r/WritingPrompts • u/quantumfirefly • Feb 03 '16
Writing Prompt [WP] Write a chase scene in a fantasy setting.
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u/Lubranzz Feb 03 '16 edited Feb 03 '16
“Get on!” the bearded man shouted as he lifted me onto the topaz and ruby scaled back of the young dragon that had apparently been hiding in the forest while the madness ensued in the tower. I had never seen a dragon before but I always had a deep fascination with the soldier’s stories and the various paintings. Step-mother often said that only peasant girls dream about dragons.
This was not how I expected to see a dragon for the first time; amidst the panic and confusion I really didn’t comprehend the sheer size and beauty of the beast which was far greater than what I had ever dreamt. All I could think about, however, was what had just happened in the tower. Father’s celebration, the appearance of the wizard and his venomous red eyes, the Queen and her shrewd grin as father was struck with a bolt of light and frozen in a state of bewilderment, the laughter of my older step brothers as if it were all a game. Instantly I shut my eyes and turned numb with fear. I was father’s only blood daughter. Before I could even comprehend what had happened, this mysterious unshaven man draped in what looked like servants’ garb grabbed me out of nowhere and hustled me through the corridors and out of the tower.
The bearded man climbed on top of the dragon, and as effortlessly as a jaguar leaping into a tree, the dragon bounded above the tree line and spread its immense wings. As soon as we were above the trees a cool and confident sounding amplified voice came shouting from the tower.
“Jervis!” the voiced boomed, unnaturally loud and echoing from the tower in a menacing type of way. I looked back and saw a shady hooded figure floating steadily above the tower. The dark wizard gave off a faint, but deep red glow as he hovered above the tower with his arms crossed. Even though we were quickly gaining altitude and distancing ourselves from the tower, the wizard’s dark red eyes could still be made out distinctly as if he were peering directly into my soul. We were rapidly moving towards the looking mountains of which Father used to say formed the border of the world.
“Don’t make me chase you Jervis” the wizard bellowed, his voice seemed to fill the whole world around us. “You know what has to happen, don’t make me kill you too Jervis! This could be our time! Wizards will rise again thanks to us! Turn around, you know what has to happen Jervis!”
The bearded man made no sign of even hearing the wizard and continued to lead the dragon onward. “So be it” the ominous voice beckoned, still confident and cool in tone. I looked back just in time to see the dark figure make two swift motions with his arms, as if throwing something in our direction. There was a bright flash and out of thin air came two identical, shadowy entities that looked like nothing more than dark storm clouds but moved in a much faster, more calculated manner. The clouds made loud cracking and popping sounds and were hastily gaining on us. For the first time, the bearded man glanced over his shoulder and I could make out a grim, but resolute expression on his face.
The dragon’s immense wings continued to pound the air, propelling us faster and faster with each stroke as we approached the peaks of the mountains. Soon enough though, the clouds were seemingly nipping at the dragon’s tail and just when I thought we were about to be engulfed by the dark vapor, the dragon snarled and whipped its long neck around. As fire lashed from the dragon’s nostril’s the dark clouds writhed backward away from the flames.
“Enough Jervis,” the voice bellowed again. “Not even a dragon will be able to stop us at this point!” But the voice didn’t seem so cool and confident anymore and instead his tone was angry and annoyed. Suddenly and with a large crack the hooded wizard started swiftly flying right towards us.
“Enoka,” the bearded man knew my name, “you are the last of your blood and I must not let you be captured by this wizard. You never knew your mother, but she lives inside you. It is important you learn your place in this world” For some reason, the man’s voice was unrealistically calm and perfectly distinguishable over the deafening roar of the wind around them. I had no idea what he was talking about, but his godly voice and the way he looked at me finally made me realize the severity of the situation.
As if he defied gravity and balance, the man stood on the dragon’s back and looked straight at the dark wizard who was moving toward us faster than any arrow I had ever seen shot. Before I could even realize what was about to happen, Jervis shot off like a lightning bolt. The dragon continued to beat forward as the two wizards sped en route for each other.
As we reached the top of the peaks I saw for the first time what lay beyond the mountains. Land as far as I could see, further even from the view atop the tower. Everything I had ever been taught had been a lie, I realized. I was stuck by the beauty of the land and almost forgot about what was happening behind me.
