Bay12, I have been gone for a while, mostly due to a fey mood known as "college". But I still love this community and want to start something awesome. I want to improve my writing skills, and even if it may not be the best way, it is easy and entertaining. Here's a story I wrote in roughly an hour. It is based on the Slavic Legend of Moroii:
Kevo said a small prayer to the snow as it was painted red by his kill. The young Viirmic did not enjoy killing, but he knew the spirit in his dagger did. Tivutli was engraved along the flat of the blade, Viirm for "purpose". As a spy and informant for the Rakran military, he carried more of his weapons in his head than at his side, but also knew that sometimes the latter is more useful than the former. His wrappings were sparse despite the bitter cold of the Viirm Winter, and his face covered in frost condensing from the northerly wind. As the final pulse from the soldier at his feet raced out, Kevo concluded his prayer and set about his task.
The man was at first glance typical of the northerner stereotype, tall and pale with slightly pointed ears and green eyes indicating faerie heritage. His stringy charcoal hair, however, pointed toward Rakran descent, though not enough to draw suspicion from the Zvej soldiers currently occupying the area. Grasped in one hand is his blade Tivutli and in the other a talisman. The talisman bore a scarab across it, surrounded by many more smaller ones. It is a symbol of Velik, Tyrant of the Plagues and it's use is forbidden in civilized lands.
A sense of calm and warmth embraced him as he skulked toward the Zvej watchtower, a sign of his bond resting calm in her home. He was far from Rakra, but the Viirmic bond cared not for distance. As long as she remained safe, he was capable of anything his profession required. After the incrimination is done, he started to think of the next ship toward Rakra, and in a few weeks he could be with his bond where he belonged.
The daydream was broken by a sharp pain in his side, as though a blade were driven through it. He would swear one has, were it not for the utter lack of any wound, let alone blade. He gasped and tried to focus his thoughts, as he was met with a surge of panic and dread. It was not entirely his own, and that made the fear much much worse. Something was happening to Faen, his bond had been stabbed! His progress through the snow ceased as he began to collect his options, knowing that there was no way he could rush to the aid of his love. He knew some Zvej spy had known of his operation, and had decided to strike a blow that could not be parried. The only option that remained was to push ahead, exact revenge, and pray that Faen remained safe.
The tower would have been easy enough to climb, were it not for the non-existent wound in his side. He passed through the lookout atop it undetected, catching a brief window between shifts where he would not be seen. He nearly gave his position after another surge of pain hit him. The ammunition deposit inside the top floor was big enough for him to hide behind while the now on-shift soldiers moved to the lookout, and he slipped behind them, just out of their periphery.
Then another wave of pain.
He slipped around the inner guard quartering.
Another wave of pain.
The door to the captain's quarter was slightly ajar, with no light from inside. Expecting another agonizing spear in his side, he clenched, but was left utterly unprepared for the sight inside. Maybe he was dying? His vision seemed hazy and warm, and the calm from earlier was there once more... He could even see Faen smiling through the door. Her mahogany hair just past her shoulder, pin just taken out. She was wearing the white silk gown he had acquired for her last time he moved through Prest.
"Faen? Why - why are you here?" he whispered, lucid enough to know the hallucination, but not enough to care.
"I'm here for you, love, I have a gift for you."
He was now kneeling, weak from his wound. The bandage around his stomach still red with old blood.
"Kevo, you really should return to bed, you shouldn't be up..." Her voice seemed far away. He considered he may be dreaming, but knew distantly that he had just awoke. Still, something about her seemed off, something seemed empty. But that was nothing compared to the horror of feeling her pain while they were separated by an ocean.
"What, what is the gift?" He managed, struggling with breath.
"I'm going to help you get better, I'm going to help you." She seemed a bit worried, as though she didn't really believe it herself.
"It's fine, dear. I hear the dirt calling me back. I'm not meant for this world any longer." Tears started to form on her eyes in disbelief.
"No! Don't listen to them. You need to stay with me! Please, bond to me again!"
He felt conflicted... It was tradition to end a bond before one dies, but what if he could heal? What if he could stay with her? He tried, but the bond opened slow. It wasn't like when they were first wed, it was cold, and he felt a horrible numbness begin to wash over him. Then the realization of what had happened dawned on him. It was the stuff of legends, Moroii don't exist. That belief wasn't enough to stop the bond. It was a corruption of the beautiful bond between lovers, a sacred ritual that left two souls bound together. This was a bond of emptiness, something that should not exist, and something malevolent with a will all on it's own. The hallucination cleared, but Faen remained there, the warm, hopeful smile replaced with an emotionless and near-dead look of predatory triumph. It couldn't be something as human as a wicked smile or a defiant laugh, just a stare as cold as the winter air.
He didn't feel scared any more. He didn't feel angry, he didn't feel the pain in his side. What he saw was some creature posing as his bond that had an opened wound on her side. His vision faded to grey, the sound of wind died down to an impossibly loud rushing river in his ears, and his mind moved slow and grasped at thoughts it couldn't reach. His heart beat slower and slower until he was trapped in an eternity between beats, no feeling, no thought, no sight of of light or dark. Nothing.
---
Faen let her thrall's corpse crumple to the ground, examining it with a curious yet ambivalent expression. She knew she needed this sort of feeding, but always hated it when the human emotions came washing back over her. This had gone on too long, she liked Kevo. He got things done. Unfortunately, she couldn't let him strike a blow this decisive against Zvej. The war was still in it's infancy, and if either side won now, it would be an utter waste. She knelt down, examined the talisman Kevo still clutched, and carried it with her as she planned her route back to Rakra.
How's about you other forumites post something you write in an hour? Something to get creative juices flowing, something to improve yourself a little. No need to be embarrassed, otherwise I wouldn't have posted something unrefined like this. It's simply what I could do in an hour.
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Topic: Shotgun Writing - 1 Hour Challenge! (Read 668 times)