Go Fish 2012 - part six
Aug. 14th, 2012 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dicreasy2Title: Go Fish 2012: Part Six
Prompt: High Fantasy
Rating: PG
Summary: In which the invasion starts.
Notes: So, I'm not very happy with this part. It's one of those scenes where I need to sit down some more, pick it apart and sort out my thought processes and the timings more. But it's also the last part I need to post for Go Fish, and I have very little time to turn it into something I'm happier with so I'm going to post it as it is. Think of it more as a draft for a scene than a complete scene.
Word Count: 1,888.
Cumulative Word Count: 11,023.
It had been three hours since he had left the line of trees, but now Cahlleehn contemplated them once more. He had been making plans for taking back their land ever since the enchantments had started to fail, and it had taken only a few hours to mobilise his troops. He looked over at Ailya by his side. She was no longer in her pale grey robes, her hair tied up in her elegant chignon. Instead she was resplendent in a suit of mail over leather trousers and a soft wool tunic, her long blonde hair in a long plait that reached to her waist. She licked her lips hungrily, her eyes ablaze and he could tell she was as impatient as he was to press on and retake what was rightfully theirs. Sarhje was beside her, her black curls a cloud around her head, her lips parted in anticipation. Her earlier encounter with the two woodcutters had whetted her appetite for meeting other humans and she could barely contain her glee at the thought of there being more for her to play with.
Cahlleehn strode to the line of trees, and turned to face his people. “My people,” he said, “for nearly three centuries we have been imprisoned, kept out of the land of our forefathers, by a race barely out of infancy. Today, the bonds of our prison have fallen. Today we are free. And today we start to reclaim our land!”
The crowd roared in appreciation and Cahlleehn turned to once more face the trees. He squared his shoulders and started through them, knowing that his people were following on his heels.
In the forge, Esmond was hard at work. He already missed Irene, and had decided to throw himself into making a new set of plough shears as a way to take his mind off of her absence. He was critically examining the curve he was putting on the first sheet of metal, when he heard an undulating cry that caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. He dropped the plough shear to the ground and made his way to his finished rack, where he withdrew a short sword. He then went and closed the doors to the forge before taking up position by the small, grimy window that overlooked the village square. He did all of this without conscious thought, and it was only when he was leaning against the wall looking out, his hand tightly grasping the sword that he pondered his actions. On the face of it, he should be rushing outside as the majority of the village men seemed to be doing, trying to find out what the noise was, but something at the back of his mind was telling him to take cover, to lay low, to assess the situation and, in doing so, then maybe he would stay alive when they came. Who they were, he had no idea.
He didn’t have long to wait to see them. The Graceful glided into the village square, Cahlleehn leading. They were unlike any beings Esmond had seen before. All were tall, very tall; the shortest had to be over six feet and their skin seemed luminous, as if they were lit from within. The overall impression was one of beauty, and yet Esmond was fighting the impulse to vomit in repulsion.
The villagers in the square stopped and stared as Cahlleehn made his way to the fountain at the centre. His retinue took up their places by his side, while the guards stopped on the outskirts of the square. Cahlleehn looked around and his eyes narrowed. His plan consisted of pushing on, laying waste to all resistance until he reached the centre of the land. This was the first village they had encountered and he was intrigued as to what he would find. He raised his hand in a signal and half the contingent of guards saluted and peeled off, while the rest stood to attention at each entrance into the square. From where he was, Esmond could hear the sounds of the guards hammering on doors and dragging the villagers from their homes. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as Cahlleehn, making a round of the square started to walk towards the smithy. Esmond started to draw away from the window, ready to take up a stance, and defend himself. He was surprised when Cahlleehn stopped about fifty feet away with a shudder. He watched, barely breathing as the tall, black haired man stared at the smithy for a long moment, before turning and walking back to the fountain. Esmond relaxed and crept closer to the window once more.
His fellow villagers were herded into the square in dribs and drabs, most of the men separated off from the women and children, some of the guard staying to make sure they didn’t move. They didn’t seem to be needed though, as the villages stood there, clearly in awe of these graceful beings.
Eventually the last of the guard re-entered the square and approached Cahlleehn. He saluted. “Sehr, all the houses are now empty.” Cahlleehn nodded at him and turned towards the people of the village. It was smaller than he had expected, given his father’s tales and the villagers appeared to be in shock, standing there, staring at him and the rest of the Graceful. They didn’t appear to be much of a threat, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. The first thing he planned to do was eliminate the descendants of the very people who have imprisoned him.
