Word had it that the recent Loki dispatch to Visgaard consisted several high ranking mages. Grimthan's orders were to ambush any surviving Loki returning from the Visgaardi battlefields. Their heads were considered a vital advantage if Artemia was ever to go to war with Hyunea. However, to his delight, the patient wait yielded unexpected prey of much more value. He could see himself returning to the Artemian king with the prized skulls of the Zol'Nirs, claiming his reward in slabs of gold. The monetary incentive was all he needed as motivation.
"Hold, hold...", Grimthan coaxed the trap bearer, a shivering figure barely a man, dressed in oversized armour, hands trembling as he fought the urge of losing his composure to total fear, to be in control of the deadfall activating mechanism. Grimthan glanced at him, merely a boy, and his conscience screamed at him again for dragging innocent lives into his endeavours. But he did not have a choice, his people and so was he, were bounded to the king of Artemia as mercenaries who desperately needed a source of income. In Artemia, where necessities could only be found within the walls of the kingdom, there was no other option than to offer their services for survival.
All these years as leader of the Groth mercenary had hardened Grimthan's penitence, as he shut his eyes momentarily to erase all feelings of compunction. When he reopened them, they were burning with the initial intensity and determination to complete the task ahead. For the sake of his people, for the survival of his kin, he must continue in this seemingly endless journey of forsaking contrition.
"Hold... hold.............. now!" Grimthan yanked the noose and a hidden vine cracked into view from its state of near invisibility to rear itself like an enraged viper eager to capitalise on the surprise factor for the kill. Almost at the same time, the boy pulled at the tree branch. A loud dry crack echoed through the forest as thick logs fell from the canopy along the two sides of the entangling vine. The vine caught between the legs of the fourth mare, sending both rider and animal crashing to the dusty path clumsily. The second, third and fifth Zol'Nir fell under the weight of the heavy entrapment.
If there was anything of value throughout his service in the mercenary, it was the gleaming battle experience that Grimthan was proud of. To bestow ultimate chaos and confusion to a battalion travelling on a narrow path, disruption had to be dispatched through the middle of the contingent. This way, the leading half would be separated from the trailing half. The ambush would be completed by completely surrounding and eradicating the remaining disrrayed units.
Grimthan led the assault, emerging from his obscure hiding, brandishing his scimitar. Suddenly the forest is alive with the Groth legion abandoning their camouflage and charging into battle. The remaining standing Zol'Nir released a ear-piercing shriek as their mares reared around wildly in the confusion, kicking aimlessly at the intruders. "Aim for the horses' legs!" Grimthan ordered, as he swung his scimitar at the nearest equine, cleaving the leg cleanly at the joint, blood splattering over his armour. The beast howled and crashed into a thrashing heap, dislodging its rider onto the ground. The Groth resounded their leader's warcry and swarmed the remaining two horses.
A zealous Groth warrior leapt onto one of the fallen Zol'Nir, a smirk growing across his face as he inverted his grip on his weapon, raised his sword and plunged it deep into the heart. A deafening shrill escaped from the human and he clambered backwards unsteadily clutching his face. The wound in the Zol'Nir was spraying a greenish-looking liquid. The Groth legion stopped dead in its tracks and witnessed the horrific torment inflicted on one of their kind. What was once eyes turned into gaping blood-pouring holes. Flaks of armour were already starting to dissolve and thin wisps of acidic vapour rose from areas eaten by the decay. Some enraged Groth rushed forward to avenge their comrade but ended in the same fate.
Fear gripped the assailants hard. Grimthan could not believe what he saw when scores of his men fell to the terrible mutilations to their bodies. "Hold!" He had to reorganise his men to avoid any unnecessary losses. His impression of the Zol'Nirs, gathered from hearsay spreading in taverns across Artemia, was that they were corrupt mages hung for their tyranny but resurrected by their own desecrated lifeforce. Through the resurrection, they preserved every physical aspect of the human body but sacrificed the heads as an offering to the devil, leaving behind skulls to do the bidding of the Dark One. The only way to kill them, based on anecdotal rumours, was to plunge a weapon into their still-human heart. But why isn't that Zol'Nir dead?
