To be honest I thought the script for Avengers wasn't all that thought out, it was made more for action...
I thought the twists in DKR made it the better script...
They had made their home on the border of what would later become the British empire in a little town that would become a big city later on. But for now it was a small village of farmers and fishers one of which was Jareth. He would awake early in the morning and set along his normal chores about the house, doing as much as possible so that she had to do less, and then he was out in the boat before she'd ever awoke. He'd grown to like the life he led now, the smell of the salty ocean, the cold breeze blowing in through the windows causing them to huddle for warmth - No, there was nothing in the world that he would trade for this life.
That is until the black sails appeared on the horizon.
His first thought was the same as the crew of fishermen on the boat next to him, "Vikings!" The very word drove an ice wedge into his heart.
They where, it seemed, ignoring the fishermen at first making their way slowly to the shore faster than any rowboat on the lake. Then as if they'd suddenly changed their minds, the vikings attacked.
Spears and arrows shot from the boats like lighting from the heavens, striking down any in their path and filling the air with thundering screams. Jareth saw the stone tipped clouds forming above his own boat before they came. Within a matter of moments they came crashing down, ridding into the wood like it where no more than parchment.
The arrows speed still through the water like sharks for blood. Jareth was struggling to hold his breath when one struck him in the shoulder. It was a searing pain that jarred him almost instantly. He snapped up as if for air but instead struck his head on the boat above him. The world grew thin on the out skirts of his eyes, darkness building faster than a fire. And then, he slept...
He washed ashore moments before night fell, the cool waves of salt drifting in and out of open wounds. He awoke himself with a painful shutter only to find he could not stand, nor could he crawl and so sleep took him again.
He awoke once more to the early cracks of morning light boiling over the horizon like many of his wife's porridge. He tried to stand once more, this time succeeding although when he did his eyes were greeted with a terrible sight. Along the shore line lay many bodies, some stacked like monuments while others made a trail back -
His thoughts came to Sarah, who had still been sleeping when he had left the day before. Ignoring every aching nerve, every bleeding tendon pleading with him to stop, Jareth ran. He could see thick clouds of smoke building under the sun on the horizon prompting him to run faster, and faster until he reached the town.
The stone walls of many homes where smashed inwards and the roofs set aflame. There was so much smoke still choking the air that the sky was darker now than it could ever be at night. Looking around at the destruction Jareth remembered tales of what vikings did to the women they captured and as cruel-hearted as it may have seemed he found himself wishing Sarah was killed before that happened to her. And then he saw their home, the wall had been torn down and the roof torched like all the others, but it was what lay out front that he noticed first.
Sarah lay face down in the grass arms reached out as if begging for help or an escape and for a moment he allowed himself the hope that she yet lived. He ran to her, calling her name, though he knew when she hadn't moved that she was long gone. He fell down to his knees next to her corpse, tears staining his cheeks like white-hot daggers.
He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her like it was their first night together and cried. She had been split from belly to throat, but he didn't care he refused to let go. He didn't want to think she was dead, that anyone could take such beauty from this world was unthinkable.
It was unfair.
"I wish," he cried out loud between sobs, "I wish someone would come take this life away from me."
"Well," a voice said from over his shoulder, "I cou' do tha' fer ya, but atta price."
"No! Absolutely not!"
"I forbid it," the duke shouted, "No son of mine will marry a serf!"
"Don't call her that!" Jareth snapped.
"That is what she is, you stupid brat," his father shot back at him, "I forbid you from ever seeing this girl!"
"I love her, father, and I refuse to listen to this any longer."
The duke's hand shot out quickly striking his son across the face. Jareth stumbled backward more out of surprise than out of the force of the blow. The duke took the advantage, gripping his son's tunic he hefted him off the floor, "The only thing you know of love comes from in your leggings." Jareth struggled against his father's grip for a moment then relaxed. He'd experienced his fathers anger before, it was better to just let him tire himself out then struggle.
"And what of you father?" Jareth quipped, "What do you know of love?"
The duke's thick meaty hand struck again, "I know plenty of love, boy."
"Sure doesn't seem like it to me," Jareth spat.
The duke shoved him harshly onto the stone floor, "I know more than you ever will. I love my country, I love my station, and above all I love my family."
"Could have fooled me," Jareth muttered.
