Post by beckyminor on Oct 30, 2009 22:01:02 GMT -5
Hey Inhabitants of the Anomaly!
I'm offering up another installment of my serial fiction that I'm working through...this is my planned story for December, so I'm trying to get it tidied up over the next couple of weeks. If you're so inclined, please give it a read and make as many brutally honest remarks you feel it draws out of you.
If you feel like starting here with episode 5 is too disorienting, shoot me a message and I'll get you some links to the other episodes.
Author's edit as of 11-02: I'm adding a quick synopsis of the episodes so far, if that will help any of you who would like ot offer feedback, but don't necessarily have the time to read all the previous installments over at DigitalDragonmagazine.net
Windrider, episode 5 (title suggestions welcome!)
“My lord?”
A reptilian figure raised his blood-red eyes from map he contemplated upon the table before him. His scales, the mottled green-gold of tarnished brass, put forth a dull gleam in the torchlight that illuminated his tent, his temporary lair.
“What do you need, lieutenant?” he answered, his gravelly voice hardly above a whisper. He leaned back in his chair.
“There are new developments in the situation with the Chalice of Gherag-tal, Lord Scitherias” the lieutenant replied, dropping the deep cowl of his cloak behind him. He leaned upon the table, his palms spread on the smooth coolness of the wood.
Lord Scitherias lowered an icy glare at the lieutenant. “Mind you don’t scratch my furniture with those ragged brambles you call claws.”
The scales on the back of the lieutenant’s neck rose like hackles, but he shifted his weight away from the table to clasp his hands behind his back.
“Now, what of these…developments, you say?”
“It seems the infidels have discovered the body, my lord.”
If his lordship was surprised, it certainly didn’t show. He tilted his head. “Already, lieutenant? To whose slipshod craft do we owe this untimely…inconvenience?” His words slipped through the long file of pointed teeth that lined his narrow maw like a serpent slips through grass.
“We assigned the task to one of the summoned, my lord.
Bloodthirsty he was, but apparently not thorough.” The lieutenant lashed his spiked tail in his agitation.
“Well, what else? What do the softbellies do about it?”
“Other than hide the body from their own kind, it seems little, your lordship. But we thought it would be best to keep you appraised, in case this oversight alters the plan.”
The torchlight guttered as the tent flap opened. Both draconic figures who stood within turned their attention to the newcomer, a tall, broad-winged member of the dragon-kin, who wore a complicated array of armor plates in addition to the natural protection of his own garnet scales.
“Lord Scitherias, a word, if I may?” the warrior began, genuflecting deeply as he spoke.
“Why not?” his lordship said, twirling a casual hand in the air. “It’s not as though I have gotten the chance to plot any of our next maneuver with the continual interruptions in camp this evening.”
The lieutenant flicked his tongue out the front of his mouth, tasting the air. The warrior brought with him the whiff of uncertainty.
“There has been a sighting of what the scouts guess to be a dragon in flight. Some leagues to the south, but closing,” the warrior said.
“Is that so? Interesting timing, to say the least.” Lord Scitherias focused his attention on the lieutenant for a long, tense moment.
“This could be purely coincidental,” the lieutenant replied, the scales on his neck emitting a faint chatter as his muscles coiled. “Warrior Khagrash’s report is incomplete, at best.”
Lord Scitherias stalked toward the lieutenant, each slow step falling upon the earthen floor of the seemingly shrinking space with ominous intent. “You should know by now that I dismiss any assumption of…coincidence.”
The lieutentant, however, would not be cowed so easily. He kept his gaze fixed on Lord Scitherias’ slit pupils through every ponderous step. “We don’t even know what sort of dragon, with all due respect, your lordship. Who knows how many of the creatures the softbellies harbor in their lands?”
“Well,” Lord Scitherias continued, his low tone rumbling toward the lieutenant like distant thunder. “Perhaps you and your squadron ought to go make sure the appearance of this dragon is as unimportant as you hope.”
