Post by majordodo on Aug 10, 2008 21:20:11 GMT 9.5
Well at ash's semi-request, heres something i've written. Its the first part of a book i started writing and i havent done any more on it in ages because i'm a lazy bastard lol its set in a fantasy world ive created, a few of the others ive started are also in the same world.
but yeah here it is:
His mind was a maelstrom of chaos and fire. The only things he saw was the face of each man he struck down as he charged through the armoured ranks of the enemy soldiers. “KILL THE MAGE, KILL THE MAGE”, the words kept echoing through his head, the only lucid thought there was in his frantic mind. A spear slipped through his guard and cut his shoulder, he ignored it. The next man he struck down let out a hideous scream as he died, the Berserker ignored it. All around him men fought and died in a blood bath the likes of which had not been seen in decades… and he felt nothing. The only thought the ever crossed his mind were his orders. “KILL THE MAGE”
The desert sun beat down upon the battle field, heating the steel armour of those below until some succumbed to the heat before they were even wounded.
Essana looked down at it all with a sense of sorrow and detachment, standing on the peak of a nearby sand dune. Officers and messengers ran about behind her, directing troops and keeping her informed on the state of those held in reserve. Every now and again she cast a spell into the battle, but only small ones and always precisely aimed. She had to conserve her energy in case this wasn’t the final push by the enemy that it appeared to be.
‘So many dead in futility. so many dead for greed.’ She thought looking to an identical dune on the other side of the battle, where three men lay on chaise’ viewing the carnage as if it were a show, sheltered from the sun’s heat by an ornate pavilion and waited on by their numerous concubines. So sure of their victory were they, that it is was set much closer than wise, so as to get a better view of the slaughter Essana supposed. Impotent Merchant Princes, they had tried before and though their army numbered greater than ever before Essana knew her men would push them back.
“My lady!” a messenger called, running up and kneeling at her feet as she spun around responding to the frantic call. “The reserves are under attack! We had no warning and the men are being cut down like sheep.” The man gasped out, shock etched across his face.
Indeed for a brief second it froze her too. The reserves had been hidden behind some dunes a short distance away, supposedly far enough to be hidden from the Princes’ scouts but close enough to be called on quickly when needed. Swiftly she turned ordering the remaining troops nearby into the fray bellow to buy her time to deal with this new threat, for in this dark news she saw hope. This second force must consist of the princes’ own reserves. If she could defeat them quickly with her magic and gather the reserves, she could tip the tide of main battle and win the day. Casting a simple haze spell to obscure the Princes’ view, she ran. Forgetting all decorum, she slid down the side of the command dune and leaped onto her striidar where the elite Royal Guard waited to protect her wherever she might lead.
Arust Nevor, Lieutenant of the Royal Army of Alsitar shuddered with fear at the sight that lay before him. Set in command by the princess herself, he was to hold the reserves in position, awaiting word to join the fight. Yet instead they were in a battle of their own against a mere tenth of their number… and they were losing. Arust drew his sword consoling himself to the death that he knew was coming, watching as more and more of his men were lost to the blades of the mercenary filth that seemed to be invincible. Their attack had been swift and deadly, from shouts of officers the enemy consisted of only two score foot. They should have been struck down like flies; instead these madmen, for who else but such would attack a force that much greater than their own, were steadily hacking their way straight through his men. Slowly the fear began to grow and twist its way through his body, drawing him to back away. He was already far back from the fighting… ‘But perhaps a bit more distance, only to better command his men of course’ he reasoned, slamming his sword back into its scabbard. He turned and began to ran, but had not gone far when he heard a great roar echo behind him; the shock of it enough to make him trip and fall flat on his face as he fled. ‘The sound was so close, surely they haven’t broken through already?’ Arust panicked as he rose to his feet, breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Charging from amongst the now decimated royal lines were the mercenaries and their leader. Arust could not believe his eyes, where the common mercenaries were clad in a motley assortment of mail and leather armour with weapons just as varied; their leader was the opposite. Clad in an ornate suit of armour, face hidden buy a great, horned helm this beast of man seemed little fazed by the heat as he cut down the fleeing men before him. Nevor watched as two such deserters, turned to make a stand against the monstrosity. The barbarian didn’t even slow down, slamming the edge of his round shield into the neck of one soldier with enough force to send the man sprawling, head flopped at an unnatural angle; at the same time slamming his war hammer up beneath the guard of the second man and into the poor soul’s groin, then finishing the soldier with a tap to the head as wounded man fell.
Once again Arust drew his sword, realising that he had no hope of out running the wall of screaming death that approached. Muttering a small prayer for whatever great power might be watching, he charged. Barely had his own battle cry passed his lips and he was once more thrown to the ground, this time by a wave of pure heat that exploded amongst the line of mercenaries. Nevor looked up to see a sight that banished the fear from his heart, the Princess herself was here! With her personal guard in tow. With a smile of triumph on his lips, he turned to face the heat that warmed his back and saw… hell. No other word could describe it, flames metres high in the air shimmered and danced where the mercenaries had stood but moments before. He struggled once more to his feet, saluting the Princess as she and her entourage ground to a halt in front of him and dismounted.
