| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| Lavec |
Posted - 17 Aug 2006 : 20:03:02
Here's a snippet of a novel I've been writing based on a three-year in the running D&D campaign. Please read and review it for me, and try to refrain from taking any of it as your own :) lafs....
Lives of Isan- pg. 184-204:
Isan grew in spirit as he peered through the crystalline waters at himself. The confidence he saw there prepared his mind and hands for the impending darkness and violence.
Curdt, the halfling rogue's idea to get gold was not ill-conceived. Isan knew of one thing regarding the theiving wizard that inhabited these caves on the outskirts of the village Stenalus: he'd robbed over 200 rich merchants down to their underclothes.
Curdt had developed a stereotype for Isan, though, in their time as friends. Only half of the things that halflings said were true. One had to listen discerningly if he were to glean any reality from Curdt's sliver tongued sales pitches.
"The mage has a...partner... a woman theif that should give you no trouble, she's not armed with anything visible. And for Greyface himself, you'll just have to hit him once. He's a trifle old to be doing battle with jumbo warriors like yourself." Curdt had said as they sat around his circular strategy table.
The table rarely had maps or conventional planning tools; much more likey to be there were mugs of ale and large waterpipes, cards and daggers. Isan had sat looking quite oversized in Curdt's chambers, arms crossed and yawning away the exaggerated words. The trip to the cave was most of the day, and he'd reached the pool easily, distracted by pondering the halfling's eccentric nature.
Isan rose from the pool and spat into it, ripples fading his reflection. His memory flashed to a time when he'd seen his first underground water, the way the magnetism of the crystal and granite opal made the liquid rise in droplets to his mouth. He remembered cooking his dead horse on a lava warmed stone, a crying and scared boy of twelve years. When he stepped into the mouth of the fiercely sloping cave, he smiled with confidence. No cave, no wizard could scare him.
Greyface had robbed Curdt's friend, and should be expecting retaliation in the form of halfling rogues. He was in for a bit of a surprise. Tightening his sword straps and revealing a huge torch, Isan plodded loudly into the darkness, laughing to himself about his new-found love of gold.
The room he approached, deep in the cave, was unnatural for the cave's wall structure. It's rounded entrance had to have been chisled or magically formed. Isan peered at it, not at all bothering to quiet his creaking leather gauntlets as they wrung the wooden handle of an 8 bladed grappling hook, four sticking out and four curving back in.
His lips curled as he saw the flash of two white casting gloves for a brief second. He thought of lighting his torch just to end the stealth game completely.
As the chanting grew to a crescendo and blue sparks crackled in the distance, Isan flung the grappling hook to the stalactite ahead of him, the arrow points sticking straight into it and firmly catching. The stone Isan had attached to the other end was a gift from Curdt's roommate, a gnomish alchemist. He let it swing into the room like a pendulum as the magic missiles erupted with an audible growl from their caster. Four blue cones turned to spiraling fires in the air, like vicious comets, and they would likely have burnt through Isan's ribcage had the stone not been designed to absorb that very spell. Faithful Curdt always did the necessary research.
Isan calmly stepped into the room, from echoing breath alone knowing the spellcaster's position. The silver whip caught Isan's sense a second before it cracked, piercing the silence and more. It had come from his right flank, and as Isan ducked, the whip's fiendish razor tip gashed Isan's forehead and scalp deeply. Waves of all too familiar pain infiltrated his senses as he managed to locate the whip wielding woman. Maybe Curdt didnt always do the necessary research, cursed Isan.
The next moment was Isan's chance to control the rest of the fight. If she got behind him any further he would choke to death on this sooty cave floor. His eyes darted to his enemies as the sword slowly left it's sheath. The blade sharpening shells ground intensely against the edge, emitting a high pitched squeal from the scabbard. The perfectly forged and enchanted blue steel vociferated and resonated the sound many times over; an ear drum shattering song with its reverberations. Both the mage and the woman crashed to their knees, but remained conscious. Isan realized that he himself was deafened on one side, understanding that the whip had removed one of his ear guards. He fought to keep his eyes open from the searing pain of the sword's moan, the blood of his cut forehead rushing into his eyes and mouth.
He pulled the ear guard back over his head and stepped twice forward, the sword picking up its song for a moment as Isan swirled it around his torso deftly. The blade ended with a beautiful ringing sound and Isan quick stepped three times to the left, his back turning to the mage who chanted very slowly in his recovering state. The weight fully on his right toes, Isan snapped his left foot behind him, into the chest of the crouching mage, cracking ribs and lifting him off the ground. All 275 lbs of Isan's perfectly trained body landed a chopping katana into a windpipe. The mage clumped backwards, dead atop a huge bag made of kashmir.
Isan grimaced and immediately backswung his sword, crossing with his free arm and trying to wrap the whip. The woman sneered, terrified but vengeful, tears streaming from her eyes and blood from her ears.
Her leathers were expensive and the whip had been crafted by elven hands, her training obviously self given but honed finely. Her pale blue eyes met Isan's calm onyx stare for a brief moment, and she hesitated. Isan began to charge to her armed side, forcing a backswinging strike. She swung predictably and Isan wrapped his sword into the momentum, wrapping the sharp end and catching the taught whip with his free leathered hand. She pulled down, trying to lower him to no avail as she unfurled another whiplike lasso with her left hand. Isan began to curse as the lassoed whip fell over his diving head, tightening and lacerating a perfect circle of flesh.
He screamed in agony, slicing the snared whip with his keen blade, then he put both hands on the lasso and raised it high in the air. Letting blood invoked his utmost strength, and his arm wrapped the lasso and yanked down, disclocating her shoulder and stripping her of her standing balance.
As she fell, Isan stepped out and slammed his boot into her face, killing her instantly.
Bandaged and grumpy, Isan felt nothing for the two theives and searched their bodies for any baubles. Finding only a few coins and wands, he rolled the decapitated spellcaster aside and opened the expensive pouch, the only other thing in the room.
Scrolls. Not magical ones but magistrated scrolls from the town of Perdura. Isan touched his wounds in disbelief. Who would steal something so boring? Unable to read, Isan had no idea the value each was worth. He considered burning everything in the cave and going to drown Curdt in a wine barrel.
Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Isan sighed loudly and set off for town. Maybe he could trade them on the way home for a good stockade. Curdt could serve a day for each permanent scar Isan had just added to his collection.
He squinted at the sunlight as he left the cave, nostalgically considering the surreal path of his life. The cool springtime air made him aware of his fresh whiplashes, so he revealed a tiny green vial with a maroon elixir. Extracting his huge skou pipe and his fire tinder, he had the usual dinner of healing potions and smoke.
Curdt found it hard to speak as much as he usually did with Isan's gigantic arm pinning him to an upturned chair.
"BANK DEEDS! They're worth fifty gold each!"
"And I suppose we just chant the words of power, clap three times and they turn to gold?" Isan grumbled softly.
Curdt smiled at him and his ever soft spoken, apathetic demeanor.