******
My eyes watered with the continual rush of the night wind in my face, but the matchless view of the distant lands below, as well as the dome of bright stars above more than compensated me for such a small discomfort. After several consecutive nights of practice flights with Majestrin, I finally felt my seat was secure. His banks and turns, nearly second nature. The longer we flew, the more I glimpsed my distorted reflection in each of his convex silver scales, the deeper my realization I could never have earned this privilege of dragon-riding. Creo blessed me richly indeed to bestow upon me such a fierce joy.
“What now, Vinyanel, with the Week of Tourney behind you?” Majestrin asked, his voice a sound I could both hear as well as feel as I gripped his sides with my legs.
“More study with Veranna, I suppose,” I said. It came out more begrudged than I had intended.
“I don’t envy you. Has she grown any less shrill?”
“A bit, I suppose. She hardly shrieks at all when she is on the ground.” I shrugged. “Though I should be fair. Her presence has become less irritating, now that she has ceased in staring down her nose and gliding about with her ‘holy servant of a high God’ attitude.”
“Wherefore the change?”
“Who can say? While she is more tolerable, she remains enigmatic,” I replied. “I believe her dead faint over finding the body in the rubbish has instilled in her a whole new dimension of humbleness.”
Majestrin’s sides pulsed, and the series of squawks that emitted from his mouth struck me as laughter.
“Though I will not deny it was awkward when she awoke. I am…unused to frailty at the sight of death. A soldier’s life deals out corpses as frequently as daily rations.”
“Perhaps Creo demands a mote of tenderness within that soldier’s breast,” the dragon said.
I hoped he could feel my glare boring into the back of his head.
After a few more wing-beats, Majestrin slammed to a stop. I grappled his neck. A few days earlier, I might have pitched from his back entirely.
“Heaven and earth, Majestrin, what are you—”
“Hush!” the dragon said with a hiss. He sniffed several times while he hovered in place. With a curve of his neck, he turned his brilliant green eyes to me. “Captain, I believe we may have a problem.”
Between the shock of his abrupt stop and the affront of his interruption, my humor had gone sour. “Out with it, then. No conundrums.”
“I smell dragon-kin on the wind. Either there are many, or they are close.”
“How close could they be? You can smell them from this height?” I blustered.
“Well, Captain, they can—”
An impact like a catapult stone barreled into me, knocking me clear of Majestrin’s back. The terrifying sense of freefall buffeted the breath from my lungs, preventing the scream that would have come otherwise. If I lived through this, we would have to devise a solution to riders of flying mounts losing their seats.
The dark carpet of treetops below rushed toward me at an alarming rate. Another impact stole my sense of orientation as my body made, as best I could tell, a lateral lurch. I struggled against the pressure around my midsection. The vibration of a wordless grunt that I felt against my torso snapped me to my senses: Majestrin had caught me in his maw and clenched me ever-so-gingerly to keep his teeth from piercing my flesh. Of all the days to forego wearing my armor.
We careened toward the forest canopy, but this was no easy descent like I had ridden through in the past. Majestrin spun, dove, banked and otherwise disoriented me. What remained of my dinner threatened to evacuate my stomach at any moment.
The dragon wheeled a full one hundred-eighty degrees and lifted me high as he lashed out with one of his foretalons. His fearsome claws connected with a smaller winged figure that spun crazily from the force of the attack. I saw the glint of a drawn weapon in the figure’s hand. My lingering vertigo prevented me from gathering more than that.
Majestrin rapidly craned his neck around and plopped me at his withers once more. “Try to stay seated. The ride’s going to be rough.”
I groped around the dragon’s back and neck, at a loss for a significant handhold. Majestrin had better submit the idea of tack or barding after this. I clutched one of the plates that stood up from his neck and prayed.
With a mighty thrust of his wings, Majestrin surged forward.