”My lady, I must thank you for your most timely aid, for without it we would surely have been lost. We were attacked by a force at least twice our number. The men fun bravely but were overcome, I shall be ha…” His words trailed off as he realised they had walked past, ignoring him completely. Spinning around, the question he was about to ask was answered before he could even give it voice. Once more fear gripped him, for they were all staring at the impossible. The mercenary leader strode from the flames like some dark and barbaric ancient god, seemingly un affected by the flames that had just moments earlier reduced his entire force to ash. The… demon, it could be nothing else, tossed aside the ruined hammer and shield he held and began to run towards them. Drawing swords the small group of Royal Guardsmen leaped to the defence of their charge.
Ten men against one, it was like a sad mirror of the battle that had just been fought. One guardsman walked forward to meet the… thing, head on.
They met moments later, the guard slashing downwards with his blade in an attempt to split open the demon’s head. He was too slow, the demon merely sliding to the side then punching the man in the throat, just above his chain mail. The demon moved on, leaving the guard on his knees gasping for breath. He ducked under the sweep of the next guard sword and lifted the man from the ground, only to hurl him into the two guards rushing to his aid.
”Slow”, the word echoed across the dunes a command with more power than just the tone of the voice that delivered it. Nevor watched as the demon slowed, shaking its head as if to clear it of the word just spoken. Then slowly, it toppled forward with a great crash at the feet of the Princess, who fell to her knees in exhaustion, for the spell had robbed her of her last vestiges of energy. Two of her guards darted forward to catch her, while the others ran aid their fallen comrades.
”Lieutenant, take his helm and hold it high on the command dune, so that the enemy knows their plans are ruined” the Princess commanded, her voice straining as she fought to remain conscious.
Arust saluted and ran forward, falling to his knees by the demons side and began to tug at the helm, vainly trying to avoid burning his fingers for the thing was still hot to the touch.
Finally with one last great pull the helm came free from the rest of the armour. Nevor’s eyes widened in shock, instead of some hideous beast there lay with the armour a man! No more than twenty summers old at that. Arust leapt back as a breath escaped the man’s lips.
”I did not kill him,” the Princess whispered, “I think… we can find a use for him ourselves.”
lol yes i have terrible grammar and spelling
but yeah here it is:
His mind was a maelstrom of chaos and fire. The only things he saw was the face of each man he struck down as he charged through the armoured ranks of the enemy soldiers. “KILL THE MAGE, KILL THE MAGE”, the words kept echoing through his head, the only lucid thought there was in his frantic mind. A spear slipped through his guard and cut his shoulder, he ignored it. The next man he struck down let out a hideous scream as he died, the Berserker ignored it. All around him men fought and died in a blood bath the likes of which had not been seen in decades… and he felt nothing. The only thought the ever crossed his mind were his orders. “KILL THE MAGE”
The desert sun beat down upon the battle field, heating the steel armour of those below until some succumbed to the heat before they were even wounded.
Essana looked down at it all with a sense of sorrow and detachment, standing on the peak of a nearby sand dune. Officers and messengers ran about behind her, directing troops and keeping her informed on the state of those held in reserve. Every now and again she cast a spell into the battle, but only small ones and always precisely aimed. She had to conserve her energy in case this wasn’t the final push by the enemy that it appeared to be.
‘So many dead in futility. so many dead for greed.’ She thought looking to an identical dune on the other side of the battle, where three men lay on chaise’ viewing the carnage as if it were a show, sheltered from the sun’s heat by an ornate pavilion and waited on by their numerous concubines. So sure of their victory were they, that it is was set much closer than wise, so as to get a better view of the slaughter Essana supposed. Impotent Merchant Princes, they had tried before and though their army numbered greater than ever before Essana knew her men would push them back.
“My lady!” a messenger called, running up and kneeling at her feet as she spun around responding to the frantic call. “The reserves are under attack! We had no warning and the men are being cut down like sheep.” The man gasped out, shock etched across his face.
Indeed for a brief second it froze her too. The reserves had been hidden behind some dunes a short distance away, supposedly far enough to be hidden from the Princes’ scouts but close enough to be called on quickly when needed. Swiftly she turned ordering the remaining troops nearby into the fray bellow to buy her time to deal with this new threat, for in this dark news she saw hope. This second force must consist of the princes’ own reserves. If she could defeat them quickly with her magic and gather the reserves, she could tip the tide of main battle and win the day. Casting a simple haze spell to obscure the Princes’ view, she ran. Forgetting all decorum, she slid down the side of the command dune and leaped onto her striidar where the elite Royal Guard waited to protect her wherever she might lead.