His father grabbed the collar of his shirt, "If you want to be so ingrate-full you can do it somewhere else! I will not have it in my home! Guards take him out side for the night." Two gaurds stepped forward gripping each arm roughly holding him in place as his father leaned in, spitting in Jareth's face as he spoke, "Go to her boy, tell her that you wish nothing of her and I will let you come home. If you refuse you will never be welcome in this home again."
The gaurds began to drag him out, but not before Jareth gave a parting quip, "Then, I would guess this is good bye, father." The duke turned his back to his child, head hung low.
She had waited for him at the well as they had agreed the night before. He was to tell her how the discussion with his father had gone and whether or not she was to be his bride to be. She was beautiful, the moonlight bouncing from her dark hair made his heart flutter and skip. She saw him coming and ran to him, a wide smile on her face.
"Jareth," she called running to his arms.
"Hello, Sarah," he said holding her tight in his arms.
She buried her head in his chest, "So? How'd he take it?"
He paused a moment, then with a sigh, "Not well."
"Was it as bad as we thought it would be?"
Again he paused, it felt as if all of the world was sitting upon his shoulders, what he said now could effect all of his future. It's so unfair of his father to have demanded such a thing of him! Finally, after what had seemed like ages he let his heart speak, "Sarah, run away with me."
@wildvine Yeah :/
I should of made 1 and 2 into one and 3 and 4 into 1...
I was writing them last night and didn't realize how short they were... I'll probably post 2 later today. Let this one soak in a bit...
"No," he said with a smile, "There is no miss understanding, my friend, I meant to pay you with exactly what I gave you."
"Bless your heart, milord," the old toothless woman said holding the gold pieces to her chest.
"Think nothing of it, thank you for the fruit," He moved about the crowd looking for something to do. He'd always felt restless at home and these "common folk" seemed to know how to cure it. Most of the time.
Always in a hurry, like bustling ants, they moved quickly buying and trading their daily goods like it was all that was important to them. The son of an English duke, Jareth hadn't had to worry much about this making it fascinating to watch. Today, however, it just seemed like everyone was going through the motions. He pushed back his sand blond hair as he sat upon a low wall and bit into the peach he'd just bought while scanning the crowd for anything interesting.
The dirt of the so called "street" had clung to his grey black boots, a trait of his wanderings that never failed to set his mothers temper off like a burning fire. He was just about to dust them off when he noticed the company he was in, most of which had never had shoes in their life time. With a weak smile he placed his boot back on the wall to help keep his balance.
He was just about to give up on the whole adventure when a pair of hands wrapped themselves about his eyes. He knew what this was, it was her favorite game, although he never really got the point as she was the only one to ever play it with him.
She leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Guess who?"
He faked surprise as he always did, then sat thinking, "Hmmm, could it be... Sarah?"
The hands pulled away as she leaned over the top of his head so their eyes met, "How do you always know?"
"I told you before, I am a very good guesser."
"You're also," She smacked the top of his head and stood up out of his line of sight, "A terrible liar."
"I guess I'd make a terrible King of Goblins then," he said as her turned to face her, playing into one of her favorite tales.
"Oh yes," she said nodding her head, "Horrible even."
He offered her his hand to help her down off the wall, "Oh I wouldn't go that far."
"Well that's the difference between you and me," She smiled as she hopped into his arms, "You're never willing to go to the places I am."
He put her down, "Well, someday I shall have too."
"Maybe someday, Jareth, maybe someday."
I'm believe the most bitter-sweet of Spidey villians, thus making him the worst with the best origin, has to be Harry. His one time closest friend following in his father's footsteps to take on the face of the Green Goblin, the villian that killed Parker's first love. Imagine the feelings Peter got beating his one time best friend repeatedly? The memories that must have surfaced the first time they fought? The good times they'd had together, and the memories of the pain that mask had given him.
"I don't care!" the rich brat shouted tossing a chalice at the floor beneath his seat, "I want it!"
"B-b-but sire," his man-servant stammered, "The Grail is the holiest of holies! It belongs in the temple-"
"Squire, seize this man!" screamed the child, "I want his head on a pike! Bring me the cup! Bring me immortality!"
