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This will be a thread containing a collection of short stories I intend to write. These short stories will not be chronological nor will they always be in connection with each other. I'll mainly write them as a let-out for bursts of inspiration that I cannot implement into my current bigger projects, and to train my story telling skills.
I hope you enjoy. The first story will be in the next post. :san_wink:
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The mountainsides seemed to shake in the lone horn’s call. Brazen, defiant, and unrelenting, it did not allow the peaks to return to their eternal silence.
The might that the call was supposed to produce sounded like little more than a call of despair as it echoed off the lofty perches of great birds, graced with thick layers of snow. Yet such a mortal call impressed none of the ageless mountains, merely reverberating off the sheer rock faces, a meek imitation all that remained of the call’s pride.
Snow drifted down in flurries towards man’s imitation of the unyielding peaks. The buttresses, parapets and towers of the fortress were sturdily and efficiently built, yet they could not escape the impression of inferiority, cradled as they were in the lap of the mountains.
The horn sounded again, calling out to friendly ears. The echo resonated off the mountainside again, as if the mountain groaned, irritated at being disturbed again. The lifeless rock ignored the call, perpetually insensitive.
Human hearts are never insensitive, however, and those within the snowbound keep were no exception. The eyes of the guards were distracted, led away from their duties by the sights far below on the valley floor.
They could see the light of the bleak sun reflecting off the masses of iron and steel that writhed together like a wounded reptile, guiding them to the blaring sound of despair that reached their ears through the horn’s call.
Again the lone blare sounded, trying its hardest to coax the men of the fortress to do something. They did not respond; indeed, it was worse: they stood stock-still in fear and indecision, doing nothing but straining their eyes and ears to register the sights and sounds of battle. Not a creak escaped their armor, not a movement showed in their weapons.
They would not answer the call; those on the valley floor were on their own, and they knew it. They fought with strength and endurance born out of desperation as they realized their ultimate fate. Pikes were broken, swords blunted, and shields split asunder, but they would not yield. They struggled on in fierce defiance, the only sound they made that of the death they dealt.
Their banners, of crimson, sapphire and the simple white of the snow crunching beneath their feet, shone for all they were worth in the weak winter sun, tattered and bleached as they were by the alpine winds.
The horn sounded again, from within a myriad of flags and standards, planted on a slight hillock that rose from the valley floor, a very small brother of the mighty peaks surrounding it. There, a semblance of order so preferred by mankind was restored, an island of discipline within the sea of chaos that raged around it.
The men withdrew there, on that slight rise, their last refuge before the onslaught. They fought on, forcing their exhausted limbs to strike again, and again, and again, driven on by fear and need alone, their strength long since expended. To the men on the battlements, far above them, their grim struggle was no more than a gruesome, twisted gladiatorial game.
The island shrunk, slowly swallowed up by chaos. The horn was blown, one last time, but its call was cut off as its wielder was cut down. It remained in the air, the twisted echo a harrying reminder to those that had ignored it.
* * *
“Here,” the man said, throwing the severed head of a rather ugly creature before the commander’s feet, “this is what you so feared. It was not much of a challenge.”
The other, decked out in peculiarly sumptuous clothes for such a cold environment, spit on the head, and then looked back at the man standing before him, “You only met one.”
“Four,” the man corrected, a sneer crossing his face.
The officer frowned, “What is your name?”
“Barani,” the other replied.
“Ah, Barani… you did not face an army!”
The other shifted on his feet. He looked at the severed head dejectedly as it was slowly covered with a layer of snow. He shot the officer a glance, wondering what had driven fear into the man’s mind.
As if the man knew his thoughts, he repeated, “You did not face an army… not an army.”
“Yes, yes, that is more than appar—”
“You did not see them! Did not see them… s—slaughter so many… unburied… unburied they lie…”
A look of livid fear had crept into the commander’s eyes, and his voice cracked as he continued, “You did not hear… did not hear… the call… the horn’s call… they took that even… even that… they took…”
“What in Heaven’s name are you on about, man!”
The officer stopped rubbing his hands and quivering nervously, and looked at the warrior before him, standing stock-still.
“Heaven… Heaven?! Do not speak to me of Heaven! It is where the Gods dwell!”
Barani rolled his eyes, “No, really? Now give me my reward, old man, and I will take my—”
“The Gods… not only the good! A dark titan is what they sent!”
The warrior frowned, wondering how such a madman had gotten the command of a keep like this. “Did you hear me? My reward for killing these raiders?”
The officer ignored him, “Towering… deadly… nothing but blood and flesh left… steel and bone and snow…”
“For the last time, man, my reward!”
“Death in the valley… death in the valley.”
The officer threw a pouch into Barani’s hands, drawing a clink from the coins inside. Then, he turned abruptly, and walked off, not bothering to stop nervously tugging the hem of his cloak.
The adventurer remained, alone, standing in the keep's courtyard, not bothering to wipe the flurries of snow from his face as he wondered what he had just heard.
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I wrote this first and foremost to see how far I could flex my descriptive muscle. What do you guys think? What impression did it leave with you? Did it produce feelings or did it leave you cold? Comments are much appreciated. ~:)
The first part was very good. A bit too florid for my taste, but otherwise you succeeded.
The second part was good also. I liked the dialogue. However, I was initialy confused by your use of "other". The fact that the commander first spits, and then starts quavering didn't help. But otherwise, you have lost none of your skill.
Sorry for not doing better. I am a bit overworked at the moment. I really need a good night of sleep, but I am way behind schedule :sleeping: .
Absolutly love the description Wiz, in my opinion it reminds me of Berenard cornwell, for some reason