Arust Nevor, Lieutenant of the Royal Army of Alsitar shuddered with fear at the sight that lay before him. Set in command by the princess herself, he was to hold the reserves in position, awaiting word to join the fight. Yet instead they were in a battle of their own against a mere tenth of their number… and they were losing. Arust drew his sword consoling himself to the death that he knew was coming, watching as more and more of his men were lost to the blades of the mercenary filth that seemed to be invincible. Their attack had been swift and deadly, from shouts of officers the enemy consisted of only two score foot. They should have been struck down like flies; instead these madmen, for who else but such would attack a force that much greater than their own, were steadily hacking their way straight through his men. Slowly the fear began to grow and twist its way through his body, drawing him to back away. He was already far back from the fighting… ‘But perhaps a bit more distance, only to better command his men of course’ he reasoned, slamming his sword back into its scabbard. He turned and began to ran, but had not gone far when he heard a great roar echo behind him; the shock of it enough to make him trip and fall flat on his face as he fled. ‘The sound was so close, surely they haven’t broken through already?’ Arust panicked as he rose to his feet, breath catching in his throat at the sight that greeted him. Charging from amongst the now decimated royal lines were the mercenaries and their leader. Arust could not believe his eyes, where the common mercenaries were clad in a motley assortment of mail and leather armour with weapons just as varied; their leader was the opposite. Clad in an ornate suit of armour, face hidden buy a great, horned helm this beast of man seemed little fazed by the heat as he cut down the fleeing men before him. Nevor watched as two such deserters, turned to make a stand against the monstrosity. The barbarian didn’t even slow down, slamming the edge of his round shield into the neck of one soldier with enough force to send the man sprawling, head flopped at an unnatural angle; at the same time slamming his war hammer up beneath the guard of the second man and into the poor soul’s groin, then finishing the soldier with a tap to the head as wounded man fell.
Once again Arust drew his sword, realising that he had no hope of out running the wall of screaming death that approached. Muttering a small prayer for whatever great power might be watching, he charged. Barely had his own battle cry passed his lips and he was once more thrown to the ground, this time by a wave of pure heat that exploded amongst the line of mercenaries. Nevor looked up to see a sight that banished the fear from his heart, the Princess herself was here! With her personal guard in tow. With a smile of triumph on his lips, he turned to face the heat that warmed his back and saw… hell. No other word could describe it, flames metres high in the air shimmered and danced where the mercenaries had stood but moments before. He struggled once more to his feet, saluting the Princess as she and her entourage ground to a halt in front of him and dismounted.
”My lady, I must thank you for your most timely aid, for without it we would surely have been lost. We were attacked by a force at least twice our number. The men fun bravely but were overcome, I shall be ha…” His words trailed off as he realised they had walked past, ignoring him completely. Spinning around, the question he was about to ask was answered before he could even give it voice. Once more fear gripped him, for they were all staring at the impossible. The mercenary leader strode from the flames like some dark and barbaric ancient god, seemingly un affected by the flames that had just moments earlier reduced his entire force to ash. The… demon, it could be nothing else, tossed aside the ruined hammer and shield he held and began to run towards them. Drawing swords the small group of Royal Guardsmen leaped to the defence of their charge.
Ten men against one, it was like a sad mirror of the battle that had just been fought. One guardsman walked forward to meet the… thing, head on.
They met moments later, the guard slashing downwards with his blade in an attempt to split open the demon’s head. He was too slow, the demon merely sliding to the side then punching the man in the throat, just above his chain mail. The demon moved on, leaving the guard on his knees gasping for breath. He ducked under the sweep of the next guard sword and lifted the man from the ground, only to hurl him into the two guards rushing to his aid.
”Slow”, the word echoed across the dunes a command with more power than just the tone of the voice that delivered it. Nevor watched as the demon slowed, shaking its head as if to clear it of the word just spoken. Then slowly, it toppled forward with a great crash at the feet of the Princess, who fell to her knees in exhaustion, for the spell had robbed her of her last vestiges of energy. Two of her guards darted forward to catch her, while the others ran aid their fallen comrades.
”Lieutenant, take his helm and hold it high on the command dune, so that the enemy knows their plans are ruined” the Princess commanded, her voice straining as she fought to remain conscious.
Arust saluted and ran forward, falling to his knees by the demons side and began to tug at the helm, vainly trying to avoid burning his fingers for the thing was still hot to the touch.
Finally with one last great pull the helm came free from the rest of the armour. Nevor’s eyes widened in shock, instead of some hideous beast there lay with the armour a man! No more than twenty summers old at that. Arust leapt back as a breath escaped the man’s lips.
”I did not kill him,” the Princess whispered, “I think… we can find a use for him ourselves.”
lol yes i have terrible grammar and spelling