“Are we fleeing?” I yelled over the wind that roared in my ears.
“From what?”
“I simply hope to buy us some time to think. At least two dragon-kin want our hides.”
I glanced around the deep cobalt landscape below and caught sight of our two flying opponents whose wings flapped crazily as they fought to match our speed. Not far ahead, I also spied the spire of a dead tree, mostly stripped of branches from many years of withstanding the press of the elements.
“Majestrin, do you think you could swoop down and break off a couple fathoms of that tree trunk?” I asked.
The dragon spared a glance back to me, just long enough to offer a devilish grin. “Hold on tight.”
He tucked his wings and plummeted in a steep dive. I hunkered down low, putting as much of my torso against his neck as possible so the sheer force of the wind did not tear me from his back. As the leaves of the trees crackled and whipped at Majestrin’s hind legs and tail, I felt a lurch and heard a sharp crack. We shot for the sky again.
“Will this do?” Majestrin called, reaching back to hand me the slender tree trunk he had acquired.
I weighed the length of it against my strength. “Yes, nicely. Come about, my friend.”
As we wheeled in a wide arc, I again uttered a brief prayer to Creo.
Almighty Creator, it is going to take nothing short of a miracle to keep me on Majestrin’s back in just a few seconds. I leave that up to you.
The silver dragon thrust toward the approaching dragon-kin, and I singled out the figure on the left, for lack of any educated reason to choose one over the other. I could tell the enemy’s pace slackened as we bore down upon him. I lowered my tree-trunk-turned lance, leveling it at my opponent. His hesitancy turned to panic. Limbs and wings flailing, he fought against his own momentum. He had chosen a change of course too late.
With practiced precision, I caught him full in the chest with the lance, and I gritted my teeth against the inevitable shock that would launch me from Majestrin’s back. Were he a horse, I would know how to roll with the blow and land on my feet. But three hundred feet in the air? For that, I sat unprepared.
Though not nearly as unprepared as I was for the uncanny barricade the slammed into my back and kept me seated. Majestrin’s sheer speed drove the improvised weapon straight through my opponent. I had never hit anything that hard or that fast in my life, and yet, even against the jarring slam I had endured, my legs gripped Majestrin’s sides like a blacksmith had forged us into a single entity. The lance snapped as the speared dragon-kin dropped from the sky.
Majestrin turned again, and I scanned the sky for the second foe. What remained of my lance might serve as a quarterstaff. Our quick victory over our first opponent emboldened me just enough to give it a try.
“We need the second brute alive, if we can get him,” I said to my mount. “I should like a chance at persuading him to divulge what brought him and his friend so far south. So, if we spot him, do me a favor and do not swallow him in one gulp.”
“Perish the thought.” Majestrin shuddered beneath me. “I have personal dictum that I shant eat anything that talks, evil or not.”
I chuckled darkly. “Let us keep that little matter to ourselves, at least for the time being.”
I sought our surroundings for the remaining enemy, thankful that the darkness was no obstacle to my sight. A rustle of canopy caught my eye.
“There!” I pointed down to the spot.
Majestrin plummeted toward our quarry, and I grimaced in anticipation of the assault of the tree branches on my flesh. The dragon-kin tore recklessly through the growth, but we still closed upon him in little time.
When his black boots touched the forest floor, the reptilian fiend broke into a run. We charged after him. A maniacal war cry erupted from my mouth as we hunted him; he had no hope of outrunning us.
The creature burst into a clearing and whirled to face us, his crimson-lined cape flaring dramatically around him. Could he truly be so foolhardy? Did he really think he could face down not only me, but a mature silver dragon? His last stand would be a short one.
We crashed into the clearing as well, when from the opposite side of the dense tree cover, a score or more dragon kin-stepped from the shadows, weapons drawn.
If ever I saw a need for prayers, this was it.