The commotion gave the remaining Zol'Nirs, under the deadfall, time to dislodge themselves from the mess. Their orange eyes flared within the sockets of the skulls, anger seething like a bubbling cauldron. One of them raised a hand and muttered an undecipherable incantation. The bracelet wrapped tightly around its wrist started to glow pale green. The Groth was entranced by the artistry, partially eager to behold their first glimpse of magic and partially clamped by horror, totally rooted to the ground.
The pale green started to radiate frenziedly and streaks of purple maleficence surged from its fingertips, engulfing the Groth frontlines. Living flesh started to burn in a sick, unextinguishable purple flame. The affected humans writhed in agony silently, as their tongues were also caught in the combustion. Within a few minutes all that remained of the victims were charred skeletal corpses, still kindling with a purple aura, and their armour and clothing were unaffected by the gruesome scorching. Grimthan's eyes grew wide in surprise, terror, disgust and discomposure.
"Re.. retreat!" The bellowing was quavering and the orders given was stung with a tinge of panic. Suddenly the invasive horde was reduced to a whimpering bunch of cowards scampering for dear lives. But none could blame them for the second Zol'Nir had raised its hand by now, a shiny black ring shimmering with malice.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
Act 1 Chapter 2: Evil Lurks
A zephyr breezed through the forest, gently caressing each tree like a lustful lover, rustling the leaves from their lazy afternoon slumber. The periodic sashaying of the foliage was in rhythmic tandem to the enthusiastic chirping and gurgling of the mynahs roosting within the greenery. At the edge of the woods ran the meandering Osiris, a river that separated the jungles of Artemia from the barren wastelands of Visgaard. it was not a very deep river, one of which a normal person could wade comfortably, at its deepest, through to the other side. However, as the progress was made from one bank to another, the vast difference in the conditions would startle even the most settled. Crystal clear the waters might be at the Artemian border, but the gradual contamination was a stark visual across the full thirty-odd metres of the water body. Swirls of debris formed mini maelstroms streaking into the depths of the murky waters at the equidistant. Furthering into the watery Visgaardi territory uncovered activated sludge with a heavy growth of visible organisms that resulted from vigorous aeration due the whirlpooling at the centre. The stench of death and decay reeked from these parts of the waters and the tell-tale signs were for all to see: rotting bloated fish floating along in the flow of the river; and featherless carcasses, believed to be stripped of their protective fluff by the venomous fumes steaming off the water surface, of mynahs that were brave enough to venture that far.
In truth, the mystery lay in the stupefying enigma of the disparity between the two scenarios co-existing with such chilling harmony.
The calm Osiris atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by a cacophony of screeches as the mynahs took flight with such haste that it seemed like a swarm of locusts raiding a maize field. The vermillion orb of radiance in the mid-day sky became partially shrouded in the scattered flock movement. Seven mares thundered across the river and started up the banks of Artemia. The ebony-furred bodies of the beasts-of-burden shone like polished obsidians as the blemish of the water-coating diffused the light rays. Muscles rippled as the hoofed legs strained to bring both riders and equines up the grassy edge.
Now the forest fell deadly silent, as though all the insects and animals were fore-warned about the impending evil. Reining the animals in, the horsemen stared beyond the dirt path made shady by the canopy, eyes burning bright orange from the sockets of their skeletal frames. Their bodies were bulked and built like burly warriors, totally mismatching with skulls as heads. The dull-gray drapery, with strange insignias, that hung tightly against them were tattered and lacerated with gaping tears, stretched to the limit of the fabric. Through these porous exits bubbled caustic decomposing flesh as the revolting semi-liquid dribbled down the sides of the cadaverous bodies onto the grass below, desecrating the very sanctity of the greenery. The nauseating pungent odour reeked even sharper than the Osiris, piercing the air with its malignancy.
"Zol'Nirs!", a hushed hiss escaped the slightly parted lips of the entrenched militant leader, the grip on his scimitar tightened with partial fear and partial adrenalin-rush.
His legion awaited his command with abated breaths.
In truth, the mystery lay in the stupefying enigma of the disparity between the two scenarios co-existing with such chilling harmony.
The calm Osiris atmosphere was suddenly disturbed by a cacophony of screeches as the mynahs took flight with such haste that it seemed like a swarm of locusts raiding a maize field. The vermillion orb of radiance in the mid-day sky became partially shrouded in the scattered flock movement. Seven mares thundered across the river and started up the banks of Artemia. The ebony-furred bodies of the beasts-of-burden shone like polished obsidians as the blemish of the water-coating diffused the light rays. Muscles rippled as the hoofed legs strained to bring both riders and equines up the grassy edge.