After being given a hastily croaked lecture on the commerce of the realms, Isan realized he was still crushing the little rogue and released him. Curdt stretched his head back and brushed off his cloak, then turned and spoke happily to his violent friend.
"All we do is go to Perdura and exchange them with the king's treasurers."
Isan grunted and sat down to a huge hooka, stuffing it with a giant palmful of fresh skou roots. Curdt sighed, furrowing his brow.
"You know why were after all this money, right? I mean, we'd be fine if you'd not smoke a fortune in Skou every hour."
Curdt realized what Isan became without that hourly Skou session and twitched his nose uncomfortably. "I mean, Isan, we either find a way to get more Skou in behind the guards of Omn, or we go to Perdura and cash in these stolen deeds that you...rescued."
Isan looked up quickly, his senses focusing and his eyes becoming narrow and darting back and forth. The creaking he heard grew and suddenly his halfling made chair broke under him, dropping him the two feet to the red wooden floor. Curdt laughed uncontrollably, and noticing Isan's unamused state, felt good about his friend's predictable mood.
"Let's be off, then, to Perdura, and I'll buy you a cart of Skou for your habit to be appeased, my friend."
Isan nodded and lit the pipe.
Isan's 20 years yielded little experience with cities. He'd spent the first 12 in a town of less than 500, and all he knew about bigger towns were stories. The idea of a place full of nothing but people and their domesticated animals made him naseous. Curdt and his closest 4 guildmates rode surrounding Isan on the narrow, rocky road to Perdura. Isan finally gave in to his uncomfortable curiosity with a whispered question.
"So...what type of place is the..city?"
Curdt burst out laughing. "It's like the woods, only you can't just kill everything and eat it, Isan."
The other Halflings all shared a laugh at Isan, who rode with unchanging expression. Curdt finished his chuckle and spoke as he looked at the bank notes on his mule's mane.
"Perdura is a loyal Omnish city, which means it is nothing but slaves farming for the king's table. Funny thing is the city of Omn is nothing like that. The fierce loyalty to the king is only present because the ignorant folks of Perdura have never met old GoldChain."
Another short rogue named Plachio piped in between the sudden chatter of all the company.
"King Goldchain is quite a greedy buffoon. To think that anyone could have loyalty to him says much for the stupidity of the town we're headed into."
Curdt rocked back and exhaled rings of smoke. He took his time to speak, confident in everyone's quiet when he spoke the often insightful words of a leader among thieves.
"That's also why one of the most profitable thieve's guilds is there. We'll be able to sell these deeds to them if not straight to the king's moneylenders."
Isan furrowed his brow for the rest of the journey, unsure of his future with civilization. As they rode through the feudal farmlands bordering Perdura the townsfolk knelt awkwardly in the soil, digging homes for crops that they'd only get a small share of. They stared unrestricted at the troupe of shady looking halflings bordering a gigantic warrior with a Tachi sword and scars all over his chisled face. Isan wore all black sunburned leather with dried blood splotches on the forearms. It was not exactly the usual attire for riding into a mercantile.
Isan fully returned the stare, his piercing onyx eyes sometimes causing fear and therefore anger in the humble farmfolk. His emotions stirred as they rode, seeing not the hope and spirit he remembered in the eyes of his kinfolk in Oveliss. He instead saw clearly a deceitful greed that shifted with their focus. They were unstable creatures desperate for a way out of the rat cage Isan considered them to be in. The poverty was driving them into a mindset that they considered loyalty to a king, but Isan considered weak madness.
Isan could tell that this civilization idea was not for him already.
As they rode to the main gate, the mailed and axe wielding guards paid no heed to the troupe as they passed. One of the men did look like he would either run or fully attack Isan immediately, but he hesitated and the other simply harrangued him aside. Isan knew it was not because of his pure intimidation that allowed them entry, but Curdt's impeccable ability to go anywhere, anytime, and cash in a favor.
Curdt did stop Isan once they entered the city and his men went off to steal from, harass or swindle the person Curdt had assigned them to. Curdt softened his eyeset when he stopped Isan in his great stride. The mount lead by Isan's straid, leathered hand halted in a single hoofbeat.
Isan shared an opposite type of grace than that of the horse, looking like death's bodyguard. His dark, perilous demeanor contrasted the blond, braided clydesdale's gently flowing features. His perturbed face was easily visible, even from Curdt's viewpoint, 3 feet under the fighter's towering square chin.
"You know you've got to have your weapons in the wagon in Amnish markets, right?" Curdt's sneer blazed on his sunburnt, cherubic face. Isan pressed his lips together and slowly lowered his gaze to meet Curdt. Tapping out his pipe right next to the halfling's head, his words were barely audible.
"You perjure too close to my grip for safety, friend."
Curdt laughed and studied Isan's face. They were close friends because Isan did not have typical emotions. All Curdt's charms could not begin to work on a warrior that rarely looks you in the eye, and always thinks of things in a strategic manner. The man was like a tree until he fought. He lived from battle to battle; and in between moments were spent considering how to win them. Lies relied on emotion to work and Curdt liked that Isan apparantly had none.
"Look, give me your Tachi and try to hide the rest, ok? I don't to get arrested because you twitched and accidentally deafened the whole plaza."
Isan nodded softly and unbuttoned the folded steel clasp in the shape of a screeching eagle. The sword swung from his back into the kender's puffy hands, and Curdt rocked back two steps to keep from falling under its momentum. Curdt huffed and threw it in the wagon, turning to hold up his finger and give orders to his pale friend..
"So, you let me do the talking, eh?"
Isan managed to laugh briefly in a hoarse, coughing breath and spoke.
"Apparently."
Perdura was mostly a marketplace square full of desperate men and their families. The merchants with the most intoxicating wares were the some of the only citizens with houses. A small keep dotted the middle of town, where King GoldChain's taxmen and their families lived. Omnish guards strolled lethargically in their clanking plate or rattling chain. The warrior and the halfling stabled horses and walked briskly into the crowd of finely dressed kingsmen, merchants and dusty farmers.
The moneylenders had a small shop on the edge of town square. inside was a tall table stood with a thick barred gate on both sides, and a wooden floor on which to do business. Sacks of gold sat with stacks of papers rolled in the corner, .
The place was always full of men, sitting on the floor in line and waiting their turn to beg their king for a peice of the pie. Most were there to trade family heirlooms or stolen goods. Some had no collateral, save a pleading story.
Isan and curdt opened the door with a gust of wind and stepped through to the dusty sunlit room. On both sides for at least twenty feet were a macabre of people kneeling or laying in wait. Isan did not look behind the bars but had already taken complete stock of the two armed guards. One was thin and young, obviously unhappy and not loyal. The other was mailed to the hilt, with a full helm covering his face. The base of their weapons were made from a native wood that Isan could shatter with a bare hand. City guards were weak. It made sense. Isan smiled and looked down, shrugging at Curdt as he approached the bench, behind which sat a sickly man dressed in silk. He argued snidely with a man that signed papers ferociously, scowling through each one. Two advisers stood adjacent to the small, smug looking man. Only one bothered to look Isan up and down, figuring him to be worth little, the man chuckled and leaned to his partner, whispering words easily audible to Isan's trained
sense.