I'm offering up another installment of my serial fiction that I'm working through...this is my planned story for December, so I'm trying to get it tidied up over the next couple of weeks. If you're so inclined, please give it a read and make as many brutally honest remarks you feel it draws out of you.
If you feel like starting here with episode 5 is too disorienting, shoot me a message and I'll get you some links to the other episodes.
Author's edit as of 11-02: I'm adding a quick synopsis of the episodes so far, if that will help any of you who would like ot offer feedback, but don't necessarily have the time to read all the previous installments over at DigitalDragonmagazine.net
Windrider, episode 5 (title suggestions welcome!)
“My lord?”
A reptilian figure raised his blood-red eyes from map he contemplated upon the table before him. His scales, the mottled green-gold of tarnished brass, put forth a dull gleam in the torchlight that illuminated his tent, his temporary lair.
“What do you need, lieutenant?” he answered, his gravelly voice hardly above a whisper. He leaned back in his chair.
“There are new developments in the situation with the Chalice of Gherag-tal, Lord Scitherias” the lieutenant replied, dropping the deep cowl of his cloak behind him. He leaned upon the table, his palms spread on the smooth coolness of the wood.
Lord Scitherias lowered an icy glare at the lieutenant. “Mind you don’t scratch my furniture with those ragged brambles you call claws.”
The scales on the back of the lieutenant’s neck rose like hackles, but he shifted his weight away from the table to clasp his hands behind his back.
“Now, what of these…developments, you say?”
“It seems the infidels have discovered the body, my lord.”
If his lordship was surprised, it certainly didn’t show. He tilted his head. “Already, lieutenant? To whose slipshod craft do we owe this untimely…inconvenience?” His words slipped through the long file of pointed teeth that lined his narrow maw like a serpent slips through grass.
“We assigned the task to one of the summoned, my lord.
Bloodthirsty he was, but apparently not thorough.” The lieutenant lashed his spiked tail in his agitation.
“Well, what else? What do the softbellies do about it?”
“Other than hide the body from their own kind, it seems little, your lordship. But we thought it would be best to keep you appraised, in case this oversight alters the plan.”
The torchlight guttered as the tent flap opened. Both draconic figures who stood within turned their attention to the newcomer, a tall, broad-winged member of the dragon-kin, who wore a complicated array of armor plates in addition to the natural protection of his own garnet scales.
“Lord Scitherias, a word, if I may?” the warrior began, genuflecting deeply as he spoke.
“Why not?” his lordship said, twirling a casual hand in the air. “It’s not as though I have gotten the chance to plot any of our next maneuver with the continual interruptions in camp this evening.”
The lieutenant flicked his tongue out the front of his mouth, tasting the air. The warrior brought with him the whiff of uncertainty.
“There has been a sighting of what the scouts guess to be a dragon in flight. Some leagues to the south, but closing,” the warrior said.
“Is that so? Interesting timing, to say the least.” Lord Scitherias focused his attention on the lieutenant for a long, tense moment.
“This could be purely coincidental,” the lieutenant replied, the scales on his neck emitting a faint chatter as his muscles coiled. “Warrior Khagrash’s report is incomplete, at best.”
Lord Scitherias stalked toward the lieutenant, each slow step falling upon the earthen floor of the seemingly shrinking space with ominous intent. “You should know by now that I dismiss any assumption of…coincidence.”
The lieutentant, however, would not be cowed so easily. He kept his gaze fixed on Lord Scitherias’ slit pupils through every ponderous step. “We don’t even know what sort of dragon, with all due respect, your lordship. Who knows how many of the creatures the softbellies harbor in their lands?”
“Well,” Lord Scitherias continued, his low tone rumbling toward the lieutenant like distant thunder. “Perhaps you and your squadron ought to go make sure the appearance of this dragon is as unimportant as you hope.”