Now the forest fell deadly silent, as though all the insects and animals were fore-warned about the impending evil. Reining the animals in, the horsemen stared beyond the dirt path made shady by the canopy, eyes burning bright orange from the sockets of their skeletal frames. Their bodies were bulked and built like burly warriors, totally mismatching with skulls as heads. The dull-gray drapery, with strange insignias, that hung tightly against them were tattered and lacerated with gaping tears, stretched to the limit of the fabric. Through these porous exits bubbled caustic decomposing flesh as the revolting semi-liquid dribbled down the sides of the cadaverous bodies onto the grass below, desecrating the very sanctity of the greenery. The nauseating pungent odour reeked even sharper than the Osiris, piercing the air with its malignancy.
"Zol'Nirs!", a hushed hiss escaped the slightly parted lips of the entrenched militant leader, the grip on his scimitar tightened with partial fear and partial adrenalin-rush.
His legion awaited his command with abated breaths.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Act 1 Chapter 1: Visions
She screamed.
Her upper body jerked upright, head snapping back from the inertia of the action, sending a stinging pain down her neck to her spine. Her black locks swung up from the depressed pillow and curtained over her face, as though to shield her from the impending evil. Beady droplets of sweat formed earlier were already cascading down her face like torrential waters released from a damaged dam. She nervously licked her dry lips, her tongue caught and tingled with the mild salty taste of her perspiration. Every breath she took burned her breathing pipes as her nostrils flared with the tension that overtook her body. She remained motionless in bed for that moment.
The moon was in full bloom, streaks of yellow cut through the still night like a knife through butter, illuminating the darkened sky with its reflected radiance. Wispy clouds occasionally shrouded the moonbeams and eerie shadows sprouted from the ends of the obstructions. She recovered her nerves and choosing to ignore the random patterns of movement displayed by the blocked light, watched the night sky from the comforts of her bed. Every night carried a full moon for the past three months. it was certainly unusual.
it was not just a nightmare. it was a premonition of things to come. Since young she had seen things, events that would reveal themselves as reality in the future. As a little girl barely reaching six years old, she hardly understood what these meant. Terrified, most of the time, she would keep to herself, bearing the weight of this mental burden. Her parents were oblivious to her suffering as they had absolutely no time for her. Father was always working in the fields to better his crop yields for the annual harvest cash rebates that the tax department handed out to peasants with surplus output. Mother spent the daylights out in the Squire's home as a housekeeper and only returned after dusk. Even then she'd be busy with the cooking, their very own household chores and the endless fabric weaving she did as a part-time seamstress for the village. However her grandfather, a gentle, warm but frail man in his mid-eighties, was always home, always watching his beloved granddaughter, and he sensed that something was wrong when she started to lock herself in her room with a regular schedule that would have freaked out the parents. No, not her parents.
He was patient in his coaxing and finally after six long years, she responded to possibly the only person in the world that could relate to her and unlocked her heart's secrets to him. As he listened, his eyes grew wide in amazement as she revealed about her paranormal ability to foretell the future. There were tiny matters like how she anticipated the death of the family's prized cow, and major events like how she foresaw the demise of the King during the winter battle with the Artemians. No matter the subject, every episode was spoken in too great a detail for him to disbelieve. Not that he could because every single recount was not just a mere fictional narration, they were all true occurrences.
He vaguely concluded that these visions seemed to be originating directly from her mind as she could not draw references from anything she had prior knowledge of. He had to get help for his granddaughter, someone who could keep her under tutelage and supervision, someone who possibly could see images of the future as well. But who? He certainly hadn't heard of any such person. And where? The objective looked grim.
Closing her eyes now, she focused her attention on the sequence of events that her mind carried a few minutes ago -
" Huge flame pillars descended from the fiery heavens, torching everything they came into the slightest contact with. innumerable smouldering fireballs rained in supplement to the chaos, crushing and turning structures into molten messes. it was a disorderly sight as the villagers scrambled multi-directionally for their own safety, not wanting to be victims.
Wait a minute, the village, i recognise it! it's my village! What is going on?
