Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Villain, The Trap, and The Twist ❯ The Villain, The Trap, and The Twist ( One-Shot )

Author's Note: The following story is original work by Mooman_FL. I own all the characters and situations contained therein. This story may not be copied in whole or in part except for instructional purposes in character POV without the express permission of the author.

      It was created as an example of successfully using multiple character POVs including the villains POV. These clips are not part of a full story, nor are they planned to be in the future (although with enough good reviews and requests... who knows). There are many ways to keep things hidden even though you are in a characters head. One of which is with their train of thought.

      While you are in a characters head and essentially reading their thoughts, you are still limited to only knowing the things they happen to be thinking of at that time. The author has complete control over the thought process and events so it is easy to just keep thoughts away from the particular peice of information that the reader shouldn't have to maintain suspense. In the following story I try to show an example of this.

      The story below is only a fragment of what is assumed to be a much larger tale. The characters have already been introduced, the hook has been set to draw them into the adventure, and they have already overcome some obstacles. There are three heroes: Firian (a young warrior with a magic sword), Tyll (a ranger and Firian's best friend), and Serra (a female mage and the love of Firian). The villain is King Bergian, an evil tyrant and powerful mage that seeks to enslave the world through a spell that is tearing the land apart.

As the story starts, the heroes have just defeated one hundred warriors sent by Bergian to kill them. Unknown to them, King Bergian was spying on the battle with his magical powers.

AUTHOR'S HOMEPAGE: http://mooman_fl.livejournal.com

      King Bergian slammed his hand on the table in fury and sorrow, causing the smoking vapors rising out the liquid in the ornate golden basin to swirl. The vision of the young man's face held in the smoke distorted into an almost mocking smile which only deepened the Emperor's rage.

      The loss of near a hundred soldiers was a shock, but hardly lamentable. They existed only to serve his will, whether that be by providing the honor of escort, or by dying at his command. The loss of his son and heir to this young and arrogant upstart, however, was unforgivable.

      "Parthas!" The call came out half sob and half scream, but the command was answered immediately as the large general stepped to his side. He closed his eyes and tried to regain control of his turbulent emotions. It was difficult. Memories of his son smiling up at him as he rode his first horse, of crying the first time he had taken injury during training, kept flitting through his head threatening to destroy any rational though. With enormous will he took one deep shuddering breath and shoved these thoughts aside.

      "Yes my lord?" His hollow and gravelly voice came out of a pallid, rotting face covered by a braided black beard that had been known to make lesser men faint before the first blow, but his reply was quiet and almost fearful under his rulers wrath. This time, however, he took no pleasure in the feeling of power that having this dangerous animal on a leash usually provided.

      "Firian, has killed the guard sent to stop him.", he said quietly. He paused as his memories rebelled of his grip and tried to claim him again. "I want you to kill him." He paused and let the full import of his command sink in to the giant warrior. "Do you understand?"

      "Yes my lord!" the general replied, clapping his black spiked gauntlet to his armored chest. "I understand. The vermin will not live the night!" His breath came out in a dry graveyards fog.

      "I expect he wont.", Bergian said wryly. "Now go! I want his head on my wall by morning!"

      The bloodless giant once again clapped fist to heart with a bow, then turned briskly on his heel. His glimmering black cape swirled behind him revealing for a moment the huge crescent bladed ax at his hip and the back of his ebony breastplate, the twisting runes that covered both glowed a noxious green.

      Very good, thought Bergian. The loss of his son was a pike in heart, but he could have another son, but Firian would soon know the price of taking the ones he loved from him. His ensorcerled blade would be useless against Parthas. He would take great satisfaction in the look that was on the whelp's face when his general brought him the young man's head.

Ok... you know there is a trap. You know the nature of the trap to a point. You have also gained some insight into the villain: his love for his son despite his evil nature. He was obviously a caring father and had memories that any father might relate to. Any idea what will happen next? I bet you don't. I do because I am writing it. You don't know WHY Firian's blade should be useless. You don't know WHY the general is such a threat other than looking big, mean, and scary. You know there is probably magic involved... but what type? Is this "cheating" to leave that out? Hardly.

On to the next part then...