******
My eyes watered with the continual rush of the night wind in my face, but the matchless view of the distant lands below, as well as the dome of bright stars above more than compensated me for such a small discomfort. After several consecutive nights of practice flights with Majestrin, I finally felt my seat was secure. His banks and turns, nearly second nature. The longer we flew, the more I glimpsed my distorted reflection in each of his convex silver scales, the deeper my realization I could never have earned this privilege of dragon-riding. Creo blessed me richly indeed to bestow upon me such a fierce joy.
“What now, Vinyanel, with the Week of Tourney behind you?” Majestrin asked, his voice a sound I could both hear as well as feel as I gripped his sides with my legs.
“More study with Veranna, I suppose,” I said. It came out more begrudged than I had intended.
“I don’t envy you. Has she grown any less shrill?”
“A bit, I suppose. She hardly shrieks at all when she is on the ground.” I shrugged. “Though I should be fair. Her presence has become less irritating, now that she has ceased in staring down her nose and gliding about with her ‘holy servant of a high God’ attitude.”
“Wherefore the change?”
“Who can say? While she is more tolerable, she remains enigmatic,” I replied. “I believe her dead faint over finding the body in the rubbish has instilled in her a whole new dimension of humbleness.”
Majestrin’s sides pulsed, and the series of squawks that emitted from his mouth struck me as laughter.
“Though I will not deny it was awkward when she awoke. I am…unused to frailty at the sight of death. A soldier’s life deals out corpses as frequently as daily rations.”
“Perhaps Creo demands a mote of tenderness within that soldier’s breast,” the dragon said.
I hoped he could feel my glare boring into the back of his head.
After a few more wing-beats, Majestrin slammed to a stop. I grappled his neck. A few days earlier, I might have pitched from his back entirely.
“Heaven and earth, Majestrin, what are you—”
“Hush!” the dragon said with a hiss. He sniffed several times while he hovered in place. With a curve of his neck, he turned his brilliant green eyes to me. “Captain, I believe we may have a problem.”
Between the shock of his abrupt stop and the affront of his interruption, my humor had gone sour. “Out with it, then. No conundrums.”
“I smell dragon-kin on the wind. Either there are many, or they are close.”
“How close could they be? You can smell them from this height?” I blustered.
“Well, Captain, they can—”
An impact like a catapult stone barreled into me, knocking me clear of Majestrin’s back. The terrifying sense of freefall buffeted the breath from my lungs, preventing the scream that would have come otherwise. If I lived through this, we would have to devise a solution to riders of flying mounts losing their seats.
The dark carpet of treetops below rushed toward me at an alarming rate. Another impact stole my sense of orientation as my body made, as best I could tell, a lateral lurch. I struggled against the pressure around my midsection. The vibration of a wordless grunt that I felt against my torso snapped me to my senses: Majestrin had caught me in his maw and clenched me ever-so-gingerly to keep his teeth from piercing my flesh. Of all the days to forego wearing my armor.
We careened toward the forest canopy, but this was no easy descent like I had ridden through in the past. Majestrin spun, dove, banked and otherwise disoriented me. What remained of my dinner threatened to evacuate my stomach at any moment.
The dragon wheeled a full one hundred-eighty degrees and lifted me high as he lashed out with one of his foretalons. His fearsome claws connected with a smaller winged figure that spun crazily from the force of the attack. I saw the glint of a drawn weapon in the figure’s hand. My lingering vertigo prevented me from gathering more than that.
Majestrin rapidly craned his neck around and plopped me at his withers once more. “Try to stay seated. The ride’s going to be rough.”
I groped around the dragon’s back and neck, at a loss for a significant handhold. Majestrin had better submit the idea of tack or barding after this. I clutched one of the plates that stood up from his neck and prayed.
With a mighty thrust of his wings, Majestrin surged forward.
“Are we fleeing?” I yelled over the wind that roared in my ears.
“From what?”
“I simply hope to buy us some time to think. At least two dragon-kin want our hides.”