He'd been warned but he didn't listen; to drink of the cup was to damn your soul but your body would live on. He'd learned much over the years but archery, archery was his favorite. He donned his hood and tunic, a deep set black that clung to him as the moon would the night. He'd set about to make his fortune under the name of William Ichabod Strongarm. It was a joke to himself; Will I strong arm this town and take from it what I need? The answer was rarely "No."
Tonight, Will had his eye on a jewel. A black diamond, to be exact, one so valuable it could continue the war effort for another 30 years if the government ever sold it. They never would, and so it was high time someone took it off their hands for its value on the black market.
He hopped from the rooftop he stood on to the next building, he had a better shot for a zip-line. He snapped the arrow outwards and it dug into the wall. He flicked the rope, almost as tight as a drawn bow string. He smiled, flicked the bow up and over the line.
The building seemed ungaurded, odd because it held France's greatest treasures all under one roof. He knocked an arrow and followed the tile path to a large hallway. Strange, he thought, I've snatched from churches more heavily gaurded than this dump. He found the room at the back of the hall, pulled the draw string all the way back and gave the door a hard kick.
It popped revealing a dark room. He stepped inwards, the door slammed shut behind him then the tources lit startling him, "Alright, who's the-!" he started.
An old fat man sat behind a table, hands folded, "Mr. 'Strongarm,' I believe you're going by these days, please sit." He motioned to a seat across from him.
Will looked about the room, it was just the two of them, "And if I refuse?"
"I'll take you into custody and will have you pay for the crimes you've commited over the last 162 years," The fat man said matter of factly.
Will snorted a laugh, "What'll you do? Give me the noose?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Strongarm," the fat man smiled, "There are worse things than death. Worse things to do to people like you."
"People like me?" Will said stiffeling another laugh.
"Yes, Mr. Strongarm. People like you," he said in that mono-tone voice, "Whipe that grin off your face, do you really think you're the only one to ever drink from the Holly Grail? Drink the blood of their fallen enemies? Sacrafice the lives of others to one diety or another to gain immortality? No my friend, people have been doing it for ages."
Will frowned, "So what do you want from me, Fat-man?"
The man simply smiled, "Your life."
The archer smiled, "Sorry I'm just here for a jewel."
Fat-man frowned, "Thats a shame. Ner, Shu!" The walls fell inwards, a beautiful middle-eastern woman and an incerdibly fit asian man in flowing pants and a talisman.
Will pointed to the asian, "I'm guessing your Shu? That is so-"
"I am Ner," the asian said.
"Ah," The archer said, "Of course you are."
Ner leapt across the room towards Will with his head down like a bull towards a matador. However, unlike a matador Will was armed. He knocked an arrow quicker than he could even see and loosed it into the other man's skull. Ner just kept pushing onwards though, slamming him into the stone wall. Ow! Oh, right, immortals.
He had to think quick, there had to be some way to at least stop them for a short time. The man had him by the throat though and it was making breathing a wrather difficult task. "Hey, Lumpy," he choked, "How'd you get your powers, eating a mystical goat?"
Ner smiled, "The gods bless me through my talisman."
Will coughed and squeaked, "Oh really, what if I where to-" he cut the rope holding the talisman with the tip of an arrow. The big man croaked in surprise as he let go of the wise-cracking archer. It hit the floor and shattered, the asain man screamed as light pulsed through his body and he collapsed in on himself, decaying and rotting almost instantly. "Well," Will said, "That was dissapointing, what about you Dame, what'd you do?"
She smiled, shifting into sand quickly and appearing infront of him, "I sacraficed my entire village to the god of the earth."
"Bet your fun at the beach," Will said, "I didn't even know we had a god of-"
She shoved her hand of dirt into his mouth, "Do you ever shut up?"
He tried to cough up the sand flowing down his throat but it just seemed to keep coming. He reached for another arrow and she laughed at him, "Go ahead shoot me, I'm to close for that. Besides I can turn my body into sand." She grabbed his arm and pinned him to the wall.
The fat-man stood, "Oh, Will I do think you should reconcider my offer."
He broke the tip of the arrow in his hand off and tossed it at a cup on the table. It jumpped upwards splashing water down drenching Shu. She screamed and pulled away, melting slowly into a puddle of mud and goo.
"Lady," he said, "You picked the wrong god." He turned to Fat-man, "Where were we? Oh yes, the jewel, now."
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