      The campfire snapped loudly sending sparks skyward like firesprites doing a dance for the moon in one of the old tales. It was colder tonight. The furnace-like heat that had baked the grass to dry husks had finally broken. Firian supposed that meant that he and his companions were on the right track.

      He grasped the amulet through his tunic feeling its gentle warm heat soak through the wool and into his palm. It wasn't complete yet. Four more pieces still to find, but already it's power seemed to be having an effect on the land. He wondered how they were to find the others. Without them, the spell was weakened, but hardly broken. The still dared not drink any of the water, he had seen the price paid for doing that. The animals were still being twisted into nightmare beasts.

      He sighed loudly in frustration, and Tyll, who was meticulously shaving some new arrow shafts to fill his nearly empty quiver, looked up with a grin.

      "Hey, Fir", the ranger said, a grin splitting his face almost in two. "Whatcha moping about this time?" He blew a stray lock of his unruly sandy hair out of his face and Firian couldn't help but grin back.

      "Nothing I suppose."

      This wasn't exactly true and Tyll, ever the observant one despite his reckless demeanor, seemed to pick up on it right away. "Horsehockey, my friend. Why don't you just get it over with and tell me. I have ways of finding out you know." He threw a pointed glance toward the picket line where Serra was rubbing down the horses.

      His mischievous look made Firian a little nervous. He wondered just how much he had been saying in his sleep lately, and more importantly, just what the dusky skinned mage had told him. His dreams had been worse of late, and he was waking in the morning covered in sweat feeling like a scream was caught in his throat. He supposed he would have to tell them about the visions soon, but right now that wasn't what had him preoccupied.

      "I was just thinking about the battle today", he said thoughtfully. "Did you notice anything odd about the Captain of those men?"

      "You mean other than that absolutely gorgeous sword he carried?" The smile was gone from Tyll's face now, and the raptor's gaze that told Firian his friend was in serious thought had replaced it. "I suppose he wasn't a very good Captain. He didn't seem all that comfortable with the command, and he died way to easy."

      "Exactly", Firian replied. "There was something else too, did you notice the clasp on his cloak?"

      "Yeah, the one with the gauntlet holding a sword by the blade. That is Bergian's crest isn't it?" Tyll had gone back to methodically shaving curling translucent slivers off the arrow shaft in his lap.

      "Yes it was", Firian agreed. "Did you notice the ruby in the hilt of the sword on the crest?" He ran his hand absently across the pommel of his own sword, and it thrummed almost in contentment sending a small shiver of magical energy up his arm.

      "The ruby," the ranger said simply. "I noticed that the other soldiers didn't have one. I figured it was just a sign of rank. Does it have another meaning?" Once again he was staring intently at the warrior.

      Firian let out a troubled sigh and returned his gaze. "It is the sign of royalty."

      All hint of mirth was gone from the rangers face now, replaced by a look of complete shock. "Then that could only mean...", he said quietly. Color drained from his cheeks and he seemed to dread the words that would come next.

      "Would mean what?", Serra said as she flounced cheerfully down beside Firian. She reached out and took one of his hands in her own playfully.

      "It means we are in a lot of trouble.", Firian replied gravely.

      At these words the flames of the campfire turned black.

      The strange luminescence from the fire gave the camp an eerie cast. The evil light flickered as a bone chilling wind erupted from it sending the companions to their backs as ash and coals flew from the stone ring of the fire pit. A good sized ember struck Firian's arm and it went instantly numb. He realized that the coal, rather than burning, was covered in a hoary frost. The wind increased, sending packs careening like tumbleweeds, and born on the gale was a chorus of tortured screams as if the fire itself was a portal to hell. He supposed it very well might be.

      He searched the ground near where the packs had stopped against a large oak and spied his helmet. Snatching it up he fit it over his cropped brown hair and drew his sword feeling the instant rush of power as the glowing blue blade started to hum hungrily. Across the camp Tyll had picked himself up and already had one of his few remaining arrows nocked and drawn waiting for a target to aim at. Tyll's face was grim, matching the way he himself felt. He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced at Serra. Her face was worried but determined, her forked staff in hand. He reached up and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze then put both hands on the hilt of his sword, ready for whatever may come from the wildly twisting witchfire.