"Probably full of chicken feathers."
The other laughed and looked away. Isan knew they referred to the sack on his shoulder and suddenly felt an unusual thing in his stomach. It was anger, but not the kind he used as fuel. The energy of this commerce made him sick, and he felt like fighting.
There was no longer an actual demon in his head, but a personal one. Isan realized at that moment that he did not like other people much. He was less and less regretting the many he'd killed, some of them innocent. His eyes twitched violently and he envisoned himself turning into the Ashen ghoul that once tempted him to slaughter, to conquer. He snorted with laughter at his past struggles, realizing he was more calm and centered in those deadly moments than he is right now, faced with this greedy moneylender. He thought of his master, Lavec, and suddenly slammed his hands on the table. Coming to, he immediately looked up at the moneylender, pretending he did it to get the man's attention. Isan dropped the sack onto the table, the hundreds of scrolls falling out on the lender's lap and hands, some unfurling and rolling to the floor noisily. Isan had listened to Curdt define their worth, and figured the man would do anything to get the deeds.
Curdt grimaced and snuck into a corner, laughing at himself for thinking Isan stable enough to take into a place like this, a place like Curdt knew. Isan still planned to let him do the talking, but mighty Isan rarely had to talk to say something. Seeing the moneylender's reaction enacting, Curdt looked around for a large purse to pick that would pay Isan's bail.
The guards were on both sides of Isan now, the one with his face uncovered looking extremely terrified of the man that just interrupted the boss. The moneylender cocked his head and arrogantly pointed at Isan, unafraid.
"I'll have you know that it's a quick hanging for those that place their palms on the king's money table, lummox!" Isan stared silently at the man, being careful not to look at his eyes and instinctively intimidate him.
The moneylender adjusted his bifocals and waved away the farmer that was in the middle of his loan.
"Lenie, Arrant, if this man's reason for disrupting the king's business is not worth my time, arrest him and charge him with execution." The two guards nodded and the mailed one slowly approached the gate door, ten feet to Isan's left side. His axe led the way through, and people cleared away from his loudly clanging boots. "My duty, liege Galvin."
Galvin retrieved and opened a deed from his feet and read over it, holding it near an oil lamp next to a wine cask and a loaf of bread.
He stuffed bread into his mouth as he read, then spat crumbs at Isan as he waved his hand and spoke.
"These must be stolen! Where have you gotten these, you brute of a thief?"
Isan shifted his feet slightly and stole a glance at both guards. He frowned deeply and leaned closer to Galvin.
"Galvin the greedy, I've no patience for your vomit words, now pay me in trade or I'll go with my scrolls."
Galvin nodded gently, the action taking all his effort to perform. He'd seen into Isan's eyes, and the feral promise of sadness and death in them had ceased his train of thought. He tried to gain his temper back, but his ego had shrunk deep into his mind, terror causing his next words.
"I...you..are banned from here. Begone now and leave your stolen goods...g-guards see him out." The man quickly slammed a swinging door in front of him and closed the gate, immediately looking at the scrolls again.
"The rest of you...I'll return in one hour!"
Galvin left into the back of the room with an armload of the valuable deeds. Isan huffed and turned on his heels, looking straight forward. The guards moved not an inch as Isan slowly walked out the door, every eye in the room completely captivated on him. Curdt easily snuck out behind him unnoticed.
"You ever consider a career as a merchant, friend?"
Curdt said as he jumped to slap Isan on the back.
Isan grinned, "I just hope the thieves are better company, and less."
Curdt nodded as they walked to their wagon. "I'm sure you'll be calmer wearing your sword, I should have known you'd get jumpy without it" Curdt's train of thought rounded to the point, his words a constant flow of charming tones.
"The thieves guild here is made of good friends that will welcome us, we just have to drop a coin in the well behind that abandoned tent down the street. Someone will open a door that house to let us in. Curdt showed Isan the customized platinum coin that was necessary to drop. Isan's eyebrows raised as he saw it and spoke.
"Pricey dues for a tiny thieves guild."
Curdt nodded consistently, agreeing
"But good pay, and it feels good to rob these Goldchain cronies."
The coin fell down into the well. A half bale of high end Skou fell with it, as Isan considered a better use for it. There was, although, a strange symbol on it that may be a counterfeit brand.
They sat against the well as Isan's lip curled with growing anxiety. Curdt shook his head and laughed at him. "3 years I've known you and not once have you been comfortable. Don't let that snake Galvin get your cool."
A door opened near them and Isan rose, walking toward it. Curdt ran to get in front of him and turned his head, admonishing Isan to stay out of the way as he talked. Isan stopped and watched Curdt approach the door, shake someones human hand, and then get the door slammed in his face. Isan laughed heartily now, irony being prevalent today. Curdt walked back to him sharing the humor.
"Sain. He's an old consort of mine in Oveliss. We kicked him out and stole his idea for a job. I guess he's the doorman now. He claims I didn't put a coin in." Curdt's beaming face showed how much he loved having an enemy to spite.
Isan adjusted his sword and sighed. His words were so soft that Curdt leaned close to him to hear.
"In thirty minutes, I am going to be on the road home with a cart of Skou."
Curdt's face straightened soberingly as he realized Isan's expression meant trouble for a lot of people. He knew when Isan would not listen to debate. His words were all he could muster safely. "I'll get the horses ready. My boys will take apart the wagon."
The moneylender squinted with glee at the paper he held at his nose. He was going to get a promotion to office for this bounty. Four square miles of land. His expression changed when he saw Isan slam the door open. The guards rose immediately, approaching the sides of the two advisors. The five men stared at Isan's back in unison as he walked to the end of the line. The sword was wrapped in purple cloth, but it was not hard to know what it was.
The moneylender leaned back and used his creaking chair to hide his words.
"Go to the back and signal for more guards."
The young man and the plated guard both seemed to jump at the opportunity to leave, the young man's nimble form and lack of heavy armor allowing him the lead. The plate mailed man turned and leaned on his axe, readying himself to fight.
Isan simply sat down at the end of the line next to an old man holding a chicken, nodded to the row of faces staring at him, and pulled out his pipe. Galvin nervously waved forward the next man in line, and the farmer rose, wobbly-kneed to the table. Slowly, people resumed their quiet conversations, now conversing on a different topic.
The moneylender smelled something strange and looked directly at Isan. He decided to try and maintain his authority.
"No smoking in the king's bank!"
Isan simply took a huge drag off of his pipe and lit it again, blowing a cloud of toxic Skou smoke into the face of the man and chicken near him. The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he began coughing harshly. The chicken clucked strangely and went straight to sleep.
About twenty minutes later, as Curdt sat on his mule outside the town twitching nervously the hand that held the reins of Isan's mount, Isan was still smoking his pipe. The room had become full of two things, smoke and guards. Six mailed men now stood in the back room with the young unarmored soldier. Everyone coughed repeatedly and one man had vomited. The room was clearing out steadily, although the most desperate men remained and struggled to breathe or think straight.