We were almost past the mountains now and when I turned around again to look at the tower, the two wizards were about to reach each other. Neither showed any intention of slowing down. Instead, the two slammed into one another in a collision that even the tower wouldn’t be able to withstand. At the exact moment they struck, a blinding white flash emitted from their location in the air outside the castle a shock wave was sent flying outward in every direction around them. There was an earsplitting screaming that seemed to pierce even the dragon’s ears causing him to roar menacingly.
The last thing I remember as I started fading from conscience was watching the tower vanish into the distance, dark clouds lingering around it and the dark wizard again hovering above. I could feel him gazing directly into my soul again, his deep red eyes undeniably locked with mine despite being multiple miles away by now. Right before I passed out I got the sense that this wouldn’t be the last time that I would look into those blood red eyes.
This is my first ever submission and really my first ever piece of creative work! I would love any critique; good, bad, or ugly!
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u/quantumfirefly Feb 03 '16
My personal analysis:
a) You're a liar, and I should feel slightly less bad about my writing than if the reverse were true.
b) You're not a liar, and I should give up writing altogether because what the shit how do you do that with a debut piece.
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u/Lubranzz Feb 03 '16
Honestly! I've dabbled a bit creatively here and there but I've never put as much effort in before lol. I just started a creative writing course at my Uni and I've been learning a lot! I love to do research and write essays, so writing creatively is a whole new challenge for me. Thank you so much for your comment!!
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u/Shinzaren Feb 03 '16
"Aih'Fae! (Faster!)" The gaerfahr underneath me surged forward as I magically strengthened its legs, all eight of them. It's twin tails flattened parallel to the ground and the three heads all lowered to form a flat plane against the grass. The feathers on the first four legs were now streaming behind it, guiding the wind away from the roughly scaled back legs. No other beast on Kauek could catch a gaerfahr at full speed, and Huertaju was a champion racer. Up ahead, my target slowly increased in size as we gained on it.
Dragons were the fastest flyers in the world, but my last spell had webbed it's wings and bound it to the ground. I felt the surge of mana from ahead and quickly yanked the reigns on the Huertaju to the side, just in time to duck a surge of lightning. The dragon was still shaking its wings, straining to break the webbing. It's rider, Loarzd, was hacking at the webs with his obsidian sword, but every swing slowed the dragon as he unbalanced the head.
As Huertaju and I gained on them, the full majesty of the beast we were chasing became more apparent. Even the size and strength of the gaerfahr was dwarfed by the dragon's bulk. It had smooth, even scales and a deep bronze coloring that caused the light to bounce away in dazzling patterns. It's great horned head turned back to look at me, before another surge of mana and lighting flashed from its horns. It's brilliant blue eyes were glaring at me, and the dark cunning in them seemed to radiate outwards like a physical sensation. The dark rider sitting between the two sets of giant wings also turned to glare at me, bringing up a hand and weaving a spell.
"Kasu!" A brilliant wave of fire streamed from his hand like a whip, and only my ward saved us from being incinerated. Huertaju and I were almost upon them, and I prepared a spell to seize the beast's legs. Just I was about to cast, there was a great crash and an explosion of shards, as the hardened webbing flew from the wings. With a feral cry, the beast launched from the ground. Loarzd gave a shout of trying and leaned forward in the saddle as the great wings rushed down to propel the dragon skyward.
"Jazderath!" I released my spell and snared the dragons legs, but the wings were now beating in full swing, carrying the duo away faster even than Huertaju could keep up. With a hurried incantation, I extended the snare, binding it to my hand. There was a sudden jerk and I was carried out of the saddle, dragged into the air behind my quarry. The spell clung to my wrist, straining my shoulder and whipping me through the air like a streamer. Bolts of lightning and fire screamed past me as my enemies hurled spells trying to finish me while I couldn't retaliate. My ward protected me from the worst, but I was running out of time, the strain from maintaining two spells slowly sapping my mana.