      He didn't have long to wait. The ghastly choir lifted to a crescendo as a massive black form rose up, seemingly from the very ground of the fire pit. With its feet now wreathed in the unnatural freezing fire he got his first look at it.

      The warrior he saw in the flames was easily close to seven feet tall in black spiked armor. Writhing luminous runes covered the surface of the armor as well as the enormous ax in its hands. The arcane symbols glowed with a malevolent green that mixed with the black radiance from the flames to create a nausea inducing aura. Its now lifeless face was twisted into a rictus grin topped by a dusty black mustache who's ends dangled down to a long, braided black beard. Where its eyes had once been were dark sockets filled with squirming white worms.

      As the undead knight stepped forward out of the flame, kicking a burning frost covered log partly out of the pit, Firian tightened his grip on his sword which had begun to howl. A gravelly chuckle tumbled from the dead lips of the huge warrior and he realized the smile was not frozen in death at all. Not anxious to close the gap he held his ground and waited. He could hear Serra muttering a low chant.

      Realizing its prey had no intention of coming to it, the knight chuckled again, its grin growing even wider. An old blackened and long mummified tongue could be seen in its cavern of a mouth. Suddenly its chuckle died to a gagging rasp as three green fletched arrows sprouted from its neck. It glanced briefly at Tyll; the ranger had used the last of his arrows and was drawing his sword ready for attack. Instead, the beast ignored him and turned his attention back to Firian.

      "Hiraishin!", Serra shouted as she finished her incantation and thrust her staff towards the undead horror. There was a blinding flash followed by sizzling thunder as a streak of white hot energy blasted into the knight. Firian felt the powerful concussion as he threw a hand over his now closed eyes, but even then he could see colored dots over an inverted image of the camp printed in his vision. Beside him he heard the mage give a short scream followed by the heavy thump of a body hitting the ground; a thump that was echoed from the other side of the camp.

      Tearing his hands away from his eyes, he could see the knight still standing, the grin on its face still in place. Acrid smoke rose from the runes on its armor and ax. Beyond it he could see Tyll. He was on his back. A large smoking hole was where his chest used to be, and his already filming eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. Next to him was Serra, smoke rising from her robes in wispy streamers. She wasn't moving.

      Choking back a cry, reason and fear fled from his mind as he rushed towards the grinning knight with his sword raised high and screaming in unison. This close, he could feel the life draining cold radiating off of the creature. A surge of energy coursed up his arm from his weapon as he swung mightily for the dead warriors neck. The sword was flaring a brilliant azure light that seemed to push back the unholy aura from the fire.

      The knight's ax met his blade and pain exploded in his arm as the fiery glow of his sword snuffed out in a wink. The energy that had flowed through his body from the weapon only a second before was gone and it dropped from nerveless fingers, lifeless on the ground.

      "That was a very stupid thing to do, boy.", the hellish thing taunted in its hollow voice. "You should have ran when you had the chance."

      A second later and he was flying through the air, helmet knocked from his head as the freezing spikes of the knight's gauntlet tore open a huge flap from his cheek. The last thing he saw before consciousness fled was the massive ax whistling towards his head trailing green fire.

Ok... I have to ask again. Did you see any of that coming? Would you say that was a good twist? No, that isn't the end of the story. How do I know? Because I am writing it. As a writer, you control the world you are writing in. That isn't cheating, that is creativity at work.

Any idea how our hero will get out of this one? What happens to his friends? Did the death of Tyll come as a shock? How about Serra?

The nice thing about multiple POVs is that I could have included another POV section from a different subplot in between these two sections and never skipped a bit. I am in control of the time flow. As proof of that, it was obvious that a significant portion of the day had passed between the battle reference in the first section and this section where they are already camped for the night. I can either skip that gap of time altogether, or fill it with the POV of another character. I could even follow this POV with another POV that happens simultaneously with this one. In comic books that is known as a "meanwhile...".

Why limit your creative palette by cutting out some of your options? Creativity is something that should be explored, not avoided for fear you might get it wrong. If you get it wrong, learn from it and move on to do better next time. That is true for ALL writers, both beginner and veteran.

Now for the final part.... can you guess the twist that is coming? Bet you can't. (No, it wasn't all a dream)

      A horde of goblins were pounding on his head with pickaxes and he wished the would stop.