Isan rose when it came to his turn, the smoke haze filling the room around his form. He walked up to Galvin, waited for him to start speaking, and then slammed both his palms on the table with a sly grin. Galvin reeled back and frowned, speaking softly.
"Arrest him."
The guards slowly began entering the front room, one of them leading and speaking for the unit.
"Keep your hands down or we'll kill you. We don't want any trouble."
Isan nodded and stuck out his bottom lip, leaning forward to the edge of the bars near where a huge bronze banded chest sat. He began bending the bars as the guards charged him. By the time the first axe swung and the first dagger slashed, Isan had bent the bars enough to get himself through, then easily bent them back. Only the young unarmed man and the guard from earlier that day were left inside with him and Galvin. Isan slammed the door where the young soldier stood shut, and the man squealed and fell backwards. His terror was justified to him after seeing the Isan's impossible strength. The other guard attacked Isan's back with a downward chop from his axe. Isan simply hopped behind a chest and laughed as it broke under the axe, a huge sack of gold showing itself as the contents. Isan picked the sack up and swung it up over his head. The gold had to weigh more than 400 pounds, and Isan swung it like a simple maul.
After collecting his axe to defensive stance, the helmed guard had barely enough time to fall backwards before the bag swung at him, and its following momentum crashed into Galvin's chair. The chair shattered and Galvin himself was thrown face first into the metal bars, knocking him out. Isan proceeded to set down the gold and step on the chest of the plate mailed guard, the others hesitating in awe at the sight of his strength. The guard on the ground surrendered his axe to Isan as he yanked it away and wedged it into the other door. He locked the one next to the shivering young man and then picked up the burning oil lamp, hurled it with great force at the door, igniting it into an inferno immdeiately.
He walked out the back door with the gold gingerly, knowing that anyone asking about the smoke would say it was just a Skou smoker until the flames were visible. He figured he had ten minutes left.
At the well, Isan yelled the name of the doorman for the guild into it. His astounded and angry face appeared moments later to see a huge shadow barreling down the well toward him. The bag of gold shattered just as he pulled his face from sure death underneath it. Even though he was still truly angry about the close call, he opened the door with a smile for Isan.
Once inside the true guild, the doorman finally realized that he'd not be getting a response from his excited comments about the huge bag of gold. They'd descended the stairs of the cover house for ten minutes and Isan had only grunted and nodded or shook his head after he said his name and why he was there.
The main room was nothing but a bar, a few dartboards and a single table and four chairs. Isan had been told that the four men at the table could sell, fence or contract anything or anybody in the realms. It took Isan less than ten minutes to purchase all of their Skou and have it delivered. He and Curdt were on the road as the fire inside the moneylending court was being put out and the guards rallying their hunt.
Curdt looked up at Isan sheepishly and asked how many he killed.
Isan smiled warmly "None, I think."
Curdt laughed with Isan and then became very serious as their mounts ran full speed.
"So are you going to spend the summer running Skou with me?"
Still laughing, Isan shook his head immediately.
"Nah, I was planning on it, but I think I'll try to join the Omnish army."
Curdt almost laughed himself off his mount until he noticed Isan was serious, his laugh dying down to a halt.
"Isan, you are one enigmatic warrior."
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| 4 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Aglaranna |
Posted - 10 Nov 2006 : 00:15:10
Okay, if you haven't died of old age yet, here it is: Some things became blurred; exactly who's speaking? What's going on? I liked the descriptions, when you paused to write some. You need to make sure the reader understands whats happening--just don't dwell too long. I think the best thing to do is put it away for a bit when you're finished, maybe a week or two. Come back and review it, and cut, chop, practically murder it until you've got it right! A novel too short is usually better than a novel too long. Then come back and let us have a look. |
| Aglaranna |
Posted - 29 Oct 2006 : 00:47:30
One moment, good writer. I'm copying this to Word Perfect so that I can reveiw it at my leisure. As a fellow writer, I'll be sure to get back to you. I know it's important. Just one note: When your writing, set a low word maximum for your stories. It's always better after cut and reduced hundreds of times, so that there's nothing extraneous. (For example, how many times have you fallen asleep over your book cause the freakin' author wouldn't GET ON WITH IT?! You only need to know so much about the exact shade of Sarah's cloak, right?) |
| Mace Hammerhand |
Posted - 18 Oct 2006 : 16:31:22
I just read the first few lines...
a pointer: use a spellchecker. It is thief not theif.
The mage's partner is not armed with anything visible...so she has invisible arms. I know what you mean, but it doesn't come from the words. Say what you mean, try not to sound artificially stilted.
How does one grow in spirit when looking at one's reflection?
Impending darkness and violence...a flash of precognition there...wow.
Sorry to be so harsh but there is no way around it. Actually I ain't sorry. Constructive criticism is what you need, anything else wouldn't do you any good.
And now for something general: don't write on campaigns, don't even use a campaign as a basis. Just write a story.
Cheers |
| Lavec |
Posted - 06 Sep 2006 : 19:43:41
and here's a selection from like 20 chapters later when Isan is a lvl 14/1/4
Isan found himself staring in awe at the fine teacup given to him, a wisp of steam carrying it's sweet and euphoric scent upward. He picked it up between his most dextrous fingertips and sipped, marvelling at the artificial chill provided by the wards placed over the compound he resided in. He looked across the room to the small alcove through which a beautiful elven maiden could be seen speaking to someone out of view. Her dark eyebrows and full lips captivated Isan even more than all the aspects of the remote palace, his mind losing itself and fading from ability to listen to Tual, his 'attendant.'
Tual noticed immediately that Isan was not listening, stopped talking and moved to the balcony, where an iridescent barrier stood in midair, gently emanating bluish light and an icy breeze. He stood there, pondering his leader's choice in a savior for their colony. An unwashed brute that was more likely to wander away with a bottle than plan their most important of battles. Yet his demeanor, not to mention his size, made him reconsider the benefit of hiring Isan. Tual's sister had told him of the battle they fought in transit from the Omnish lands, and how everyone, enemies included, froze in terror at the display of power Isan displayed. Legend of him spread through musicians to taverns that Tual frequented. Tales of things Tual could only assume were exaggerated: "forty men lay dead by the same pair of scratchless hands, as their mover, the darkest warrior, assembled all forces, became no different then the air of art."
Isan bit down gently on his lip as he popped his shoulder, a deep scar in his bone giving off a tiny chip and causing great pain. He used the pain to focus his mind again, and rose to look out on the desertified plain with Tual. "So it's hot here, but I've been told the battle will take place where it is like breathing in a volcano. This is something done on purpose?"
