Author's Foreword: As a long time fan of Dwarf Fortress, I have begun writing Fan Fiction that I would like to read. Thanks for any feedback!
Two warriors faced each other across a vast expanse of heavy snow. One, clothed in a sheer robe of flowing white, stood poised atop a weather laden shrine. He held his hands out loosely for balance and the curved blade of his sword stayed secure at his side in its simple bamboo sheath. The other warrior’s dark armor glinted in the fading light. He gripped bare steel in both of his armored hands and called to the robed figure across the calm, flat mountain plane.
“Fight me, you fool! I have come to put an end to the prophecy!” the guttural proclamation rang out from the short, stout figure into the silence of the snowy mountain. The only answer he received was the rustling of his black shroud concealing his face.
Raising his sword over his head, the armored man charged headlong at the shrine and bellowed with rage. As he charged forward, he found himself thinking back on the words of his sword master. The armored warrior could almost hear the old man’s gruff words as he charged.
Strike without form.
The point of dueling is to kill your opponent.
His sword master was full of such truisms and just as much practical advice to go with them; now he thought of his sword master the way most men might think of their own family in their final moments. His years of training and experience in the Warrior’s Arena were, after all, all he had after his dwarven father had died.
Legs coiling like springs, the armored warrior tore through the air, hurtling up and over the shrine. His sword sliced through the air where the robed man had been just moments ago before his momentum carried the warrior clear to the other side of the shrine. His heavy armor crunched through the thick layers as the warrior rolled and quickly tried to recover to face his opponent. By the time he had turned, however, his adversary already had the point of his blade pressed against the armored warrior’s neck. The warrior felt his lip twitch with annoyed admiration: he hadn’t even seen the robed man move.
Glancing over his shoulder, the armored man took note of the sheer icy drop just a few steps behind him that led into the depths of the Great Ocean below. In an instant, his annoyance dissolved into utter despair. He had trained years for this moment and had wasted his one chance to kill the object of his revenge. Yet he would not yield and, turning away from the edge of the cliff, the warrior faced his coming death. The robed acolyte didn’t flinch at the sight of the warrior’s burning glare of hatred.
‘How simple it would be to end his life here… Cast him down to break his body on the glacial rocks far below. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slain opponents that came to challenge the Death Clan’s superiority at the shrine, the robed warrior thought to himself, Yet this one… He is not like the goblin tribes who seek to undermine the Necromancer’s rule in favor of their own. This one… Clearly had a grudge,’ and that final thought piqued his curiosity.
Taking advantage of his opponent’s moment of hesitation, the short, heavily armored adversary brought his sword up from his low guard, thrusting it forward. He hoped that the acolyte’s sword would become lodged inside of him long enough to finish the smug bastard off. But before he had even begun to move, the point of the wickedly curved blade had flashed away from his throat and both of his arms cartwheeled off in a fountain of spurting blood. He dropped to his knees, desperately gasping for breath.
Oh, spirits! he thought, Oh spirits, please, EARTH MOTHER HELP ME!
He saw the ornately wrapped sword pommel drawback.
Everything went black.
Link:
https://toastyrabbits.wordpress.com/2018/12/24/legacies-of-blood-a-high-fantasy-novellete/
Author
Topic: My DF FanFic :"Legacies of Blood" : The Prologue (Read 1076 times)