      Firian woke slowly wishing he could stay asleep. His head throbbed mercilessly and his body felt like it had been stomped, beaten, and burned. That must have been one hell of a fight at the tavern. He hoped that Tyll could tell him the details because he didn't remember a thing. Tyll always remembered, and the lucky bastard never got a hangover.

      He felt something cool and wet on his cheek and then burning pain lit up the side of his face. His eyes flew open and cried out in pain. For a second he didn't understand what he was seeing. Somehow trees had grown through the floor in his room and had ripped the ceiling off. Daylight was pouring in where the roof should be, and... there were rocks in his bed. Serra was leaning over him with a concerned look on her face. Dark circles were under her eyes and her face was drained of color.

      Then reality converged with his perceptions and he remembered what had happened. He was lying on the ground a short distance from what had been their campfire. He tried to scramble to his feet but before he could even sit up the world tilted and grayed, and the pounding in his head turned to an unholy scream. Once again he was on his back and Serra gave him a dour look of reproach.

      “You should have known better, dummy.” She attempted a smile, but it never reached her eyes and with her lack of color and dark eyes it reminded him more of the dead grin that the unnatural horror that had attacked the camp had given him. He shuddered.

      “Tyll?”, he whispered.

      The tears that sprang to her eyes told him everything he needed to know. The sad shake of her head confirmed it. His own eyes blurred with tears as the grief overwhelmed him. It was supposed to be him that died an early death. Despite his mischievous and fun loving demeanor, Tyll had always been the cautious one. It had been Tyll, time and time again, that had saved Firian from rushing headlong into deadly trouble. Tyll was dead.

      “I am sorry about your friend.”, a grave-cold voice said from somewhere behind him.

      He saw Serra wince at the sound of the knight's voice and her eyes flicked fearfully in his direction. Rage flooded through Firian and the ghouls words and he once again tried to get up, but the mage's hand held him down. He struggled for a moment to sit, but between the goblins using his head for a drum and Serra's palm he was forced to say down.

      “Keep your fucking mouth shut about him!”, he shouted, and the force of his words tore the gaping wound in his cheek open again. The taste of blood flooded his mouth and pain ripped through his face from his chin to his ear. He welcomed the pain this time. It served to sharpen his wits and his rage to razor edge. To his amazement though, Serra shook her head at him in disapproval.

      “I know what it is like to lose a friend, Firian, son of Garlan.”

      These words shocked him into silence. For a second he wasn't sure what he was hearing. After the initial shock subsided the questions started swirling in his head. For the moment the rage was forgotten.

      “How do you know that name, fiend?” His voice was tinged with contempt and loathing, but also burning curiosity. If hearing his father's name from this creature had shocked him, what he heard next dumbfounded him.

      “I know the name because in life I was his friend, and he died because I failed to protect him. When I saw your face without your helmet, I knew who you must be. You look remarkably like your father.”

      The voice was hollow and sounded of death and despair, but in the empty mausoleum of its words he also heard profound sorrow and regret. He had never known his father; he had died before he was born. His mother had never talked about him much, only to complain that he had left them penniless and died for some fool cause in a far away land.

      Serra produced a needle and thread from one of the packs and held it up for his inspection. He winced in dread, then nodded his head in acceptance. As she threaded the needle to begin repairing his ruined cheek he asked, “What can you tell me of him? And what does that have to do with me now?”

      He gritted his teeth, an concentrated on the dead warrior as Serra began the painful task of sewing him up. This wasn't the first time, but it was one of the worst.

      After a moments pause, during which Firian began to thing he might not answer, the knight began to speak. Its voice was toneless and dead, but at times it almost seemed to remember the emotions it carried in life even as it drew the heat from the air. It started slow but the longer it reminisced the more speed it picked up.

      “My name is Jona. Your father and I were both Knights of the Scarlet Order. It wasn't a Noble's Order, but rather a mercenary band, with noble aspirations. Your father was the leader of the company and was well liked. He always put his men first and the money second. The men that joined our company did so because they wished to make a difference in the world. If anyone had deserved true knighthood it was Garlan. I was proud to be his Second in Command.