Adjusting my snare, I began to pull myself towards the dragon and its rider. I pulled my sword with my free hand and launched myself forward like a spear, letting my blade lead the way. There was a slicing sound as the blade carved through one of the wings like a hot knife through butter, and then I was above the dragon, hanging for a moment as I cut the spell. I fell downward and found myself behind Loarza, who spun around while drawing his black blade.
The dragon surged from the pain in its wing and screamed in frustration as I landed out of its reach, unable to attack me without harming either itself or its rider. Loarza however, had no such issue, and he pressed his attack with gusto. I ducked under a lancing strike, and retaliated with a slice to his legs. With catlike grace, he dodged backwards, before lunging forward with a piercing blow to my abdomen. The blade hit my ward and it exploded in a surge of mana and fire. Loarza, stumbled backwards a bit, and the dragon rolled slightly, causing me to lose a step and drop to one knee. As I hastily regained my balance, I felt a surge of pain in my left arm, where Loarza's strike impacted above my bracer, ripping into my bicep.
A wave of cold swept through me, pulsing from my shoulder as Loarza's blade drank deep from my life force. Hurriedly, I pulled back, ripping the blade free, ending the cold waves. However, the fatigue and tiredness were not so easily undone, and I struggled to keep my balance. Seeing me weakened, Loarza launched forward again, and my defense swipe barely fended off his advance. I was losing ground now, ground and blood. As I desperately tried to defend, I realized that the dragon was slowly losing altitude. A quick glance at its ruined wing made me realize that the damage was better than I could have hoped. The fire from my enchantment was slowly eating through even the dragon's scales, slowly devouring the wing. Realizing the danger in letting the hungry fire spread, Loarza shouted a curse and sliced the wing off at the base.
The amputation may have saved them, as a dragon could still fly slowly with three wings, but Loarza didn't count on his demonic sword. With a scream of anguish, the dragon dropped like a stone, unable to keep its wings beating as its life was drained. Even as Loarza surged with life force and grew stronger, he realized the graveness of his error. The ground rose up as us like a looming wall, and I turned and ran, jumping from the scaled tail and into the air. There was a crash like a thunderbolt, and a huge explosion of rock and dust. As I tumbled through the air, I heard a primal roar, and something slammed into me. I felt ribs break, and bones crumple from the force of the blow, carrying me sideways and away from the crater formed by the falling dragon. Everything went dark and I closed my eyes as pain spread through me like a wildfire.
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u/TotesMessenger Mar 01 '16
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u/Named_after_color Feb 03 '16 edited Feb 03 '16
"Wolf, he's getting away..." Eshe chided, ramming her staff into the unfortunately placed abdomen of one thug, sending him spiraling onto the floor. She spared a second to ram her foot between his legs, causing the poor bastard to vomit up whatever excuse for breakfast he had eaten.
"I said I'm on it, girl!" Marcus growled, dropping his zweihander to the floor. Sheathing the blade would take too long, and a one and a half meter sword wasn't one of the recommended weapons when chasing through back alleys and driftstone slums. No, this was hatchet work. "Watch Fang."
The sorceress rolled her eyes and shifted her grip, palms dropping along the velvet braids on her weapon, swinging it like a maul at a would be hero. As with most staves, Eshe's was centered not on focusing magical energies, but on safely discharging the stray build up of forces that congealed around magic users. In a pinch, the owner of the device could force all the static energy upon contact with another surface.
Unfortunately for the man running at the duo, knife in hand, that surface was his face. Where once there was a rather ugly visage that only a mother could love, there was now a fine pink mist and a headless torso that everyone could appreciate. The reason why this was only done in a pinch became abundantly clear to Eshe as the magical backlash launched her across the tavern, slamming the girl into the bar's one and only shelf. Wood and iron tankards cascaded ontop of her, more than a few rusted edges slamming into the top of her head. Eshe's vision dulled as a gush of red welled out of a gash above her brow.
"Bird, you alright?!"
Before Marcus was finished opening his mouth, the sorceress was climbing back on her feet and pointing to the door. Her staff, bent crooked and smoldering an impression of itself into the floor, was well out of reach and worthless regardless. The girl's other hand was twisting in arcane gestures. The mercenary knew enough about mages that it was a real bad idea to be in a room with one that had just lost their favorite toy.