The villagers watched Cahlleehn pace silently, in awe of his power and beauty. Apart from that is, Boris, who’s eyes were fixed on the figure of Sarhje. “That’s her,” he said suddenly, “that’s the woman we saw in the woods, the one who told Cedric to kill me!” Sarhje looked lazily over at him, while Cahlleehn fixed him with a glare. The woman standing next to Boris shushed him.
“But!”
“Shush Boris. We must listen to what the lord has to say.”
Cahlleehn nodded and addressed the crowd. He didn’t seem to raise his voice but when he spoke, it rang out clearly. “The Hunter and his kin will step forward.”
The villagers looked at each other in confusion.”
“Now!”
A lone man shuffled forwards. “Yes sir,” he said, bowing his head. Cahlleehn approached him and sneered. “You are not the Hunter, nor are you his son.”
“Begging your pardon sir, but there is no one round here better with a bow than me.”
“There is more to the Hunter than skill with the bow or sword. The Hunter is strong, he is able to sense when we are near. He can bend the noxious metal to his will. His reflexes rival our own.”
The man standing before him seemed nonplussed. “It sounds like you are describing the Hunter from fairy tales.”
Cahlleehn made an impatient noise in his throat. “You know very well who I am describing, but you choose to shield him.”
The hunter took a step back. “Perhaps the Hunter and his descendants are not here,” said Sarhje.
“No. The Hunter was always cunning. He would surely have stayed here.”
“MeSehr, it is possible that the blood has been diluted over the years, that there are none of his descendants here anymore,” said Ailya.
“That is impossible, it has been less than two generations.”
“For us, yes. But you forget that we are far longer lived than these vermin. For them I would not be surprised if it is nearer to eight generations.”
Cahlleehn stopped and looked around him. Perhaps she was right. If there were no descendants of the Hunter, that would be one obstacle out of the way leaving only the witches to deal with. He peered out at the villagers. Normally he and his people were able to sense the subtle aura of those with magical abilities, but being so close to a building full of iron was having an adverse effect on his senses. He decided to be blunt and ask the villagers again. “Where are your witches?”
“’Tain’t no witches in Ferras sir,” said the hunter who had yet to move back into the crowd. “Not for fifty years or more. The old King was fearful of them see; ‘ad them hunted down and executed.”
Cahlleehn looked at him in astonishment. Could it be that these stupid humans had done away with the very people that could have foiled him. He slowly smiled. “We have been trapped without the freedom of the woods for too long. We require some sport. We require a hunt! But your news makes me inclined to be merciful. You will have a head start.”
Some of the villagers started to look at each other in confusion. Head start? Hunt? Surely they weren’t going to hunt them? “You,” Cahlleehn gesture encompassed the group of women and children, as well as some of the less able bodied men, “will serve us. The rest,” he turned to look at the separate group of men and smiled, showing his teeth. “Run.”
No one made a move as they struggled to process what they had heard. Cahlleehn growled and drew his sword. Without warning, he plunged it into the stomach of the nearest male villager. “I said, run.” Some of the village men looked on in shock as Cahlleehn withdrew his sword from Bert and the butcher toppled over, making keening noises as he bleed to death. For others, this was all the encouragement they needed and they peeled away, dashing in different directions as they hastened to get away.
Esmond had seen all this happen, and he stood there, his hand over his mouth as he fought the rising bile in his throat. He knew with a certainty that these creatures where the Graceful of the fairy tales, and they were just as monstrous as the tales had portrayed. He was aware of movement coming his way from across the square as some of the men, realising that having weapons would be an advantage, headed towards the Smithy. Esmond thought fast. He had to inform the king of what was happening so that the army could be mobilised against the Graceful. He had to find Irene and keep her safe. He couldn’t be seen. But he also couldn’t let the people he’d known all his life be slaughtered by these creatures.
He gathered up several daggers and another sword from the racks, stowing them about his person, before lifting the heavy beam from the front doors. That done, he slipped into the back room where he kept his supplies and quietly unlocked the door there. Cautiously, he opened it and peered out into the alleyway behind his forge. There was no one around. He crept out, closing the door quietly behind him. He considered leaving it unlocked, so that others could escape the same way he had, but he soon dismissed the idea. He didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that he had been hiding in the smithy, or that he had left the way he had. Taking great care, he started to make his way through the alleyways and towards the edge of the village.
Prompt: High Fantasy
Rating: PG
Summary: In which the invasion starts.