Tual thought as he took a deep breath, as he was warned by his master not to look Isan in the eye or be long winded with him. He was rumored to snap if confused. In fact, all the residents of the gardens he was to stay in were told to be laconic when in his company. "Aye, the enemy is nearly invulnerable when on their own ground. They fight much more slowly in the heat, and with little resources, they take much longer to find us." Isan furrowed his brow, truly disconcerted that this tribe of elves, immensely more powerful than humans, would be so harrowed by a common enemy, that they'd utterly destroy, through magic, all of their surroundings. His origional impression was that pride would cause the elves to not sacrifice a shred of the beauty they created, fighting to the end without sacrificing. Looking out on the desolation, the burning cloudless sky and the occasional black smoke on the ground where lavish tress likely stood only a few years before, he understood the truth, that these moon elves were not too proud to add strife to their enemies' trial in pursuing their quarrel. At least, Isan realized when looking behind him at the lavish white pillars and fountains, they maintained a standard of living above complete sacrifice. The gardens, as they were known, were an outpost for diplomats and celebrations, and each room was a monument to the Elvish sense of beauty and art.
Isan tipped back his teacup, the liquid burning gently on his throat like pepper and then opening up a boquet of soothing medicines, calming his blood and bringing an intense giddy feeling. He leaned back and launched the finely carved tiny cup out through the barrier of icy mist. It flew and hit the sand gently, but shattered into many pieces due to the immediate change of temperature. He marveled at how powerful the mages of this tribe were becoming. Tuck certainly knew 'who's who' of the weave. He touched his circlet and wondered where instead of this elven paradise he might be without meeting the wizard that made him into such an effective weapon. "So why, I mean, how, did it get this way?" Isan asked without turning to look at Tual until he noticed no response coming.
Isan smiled, realizing that Tual stared incordially at him, as if he were some feral creature that was defiling his home. The warrior crossed his arms, turning to the hostile elf and concentrating on his slender platinum-crested sword. It began to wiggle a bit, then raised up a foot to be eye level with the elf. Tual moved his head aside, narrowing his eyes and giving Isan a warning that this was as far as they could go playfully. Another involuntary movement in his sword, and they would fight to the death right there. Or, as Isan put it in his mind, they'd fight until Tual was dead. As the sword began to lower, Tual grabbed it and slipped it back into it's goldmail scabbard silently. "The thing that destroyed our forests will not be told nor revealed until the time is necessary again. As for the gardens, their enchantments have grown successfully with the help of Tuck and others employed by our wise council." Tual breathed deep then, thankful that his forgetful use of big words did not offend the oaf.
The sword plopped back into its studded leather loop and Isan patted the much smaller elf on the arm, turning to walk away. "Thanks for showing me around, I'm going to...go...for...a...maiden.." Isan's subconsciously slipped words trailed from his mouth until it hung open, awed by the beauty of the maiden he was earlier admiring. Her gown and body seemed to be of the same material, a deep white mixed with a silver and black pattern of accentuation. Her eyes, a gold speckled blue, pierced through the warrior's ego between moments of camouflage lent by bangs of very long blonde hair. Isan walked forward, blocking the path between her and Tual. The male elf cleared his throat insinuating that Isan was being impolite, and Isan thought for a moment that they were husband and wife. The fight with Tual could still happen, he considered how to do it with the least amount of blood spilled. He smiled in the corners of his stubbly mouth, noticing the loose torch on the wall, with it's metal brace and sapping potential.
The maiden spoke with a songbird's voice, high pitched and breathy, the timbre changing to reach all over the room in rhythm. "You're the one that can move swords with his mind, hm?" Isan nodded and looked confusedly at her, clearing his throat. "I'd move my sword to my heart if it would quell the ache it's got from being in your presence." Tual laughed openly at the comment, and Isan knew it was mocking laughter to his human wit, considered childish by the century old elves. Isan smiled as well, realizing he'd never said anything even remotely like that. They all stood in silence after the laughter died down, the maiden looking quite uncomfortable in the moment. Isan spent it reflecting on the before thought of who he'd have been without Mirth or Tuck. How much he'd changed in the last year. He'd probably have tried to pay Curdt to kidnap this woman so he could practice talking to her before she could run away. He'd have become quite a monster on the streets of Perdura.
"I believe that you are a great rendition of beauty, and would my fate have made my ears long and pointy, and my arms thin and wiry, I'd be so pleased to ask for your name, and your hand."
Tual spoke amidst shared laughter. "Isan, this is my sister, princess to the throne of Hus'neit, Eliu."
Isan shrugged "I thought you could not share your names without courtship involved."
Both the elves had a great laugh about that, Isan realized why Mirth and Tuck had warned him of that fact with mischevous smiles.
Eliu approached Isan and held out her hand, looking a bit cautious as his scarred and hairy paw enveloped it as gently as possible.
"Isan, I thank you for visiting us and listening to our pleas, but the tradition of our kind is a bit complicated for one of your....well...mind. I don't believe you know what it means to ask for a maiden's hand. The translation into your language does not exactly describe all that is entailed," Tual said.
Isan shook
his head. "I think it's fairly simple, aye Eliu?" Tual laughed uncontrollably then, bracing himself on a bas'relief and bucking his shoulders with amusement. "Isan, Isan, please, you do not understand, and are far too abrupt with the princess, you'd probably be arrrested for such talk in the presence of our father."
Eliu nodded somberly and smiled, flattered. "If you wish to learn more of our tradition, consult the translator Tithen, who lives in the main garden. He can teach you how to...well..you can learn more about our kind."
Tithen had dark grey, powerful eyes that magnified through his thick bifocals, made by his own hands. He was very excited to speak to Isan, and roughly translated for him a description of elven courtship rites. The moon elves revered their women over all else, a very chivalric group. The suitors would be required to perform the most incredible of acts to deserve attention from their love's father, whom decided the spouse of his daughter. The tome was a recent work and described the exploits of Eliu's suitors in detail as an example. Her father was the king and added to her beauty this made for the absolutely most amazing act of heroism. Only four men had attempted what was obviously this, to climb the volcano Sivij'ua
And retrive a bloodroot blossom from atop it. The flowers only grew when the lava was actively producing, so it basically spells certain death as was proved by all four that tried. A bardic tale at the end of the tome told of the king's overprotective nature having secured his daughter to never receive a proper mate. As she was already approaching 150, this was very possible. Isan rolled the scroll and slid it into it's case. Standing to his full seven feet and five inches, he held it to his face and dropped it back to the stone table, sending a dull echo and pockets of dust into the air. He'd done plenty of climbing. Just never in a volcano, persay. If only for the reason that it made him feel young and innocent, despite his murderous and painful past; he knew he'd face this challenge;if only to accept his reuinion with love.
Tual sat completely still, bite of an apple resting in his mouth, eyebrows locked in risen surprise. He slowly began to chew again and digest the words. Isan sat across the table looking completely serious. Tual exhaled loudly and shook his head "That's impossible, Isan, my sister has decided to wait the centuries over until the passing of our father to wed. It's been forseen that anyone who tries will perish before they even reach the summit; that a guardian like no other, be it elemental or corporeal, exists to stop anyone from completing the courtship." Isan simply nodded at him, smiled mischevously and turned to walk down the enormous corridor lined with ivory bas reliefs and sculptures of moon elves enshrouded in an icy mist.
