Post by MagpieBird777 on Jan 2, 2012 15:45:59 GMT
I have decided to write a whole story about Kaeldra for a couple reasons.
1. She's awesome.
2. I already know what I want to happen, and I can make it happen easier in a story.
3. She's too cool for your mangy characters (Mostly the dogs. *hi-fives Toledo*) Joking, obviously.
Beware, this is not a happy story. Duh.
Kaeldra hurried through the street, splashing through puddles and darting through crowds. Repeatedly she glanced nervously at the guard barracks near the gates to the plains. She shook herself slightly and tried to steel her nerves, only partially successful. This will be just as easy as in training. Just remember what you were taught. She tried to reassure herself. She approached the shop that had been chosen for her test, a small, rather shabby looking building that contained a butcher shop.
The owner of the shop kept a Red Kolit at his shop, so she has decided to use it's life force for the necessary spell. She entered the shop and took on the pretext of examining a piece of meat half-wrapped in paper for maggots. She quickly and quietly muttered the chant under her breath, and saw the Kolit visibly droop. Unfortunately, so did the butcher.
He shouted in outrage "Necromancy! There is a Necromancer in this shop!" Kaeldra hurried her chant even faster, wanting to finish it and run. Customers looked among themselves in slight panic, and a guard that had been outside the shop and heard the shout bursted in, scanning the crowd. One man that had been in the shop saw her chanting under her breath, and summoned forth a small flame into his palm, eyes locked on her. The other customers and the guard followed his gaze to Kaeldra, who was now fighting the urge to cower like a trapped animal.
Giving up the chant for want of survival, she started to try to shove through the customers to the exit. The moment she started to move, the fire Mage let the flame in his palm grow and fly towards Kaeldra, finding a home on her shoulder. She let out a cry of pain but kept running, hand clutching her should.
The guard had unsheathed his sword and was blocking the exit, and when she came close enough took a swing at Kaeldra. The blade found it's mark and cut into her skin, leaving a deep slash near her collarbone. She let out another cry, and was gasping for breath. Taking a wild chance, she started to openly start her chant. The guard quickly slumped then fell, and she didn't hesitate to burst out of the door.
Fleeing past the guard barracks, through the gates, away from Garamond, that city of despair. She ran, away from the roads, away from paths, as far as she could get from everything. When a mix of fatigue and content with her distance stopped her, she simply fell to the ground, curled up, and silently started to cry.
I jolted upright with a start, hand already grasping my knife. I had learned to keep it with me always; a paranoid year in a wilderness of bandits, Dziraga and the giant Shurlidan can do that to you. But I had learned quickly. When I awoke, I glanced around, scowling to see nothing but a clumsy Tak, snapping twigs as it darted about. I batted the small creature away, ignoring it's protesting call as it tumbled away.
Deciding that I would be both safer and able to rest without being pestered by the foolish Dziraga, I scaled the tree, choosing a low, thick bough that forked at the end. I leaned down from the large branch and managed to snatch my bag from the ground. I pulled it up, leaning against the tree to check the pouch's contents. I checked my supplies more often then needed, but it was necessary to know when you needed more food. It could take quite some time getting more, so an early warning was always welcome. I saw that I had enough food to last about five days, a generous estimate. Sighing, I lifted the strap of the bag over my head and onto my right shoulder, the bag resting on my left side.
Sleep would have to wait, and the most traders would be out about now. I half-slid, half-jumped down from the branch to the ground and started walking in the direction of the "road", if it could be called that. "Large dirt path full of ox dung" would be more accurate, but I suppose that it wouldn't sound so appealing. Soon, I saw a covered wagon rolling along the path, pulled by a pair of horses. Well, horses could either spell success or trouble. A merchant that had horses instead of oxen or cows was a wealthier merchant. But a wealthier merchant would likely be more guarded about their cargo as well. It was a gamble. But I was used to leaps of faith.
I decided that I would need to kill a horse for this one. The merchant would stop to graze them soon, and when he wasn't looking I would kill one of the animals. The merchant would have to go find some other beast of burden; the wagon appeared quite a bit too heavy for even a single strong horse. When the merchant was gone, the wagon and cargo would be unprotected. I checked my knife's edge briefly; sharp. Narrowing my eyes, I followed the wagon at a distance, now playing the waiting game.
Eventually, after about two hours of tedious following, the wagon halted. The merchant, a rather thin man whose hairs were graying despite his otherwise apparent middle-aged appearance. He jumped down from the driver seat of the wagon and unhitched the horses. I made a mental note to to kill the more restless seeming horse as it waited to be unhitched, as it appeared to be the strongest of the pair pulling the wagon.
