Sworded Tales

I’m sorry, could you repeat that?   The words formed in Devon’s mind.  “Sbbl, krbblthhhit,” is what came from the bloody motorboat of his lips.

The half-face withdrew and a spike of fear sank into Devon’s heart.  Wait!  He wanted to cry out, but neither breath nor faculty would cooperate.  Had he scared it?  He didn’t think so, despite his horrid appearance.  His mother’s memory chided him about first impressions, but he thought even she would have to grant some leniency under the circumstances.  His eyeballs roved in their sockets, looking for a rescuer, the majesty of this second forest view already dimming as a backdrop.  Though his nose tickled fancy, it was his ears which caught the lilting tune of a whistle.  Joyous and jaunty he allowed it to foster his flickering hope. Continue reading

“Blasphemy,” Merinde grunted, then she cocked her head, “Wait.  You’re serious?”  Her mind hiccuped at the notion and grasped at the anger for warmth.

“Quite, I must say,” Gerard replied, “The details are too many to burden you with right now, but it would be best if you kept your origins…vague, for the time being.”

“Give me the short version,” she ordered, relishing the notion of focused purpose once again.

“Alright,” the halfling agreed after a moment’s consideration, “But, after that, we rest.”

“Agreed,” Merinde lied. Continue reading

Erellia materialized from around the flank of one of the beefier steeds that Kurn was inspecting for the journey ahead.  Not even a silent whisper marked her approach.  An involuntary gasp from Haron was clear indication that he was startled by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Elf.

“Haron, I would like to speak with Kurn alone for a few moments,” she said in a pleasing tone, though Kurn sensed she fully expected to be obeyed, “Why don’t you spend a few minutes out of the rain near the fire to warm yourself?”

The boy stammered an affirmation, and after looking briefly at Kurn, headed toward the impromptu camp, his head unknowingly scanning for any sign of Katarina.  Once the young man has reached the shelter, Erellia spoke. Continue reading

“Work quickly,” Aristal said, glancing back down the crumbling hallway, “The deception ward will not delay them overlong.”

“You don’t say,” Mink replied.  The narrow Man’s blunt sarcasm was reflexive, his attention never deviated from the inspection of the doorway before him.  Something wasn’t right, was off.  He hadn’t figured out what just yet, but his instincts on such delicate matters had saved him plenty of times before.  They would do so again. Continue reading

Devon had seen the second forest before.  He hadn’t realized its true nature until today, but remembered glimpses of it surfaced in his mind as he lay in a fractured heap, staring at the upside down trees.  Maybe the concussion was conducting this orchestra or perhaps gazing through one bloody lens was the key.  Whatever the catalyst, Devon saw life as never before, and it was laced with magic.

Fifty miles per hour doesn’t feel all that fast when driving becomes second nature after decades of practice.  The notion of piloting one of the 250 million four ton weapons on the American highways today fades into the periphery as the daily routine becomes rote.  Only when the status quo is disrupted does reality slam back with full force into the contrasting forums of blinding speed and slow motion. Continue reading

Gerard was mute.  He had frozen solid at Merinde’s words.  Then he snapped to his feet and moved away from her.  He circled in tenuous figure eights a few times in thought, the rage of possibilities, of ramifications, burying him in an avalanche.

Merinde sat with her face in her hands, her breathing heavy with grief.  She hadn’t moved since her proclamation, and Gerard’s gaze kept darting back to the flickering firelight on her bald pate.  Guilt rose in him as he realized the severity of her plight, and here he was wondering after his internal accord. Continue reading

While Borlak waited for Kurn to finish his preparations, the plainsman glanced toward the shelter where the remaining members of the party could be seen. Turning to Kurn he said, ““Kurn, might I ask you a question? Have you been acquainted with Erellia long?””

Borlak paused and glanced again at the tent. ““Could you perhaps tell me what Erellia might expect, in price, for the lot?”” he asked in his soft, low tone.

Kurn turned to regard the man’s demeanor. He delayed responding to the two questions as Borlak asked them long enough for it to be apparent his answer was to the second, “No.” His hands stopped upon the gear of the mount he was working with, trying to determine Borlak’s plain intent. Kurn followed with a flat question of his own, “It matters?” Continue reading

The wailing just never ceased.

The fourth day of the siege at Ironshade Citadel had drawn to a close with the fading light, but the screaming continued all throughout the night.  Not the pained cries of injury and aid, though those were indeed plentiful.  Nor the searing shriek of magic or siege engine, for the absence of any moonlight hampered long range tactics.  Not even the common epithets and threats shouted from ramparts and across battle lines were expressed, for any such attempts were lost amid the endless cacophony.  The screaming, the incessant wailing, came from the rocks themselves, the very stones which were crafted into the bulwarks of the Citadel, and the energies behind the rock wailers were malicious indeed. Continue reading

Merinde paused a moment to see if her name registered on the Halfling’s face.  It did not.  Well her exploits would precede her some day, but there was also a twang of thanks that her notoriety went unknown as well.

“Where in the hells am I?” she gave voice to the thought in her head.

“Danorda Province,” Gerard responded, assuming the question was literal.

Merinde glanced at him, brow furrowed.  Answer enough.

“The Southland Wastes,” Gerard broadened the scope.

She shook her head.

“The Queendom of Sheritha Quraal?” Continue reading

Cheskith shook his head, a maneuver alien to his own culture but one at which he’d sufficiently practiced so as not to appear oddly in the performing.  “Alchemist’s fire will deter them, I think?  I carry two flasks of it, acquired at your say-so in Sagassport…but the power of the word is not the power of fire or acid, for me.”

The young mage shook his head as well in response to Erellia’s inquiry.  “I am afraid my repertoire of fire and acid spells is limited.  I do have a few, but I will need time to prepare them,” he informed the two before him.  Hesitating for a bit to consider his situation, he continued, “I can also only prepare a limited number of offensive spells a day without compromising my defenses or eroding my utility to the group, as I have other spells that may be beneficial to our numbers, either assisting our warriors and scouts or disabling our enemies.  Continue reading