Notes: So, I'm not very happy with this part. It's one of those scenes where I need to sit down some more, pick it apart and sort out my thought processes and the timings more. But it's also the last part I need to post for Go Fish, and I have very little time to turn it into something I'm happier with so I'm going to post it as it is. Think of it more as a draft for a scene than a complete scene.
Word Count: 1,888.
Cumulative Word Count: 11,023.
It had been three hours since he had left the line of trees, but now Cahlleehn contemplated them once more. He had been making plans for taking back their land ever since the enchantments had started to fail, and it had taken only a few hours to mobilise his troops. He looked over at Ailya by his side. She was no longer in her pale grey robes, her hair tied up in her elegant chignon. Instead she was resplendent in a suit of mail over leather trousers and a soft wool tunic, her long blonde hair in a long plait that reached to her waist. She licked her lips hungrily, her eyes ablaze and he could tell she was as impatient as he was to press on and retake what was rightfully theirs. Sarhje was beside her, her black curls a cloud around her head, her lips parted in anticipation. Her earlier encounter with the two woodcutters had whetted her appetite for meeting other humans and she could barely contain her glee at the thought of there being more for her to play with.
Cahlleehn strode to the line of trees, and turned to face his people. “My people,” he said, “for nearly three centuries we have been imprisoned, kept out of the land of our forefathers, by a race barely out of infancy. Today, the bonds of our prison have fallen. Today we are free. And today we start to reclaim our land!”
The crowd roared in appreciation and Cahlleehn turned to once more face the trees. He squared his shoulders and started through them, knowing that his people were following on his heels.
***
In the forge, Esmond was hard at work. He already missed Irene, and had decided to throw himself into making a new set of plough shears as a way to take his mind off of her absence. He was critically examining the curve he was putting on the first sheet of metal, when he heard an undulating cry that caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand on end. He dropped the plough shear to the ground and made his way to his finished rack, where he withdrew a short sword. He then went and closed the doors to the forge before taking up position by the small, grimy window that overlooked the village square. He did all of this without conscious thought, and it was only when he was leaning against the wall looking out, his hand tightly grasping the sword that he pondered his actions. On the face of it, he should be rushing outside as the majority of the village men seemed to be doing, trying to find out what the noise was, but something at the back of his mind was telling him to take cover, to lay low, to assess the situation and, in doing so, then maybe he would stay alive when they came. Who they were, he had no idea.
He didn’t have long to wait to see them. The Graceful glided into the village square, Cahlleehn leading. They were unlike any beings Esmond had seen before. All were tall, very tall; the shortest had to be over six feet and their skin seemed luminous, as if they were lit from within. The overall impression was one of beauty, and yet Esmond was fighting the impulse to vomit in repulsion.
The villagers in the square stopped and stared as Cahlleehn made his way to the fountain at the centre. His retinue took up their places by his side, while the guards stopped on the outskirts of the square. Cahlleehn looked around and his eyes narrowed. His plan consisted of pushing on, laying waste to all resistance until he reached the centre of the land. This was the first village they had encountered and he was intrigued as to what he would find. He raised his hand in a signal and half the contingent of guards saluted and peeled off, while the rest stood to attention at each entrance into the square. From where he was, Esmond could hear the sounds of the guards hammering on doors and dragging the villagers from their homes. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as Cahlleehn, making a round of the square started to walk towards the smithy. Esmond started to draw away from the window, ready to take up a stance, and defend himself. He was surprised when Cahlleehn stopped about fifty feet away with a shudder. He watched, barely breathing as the tall, black haired man stared at the smithy for a long moment, before turning and walking back to the fountain. Esmond relaxed and crept closer to the window once more.
His fellow villagers were herded into the square in dribs and drabs, most of the men separated off from the women and children, some of the guard staying to make sure they didn’t move. They didn’t seem to be needed though, as the villages stood there, clearly in awe of these graceful beings.
Eventually the last of the guard re-entered the square and approached Cahlleehn. He saluted. “Sehr, all the houses are now empty.” Cahlleehn nodded at him and turned towards the people of the village. It was smaller than he had expected, given his father’s tales and the villagers appeared to be in shock, standing there, staring at him and the rest of the Graceful. They didn’t appear to be much of a threat, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. The first thing he planned to do was eliminate the descendants of the very people who have imprisoned him.
The villagers watched Cahlleehn pace silently, in awe of his power and beauty. Apart from that is, Boris, who’s eyes were fixed on the figure of Sarhje. “That’s her,” he said suddenly, “that’s the woman we saw in the woods, the one who told Cedric to kill me!” Sarhje looked lazily over at him, while Cahlleehn fixed him with a glare. The woman standing next to Boris shushed him.
“But!”