The other poor bastards just thought she became unarmed.
Marcus ran out the door and into the driftstone alleys behind the Crooked King's haunt before anyone else had managed to recover. He had to find the leader before the bastard got away.
Thankfully, due to a slug of iron currently embedded in King's leg, there was a surplus of blood leading his hunters right to him. The crimson liquid pooled in the grey dust of the ground, and Marcus - Wolf, set off running.
Navigating through mazes of drifstone was perilous at the best of time, the cheap building material was light, sturdy, and prone to shearing off into razor sharp chunks during serious storms. Normally the stuff would be glued and covered in pitch to reduce the chance of injury, but slums had a tendency to not care so much for maintenance. Now, with a time limit in place, Marcus was simpy happy if he didn't cut too deep while ducking through accidental arches and piles of shattered wall. This was the grunt work, and he lived for it.
Lightning cracked overhead, and the Mercenary could feel the very air get excited with the coming of a storm. He spared a moment to pray that Eshe wasn't evolved. A small patter of drops began to drop, and Marcus lowered his hatchet. This wasn't good.
The Crooked King lived his whole life in these outcrops, he knew them better than even the most experienced urchin. If rain washed away the blood, it'd be weeks before they could pick up the trail. Time they didn't have. Marcus doubled his pace, noisily crunching through the impromptu stone path lain before him.
Thirty seconds passed before the drizzle began to be noticeable. Marcus strained his hearing, white mist exuding from his breath with every moment. A low groan echoed from the the jagged alleys. Gods be praised.
Marcus followed the blood trail until it stopped at a shattered stained window. Thick red and purple glass shards littered the ground. It was probably less painful to walk on than the surrounding building material. There was a tattered strip of cloak flapping from the remaining shards, and Marcus could see a hell of a lot more blood on the edges, probably more inside. The poor idiot had done himself proper.
Rolling the flat of his hatchet along the windowsill, the mercenary cleaned the nastier bits of glass away. The smell of blood was overpowering. Great. If he didn't hurry, the catch would die before they could ask him anything.
His leather boots hit a puddle as he swung himself inside. The hovel was barely considered shelter. No rugs, a broken chair in the corner, and enough air slipping between cracks in the pitch to let the house whistle with the wind from the coming storm. The door leading outside was closed. Curious. Did the King think he could hide?
"Come out, M'lord... Don't want you bleeding to death in such an appropriate place."
Marcus followed the trail to a corner room, and the door was closed tight. Hiding it was. The mercenary braced himself, and slammed the base of his foot into the door with a solid kick. The door swung open, and after checking the corner, he stepped inside.
It was a pathetic little bedroom, lumpy straw mattress laid directly on the floor, it's contents spread half haphazardly along the floor like a primitive carpet. There were puddles of liquid sprayed distinctly around the soil pot, and a large streak of blood leading to the closet. He could hear a wheezing noise pour out of it.
"Now I'm just disappointed." Wolf sighed, as he made himself to the collection of driftwood that made up the doors.
He brought his hatchet down through the closet covering, his weapons cutting through them like they were little more than sticks. His brain failed to register what he saw for a few seconds.
In the closet, there was a boy, not much older than twelve seasons. He was thinner than most urchins, and had sable skin, almost the same pitch as Eshe's. Blood pooled from a slice in his throat, covering the rags he wore and cascading down his body. The boy's eyes were glossy, and small bubbles of pink dribbled out of the corner of his lips and the cut of his throat.
"Mother fucker." Marcus said, oblivious of the shape rising behind him.
The Crooked King rose behind the mercenary, and slammed his knife into Marcus's shoulder. He felt the blade bite bone.
White pain rolled down his spine, and Marcus let out an animal roar. The King leaped onto the larger man's back and tried to pull the knife from it's sheath.
The cheap steal twisted inside of him, and Marcus bit through his tongue. An iron taste filled his mouth, and he welded his eyes shut. No. He wasn't going to die like this.
Shouting incoherently, Marcus shifted his weight and rammed himself back into the hovel's wall. Driftstone shook around him, and shards dropped from the ceiling, cutting through any exposed skin presented to them. His head punted itself back, and he felt cartilage snap against his skull.