I glanced around the deep cobalt landscape below and caught sight of our two flying opponents whose wings flapped crazily as they fought to match our speed. Not far ahead, I also spied the spire of a dead tree, mostly stripped of branches from many years of withstanding the press of the elements.
“Majestrin, do you think you could swoop down and break off a couple fathoms of that tree trunk?” I asked.
The dragon spared a glance back to me, just long enough to offer a devilish grin. “Hold on tight.”
He tucked his wings and plummeted in a steep dive. I hunkered down low, putting as much of my torso against his neck as possible so the sheer force of the wind did not tear me from his back. As the leaves of the trees crackled and whipped at Majestrin’s hind legs and tail, I felt a lurch and heard a sharp crack. We shot for the sky again.
“Will this do?” Majestrin called, reaching back to hand me the slender tree trunk he had acquired.
I weighed the length of it against my strength. “Yes, nicely. Come about, my friend.”
As we wheeled in a wide arc, I again uttered a brief prayer to Creo.
Almighty Creator, it is going to take nothing short of a miracle to keep me on Majestrin’s back in just a few seconds. I leave that up to you.
The silver dragon thrust toward the approaching dragon-kin, and I singled out the figure on the left, for lack of any educated reason to choose one over the other. I could tell the enemy’s pace slackened as we bore down upon him. I lowered my tree-trunk-turned lance, leveling it at my opponent. His hesitancy turned to panic. Limbs and wings flailing, he fought against his own momentum. He had chosen a change of course too late.
With practiced precision, I caught him full in the chest with the lance, and I gritted my teeth against the inevitable shock that would launch me from Majestrin’s back. Were he a horse, I would know how to roll with the blow and land on my feet. But three hundred feet in the air? For that, I sat unprepared.
Though not nearly as unprepared as I was for the uncanny barricade the slammed into my back and kept me seated. Majestrin’s sheer speed drove the improvised weapon straight through my opponent. I had never hit anything that hard or that fast in my life, and yet, even against the jarring slam I had endured, my legs gripped Majestrin’s sides like a blacksmith had forged us into a single entity. The lance snapped as the speared dragon-kin dropped from the sky.
Majestrin turned again, and I scanned the sky for the second foe. What remained of my lance might serve as a quarterstaff. Our quick victory over our first opponent emboldened me just enough to give it a try.
“We need the second brute alive, if we can get him,” I said to my mount. “I should like a chance at persuading him to divulge what brought him and his friend so far south. So, if we spot him, do me a favor and do not swallow him in one gulp.”
“Perish the thought.” Majestrin shuddered beneath me. “I have personal dictum that I shant eat anything that talks, evil or not.”
I chuckled darkly. “Let us keep that little matter to ourselves, at least for the time being.”
I sought our surroundings for the remaining enemy, thankful that the darkness was no obstacle to my sight. A rustle of canopy caught my eye.
“There!” I pointed down to the spot.
Majestrin plummeted toward our quarry, and I grimaced in anticipation of the assault of the tree branches on my flesh. The dragon-kin tore recklessly through the growth, but we still closed upon him in little time.
When his black boots touched the forest floor, the reptilian fiend broke into a run. We charged after him. A maniacal war cry erupted from my mouth as we hunted him; he had no hope of outrunning us.
The creature burst into a clearing and whirled to face us, his crimson-lined cape flaring dramatically around him. Could he truly be so foolhardy? Did he really think he could face down not only me, but a mature silver dragon? His last stand would be a short one.
We crashed into the clearing as well, when from the opposite side of the dense tree cover, a score or more dragon kin-stepped from the shadows, weapons drawn.
If ever I saw a need for prayers, this was it.
Can you point me towards 1-4?
)
With that said, it could have been a BIG tent. You probably have similar clues earlier in the story, so I doubt it's necessary, but if you had started the scene outside the tent with the lieutenant's entry, you could have compared its size to the surrounding features (trees or whatever) ... just a thought.