The Adventures of Firestorm Strang: Book One: Introducing the Rogue of the West, the Great Firestorm Strang!

By Kat Fox

This is the story about the bravest, smartest, and most attractive hero the world has ever known!

A man so courageous that the cosmos will forever sing his name in the heavens!

Of course, this is the story about me, Firestorm Strang

The Rogue of the West! Dragon Master! Deliverer of Justice! And Savior of Damsels in Distress!

Not many are born with a soul so pure and brave as I, but please dont be jealous. Im sure you who are reading this have a wonderful soul as well. You are at least very smart to be reading about me!

Prepare yourself for a tale of gripping adventure and mystery. The town of Gulsfeather is a town on the brink of disaster.

Dragons are burning up their fishing boats at night, and a shady baron is bleeding the town dry.

The people of Gulsfeather are helpless with no way to stop them.

Who will save them from this nightmare?

Well, I dont want to give everything away, but you can be assured that yours truly is involved!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781503586383

Kat Fox

Kat Fox is a young writer born in Virginia and raised all over the United States. A bit of a wild child and an avid dreamer, she grew up making stories in her head. She later studied at Adams State University in Alamosa, Colorado. Now her vivid and wild imagination is captured in the ridiculous and whimsical tale of Firestorm Strang. Dive right in and enjoy.

Book preview

Copyright © 2016 by Kat Fox.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/17/2016

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 1

There is a saying in the land of Thorvest;

Every human heart is a hearth, waiting for a spark to light it.

Whether it be courage, love, or faith; all humans spend their lives looking for that spark that will ignite their souls and give them purpose and joy. The ones that find it are truly blessed indeed.

However, there are some, very few, who are born with that fire already burning in their hearts. These are the Children of Dragons, Children of Destiny, of Fate; the ones whose footsteps change the course of the world.

A woman carrying a basket of laundry hummed to herself as she waddled down the cobblestone street of the town of Gullsfeather. The warm and salty ocean breeze tugged at her bonnet. From where she stood, she could see the rest of the town winding down the hillside to the docks by the blue bay. Even from high up on the hill, she could see the sunlight glittering on the waves. She sighed and thought to herself what a beautiful day it was. She only had to deliver one last basket of laundry and she would be finished. The white linen in her basket seemed to glow in the afternoon sunshine. As she walked, she heard scuffling noises coming from around the corner in front of her. She tilted her head forward to listen.

What is going on? she wondered.

AFTER HIM!! a boy’s voice cried. Then a small boy came sprinting around the corner and in an instant the white linen exploded into the air. The woman fell back onto her plump backside and watched the sheets flutter to the ground. She gasped as more boys came after him, stepping thoughtlessly all over her clean laundry with their grimy shoes.

Hurry lads! yelled another boy as they ran, leaving the forlorn laundry woman behind. The small boy ran wildly through the streets. He panted heavily as his thin shoes smacked the street past the fish sellers and the bread baker’s table. His sticky fingers automatically snatched a loaf as he dashed by.

Hey, sissy boy The gang of bigger boys called out to him as they chased him. Where are you going? Don’t you want to play with us?

The small boy knew that any game they wanted to play was not going to be fun for him. He turned sharply around a corner into an ally. Rats scurried out of his path to hide in the bags of filth and trash along the walls. The boy tripped over an empty bottle. He fell, scraping his chin in the dirt. He watched his bread roll away from him and hit the back wall.

Ogre’s teeth! he cursed, a dead end. Footsteps halted quickly behind him. He turned and saw four large boys towering over him, grinning wickedly. Two of them had sticks in their hands. The fat one held a stone the size of his own fist. The ringleader, the tallest one with thick black hair, stood in front of him. He was weaponless, but the most intimidating of the four. Freckles splashed his cheeks along with little flecks of blood from his bloodied nose. He jeered.

Nowhere to run now, Pipsqueak!

The small boy scrambled to get up, but the tall boy grabbed the front of the small boy’s tunic in his fist and lifted him off the ground. You’re gonna pay for what you did!

Yeah! You get him, Ivan! The other boys egged on. They formed a circle around them, preparing to attack. The small boy kicked his feet and struggled to get away, but it was no use. The tall boy drew back his fist, sneering. The small boy closed his eyes and braced himself.

Tsk tsk, doesn’t take a lot of guts to fight someone smaller than you, does it boy?

It was a man’s voice. The small boy opened his eyes. A hand had grabbed the tall boy’s fist, stopping it before it came in contact with the small boy’s face. That hand belonged to a man. The man looked down at the freckled boy and shook his head disapprovingly. Especially when you outnumber the little one four to one?

He was the strangest man the small boy had ever seen.

He, was young, about twenty years old, and had a long burgundy coat with a faded gold trim. Underneath it he wore a white tunic and a purple sash tied around his waist. His big, black boots came up to his knees and the collar of his coat was flipped up instead of down. His hands were covered by black gloves that had the fingers cut off. But what stood out more than his flashy clothing was the man himself.

He had bright, crimson red hair. The small boy had never seen anyone with hair that color before. A black band held his shaggy, choppy locks out of his bright green eyes. He smiled crookedly at the boys. If you want a real fight, then pick on someone your own size. Now, why don’t you boys go home before your dinner gets cold?

The freckled boy jerked his hand away from the man’s grasp, dropping the small boy at the same time. The freckled boy looked like he had never seen this before man either.