      “Garlan was outgoing and merry. He always had a joke or story to tell, and the women seemed to fall in love with him in every town. I, on the other hand, was awkward with women and slow to speak. He was all the things I was not, but I never envied him. He was the sort of person you couldn't envy. He commanded too much respect and admiration for that. When we would stop to recruit, men would flock to his banner. It wasn't the pay that drew them, or at least not the only thing that drew them. It was Garlan that made them want to join. He inspired people to think of good deeds, and bringing justice to the world.

      “Then one year things changed. We had finished a campaign in the service of some lord or other, after a while they all seemed the same, and the Scarlet Order had settled in the countryside near a moderate sized town for some rest. It was the beginning of autumn and Garlan hoped we could get one more big commission before time to break for the winter.

      “One night, while carousing in one of the few taverns in the town, your father spied her. I won't say that he loved her at first sight, but she was all he would talk about for days afterward. After that night he made every excuse to go back to that tavern that he could. I think the thing that first attracted him to her is that she wasn't attracted to him. That was something new for him, and made it his personal mission to win her over.

      “Days turned into weeks, and autumn started moving towards winter. The band finally split when the winter came early, each man heading back to where they lived only to come back again the next spring. All except your father and I. Instead we stayed in that town. Me, because he was the closest thing to family I had; him, because he wanted her.

      “Eventually he got her. The courtship did not last long. She turned up with child rather fast but your father being the type of man he was, and being in real love for the first time in his life, married her by the solstice. Despite how she had rebuffed his advances in the beginning, it was obvious that your mother loved him the same way he loved her. That is why they fought when your father made it clear that he was going to continue to lead the Order.

      “As spring approached and the men were due to return shortly, your mother begged him not to go. However your father was a man that believed in his duty to his men, and his duty to support his wife. He felt he could, and indeed should, do both. Being a soldier is what he knew. She grew angry and threw him out of the house. He was devastated.

      “A few days later however, your mother came to me at the inn where we stayed. Your father was still asleep; after she threw him out drink became a close companion to him. She made me swear the most powerful oath I could that I would guard his life and keep him safe until autumn came again. I swore on my soul that I would. He was my best friend, and I would have done it anyway even without her request. Oaths, though, carry a terrible weight. A most terrible weight indeed.”

      ere he paused, seemingly lost in whatever thoughts a damned soul like his could think of. Firian winced as Serra pulled a stitch a little too tight. The nervousness had gone from her face, but she still looked like she was halfway to being undead herself. Firian supposed that after she woke up she had probably not gone back to sleep herself. Judging by the position of the sun he figured is was about 5 hours till dusk, which meant he had been out for better than half a day.

      Coming out of whatever distant memory had ensnared him, the grisly warrior continued with his tale.

      “Once again the Knights of the Scarlet Order started out to fight other people's battles for them. Your father found a patron for the Order pretty quickly, it was bad times for peace. A local baron was having problems with a troublesome warlord that was harassing local fiefdoms. The baron had already lost much livestock and grain the previous year from the raids on his land and couldn't afford anymore. To make matters worse the warlord was a mage of some notoriety and had amassed a fair sized army over the winter using the supplies raided the previous autumn. It was plain that he intended to invade and take the barony, and as many other holdings as he could. We were hired to protect the barony for incursion by the warlord. The warlord had styled himself Lord Bergian.

      “We set out to hunt this Bergian down and destroy his army. He was wily and stayed one step ahead of us for almost a month leaving a trail of villages in his wake that had been utterly destroyed. Every man, woman, child, and animal slaughtered. Crops and homes were put to the torch. The only not destroyed was food stores, or any valuables and those Bergian took for himself.

      “After pursuing him through ruined town after ruined town, we finally caught him, or so we thought. He had stopped his army and waved the white flag of parley. Bergian went out to the center of the field between the two armies alone. I insisted on going with Garlan, but he refused. Since Bergian had gone alone, honor dictated that he did too. I should have told him to ignore honor this time, that anyone that slaughtered women and children could be trusted. I should have insisted harder, or at least gone whether he liked it or not.