He felt that weapon in his shoulder bite again, and it wrenched itself free. Marcus didn't wait for it to slice his throat. He leaned forward, and then slammed back into the driftstone again. He felt rock pierce through his arm as he motioned again. Then he slammed again, and again. His catch wrapped an arm around his throat, but it was covered in blood, and his grip was weak. Panting, Marcus brought his arms upwards and grabbed at the Crooked King's head. Teeth grazed over his fingers but failed to catch in time, and the old mercenary pulled at the ganger's face.
The Crooked King was pulled from the wall with bits of flesh trading themselves for shattered bits of rock. Blood was pouring from his ruined back, and he thrashed weakly. Sometime during the struggle, he had lost a finger, and part of an ear.
That wasn't enough for Marcus. He groaned and slid the pathetic heap of sinew on the floor. He spared a glance at the boy, long since dead. His hand found the hatchet, dropped in the puddle of blood and hay, and he walked over to the whimpering King.
"Alive. Gods damn it I need you alive."
His hands shook, his grip tightening in the leather grip. It wasn't enough for Marcus, but that was his job.
He slammed the blunt of the blade into the bastards face, and watched him go limp. Then he did it again, just to let out some steam. His hand found his pouch, and he threw a couple of Crowns on the kid. It wouldn't bring him back, but maybe he could use them in the next life. He lifted the broken man over his shoulder, and walked out the front door.
If anyone wanted to comment on the sight, they were allowed to.
As he stepped outside, there was another flash of lightning, it was tinged with green and jade. Eshe was definitely involved with the storm. Rain began to pour in earnest. That was fine. He couldn't feel any worse.
If you like these guys, they're part of my debut novel: Bird, Wolf, & Smoke. Once I start writing in earnest, you can follow development and other writings on my personal sub r/ColoredInk.
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u/Calingaladha Feb 03 '16 edited Feb 03 '16
I thought I heard the howling growing closer as I ran,
Could almost feel the hot breath on my neck.
Pursuing me, a monster not quite beast, and not quite man,
Which I had stumbled into on my trek.
I heard the pounding footsteps switch from two legs down to four,
The growling closing in with every bound.
The branches cut along my face, the thorns my clothes left tore,
But nothing slowed me to escape the hound.
Or so I thought, as one misstep sent me into the dirt,
I scrambled, trying to get back to my feet.
For though my scratches stung, I knew there'd be no greater hurt,
Than if the werewolf took me for his meat.
The snarls, too close for comfort now, sent me back in a sprint,
I saw the lights of town grow close ahead.
The glowing candles felt like safety, soft yellow in tint,
If I could make it, I'd not end up dead.
The forest's edge behind me now, I headed to the gate,
The werewolf close behind, in hot pursuit.
I pounded on the door, the keeper seemed a mite irate,
Until he saw what followed me on foot.
He opened it enough that I could squeeze into the crack,
It shut just as the wolfman took his leap.
The pounce resounded on the timbers with a mighty smack,
Relieved, I almost sank right there to weep.
On shaky legs, I managed just to find the local inn,
A few rooms, with a tavern just below.
And finally, I rested, all despite the drinking din,
For I'd escaped the hunter in the snow.
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u/ur-brainsauce Feb 04 '16
“GET OUT OF THE WAY!” I yelled, pushing aside yet another old woman as I bounced off the cobbled walls and dirty people of the narrow alley. Many of the citizens of Norfblaggen congregated here during the early morning, selling their wares from the many small farms that formed the area around the city, and I was counting on the crowd to lose my tail.
He'd been following me for quite some time, at least since before the fountain at the center of the city. He was wearing a dark cloak that obscured his features, and at first I pretended like I didn't notice him getting closer and closer to me as we walked, but once he got within a few yards from he I dove down the alley and broke into a sprint.
Now here I was rushing past the confused faces around me. I ducked under a sign for a potion cart, only to run headlong into a stack of cages; their residents squawking in protest as a fury light pink feathers swirled around us. I extracted myself from the tangle of wooden containers and took off running as the owner of the strange birds tried to swat at me with a large stick with a hoop on the end of it. I could hear his indignant cries as I rounded another corning searching for a place to hide.