He walked for what seemed like eternity amidst the magical embience of the gardens. Once he crossed through the roofless plaza which was a gathering place for ebb and flow celebrations, he took a much less decorated route. Looking much more carefully at the adornments on the smooth churt wall, he admired the displayed weapons greatly. A sword resembling his own magnetically enchanted blade stood on its pommel with no stand, the tip shining with an enchantment that made it lend an eerie starlight to the corridoor. It made him feel like he was not alone, that these blades were guarding the gardens simply by sitting against their stands. He came to a huge double door, very out of place for the usual thick and short doors of the complex. The scribe and translator had looked down at him from inside his bulky bifocals and nodded omnisciently. "A warrior, hm. You've got a good chance to meet our finest, about to leave on scout. He'll tell you how crazy you are for attempting for the hand of Eliu. He's tried himself."
Isan tapped on the huge door with his index knuckle and mumbled a greeting as he pushed it open. As the door opened enough for him to slide through, the darkness within was peirced by a focused white light, not unlike the one Isan's circlet gave off. An elf stood within holding a sword that Isan noticed in detail before looking at it's owner. It had an opal imbued in the hilt, but it was much smaller and more unusual than Isan's. As the elf swung the sword deftly behind him and took a noble fencing stance, Isan's eyes drifted up to meet his and they stared a good moment at each other. "We've no business together, I've refused to fight with you." said the elf. Isan smiled and leaned his head back slowly, mocking the importance of the last statement. "I hear you're the best fighter, why then do you not lead the army?" The elf laughed heartily but quietly and sheathed his sword, flinging a dagger with a great thrust starting from his toes and ending with a deft snap of his shoulder, sailing the blade into a target across the acre wide room. Isan did jump a tiny bit when the blade came out, so disconcerting was the speed it travelled with. "You're no strategist, no leader of men, you're a mercenary and you slaughter indiginous people that deserve their land more than your Omnish pig army ever will." The elf swordsman spat the words in common language with disgust and poor accent. Isan smiled and nodded. "I regret what has happened to those islands, but it was a fair fight." The elf nodded to that with a strange look on his face. Isan returned it with one stranger, revelling in what he knew he must be doing to the obviously still very young, resistant elf. His people understood the nature of the world and war, but youth knew nothing save innocence. This young elf would go through many changes in his next half century, Isan decided. He was their best? Isan began walking toward him then, and the opal between his eyebrows sent out a prism of multicolored light. A palm sized orb flew around from behind his bulky pack and began circling the warrior in a perfect orbit. It then left his side and moved toward the elf, who looked not at all amused or frightened by it. "How, human, do you move an unenchanted crytal orb? It has no fuel!" Isan nodded and pointed to his circlet. "I strategized it."
Suddenly, the bluish ball flashed across the room, spiraling itself in the opposite direction, headed right for the elf's sword arm at a very dangerous speed. The elf swung his sword from behind him but the orb moved just enough to dodge the faster moving blade, and still glanced him on the arm, knocking him back a step.
Isan felt something strange about the elven warrior then, as he brought the orb around to knock him fully off his feet, he realized he'd greatly underestimated the short and pointy eared creature. From under a flap in his tunic, a wand fell into his free hand, and a loudly provoked power word overtook the ringing sound of the flying orb. A barbed, curling and spitting flame shot from the elf and he simoutaneously brought his right hand to his sword hilt, holding the spell easily while ready to draw his sword; a difficult trick for a battle mage of skill.
The orb shatted and the flames died down, and silence filled the room, now bereft of any light from circlet or sword. Both soldiers had met each other properly. Isan brought a bottle of wine from behind him now, dwarven wine made from concentrated ale. Elves were known to have a penchant to secretly enjoy dwarven delights behind closed curtains, so Isan's charms were not completely ineffective. "I'll share my lunch with you for your name." Isan smiled the words knowingly. The elf motioned to the table and they sat down. "My name is Sun'nett, frost. I am the leader of the ones that will stop this war from the inside out." Isan poured the wine generously and nodded once. "I am Isan, and I am the one that will marry Eliu. Will you help me in my quest?" The elf had begun to drink from the glass but lowered it from his lips upon hearing that. He furrowed his brow to speak slowly the pained words. "I cannot begin to tell you all that is wrong with that statement, dark one. I will not help you." Isan nodded once. "At least tell me what guards the summit of the volcano." The elf nodded as he drank deeply from the wine, smacking his lips gently and leaning back, pulling a leaf from a nearby plant and rolling it into a cigarette. His eyes flashed and his index finger sent a crackling spark into the air, lit the leaf and curled around it and carried it to Isan, who smiled amusedly at the cantrip. Sun'nett held his stern stare and spoke "I told you my name, we have no more business."
Isan realized after the shared meal of wine and smoke that he would have to prove himself to this tiny elf to have any chance at Eliu. As Sun'nett rose from his chair, he looked down at the sedated, slouching brute across from him. "You have too many scars for Eliu, she is very vain." Isan noticed then the tiny scar on Sun'nett's cheek and ear, barely visible especially when compared to the generous tears Isan sported on nearly all of his skin. He smiled and tipped the bottle, trying to fish out any remaining drops with his tongue. Once he finished, he set it down with a loud thump and rose, his eye level meeting and rising almost two feet above the elf's visage. "I will sit with you as you meet, learn your strategies that I may be more helpful in battle. I know little of your enemy, these so-called cockroach soldiers." The elf solemnly shook his head. "We know little of you, crialiya- potential spy. you look more like our enemy than us, which goes a long way to the current court. I will ask my stars for their opinion of you, until then you can glean whatever you may from this. He handed him a translated pamphlet outlining the last few months of combat and strategy, but not giving away any tactics or future plans held by the elves. Isan tore it a bit when he opened it, looking up amusedly at the frustrated elf. They spoke no words as Isan began to read and the Sun'nett left the room.
"I still do not know what these enemies are. Why do you not speak of them plainly?" Isan asked Sun'nett, stopping him in the corridoor to the royal district of the compound. "Because we do not know what they are. They look much like you, like darkly clad humans, but they take many more blows than the typical mortal would be able to. They have armor that completely rejects penetration from our finest arrows. We have to enchant each one, so they are reserved for the leaders, which wear no indication of their status. We wait until they make hand signals and assassinate them before battle." Isan smiled "I could be of service, as bait. I can make them very afraid, to the point where all in command will signal an attack on me." Sunn'nett only stared at Isan, showing no approval or dissapproval of his interest in their next confrontation. "We've been outnumbered four fold before the last fight, which was more like ten fold. We lost fifty of our...soldiers...in the last fight. Over half." Isan nodded through all the words and poured some tea on the vase stand beside them, focusing on the liquid until it rose into the air, splitting into hundreds of tiny droplets and spreading out in single file. They all exploded when Isan spoke. "I am very useful fighting men, I am very useful fighting undead, and I've never struggled much with defeating great monsters. You do not have to fight next to me, just put me into a fight, alone save your dozen best archers, with one enchanted arrow each." Sunnett looked at him incredulously, calling him an arrogant fool with his eyes. "Aye, Isan, you'll defend yourself from their shadowed magic, from their spears tipped with acid, from their great mounts that crush you with merely a glancing hoof. How many men are you?" Isan stood then and opened his pack, spilling out hundreds of tiny blue crystals along the tea beside them. He picked one up and the circlet on his head set aglow, the tiny crystal lifting into the air and forming an orb, then floating around him very slowly. He let it drop in his hand after displaying it's orbit and then tipped his pack, spilling hundreds of the precious gems on the table. Sun'netts surprise was uncontained. "I'll ask my commander for permission for a kindire, which translates into your rough tongue as suicide mission."
