BUMP
Edit: Lemme make this better...
The fields of summer were choked in a wild growth of roses. Living roses.
Conra grimaced as one tried to tangle around her left front leg in a thorny embrace-to mire her down, make her an easier target for the enemy archers-or their keen eyed hawkmen, who wheeled above, twirling their pikes-ready to swoop down upon even the smallest weakness in their line, like a vine creeping between a stone castles foundations. She hacked away at it once, twice-a third blow and she considered somewhat morbidly how expendable her leg might be. Then the powers of the Summer mages flowed forth-all they could muster, and the ground cracked and dried. The root became brittle, and she broke it with a final, heavy strike. Their lines of infantry collided-Summers soldiers, fighting tooth and claw and flame, against the green horde, a living thing of choking vines and wooden, clubbed fists. A foe that healed as quickly as it could be cut down. Summer charged, and Spring formed a barrier, awaiting them eagerly. Flames leapt high in response.
...
Surveying the battlefield with dismay. She wiped a clawed hand to her scaly forehead. Bleeding. Red-gold blood. Her blood. She stopped to pick a few of the large, hooked thorns that had cunningly dug themselves into the soft spots between her scales. If not removed promptly, they would begin to seed, and burrow. And then feed on the tender blood beneath. She grunted. How many friends had she lost in this very battle? Agikos, she had seen, buried under the roses...choking, dying...and later, she would mourn him, for they had been mates. Now she would fight, and sing her dirge in the sweeps of her claws, burying her grief in greenblood.
It was summers way to attack-to lead the charge. Spring favored the defense. Usually, they broke even. today was different. Summers magics were sapped-weakened. Springs champions, fresh and strong, were stronger than ever before. They had been able to conserve their strength, since Winter was in chaos. The balance was askew...and certainly, if Summer failed, then Autumn would be unopposed-leading to the same dire predicament for winter.
Then she supposed the final sides left would battle one another. The winner wouldn't matter. The mortal worlds that were tended by the quasi-mystical balance of the Feywold would be devastated. And yet they could not stop-none of them could. Anymore than a blizzard may choose where to blow, or a tide may have a choice of when to go in and out. No, their natures would compel them onward, this was their duty and curse-even to the end of the world. Even to the end of all worlds.
The soldiers of spring kept advancing.
...
The roses began creeping forward again, not long after the charge had been beaten back-a blanket of red death, barely abated, now resuming full force. As relentless as the seasons.
Reluctantly, angrily, with some degree of thanks, Conra heard the call to retreat. A ring and flourish of brass gongs. She obeyed. Some did not-those chosen to guard the retreat. Conra did not yet wish to follow her mate into death, and so she obeyed.
Her kind does not have the luxury of weeping over the lost.
...
The palace of summer was a place of golden light and high beauty. Here the sun evershone on reflective yellow crystal. Here was the center of their power-and, Conra thought, what may eventually be their final redoubt. Today their was no revel or pageantry in the halls. All were moving with great purpose. Armsmen marched to and fro-Dracotaurs warriors, Djinn Commanders, Monstrous Fire Giants, so many more. The wounded brought in great caravans, to be healed-and tossed back into the fray.
Her task was different however. She was arrayed in the main hall with at least two hundred and fifty fellow warriors. Their queen-so beautiful she would burn away the sight of any who gazed upon her too long. She spoke quietly, somberly. No victory could be achieved through force of arms. For all the valiance of Summer, it could not resist indefinitely. The Spike needed to be found-returned to Winter. And kept out of the hands of either Spring or Autumn. If not...
...
Feynerial was the great Winter Wolf-the progenitor of all his kin, from large to small. He had faithfully kept watch over his homes snowy peaks and hills for longer than entire empires of men had rose and fall. As was winters way, he kept to himself-only rising to stop the occasional pillaging of anyone foolish enough to cross him, or to otherwise seek prey in warmer climes.
It so happened, eons before, that Spring had sent it's most potent weapon forth-the Grand Oak Locksb. Wise and terrible, Evergreen. The herald of the fall of summer, so it had been said. By chance, he strayed in Feynerials hunting grounds...and was brought to heel...but, what is everliving may never truly die. The Grand Oak would surely have returned, and the Great Winter Wolf was tired and wounded heavily. At last he drove one of his teeth into the Oaks heart-the Spike of Feynerial. Then, as the Oak was sent to troubled dreams, he went into his den to rest. A balance to everything.
Were it not for the mortals-whose free wills could be so very troublesome-surely, Locksb would have slumbered. Now he was awake-and Feynerial still slept, tending his wounds.
Locksb was causing great devastation in the lands of Winter, with no great power to counter him, And, like a single weakened link an iron chain...
...
The Queen bade them to find the spike, before all was lost.
They would be sent-with little hope of rescue or aid, to all corners of many mortal worlds. Anywhere a rumor or omen appeared, they would follow it. Many expected never to return home. But they all went...willingly. In truth, those like Conra, whose loyalty was unquestionable, had an aching desire to see these mortal lands-their dangers and delights. Without Agikos, who had traveled with her so many miles, and through so much...perhaps the lands of the Feywold would never again hold the wonder they once did, to her.
It was a true adventure, perhaps the last one for her and all her kind.
Just enough bitter romance to make a fitting quest, for a Knight of Summer.
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Topic: Spellbreakers! RtD. What shall we do with this story? (Read 13748 times)