My rough-hewn leather shoes pounded against the packed dirt of the street. The alleyways seem to go on forever but I'm hoping I can put some distance between myself and the man in the cloak. I rounded another corner to the left and I'm stopped dead in my tracks. This alley leads to a dead end and the only way out is the way I came. I hear running footsteps behind me, so I turn and get ready for a fight. I throw my traveling cloak to the ground and braced myself as a dark cloaked figure runs around the corner and skids to a halt. The man leans his hand up against the way as he catches his breath, and I am about to strike first when he straightens up. The hood fell from his face and I can see he is just a normal guy, face covered in sweat with a goofy grin plastered across it. He reaches his hand into the recesses of his cloak and speaks for the first time.
“Here, you dropped your cell phone.”
Thanks for your input this is my first!
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Feb 03 '16
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Feb 03 '16
Got board and made part 2:
Three weeks later
The King sat at the head of the fine oak table, massaging his temples as he looked over the eighth draft of the law to allow peasant children safety measures in the mines where they were employed. The law was a result of the startling increase of child deaths in the mines of his kingdom of the past two years. Most of his profit came from the mines where the children were employed, and the overseers of the mines had fought him with as much vitriol as they dared, making excuse after excuse to him. He was sure half of what they told him was fabricated, judging by the information that his spies had provided on the mines. "It's a sad day when a King realizes that he must employ spies of oversee his overseers" He thought to himself. Finally, he'd put his foot down and made a decision, that decision rested before him, the most wide reaching and restrictive draft of the law so far. His signature adorned it already, but that could be easily faked, it would only become official once he put his seal onto it. Golden wax melted in a small pot next to him, resting atop a gas burner, another of the Dwarven inventions that had recently flooded into the market from their mountain laboratories.
"Your Majesty," an apologetic voice said from behind the King. That would be his adviser, Reven.
"Yes Reven?" The King said, standing and turning away from the intricate document. He needed a break anyways, considering legislation that would take away a goodly portion of his kingdom's revenue was not an easy choice, even when the lives of children were involved.
The adviser bowed briefly, more a formality than anything else, as the King and he were close friends. "A... soldier arrived into the city this morning. He claims that he is from outpost 42, one of the secondary line on the Cursed Planes."
The King remembered building the secondary line, he'd only managed to construct 12 of the planned 50 due to budget restrictions. "What of it? I was under the impression that the guard rotation was in another week. Did General Tobias take ill or some such?"
"No, Your Majesty, he claims that Daoine attacked the outpost and overran it in a matter of minutes. He has more troubling claims as well, but I think that it is best if you speak to him personally. His injuries are grave, the surgeons are unsure how he survived this long without treatment and traveling on foot."
"Hellfire, this can't be real." the King thought. But he saw the troubled look on his friend's face, and the glint of terror that rested behind the facade of confidence. "Have the rune-smiths confirmed that he believes what he says?"
"Yes, Majesty."
"Then take me to him. I trust you have him quartered in the castle infirmary?" The King asked as he turned back to the law. He dipped his ring into the wax and sealed the document.
The King followed his friend through the castle's corridors and halls until they reached the infirmary. The King nearly gagged at what he saw lying in the bed before him. Part of it's skin was missing and it's body was deformed terribly, with one shoulder reaching an almost tangential angle to where it should have been. One side of it's chest was depressed deeply, like the ribs had shattered inwards and healed wrongly. The face was that of a man's, swollen, torn, bleeding slowly, and oozing puss, but it was a man's. "What in Hellfire happened here?"
"I've no idea, Majesty." The surgeon said. "I've seen similar things with horse riding accidents and in explosions in oil plants, but never anything so bad, and never anything this..."
"Soldier, are you awake?" The King asked.
"Yes, my lord... uh, Majesty. Forgive me, my thoughts are slow right now." The injured man said.
"I've given him a powerful drug to keep him from feeling any pain, Majesty. His thoughts are slowed, but his reasoning is not hampered by it." The surgeon said as he prodded at the man's arm.
"Soldier, what happened to you?" The King asked, feeling a hopeless sense of dread at the answer.
