Hammerix
07-12-2006, 08:48 PM
I don't really believe in dreaming about what you gonna write, but this one came as such and I couldn't resist penning down a rough except.
I haven't written prose for a year now, so my imagination might be a bit rusty.
He trembled, almost falling from the edge of the overhanging cliff. He could see the white, thinly frozen river. The surface crackled with the darkened, half-frozen forms - their features calm as if in a state of tranquility, except for the black patch surrounding their chest.
He had suspected all along that these were the works of someone close to his seat, but he never for once thought the person could be this close.
"Why did you killed them?” he growled at the frail, young lady with her back to him. Her gleaming, luster hair flew in the wind. Her composure was rigid and defiant, radiating an icy glow around the otherwise warm figure he knew between his bedspreads. There was a time he had built his world around Arina's elegant composure; she had been with his in the cabin, making love to him, while a maniacal force, fed off the life force of his crew. He had spurned his existence around her soft, warm body until now - she had seduced him, yes, she had seduced him to meet his own end.
"Balyvid!" a thunderous voice boomed, panting uphill. "Your ship has been besieged" an old man appeared, dragging his perspiring body uphill. He wore a grimy looking shirt that stuck to his perspiring body. There were fresh scars on his face that suggested that he had been involved in a scuffle and a patch of unhealthy looking flesh beneath his left.
"Merpha" Balyvid gasped, startled by the presence of his skipper.
"We have to return on deck..." the old man’s voice trailed away as he saw the frozen bodies. "What in the name of the devil had you here?" the older pirate's eyes narrowed and a hand reached for the hilt of the sheathed dagger dangling beside his hips. "Oh, I see. You've sold over haven't ya? Is it the army or Balama's rag-tag gangs? Talk you traitor!"
Balyvid's hand flashed to the hilt of his blade instinctively. He had known Merpha for five years. He had sailed stormy seas, traversed through treacherous canals, pursued treasure ships, fought the law, sent many a man down into Davy Jones locker, and watched Merpha vent out his kind of justice with the gleaming edge of his dagger.
"I didn't do it" he replied, but knew from the burning light in the oldman's eyes that he was not convincing enough. Better he talking to the masthead rather than Merpha in his current state of mind.
"My eye shall determine that, Balyvid"
Balyvid watched with trepidation as the old man touched the unhealthy patch beneath his left eye with the fingertip of thumb and held it out.
The eye of truth, Balyvid thought with trepidation, the eye that had brought doom to many. The eye had been a curse Merpha had willingly agreed to have placed on him in order to dive beneath the treacherous waves of the North sea and retrieve a chest belonging to the drowned Marquise of the Flymoor hills, whose pleasure ship had fallen prey to the cries of the Sirens, from the clutch of the greenish water-people and their vicious, octopus lord. The magical content of the chest had turned out to be nothing more than a rumour, the only thing Merpha got for his troubles was a waterproof package of incessant love notes from the Marquise to a serving lady of his father's household with whom he was having an illicit affair. Yet instead of Merpha searching for a counter spell to remove the curse, he continued his voyage - having find a new use for his curse, its ability to torment the minds of those he wanted the truth from at any cost.
"I didn't - she did"
Arina tossed her hair in the wind and turned to face the man whose warm body she had grown fond of. He had the heart of a pirate, but the touch of a gentleman. In his arms, she had found gaity and a sun that shone brighter than the murky, yellow looking one of her arid kingdom. She had found the true meaning of life in his bright blue eyes - yet, she had a mission to accomplish for the sake of her kingdom.
"I" she began, parting her soft lips slowly. "There is...aargh!"
Balyvid jumped back as a watery hand shot out of the sea, shattering its tranquility, and wrapt itself around Arina's waist.
Arina kicked and screamed as something hot seared through her scalp. She kicked and slapped against the watery clutch, but there was no escaping her fate as the dashed her body against the surface of the water and with one last scream, she disappeared beneath the troubled water.