Don’t tell us what to do, freak! He barked at the man.

Yeah, Piped in the fat boy. Just who do you think you are?!

The man’s luminous eyes sparked as he grinned.

Who am I? He pointed to himself and winked. I’m so happy you asked! He threw his hand in the air and announced proudly, I am the Rogue of the West! Raised in the Ember Mountains, where there are more dragons than grains of sand! Dragon Master! Slayer of Ripshaw the Terror and Jailer of Thornwood the Evil! Bringer of Justice, Savior of Damsels in Distress! The Strong! The Brave! The Mighty FIRESTORM STRANG! He bowed deeply, as if he had just introduced himself to a grand king instead of a group of dirty boys.

A long silence passed as the group of boys stared at him. When they recovered their senses, the boys replied in unison.

Never heard of you.

The man made a gurgling noise, like he’d been punched in the stomach, and stood up from his bow. His crimson brow twitched.

Well, I guess I can’t expect babes like you to have heard of me yet. That’s alright. He was annoyed but was still smiling. Then he remembered why he was talking to them in the first place. He furrowed his brow and waggled his finger at the bigger boys. But that’s no excuse for you boys to beat up a helpless child! It is unforgivable!

We weren’t going to beat him up, the tall boy lied. He threw his arm casually around the small boy. We were just playing, isn’t that right? he asked the small boy. He squeezed the small boy’s shoulders, letting him know that if he answered wrong he was in for it. The small boy swallowed and forced a smile on his face, trying not to grit his teeth as he did so.

Yeah…we were just playing. The small boy lied.

Strang looked intently from the tall boy to the small boy. The small boy didn’t like looking into those big green eyes. He felt like they could see right through him. He looked at the ground. Strang looked back at the tall boy and his bloody nose. He leaned close to the tall boy’s face and smiling sweetly he whispered.

Do you know what I hate almost as much as bully? The tall boy did not answer. Strang looked at the boy with disgust and answered. …A liar!

In a flash he grabbed the freckled boy and threw him over his knee and spanked him. The freckled boy struggled, but did not escape until Strang let him go. The boy tumbled off his knee to the ground, clutching his now sore rump. The other boys scurried to help him to his feet, but he pushed them away; trying not to cry. Strang stepped toward them and they all pulled back in fright.

Now go run home, you little pests! growled Strang.

The boys fled and Strang called after them, laughing. I bet you’ll remember my name now, won’t you?! Firestorm Strang! DON’T FORGET IT! Ha, ha, ha! Strang grinned, proud of himself. He turned to the small boy, wearing a heroic expression on his face. Now little guy, just how did you get into so much—

THOCK!

The rock the fat boy had dropped, hit Strang in the side of the head. The small boy who threw it shouted,

MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, YOU FAT ROOSTER HEAD!!

Strang sank to the ground, holding his throbbing head. The boy kept shouting, I had them right where I wanted them, you pea brain! I would have whipped their tails if you hadn’t butted in!!

Strang’s eyebrow twitched.

Rooster head? he muttered. His vision cleared and he finally looked closely at the small boy.

He was blonde with piercing pale blue eyes. His cheeks were flushed and dirty. He was glaring at Strang with an anger that seemed too big for his size. At a glance Strang could tell that this boy didn’t have much. His green tunic and brown pants were filthy and hung loosely around his small body. Strang groaned.

From where I was standing, it looked like you were the one about to have his tail whipped, kid, not them! He stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. What are you doing picking fights with boys so much bigger than you anyway? How old are you, six?

I’m eleven! The boy spat, clenching his fists. And I don’t need your help! I’m not helpless, you know!

Strang looked down confused at the boy yelling at him. He couldn’t understand why this boy was so angry, then it clicked. He snapped his fingers.

Oh, so that’s what’s got you so flaming mad! I called you ‘helpless’, right? He knelt and patted the boy’s head. I’m sorry, kid. he chided. I didn’t realize that you were so tough.

The boy slapped his hand away.

Don’t patronize me, you oaf! The boy took a step back and crossed his arms. And my name isn’t ‘kid’! He looked down at Strang’s kneeling figure. It’s Dirt. He said proudly.

Strang raised a red eyebrow.

Dirt?

The boy pursed his lips.

Yeah, Dirt. You got a problem with that?!

Strang blinked, bit his lip, then covered his mouth and turned his back to the boy. His sides shook and he made strange noises as he tried to stifle his laughter.

No… n-not at all. he said in a trembling voice. Then he lost control and laughed so loudly that it echoed in the small alley. The boy frowned.

"What are you laughing at? Your name is even more absurd! ‘Firestorm Strang’. You made it up, didn’t you?"

Strang stopped laughing.

I DID NOT! He shouted abruptly. His eyes narrowed and he pointed a finger at Dirt. You sure are a cheeky little brat! Is this why those boys wanted to pound you?

The boy shook his head and puffed out his chest proudly.

No, it’s because I called the big one’s mom a $#*$%@@%$ @%$# @#*&%# and I then punched him in the nose!

Strang’s jaw dropped then he grabbed the boy’s cheeks and pinched them hard.

A kid your age shouldn’t use such filthy words!! Your name may be Dirt, but that doesn’t mean you can run around with a dirty mouth!

Led go ub me! You creeb! Dirt cried as he tried to pull Strang’s hands off his face. As he did, a coin