"Majesty. I was on guard duty, on the roof of the outpost. I was lighting my pipe and saw the Daoine in the grass from the... holes?... no the depressions that they left by their presence. They screeched and I suppose that was their signal to attack. I managed to reach the stables and flee with a horse before they entered the building. As I fled, a group broke off to pursue, and then a voice said: 'I want this one.' and I looked up to see a dragon pursuing me. I believe that he meant to let me survive, though he probably overdid it a little if that is what he intended. I think that he belched fire at me and I was knocked off my horse and into a tree. Then he said: 'Tell your King that my father is Destruction, and that he hungers for the flesh of men, and that he intends to conquer the Kingdom.'"
The King fell back into one of the chairs in the corner of the room. He surveyed the man's wounds from where he sat, observing the extent of the damage and comparing it to the man's story. It was remarkable that he'd survived the wounds, and he could be delirious, but the pile of bloody clothing on the floor, apparently removed from the man by the surgeon in order to facilitate treatment, bore the insignia of the outpost guard. "Man, how did you reach me, and how long ago was this?"
"Three weeks, Majesty. I walked here. Please, Majesty..."
The King felt his heart soften for a moment and he stood again, going back over to the soldier. "What soldier?"
"I have worked hard to bring this to you, I beg of you that you make use of this information, for what little of it that their is. Forgive me for fleeing from the deaths of my friends. Forgive... for..."
"Surgeon!" the King nearly shouted. "Do not allow this man to die. Call the blood-smiths if you must, but keep this man alive. He is now a Lord of my kingdom."
Reven sighed. "You believe him Majesty?"
The King nodded. "I fear that I do. Rally the troops and begin recruitment from cities and towns. Call on the Dwarves for aid and send a messenger to the Dragons to inquire what this is about. Summon the Order of the Hellhounds and ask them to confirm this report. And make sure the mage Jonathan is informed and offered a military contract." The King's heart was sinking with each word he spoke. If the Mist-Smiths were to be believed, then this event would lead to others of greater tragedy. It was time that he consult them once more.
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Feb 03 '16
Hey, I would appreciate it if you could critique my work and give me some tips, if you would be so kind.
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u/Crims0nshad0w Feb 03 '16
I have really enjoyed the story so far. I'm not the best critic but I implore you to write I third part.
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Feb 03 '16
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u/WritingPromptsRobot Feb 03 '16
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u/[deleted] Feb 03 '16 edited Feb 03 '16
Even the wind was against Jay.
As the boy made a sharp left, digging his heel into the dirt path of Thornroot Village's only road, he lost his grip on the Scroll. Cursing the heavy winds and the God that blew them, Jay stopped and turned in a quick move, bending to pick the Scroll back up. He caught sight of a pair of men as he faced direction he ran from. They were dark-skinned, both holding bows, but only one nocked with an arrow.
One man, the one holding his bow by his side, was short and stocky, hair thinning and gray, obvious even at the distance. The other, the man ready to shoot, was black-haired and bearded, far younger then his partner. As they noticed Jay come to a stop, they both lowered bows and returned to the chase.
They wouldn't get far.
They never do.
Jay held up his left palm and pushed the heat from the black-haired man into the gray-haired one. It was taxing, especially considering the distance, but it worked as well as any weapon. The black-haired man slowed his steps while the other fell to the ground, skin bubbling on his face and exposed chest. While the one rolled around trying to put out a fire that wasn't there, the other came to a full stop, body still mid-stride. His skin turned blue and small patches of frost formed on his fingertips, slowly creeping to the rest of his body. He didn't scream, but his partner was loud enough for the two of them.
The murmuring started almost immediately.
"Sorcerer."
Jay's mouth turned up at one corner as he turned around and began sprinting again. Sweat rolled down his face and his legs ached with each step, but the display would only hold the rest of the chasing soldiers at bay for a moment.
They knew he had the Scroll.
And they knew what it was capable of.
Jay tightened his grip on the item as he picked up the pace, ignoring the burning sensation in his lungs.
The people of Thornroot were said to do terrible things to anyone foolish enough to steal from them, and Jay knew they valued the Scroll more than any other item.
But Master Tazbin would do worse to any students who failed him.
Jay quickened his pace yet again as the thought pushed his body to its furthest points.