********************************************
The spread-eagle body of Riger, Ishenlis' twin, lay lifeless on the threshold of the temple of the morning sun. During his lifetime, his most cherished possession had been his live, and in death his hands still clutched over a huge, blacken hole on his left breast where his heart had once been.
The kingdom was set in mourning. Flags flew at half-mast, the street was littered with women in black dressing, writhing across the floor in despair, the priests of the temple ripped their ceremonial robes in two and sat, dejected, in the dark puddles of blood that stretched for a mile to the royal household. For all they cared, the world had come to an end with the death of the heir to the throne and the powerlessness of their art against the dark mages that had besieged the kingdom. All that was left now was darkness - and pain from the tormented spirits they once held captive in their dudgeon.
Two priests sat beside Riger's body, the body that once held the essence of a being that shield them from evil, a shell they looked up to always be there, forever, to protected. They almost thought it immortal - almost - until the mages rode in and brandished their spell against the crack in the shell. Who had thought their shell had a crack, who had thought the crack would bring his death and seal their doom?
Ishenlis had taken to the mountains with allied forces, they knew, allied forces that were nothing more than pirates after the riches of the throne that hired them and the loot of the battle, if the dark mages had any. Yet, was it not sad that one of them was a traitor, the same one who had led the mages to the royal household?
****************************************
Balyvid dashed down the street, scarcely giving attention to the wailing forms surrounding him. All he wanted to do was get away from the haunting littering the street, the howling voices in his head, and the stench of death.
Two dark shadows ran past. Balyvid trained his eyes on the shadowry form in familiar royal guards costume. One of them was clutching a silver urn, from which a vaguely familiar figure screeched against the uncannily malleable wall of the urn. The figure remained him of the silhouette of the man who had stood on the gangplank of the Hela, their ship, and negotiated the services of Merpha and his crew a week ago. The silhouette had warned about dire consequences involved, but had also promised them the keys to the treasury of the Kingdom of Lai. He had called himself a prince and the son of the mountain - Riger.
*****************************
I haven't written prose for a year now, so my imagination might be a bit rusty.
He trembled, almost falling from the edge of the overhanging cliff. He could see the white, thinly frozen river. The surface crackled with the darkened, half-frozen forms - their features calm as if in a state of tranquility, except for the black patch surrounding their chest.
He had suspected all along that these were the works of someone close to his seat, but he never for once thought the person could be this close.
"Why did you killed them?” he growled at the frail, young lady with her back to him. Her gleaming, luster hair flew in the wind. Her composure was rigid and defiant, radiating an icy glow around the otherwise warm figure he knew between his bedspreads. There was a time he had built his world around Arina's elegant composure; she had been with his in the cabin, making love to him, while a maniacal force, fed off the life force of his crew. He had spurned his existence around her soft, warm body until now - she had seduced him, yes, she had seduced him to meet his own end.
"Balyvid!" a thunderous voice boomed, panting uphill. "Your ship has been besieged" an old man appeared, dragging his perspiring body uphill. He wore a grimy looking shirt that stuck to his perspiring body. There were fresh scars on his face that suggested that he had been involved in a scuffle and a patch of unhealthy looking flesh beneath his left.
"Merpha" Balyvid gasped, startled by the presence of his skipper.
"We have to return on deck..." the old man’s voice trailed away as he saw the frozen bodies. "What in the name of the devil had you here?" the older pirate's eyes narrowed and a hand reached for the hilt of the sheathed dagger dangling beside his hips. "Oh, I see. You've sold over haven't ya? Is it the army or Balama's rag-tag gangs? Talk you traitor!"
Balyvid's hand flashed to the hilt of his blade instinctively. He had known Merpha for five years. He had sailed stormy seas, traversed through treacherous canals, pursued treasure ships, fought the law, sent many a man down into Davy Jones locker, and watched Merpha vent out his kind of justice with the gleaming edge of his dagger.