Amidst the furore, perched at the top of the cliff overlooking Linden Village, stood an obscure figure. Right fist clenched around a shimmery golden staff that ended off with a red crystal sitting snugly in what looked like an eagle's claw, the silhouette clad in a hooded sleeveless black tunic, with the white seams of the embroidery standing out like chalk markings on a board, was still, as if gazing upon his work of art. Suddenly in a swift motion, the mysterious person pulled a left forearm over the chest to cover the identifying emblem emblazoned onto the right of the chestplate and released the muscled limb, pointing to the village below, as though claiming a masterpiece. A blood-shot glow emanated from the crystal and shot straight into the heavens. The rain of fire turned into a downpour.
Noooooooooooooooo! "
Her upper body jerked upright, head snapping back from the inertia of the action, sending a stinging pain down her neck to her spine. Her black locks swung up from the depressed pillow and curtained over her face, as though to shield her from the impending evil. Beady droplets of sweat formed earlier were already cascading down her face like torrential waters released from a damaged dam. She nervously licked her dry lips, her tongue caught and tingled with the mild salty taste of her perspiration. Every breath she took burned her breathing pipes as her nostrils flared with the tension that overtook her body. She remained motionless in bed for that moment.
The moon was in full bloom, streaks of yellow cut through the still night like a knife through butter, illuminating the darkened sky with its reflected radiance. Wispy clouds occasionally shrouded the moonbeams and eerie shadows sprouted from the ends of the obstructions. She recovered her nerves and choosing to ignore the random patterns of movement displayed by the blocked light, watched the night sky from the comforts of her bed. Every night carried a full moon for the past three months. it was certainly unusual.
it was not just a nightmare. it was a premonition of things to come. Since young she had seen things, events that would reveal themselves as reality in the future. As a little girl barely reaching six years old, she hardly understood what these meant. Terrified, most of the time, she would keep to herself, bearing the weight of this mental burden. Her parents were oblivious to her suffering as they had absolutely no time for her. Father was always working in the fields to better his crop yields for the annual harvest cash rebates that the tax department handed out to peasants with surplus output. Mother spent the daylights out in the Squire's home as a housekeeper and only returned after dusk. Even then she'd be busy with the cooking, their very own household chores and the endless fabric weaving she did as a part-time seamstress for the village. However her grandfather, a gentle, warm but frail man in his mid-eighties, was always home, always watching his beloved granddaughter, and he sensed that something was wrong when she started to lock herself in her room with a regular schedule that would have freaked out the parents. No, not her parents.
He was patient in his coaxing and finally after six long years, she responded to possibly the only person in the world that could relate to her and unlocked her heart's secrets to him. As he listened, his eyes grew wide in amazement as she revealed about her paranormal ability to foretell the future. There were tiny matters like how she anticipated the death of the family's prized cow, and major events like how she foresaw the demise of the King during the winter battle with the Artemians. No matter the subject, every episode was spoken in too great a detail for him to disbelieve. Not that he could because every single recount was not just a mere fictional narration, they were all true occurrences.
He vaguely concluded that these visions seemed to be originating directly from her mind as she could not draw references from anything she had prior knowledge of. He had to get help for his granddaughter, someone who could keep her under tutelage and supervision, someone who possibly could see images of the future as well. But who? He certainly hadn't heard of any such person. And where? The objective looked grim.
Closing her eyes now, she focused her attention on the sequence of events that her mind carried a few minutes ago -
" Huge flame pillars descended from the fiery heavens, torching everything they came into the slightest contact with. innumerable smouldering fireballs rained in supplement to the chaos, crushing and turning structures into molten messes. it was a disorderly sight as the villagers scrambled multi-directionally for their own safety, not wanting to be victims.
Wait a minute, the village, i recognise it! it's my village! What is going on?
Amidst the furore, perched at the top of the cliff overlooking Linden Village, stood an obscure figure. Right fist clenched around a shimmery golden staff that ended off with a red crystal sitting snugly in what looked like an eagle's claw, the silhouette clad in a hooded sleeveless black tunic, with the white seams of the embroidery standing out like chalk markings on a board, was still, as if gazing upon his work of art. Suddenly in a swift motion, the mysterious person pulled a left forearm over the chest to cover the identifying emblem emblazoned onto the right of the chestplate and released the muscled limb, pointing to the village below, as though claiming a masterpiece. A blood-shot glow emanated from the crystal and shot straight into the heavens. The rain of fire turned into a downpour.
Noooooooooooooooo! "