I noticed that the shadows had lengthened. I silently cursed; I would have to work quickly. The wagon driver wouldn't go looking for help during the night. I bided my time, anxious as the sun started to dip below the horizon. I stifled a relieved sigh as the wagon owner settled down for a nap under a tree. Funny how tree-naps seemed to always end in disaster. I whispered my chant, the words seeming to have been engraved into my mind from years of practice, and the scars of painful memories. I faltered momentarily, but quickly steeled myself. What had happened, had happened. Nobody, not elf nor human nor dwarf nor demon could change the past. I narrowed my eyes, concentrating on the task at hand.
Within moments the horse weakened, falling to its knees, before it's life force being completely taken by me. I preserved the energy, wanting it ready should I need to make a hasty escape. I snuck closer to the body of the horse. The other horse nickered as I approached, but otherwise remained silent. I drew my dagger, causing the surviving horse to neigh and back away, ears flattening. I kept an eye on the creature while slitting the throat of the dead horse. I needed to make it look like the horse had been killed by a human; should the wagon driver suspect magic, he would likely have the sense not to abandon his wagon at this late hour of the afternoon. I sheathed my dagger, ready to spur things into action.
Poised to sprint away, I whacked the surviving horse with all the strength my arm could muster before dashing away and hiding in the sparse foliage, crouching down to avoid being seen. The horse had let out a loud whinny and had reared up onto its hind legs. The wagon driver scrambled towards the horses, bewildered. He grumbled something inaudible before dragging a saddle out of the wagon and preparing to ride the remaining horse. It seemed I could not have been luckier that day.
A small part of my mind was warning me "It seems too easy..." but I was convinced by the horses that this would be a good resupplying trip. I darted back up to wagon, nervousness making me swift. I made to climb into the wagon and loot it for useful supplies, when suddenly I heard the sound of a crackling fire. I turned swiftly, and was almost paralyzed from fear. Part of me could not believe it, this could not be the same person. But it was, the same spell caster, in the flesh.
The very same fire Mage who had helped to drive me out of Garamond, and caused the burn scar I bore upon my shoulder. I was torn between fear and rage, yearning for retribution for my practical exile from all that I knew. Logic trumped the longing for revenge after a few heartbeats, but they had seemed like years. I fled, running again, trying to put distance between me and the cruel fire mage, the one who helped to cause much of the suffering I had endured.
Eventually, I found a tree to climb, and laid down. My feet rested between the crook of two large branches, my head against the trunk, pack being used as a pillow. So, that Mage was back. My eyes drifted to my shoulder, which now bore a scar from the burn delivered by the Mage's spell. I cursed as I realized that I was no better for this encounter in supplies. All I had done was inconvenience a wealthy merchant, who would become much more cautious and would likely be a difficult target, kill a strong young horse, although I still had the extra magic energy, and let that thrice damned Mage know that I was still alive, although worse for the wear of living alone in the Grassplains for a year.
My thoughts wandered to my mentor, Ktroth. No, he wasn't my mentor, not any more. He had been the one to send me for the task of Necromancy, he had been the one to train me in the shunned magic in the first place.
He had taken me in when I had been orphaned, yes, but to what avail? Now I was worse off than before. An orphan, on the run, likely to be killed on sight should I return to Garamond. Altin? I chuckled wryly to myself. "Have fun trying." I muttered to myself. I'd probably have about five seconds before a guard killed or arrested me. That city is beyond secure, and they would have devoured news of a Necromancer on the loose. Perhaps Donathal, but even then I might be recognized, either by somebody who had been at the store when I was caught or they could be one of the many people whose cargo I raided when they were traveling. Word about me may have spread, as well. Necromancy isn't exactly a common practice. And even if I did get there and nobody recognized me, what would I do? Starve in a back alley of some town? I'd prefer to die out here in this wilderness. At least some vultures might profit by it.
I snorted. Such dark thoughts I had. How old was I..... I remember that I was 12 when I had run away from Garamond... So about 13 years old. I couldn't help but laugh wryly. My life was messed up, no other way to say it.
I roused myself; sitting here reflect on how screwed up things had been wasn't going to feed me. I slid down and looked around. I heard the distant calls of a small group of Tak. Perfect. Easy to kill, quick to cook. I checked my knife and shouldered my pack before walking away.
If you totally want a character in my story, submit them and I'll see what I can do to work them in.