Sun'nett pleaded with his elders for what was an unnapropriate amount of time to their judgement. They dismissed him with a threateningly strict order. To go, but to take eleven archers, putting himself in the slot of the twelfth. He was happy with that part of it, but unhappy with how they dismissed him, almost as an already lost resource. Their lack of faith put a cold chill in his stomach where his morale and excitement regarding Isan had been. He'd need a good enchanter. As he turned the corner from the royal chambers, he nearly ran into a leaning Isan and a debonaire older man, dressed in a tan robe and cowl with a half naked pech at his side. He looked at them for a long moment, genuinely disconcerted. "I'd like you to let my friend here take a look at your arrows." Isan said simply. They all laughed at that, truly happy to be together for the first time in months.
27
The dark warrior travelled on what was once a road mired with beauty. Behind him rode a score of elves. The trees and shrubs that graced the path with their spent blossoms had left no traces but the ash stuck to the hooves of the horses. The man that allowed them to travel through such unlivable heat was a great druid ally to the moon elves, one that could chill the air with his mere presence. Isan took solace in that because of this eerie druidic presence, they were comfortable in their heavy gear, despite that ten feet away from them they'd nearly burn to death in the desolation of the sun's atmosphere. Isan had glanced at him but looked away respectfully, knowing the sensitivity a druid could have to domesticated beings. Shuddering at the idea that another notion could suddenly take away their protection, or possibly make things a bit too cold gave him a nostalgic sense of ever-wary paranoia. The owl that plagued his dreams, for instance, gave him the same feeling.
"The Kigoal are the name our elders gave to the cult that once raided this land. They are of a deeply faithful evil and... commited themselves to eradicating our tribe long before they found out what our bones possessed. Now they hunt us with a passion due to our enchanted remains." The noble ranger they travelled with told his tales with a distracted demeanor, constantly scanning with his eyes or pausing to listen. He made the archers on his side comfortable, despite their lack of more than one arrow, quivers packed tightly against their horses by order. The ranger paused then not to listen but to let the last statement settle in. He did not attempt to frighten those that were going against the Kigoal for the first time, but to give them something extra to fight for. "They defile our bones with rituals and unguents and use them for spells, ones that devastate us in battle. We must never leave behind a casualty, if we are to prevent our own destruction."
Isan rode silently and listened as he fine tuned his mental pattern for battle. He knew exactly how he needed to act to the men. He needed them to feel like their only shot would be their last. He wanted them to feel like they were surely going to die, so he appreciated the grim tone the ranger took. The strategy he'd formulated depended on everyone there believing wholeheartedly that they were doomed. If they thought him a spy, things might work out even better. Isan suddenly consciously stopped thinking about it, feeling the paranoia more deeply, as if it was in his very mind. That owl that had approached him before Curdt's wagon trail came into view had been in his dreams ever since. Ever since, well, no reason going over that again, Isan thought.
They rode for two days without stopping and reached a dark valley, where they had last fought the Kygol (the name given to their warriors), the cockroaches. They had scouts hidden in these cooler shadows and figured that their presence would not go unnoticed. They were absolutely certain when Isan started sharpening his sonorous sword loudly, the grating noises echoing into the caverns and along the rock faces, rumbling ehoes back into the faces of the elves. The archers solemnly got into place, with Sun'nett laying directly behind Isan, his sword unsheathed on the ground and his bow string in his fingertips. Isan looked back at him and the elf nodded once, the look either telling Isan that he was safe with Sunnett behind him or that he would certainly die at the first sign of a betrayal. Or both. Isan turned and thought he saw a movement then, reached up his arms and signaled to the druid that sat beneath the only tree in the entire valley. He raised his arms and a gentle green light enveloped the general area. Isan could see then that two score figures stood silently on the hill far to their east.
They wore thickly hammered, black shardmail armor that looked like a great burden, preventing them from kneeling but obviously not climbing. Isan slowly drew his bottom Tachi, with it coming a multicolored on white prism of light, and a floating line of twenty tiny blue crystals from his pack. He smiled at the wonderful feeling of power he had then, and revealed a great ruby from his sidepouch and levitated it in the air. The orbs came around and inside three began to glow a deep red fire, indicating it's feeding on the ruby. A tiny flame could be seen. Isan then pulled a gnarled looking ice corundrum from the same pack, and squeezed it gently, lighting four more of the orbiting crystals with a blue pattern of frost. The red orbs rose to orbit four feet from his head and the blue sunk to four feet from his knees. The empty ones circled his waist, and he suddenly looked very intimidating, multicolored orbs revolving easily all around him in perfecy rhythm; his dark eyes now reflecting the angelic light, the glint he found many years before in the underdark. The men revealed from somewhere in their massive armor an arm-length throwing spear each, and began descending the hill in an unseen manner, though Isan heard every footstep with clarity; even hearing the horse hooves from further away. As he eliminated from his mind any clutter, each shred of thought that might prevent him from slaughtering these soldiers with his disastrous will. One glinting orb raised to a point above his head, and the orbit of all the orbs changed then, spiraling up and conically back to normal. If Isan could perform each exercise Tuck had taught him, there would be few possibilities for survival in his presence.
Zain grunted painfully and tried to hold onto his bow. Something had crept into his mind, an evil provocation to fire his only arrow directly at Isan. Zain was a handsome elf that became a soldier only reluctantly, having been the most famous dancer among all the tribes of moon elves. Needless to say he had no problems enjoying himself, as elven women loved dancing with a fervency. He'd been an unvrivaled marksman, which landed him even more reluctantly into the gardens desertified, and absolutely most reluctantly into the cold, wet ground his heart lay beating against before a much colder, sorrowful hand seemed to grip it and crush it. Zain now lost presience of anything that made him happy, and knew only hatred. A clicking noise erupted from his mouth and his three closest fellows glanced quickly at him with surprise. Zain rose, pulled back hard on his string and grunted, firing at the back of Isan's head. Zain then spat blood and fainted. The elf next to Zain suddenly became very desperate, realizing the one they consider ultimately powerful and their only hope was a traitor. He screamed in terror, something very unlike the male elves of his tribe, and fired as well at Isan, then turned to sprint in retreat against the intense gust of wind coming from the hill occupied by only the crouching druid and a barren cyrpess tree. The seven other elves surrounding Zain fired at Isan and without a glance at their commander, Sun'nett, turned to run in terror. Sun'nett felt the fear like icy water on the back of his neck, but signaled for his men to fire where he knew some of the cockroaches approached from, and then to retreat. He used all his weight to scoop Zain's limp form onto his shoulder as he ran, without a look back to Isan.