      “What was said at that parley is known now only to King Bergian. After about five minutes of heated talk, your father wheeled his horse and started back to the Order's front lines. That is when Bergian struck. A magical fireball that glowed so bright that you couldn't look directly at it struck your father in the back turning him, his horse, and all he carried to a fine ash in an instant. The fireball continued through him and tore into our ranks, everywhere it went men turned to dust. I order the Knights to attack, but the battle was lost before it was begun. Lightning and fireballs tore through the ranks killing hundreds at a time. I was mortally wounded when lightning exploded a rock near me. The last thing I remember in life is the sight of one of Bergian's men sticking a sword in my chest as I lay helpless on the field.”

      Here he grew quiet again, lost in memories of his past life.

      Serra had finished sewing up the flap in Firian's cheek and was busy rubbing a smelly brown unguent from one of her pouches on it. It felt like liquid fire and he slapped her hand away irritably. She scowled at him but left him alone as he carefully sat up. He opened and closed his mouth testing the stitches. It hurt like hell, but if he was careful he could talk without ripping them.

      He was finally able to get his first look at the undead knight since the previous evening. It didn't look any better in the daylight than it had the darkness of the previous night. It was sitting in the shade of a tree at the edge of camp. Even from fifteen feet away he could feel the cold of the grave that surrounded it. It was a profound could and he had no doubt that if the ghoulish thing wished that cold could be used to kill. If he hadn't felt the cold and heard it talk it would be easy to think that it was just a very long dead man in hellish looking armor.

      The warrior seemed to break out of its reverie finally and looked as if it were about to speak. Its mouth opened, then it stopped and gave a violent shudder as if it had finally felt the killing cold it was immersed in. When the fit had passed it lifted its head and looked and Firian with its hollow, worm filled sockets.

      “I don't have much time.”, it said in that sepulcher voice. “King Bergian is aware that I have defied him he seeks to compel me to obey. I must hurry and finish my story while I can. Then I shall tell you what you need to know.”

      “What I need to know?”, Firian asked.

      “Yes.”, it agreed, and nodded its head causing some of the worms to spill out of its sockets where they lay dying on the ground unable to live outside its dessicated body. “There is time for that in a moment. For now, let me finish my tale so you understand the nature of the evil you face.” Here it paused for a moment as if thinking of how to begin, then continued on, its unearthly voice picking up the speed of urgency.

      “The next thing I knew I was being called and was compelled to answer. Bergian, as it turned out, was a much more dangerous foe than anyone had ever imagined. He had the ability to call forth the dead and force them to his will. He took my soul and imprisoned it. I don't know what the nature of the prison is, as long as he has that I am forced to serve him on pain of utter destruction.” it gave a resigned sigh at this point that sounded mournful and ghastly.

      “I guess that is unavoidable now.

      “Anyway”, it continued. “Being already damned for the failure to keep my oath, I served Bergian and committed many unspeakable acts. When I saw your face last night however, I had hope for the first time that I might somehow make amends for my failure to save your father.”

      Another shudder racked the corpse, this one stronger than the last, causing worms to fall from its eyes with wet plops. After a moment the shaking stopped and slowly the it seemed to regain control.

      “He is furious with me.” it said. “I fear that if I do not hurry and tell you the things you need, then he will destroy me before I have a chance. One of the things you must know is that I am not the only minion like myself that he holds in his power.”

      At this Serra tensed, a look of horror on her face. Firian could understand exactly how she felt. The only survived by pure coincidence this time, and even then they had lost Tyll. His heart gave a sob at that remembrance.

      “Ok, that is one.”,Firian said. “What is the other?”

      After a short pause, as if realizing that what it was about to say would be the guarantee of its annihilation, the night finally spoke.

      “The second is the location of another piece of the amulet.”

Ok... here is the end of my little tale. I think I have demonstrated very well that you can use multiple POVs to good effect rather easily without sacrificing plot twists even when you know the nature of the trap. Remember, the villains POV can't give away the plot twist if the villain isn't aware of the situation that will cause the twist. Tell me truthfully... did you see the nature of that plot twist coming? I won't ask if you saw a plot twist coming because I told you there would be. So that isn't a fair test of my point.

The only real rule to be aware of, is to only change characters at division points (at the chapter beginning, or at section breaks within the chapter). Other than that writers should feel free to explore their creativity when writing. If they make mistakes, they should simply learn from them and move on, correcting them for the next time.