not know that A Coward's Tale would be R-rated when I started it. I agree with the parental advisory and have added it.

Any other comments are still welcome.))

[Fechak]

((Ok, I'll let the guard down for a second and admit that I was - at around the age of 15 or so - involved in a similar situation. At least to pertaining to the relationship portion and me being a timid little kid. I, too, would have been upset (however much I would have secretly enjoyed it) if Robb had taken her up on her offer, that because of my own personal experience as a wee lad has been the point of the story that I was truely connected with Robb.

That being said, I have no limits or boundaries (as many of you know) as to the crassness or offensiveness of anything really, it just doesn't bug me. I've been along for this epic ride pal, and I've loved every second of it. I'm telling you, if you brought an editor in and took WoW out you could have yourself a novel worthy of publication on your hands and I have this feeling that you're only just getting started.

I find that my characters go off on their own as well, I love the feeling as if I've literally created people that are living and breathing. All good things... up and down and around... circular.))

[Emizael]

Quick opinion--

Damnit Windy! Robb is waaaay too nice a guy for his own good! He * NEEDS* that woman, and I couldn't see the whole situation playing out in any other way. Of course, Robb can't just say " OK! " and hop in the sack with her, 'cause nice guys don't do that sort of thing. The Damnit part comes from the fact that you are crafting a hell of a story, no matter which character is using yer hands. I for one, can't wait for more.

Cheers!

[Celera]

((And just to clarify -- I don't think the story is the least bit offensive. It takes a great deal more to offend me than you might think. Still, I think the "head's up" for visitors who might be expecting something a little more like WOW content is a good idea.

Also, I agree with Fechak -- you could pull out the WOW-specific references here and have a story as good (and marketable) as lots of published fiction. I think that's true of a several things posted in our forums, actually. [hint--EMI] ))

[Vangelis]

[(Two-day stopover at home; had to catch up on my reading!)

The proposition is exactly right, particularly in its abruptness and aggressiveness. I interpret it on at least two levels: one, she likes to keep Robb off-balance because it functions to maintain power, and two, as a test to see if he is "just like all the other men" she has known, or whether he really has a character that is quite outside of her experience.

What *I* find odd is that you would hesitate over a throwaway proposition (perfectly in character and a natural development in the romance plot) when a few pages back you graphically depicted an interrupted act of sexual bondage followed by a double murder. You have lost all sense of proportion, bro. ]

[Sorcha'Rei]

((I thought the difference was that this is Robb -- and as he says, Robb has some similarities to him. It's harder to distance yourself from the characters that represent the more vulnerable parts of yourself, at least for me.))

[Robbyn Jonathan]

((Yes. /wave Sorcha.

The end of chapter 4 was much more "R-rated" (sex+violence+language) from an objective perspective. But, as Sorcha points out, it is difficult for me to be objective with these characters. Also, I want the story to remain enjoyable to read.

My attitude is affected by my characters. It isn't a 1st-person narrative, but the 3rd-person narrative is deliberately slanted by the main character's perspective. This is deliberate. I want the narrative to suggest the character's perspective. But, perhaps curiously, what also happens is that I am affected. I become more callus and cynical when I am narrating Hatch's adventures, and more naive and noble when I am narrative Robbyn's. For example, in Hatch's chapter, I wrote, "Women lied about their bruises all the time." What a horrible thing to say! In a Robbyn chapter I would never have written that. In Robb's chapter I write, "The levies were hard, but it was for the greater good, and the people gave generously to protect their homes, their families, and their very way of life." Possibly this is right, but as we find out, it's a matter of perspective.

So...narrating Hatch, it was easy for me to write about the (possibly) double murder and not be shocked. Little shocks me when I'm with him. But, when I'm narrating Robbyn's chapters, I'm much more sensitive.

Also...Hatch's chapter is kind of supposed to feel ugly for the reader. Robb's chapter are supposed to feel...nice? Not ugly anyway. And if that's the mood I'm going for, then Copper is "ruining" the mood here. I agonize that maybe she will ruin the pleasure of reading the story...or that she will be so crass that she will no longer be likeable, or fun to read about. ))

[Fechak]

((Yeah yeah, stop blabbing and start writing.))

[Sorcha'Rei]

((I don't like Copper, particularly. I never have. But I can completely understand why Robb likes her, and I am entranced by her despite not liking her much. I think she is a brilliant creation, and I cannot get enough of reading about her.

I find her sympathetic but not likable. I know that both the author and Robb like her very much, and I love that she is so realistically drawn that I am not forced to like her, too. She's real, and that counts for a lot.

This is wonderful stuff. Obsess about it as much as you have to, so long as it keeps coming.))

[Thelanya]

((Not to disagree with the High Lord , but I think talking about the story is almost as interesting as the story itself -- as long as it doesn't become an excuse to stop writing the story. In fact, given that this is an interesting discussion, perhaps it should be segregated to a separate thread so that it doesn't interrupt the narrative? You could put a link to the discussion at the appropriate juncture.

Maybe I'm just too distant from my conservative upbringing, but I think Copper's proposition is sort of sweet in its way. Van's interpretation makes sense, but I when I read the passage I didn't sense her being defensive or manipulative. Not because she is above that sort of thing -- but women don't usually proposition a man just to see if he turns out to be as big a jerk as we suspect. Women do sometimes sleep with a man because they are lonely and tired and drunk and scared. The next day is when they start testing him to see if he will turn out to be like all the other men.

To someone with kinder life experiences and a wider range of ways to express themselves, "come over and &*($ me" might seem a bit hostile. But someone like Copper might not have much experience with more subtle methods.

Where I do agree with Van -- I think -- is that it was much more uncomfortable to read about Colley's sordid tryst and needless murder. It makes sense that Hatch's part of the story is different and in a way more uncomfortable. But if you are in danger of going too far, and making the reader 'look away' I think it is in that part of the story that you have to be careful.

One more thought -- "women always lie about their bruises" is kind of a horrible thing to say. But sadly, it's also true.

And that is good writing!))

[Val]

(( I've been hesitant to remark on this for a while, mainly because I had to get over my own stupid pride in it's regard. I am in a state of such extreme jealousy when reading this, and only because it is so incredibly involving. I don't know how you did it, but you managed to capture something with these characters, that seperates them from the rest. The grim reality of each character and how their attitudes set the mood are things I wish I could figure out how to do. I say, with all means, you could get this thing published, and it's for this reason that I hate you, I know that this thing is a monster of fiction and I can't stop reading.

I'm a jealous, hate driven teenager who cannot stop reading.

And I thank you.

Keep it up.))