And I will probably have a lot of text-walls ^_^' I tend that way in my writing.
1. She's awesome.
2. I already know what I want to happen, and I can make it happen easier in a story.
3. She's too cool for your mangy characters (Mostly the dogs. *hi-fives Toledo*) Joking, obviously.
Beware, this is not a happy story. Duh.
Prologue
Fight and Flight
Kaeldra hurried through the street, splashing through puddles and darting through crowds. Repeatedly she glanced nervously at the guard barracks near the gates to the plains. She shook herself slightly and tried to steel her nerves, only partially successful. This will be just as easy as in training. Just remember what you were taught. She tried to reassure herself. She approached the shop that had been chosen for her test, a small, rather shabby looking building that contained a butcher shop.
The owner of the shop kept a Red Kolit at his shop, so she has decided to use it's life force for the necessary spell. She entered the shop and took on the pretext of examining a piece of meat half-wrapped in paper for maggots. She quickly and quietly muttered the chant under her breath, and saw the Kolit visibly droop. Unfortunately, so did the butcher.
He shouted in outrage "Necromancy! There is a Necromancer in this shop!" Kaeldra hurried her chant even faster, wanting to finish it and run. Customers looked among themselves in slight panic, and a guard that had been outside the shop and heard the shout bursted in, scanning the crowd. One man that had been in the shop saw her chanting under her breath, and summoned forth a small flame into his palm, eyes locked on her. The other customers and the guard followed his gaze to Kaeldra, who was now fighting the urge to cower like a trapped animal.
Giving up the chant for want of survival, she started to try to shove through the customers to the exit. The moment she started to move, the fire Mage let the flame in his palm grow and fly towards Kaeldra, finding a home on her shoulder. She let out a cry of pain but kept running, hand clutching her should.
The guard had unsheathed his sword and was blocking the exit, and when she came close enough took a swing at Kaeldra. The blade found it's mark and cut into her skin, leaving a deep slash near her collarbone. She let out another cry, and was gasping for breath. Taking a wild chance, she started to openly start her chant. The guard quickly slumped then fell, and she didn't hesitate to burst out of the door.
Fleeing past the guard barracks, through the gates, away from Garamond, that city of despair. She ran, away from the roads, away from paths, as far as she could get from everything. When a mix of fatigue and content with her distance stopped her, she simply fell to the ground, curled up, and silently started to cry.
Chapter One
[/center]Survival
I jolted upright with a start, hand already grasping my knife. I had learned to keep it with me always; a paranoid year in a wilderness of bandits, Dziraga and the giant Shurlidan can do that to you. But I had learned quickly. When I awoke, I glanced around, scowling to see nothing but a clumsy Tak, snapping twigs as it darted about. I batted the small creature away, ignoring it's protesting call as it tumbled away.
Deciding that I would be both safer and able to rest without being pestered by the foolish Dziraga, I scaled the tree, choosing a low, thick bough that forked at the end. I leaned down from the large branch and managed to snatch my bag from the ground. I pulled it up, leaning against the tree to check the pouch's contents. I checked my supplies more often then needed, but it was necessary to know when you needed more food. It could take quite some time getting more, so an early warning was always welcome. I saw that I had enough food to last about five days, a generous estimate. Sighing, I lifted the strap of the bag over my head and onto my right shoulder, the bag resting on my left side.
Sleep would have to wait, and the most traders would be out about now. I half-slid, half-jumped down from the branch to the ground and started walking in the direction of the "road", if it could be called that. "Large dirt path full of ox dung" would be more accurate, but I suppose that it wouldn't sound so appealing. Soon, I saw a covered wagon rolling along the path, pulled by a pair of horses. Well, horses could either spell success or trouble. A merchant that had horses instead of oxen or cows was a wealthier merchant. But a wealthier merchant would likely be more guarded about their cargo as well. It was a gamble. But I was used to leaps of faith.
I decided that I would need to kill a horse for this one. The merchant would stop to graze them soon, and when he wasn't looking I would kill one of the animals. The merchant would have to go find some other beast of burden; the wagon appeared quite a bit too heavy for even a single strong horse. When the merchant was gone, the wagon and cargo would be unprotected. I checked my knife's edge briefly; sharp. Narrowing my eyes, I followed the wagon at a distance, now playing the waiting game.
Eventually, after about two hours of tedious following, the wagon halted. The merchant, a rather thin man whose hairs were graying despite his otherwise apparent middle-aged appearance. He jumped down from the driver seat of the wagon and unhitched the horses. I made a mental note to to kill the more restless seeming horse as it waited to be unhitched, as it appeared to be the strongest of the pair pulling the wagon.
