Broken Accords

The framework of the accords were so biased against Francis that he didn’t know why he was even reading them.  He wished he could just draw a weapon and kill the man who was forcing him to sign it.  It might not end the conflict, but it would take out Geoffrey Winchester the Fifth, their best commander.  Francis could also imagine it would feel so good since Geoffrey was a pompous ass.  Of course that’s why Geoffrey’s bodyguards had made him surrender all his weapons before allowing him to “parley”.

Francis waived the document containing the accords at Geoffrey.  “Let me try to understand this.  We capitulate to all this drivel you demand and we get what out of it?”

Geoffrey smiled.  “Well good chap, you get to still be a country.  You keep your puppet government in place and enjoy a few more years of living well.  Otherwise I will roll over you and grind your little insignificant country between my thumb and middle finger, dropping the crumbed remnants to the scorched and salted earth I leave behind.”  He left his middle finger extended in Francis’ direction after demonstrating said grinding.

Francis looked back at the document, then back at Geoffrey.  Geoffrey’s smile grew larger, almost swallowing his mustache.  “Now you see how good a deal this it?” Geoffrey asked.

“Hand me a pen,” Francis said.  “I want to get this farce over quickly.  I have other things to do today.”

Geoffrey signaled for one of his men to hand Francis a pen.  As the man retreated, Francis tried to sign, but he couldn’t seem to make the pen work.  “I thought you wanted me to sign these accords,” Francis said.  He got up and held out the pen to Geoffrey.  “You try it.”

Geoffrey looked pissed, and all his men shrunk back a step.  Geoffrey’s temper was as legendary as his command of the battlefield.  He walked up to Francis, took the pen, and showed Francis that it worked.  “You and your people are uneducated idiots, aren’t you.  Maybe I should just rip this up and destroy you anyhow.”

Francis took the pen and paper.  He placed the paper on the desk then looked Geoffrey in the eye.  “Sir, I might not be educated in letters and numbers, but I have had a top education in what I am best at.”

“And would that be in screwing farm animals?” asked Geoffrey.  He turned to his men with a big shit eating grin on his face.  He was enjoying himself immensely.

“No,” Francis said quietly, “but I am a master assassin.”  Before Geoffrey could react, Francis spun and stabbed the pen into Geoffrey’s aorta.  He pulled it out just as quickly, spewing blood all over the tent.  As the other men drew steel, Francis smiled and licked some of Geoffrey’s blood from his cheek.  Yes, it did made him feel good.



Drastic (an acrostic poem)

Dominic looked out over the battlefield

Rational people didn’t go to battle willingly

Armies ran on true belief

Simply put that training and divine luck would get you through alive

That was proven wrong day after day

It still amazed Dominic that people volunteered to do this and had faith in him

Could be the canons he had aimed at the back of his troops also helped