"I didn't do it" he replied, but knew from the burning light in the oldman's eyes that he was not convincing enough. Better he talking to the masthead rather than Merpha in his current state of mind.
"My eye shall determine that, Balyvid"
Balyvid watched with trepidation as the old man touched the unhealthy patch beneath his left eye with the fingertip of thumb and held it out.
The eye of truth, Balyvid thought with trepidation, the eye that had brought doom to many. The eye had been a curse Merpha had willingly agreed to have placed on him in order to dive beneath the treacherous waves of the North sea and retrieve a chest belonging to the drowned Marquise of the Flymoor hills, whose pleasure ship had fallen prey to the cries of the Sirens, from the clutch of the greenish water-people and their vicious, octopus lord. The magical content of the chest had turned out to be nothing more than a rumour, the only thing Merpha got for his troubles was a waterproof package of incessant love notes from the Marquise to a serving lady of his father's household with whom he was having an illicit affair. Yet instead of Merpha searching for a counter spell to remove the curse, he continued his voyage - having find a new use for his curse, its ability to torment the minds of those he wanted the truth from at any cost.
"I didn't - she did"
Arina tossed her hair in the wind and turned to face the man whose warm body she had grown fond of. He had the heart of a pirate, but the touch of a gentleman. In his arms, she had found gaity and a sun that shone brighter than the murky, yellow looking one of her arid kingdom. She had found the true meaning of life in his bright blue eyes - yet, she had a mission to accomplish for the sake of her kingdom.
"I" she began, parting her soft lips slowly. "There is...aargh!"
Balyvid jumped back as a watery hand shot out of the sea, shattering its tranquility, and wrapt itself around Arina's waist.
Arina kicked and screamed as something hot seared through her scalp. She kicked and slapped against the watery clutch, but there was no escaping her fate as the dashed her body against the surface of the water and with one last scream, she disappeared beneath the troubled water.
********************************************
The spread-eagle body of Riger, Ishenlis' twin, lay lifeless on the threshold of the temple of the morning sun. During his lifetime, his most cherished possession had been his live, and in death his hands still clutched over a huge, blacken hole on his left breast where his heart had once been.
The kingdom was set in mourning. Flags flew at half-mast, the street was littered with women in black dressing, writhing across the floor in despair, the priests of the temple ripped their ceremonial robes in two and sat, dejected, in the dark puddles of blood that stretched for a mile to the royal household. For all they cared, the world had come to an end with the death of the heir to the throne and the powerlessness of their art against the dark mages that had besieged the kingdom. All that was left now was darkness - and pain from the tormented spirits they once held captive in their dudgeon.
Two priests sat beside Riger's body, the body that once held the essence of a being that shield them from evil, a shell they looked up to always be there, forever, to protected. They almost thought it immortal - almost - until the mages rode in and brandished their spell against the crack in the shell. Who had thought their shell had a crack, who had thought the crack would bring his death and seal their doom?
Ishenlis had taken to the mountains with allied forces, they knew, allied forces that were nothing more than pirates after the riches of the throne that hired them and the loot of the battle, if the dark mages had any. Yet, was it not sad that one of them was a traitor, the same one who had led the mages to the royal household?
****************************************
Balyvid dashed down the street, scarcely giving attention to the wailing forms surrounding him. All he wanted to do was get away from the haunting littering the street, the howling voices in his head, and the stench of death.
Two dark shadows ran past. Balyvid trained his eyes on the shadowry form in familiar royal guards costume. One of them was clutching a silver urn, from which a vaguely familiar figure screeched against the uncannily malleable wall of the urn. The figure remained him of the silhouette of the man who had stood on the gangplank of the Hela, their ship, and negotiated the services of Merpha and his crew a week ago. The silhouette had warned about dire consequences involved, but had also promised them the keys to the treasury of the Kingdom of Lai. He had called himself a prince and the son of the mountain - Riger.
*****************************