The druid projected himself deeply into the mind of Isan, and the wind came harder down through the valley, beginning to roar and whine like the song of a dying wyvern. The arrows that sailed at Isan seemed to freeze in the wind although it blew directionally with their momentum, and hold fast within feet of the orbs circling him. Everything seemed to slow down in this wind that now carried with it tree trunks and brush from atop the hill at Isan's back. It took all the warrior's will to maintain the use of his circlet, through the distracting process of not flying off into the rocks with all his explosive orbs. Through all this, his will grew and grew, starting in his lower back and shocking his heart to a steady beat, washing across his insides up to his brain and then into the circlet, magnificent in it's way of increasing the will, the orbs began thier casual orbit in line around him, and he turned his head every so gently to look behind him right.
The druid on the hill now stood, arms waving with the limbs of the long dead cypress beside him. The wind seemed as if it would strip the bold half moon from the hill along with the below scarecrow looking figure was summoning the gusts.
Isan's orbs began one by one to fly off in the wind, his will suddenly drained greatly. He saw a wolf on the hill, a wolf from long ago, with tiny red eyes and purple tracers flying off them eerily. Shylock. He saw Aex and a rotten hand gripping Aex, shaking him and coaxing him to kill Isan when he was but twelve years old, sitting in a bird cage, far underground. He felt the claws of a great wolf raking his chest. He felt the act of destroying Aex coursing through his veins, and the orbs flew back into the wind with zealous fluidity and secured themselves at Isan's sides. This process sent Isan with the whirlwind around him to a place long in his past. His mind regressed, a quality erupting in him that had been subdued for a decade. He turned fully to face Shylock, pulsing with a virulency he'd realized was powerful when kept in check.
Shylock waved his hands and a slim bolt of lightening slilently flashed, completely out of anyone's perception of time, faster than any art. A man was seen falling in the low-light after the flash, his black armor releasing the smoke of his charred skeleton. Isan turned in a full circle, seeing himself close to a faintly glowing orange light, the glow emanating from torches enchanted with shadow to camouflage the black armor. Forty of this newfound enemy was within a spears throw to his left flank, having covered much ground in an impressive amount of time. This logic gave Isan's wiser, less uncontrollable brain some control. He realized with great amazement that this was not a dream this time, Shylock was fighting with him! He held up a hand, pointing at the cypress tree next to Shylock, and the four blue orbs surrounding his knees flew the thousand feet up the rocky slope to crash into the tree trunk and land the enchanting crystals against the mossy ground, still aglow with art.
Shylock stared at Isan but had been focusing his will completely into the clouds above him. He heard the crash of the orbs and left the silent, ominous clouds, turning to face the tree. Four glowing corundrums, his long lost treasure, lay before him. He'd realized he did well in listening to Tuck and picked one up, ignoring the sound of clanking metal he heard next to him. As a spear came flying for him and a guttural curse sounded from it's thrower, Shylock closed his eyes and faded into the crystal's regenerative aura.
The spear struck him in the side but seemed to crack into a surface much like it would had it hit the nearby cypress. It dripped with blood after it bounced off, but the wound looked like a scratch from a thorn. Suddenly a blue drop of liquid dripped from Shylock's hand out of the dense crystal it gripped. The drop splashed and the point of an intensely bright cone of light sprung up around Shylock, the base widening as it rose. Ghosts of animal like men spiraled around him and his face seemed to electrify with features of an owl and a hawk. He flashed his hands forward and shrieked like a horribly contorted bird cry. A great rumbling sound ended the noise and a twenty foot long snake struck out from nothing, it's fangs as long as a man's arms and unstoppably fast. It's maw snapped down on the spear throwing man, crushing his ribs fully and then fading to nothing, returning his muffled scream to audibility until it faded to a gurgle. Shylock saw through his ancient eyes the face of the man he was murdering, glaring orange and gold through his armor and the druid hated him truly. The long, straight dark hair of his face and his head emblematic of their cult-having been wrapped wire of gold, now bathed in blood. It felt like a cleansing storm for Shylock, who rarely left the corner of a tree to do so. He put his hands against the tree and the corundum in his hand shattered, the tree groaning with life and then turning to sheer ice, the branches now deadly sickles. The wind swirled around it and splintered it into a thousand pieces of shrapnel, becoming a cyclone of frost. It moved gently across the narrow hillside to envelope the two living Kygoals and the corpse of the other, cutting them into hundreds of peices in a barely visible blur. The ice splinters then pointed with the wind and shot down the hillside at Isan, all resembling the blue glow of the crystals that enchanted them. The gust of wind turned back into a cyclone around Isan's body, defending him from the spears the surrounding warriors threw, now only toothpicks in a great storm of much larger icicles. Isan willed all of his potential into the circlet, sending the ice with the orbs around him into a frenzy. The men that stood around him like doombringers moments before now became hopeless, falling to their knees and shaking their heads or standing through their final chance in awe. Their weapons fell to the floor and the Icicles fell upon them like a hundred longspears flung from the towering mountains far above them. The enchanted arrows from the elves rose up above and streamed back down in a symphony of helixes, they crashed into the necks and heads of the Kygoal commanders, whose presence was indetectable to senses but obvious to the psionic art. Isan's circlet glowed with the brilliant relfection of the entire battle, and the huge beam of light could be seen by the far off and mounted elves, speechless and silent in the wind as they watched what was visible.
A sinister hooked spear thrown by a veteran Kygoal warrior at full mounted charge was shattered by a bright red crystal ball. The warrior dove from his horse in a desperate move to dodge the next two that sped towards him. The horse and rider exploded into a ball of flame, seconds later unmoving and blackened.
Shylock was not visible on the hillside as Isan walked back to his horse, the same horse he'd escaped so many guards, dodged so many arrows and lived through so many battles on. He ignored the stares of all the shamed and gloriously impressed elves and smacked his horse playfull on the nose, giving a shrewd glance to Sun'nett. "Why do you not 'crush men in a single glance from your hooves, my equine equal?" the horse tossed it's head and Isan climbed atop it, riding back into the night without a thought as to how they'd fare in the morning, shelterless on the sweltering road and without an all powerful druid to guide them. He knew that is why the elves did not leave him in shame, and he knew some were still affected by the intense spell of fear that had befallen them. He simply waved them into line behind him and they followed, the ones unaffected by the spell trusting in him fully. Isan smiled, knowing Shylock to be an ally now, knowing Tuck to be wise beyond any description in aligning their forces. He hardly even regretted losing the blue Corundum crystals. He decided to take a break and get back to fighting with blades, to take some risks. Where better to do that than a volcano? |
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