I noticed that the shadows had lengthened. I silently cursed; I would have to work quickly. The wagon driver wouldn't go looking for help during the night. I bided my time, anxious as the sun started to dip below the horizon. I stifled a relieved sigh as the wagon owner settled down for a nap under a tree. Funny how tree-naps seemed to always end in disaster. I whispered my chant, the words seeming to have been engraved into my mind from years of practice, and the scars of painful memories. I faltered momentarily, but quickly steeled myself. What had happened, had happened. Nobody, not elf nor human nor dwarf nor demon could change the past. I narrowed my eyes, concentrating on the task at hand.
Within moments the horse weakened, falling to its knees, before it's life force being completely taken by me. I preserved the energy, wanting it ready should I need to make a hasty escape. I snuck closer to the body of the horse. The other horse nickered as I approached, but otherwise remained silent. I drew my dagger, causing the surviving horse to neigh and back away, ears flattening. I kept an eye on the creature while slitting the throat of the dead horse. I needed to make it look like the horse had been killed by a human; should the wagon driver suspect magic, he would likely have the sense not to abandon his wagon at this late hour of the afternoon. I sheathed my dagger, ready to spur things into action.
Poised to sprint away, I whacked the surviving horse with all the strength my arm could muster before dashing away and hiding in the sparse foliage, crouching down to avoid being seen. The horse had let out a loud whinny and had reared up onto its hind legs. The wagon driver scrambled towards the horses, bewildered. He grumbled something inaudible before dragging a saddle out of the wagon and preparing to ride the remaining horse. It seemed I could not have been luckier that day.
A small part of my mind was warning me "It seems too easy..." but I was convinced by the horses that this would be a good resupplying trip. I darted back up to wagon, nervousness making me swift. I made to climb into the wagon and loot it for useful supplies, when suddenly I heard the sound of a crackling fire. I turned swiftly, and was almost paralyzed from fear. Part of me could not believe it, this could not be the same person. But it was, the same spell caster, in the flesh.
The very same fire Mage who had helped to drive me out of Garamond, and caused the burn scar I bore upon my shoulder. I was torn between fear and rage, yearning for retribution for my practical exile from all that I knew. Logic trumped the longing for revenge after a few heartbeats, but they had seemed like years. I fled, running again, trying to put distance between me and the cruel fire mage, the one who helped to cause much of the suffering I had endured.
Eventually, I found a tree to climb, and laid down. My feet rested between the crook of two large branches, my head against the trunk, pack being used as a pillow. So, that Mage was back. My eyes drifted to my shoulder, which now bore a scar from the burn delivered by the Mage's spell. I cursed as I realized that I was no better for this encounter in supplies. All I had done was inconvenience a wealthy merchant, who would become much more cautious and would likely be a difficult target, kill a strong young horse, although I still had the extra magic energy, and let that thrice damned Mage know that I was still alive, although worse for the wear of living alone in the Grassplains for a year.
My thoughts wandered to my mentor, Ktroth. No, he wasn't my mentor, not any more. He had been the one to send me for the task of Necromancy, he had been the one to train me in the shunned magic in the first place.
He had taken me in when I had been orphaned, yes, but to what avail? Now I was worse off than before. An orphan, on the run, likely to be killed on sight should I return to Garamond. Altin? I chuckled wryly to myself. "Have fun trying." I muttered to myself. I'd probably have about five seconds before a guard killed or arrested me. That city is beyond secure, and they would have devoured news of a Necromancer on the loose. Perhaps Donathal, but even then I might be recognized, either by somebody who had been at the store when I was caught or they could be one of the many people whose cargo I raided when they were traveling. Word about me may have spread, as well. Necromancy isn't exactly a common practice. And even if I did get there and nobody recognized me, what would I do? Starve in a back alley of some town? I'd prefer to die out here in this wilderness. At least some vultures might profit by it.
I snorted. Such dark thoughts I had. How old was I..... I remember that I was 12 when I had run away from Garamond... So about 13 years old. I couldn't help but laugh wryly. My life was messed up, no other way to say it.
I roused myself; sitting here reflect on how screwed up things had been wasn't going to feed me. I slid down and looked around. I heard the distant calls of a small group of Tak. Perfect. Easy to kill, quick to cook. I checked my knife and shouldered my pack before walking away.
If you totally want a character in my story, submit them and I'll see what I can do to work them in.
And I will probably have a lot of text-walls ^_^' I tend that way in my writing.