“Shush Boris. We must listen to what the lord has to say.”
Cahlleehn nodded and addressed the crowd. He didn’t seem to raise his voice but when he spoke, it rang out clearly. “The Hunter and his kin will step forward.”
The villagers looked at each other in confusion.”
“Now!”
A lone man shuffled forwards. “Yes sir,” he said, bowing his head. Cahlleehn approached him and sneered. “You are not the Hunter, nor are you his son.”
“Begging your pardon sir, but there is no one round here better with a bow than me.”
“There is more to the Hunter than skill with the bow or sword. The Hunter is strong, he is able to sense when we are near. He can bend the noxious metal to his will. His reflexes rival our own.”
The man standing before him seemed nonplussed. “It sounds like you are describing the Hunter from fairy tales.”
Cahlleehn made an impatient noise in his throat. “You know very well who I am describing, but you choose to shield him.”
The hunter took a step back. “Perhaps the Hunter and his descendants are not here,” said Sarhje.
“No. The Hunter was always cunning. He would surely have stayed here.”
“MeSehr, it is possible that the blood has been diluted over the years, that there are none of his descendants here anymore,” said Ailya.
“That is impossible, it has been less than two generations.”
“For us, yes. But you forget that we are far longer lived than these vermin. For them I would not be surprised if it is nearer to eight generations.”
Cahlleehn stopped and looked around him. Perhaps she was right. If there were no descendants of the Hunter, that would be one obstacle out of the way leaving only the witches to deal with. He peered out at the villagers. Normally he and his people were able to sense the subtle aura of those with magical abilities, but being so close to a building full of iron was having an adverse effect on his senses. He decided to be blunt and ask the villagers again. “Where are your witches?”
“’Tain’t no witches in Ferras sir,” said the hunter who had yet to move back into the crowd. “Not for fifty years or more. The old King was fearful of them see; ‘ad them hunted down and executed.”
Cahlleehn looked at him in astonishment. Could it be that these stupid humans had done away with the very people that could have foiled him. He slowly smiled. “We have been trapped without the freedom of the woods for too long. We require some sport. We require a hunt! But your news makes me inclined to be merciful. You will have a head start.”
Some of the villagers started to look at each other in confusion. Head start? Hunt? Surely they weren’t going to hunt them? “You,” Cahlleehn gesture encompassed the group of women and children, as well as some of the less able bodied men, “will serve us. The rest,” he turned to look at the separate group of men and smiled, showing his teeth. “Run.”
No one made a move as they struggled to process what they had heard. Cahlleehn growled and drew his sword. Without warning, he plunged it into the stomach of the nearest male villager. “I said, run.” Some of the village men looked on in shock as Cahlleehn withdrew his sword from Bert and the butcher toppled over, making keening noises as he bleed to death. For others, this was all the encouragement they needed and they peeled away, dashing in different directions as they hastened to get away.
Esmond had seen all this happen, and he stood there, his hand over his mouth as he fought the rising bile in his throat. He knew with a certainty that these creatures where the Graceful of the fairy tales, and they were just as monstrous as the tales had portrayed. He was aware of movement coming his way from across the square as some of the men, realising that having weapons would be an advantage, headed towards the Smithy. Esmond thought fast. He had to inform the king of what was happening so that the army could be mobilised against the Graceful. He had to find Irene and keep her safe. He couldn’t be seen. But he also couldn’t let the people he’d known all his life be slaughtered by these creatures.
He gathered up several daggers and another sword from the racks, stowing them about his person, before lifting the heavy beam from the front doors. That done, he slipped into the back room where he kept his supplies and quietly unlocked the door there. Cautiously, he opened it and peered out into the alleyway behind his forge. There was no one around. He crept out, closing the door quietly behind him. He considered leaving it unlocked, so that others could escape the same way he had, but he soon dismissed the idea. He didn’t want to draw any attention to the fact that he had been hiding in the smithy, or that he had left the way he had. Taking great care, he started to make his way through the alleyways and towards the edge of the village.
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no subject
Date: 2012-08-14 08:44 pm (UTC)Right on with you and your instincts, Esmond. Cahlleehn and the rest are just flat-out awful, and I'm glad at least someone got that right away. Hopefully there's a way he can help!
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 02:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-14 08:44 pm (UTC)Congrats on winning!!
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 02:58 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-15 03:02 am (UTC)I'm going to further Casey's guess and guess that Irene is descended from the witches as well. It makes sense with their dreams.
Great job!!
no subject
Date: 2012-08-18 02:59 pm (UTC)Yep, Irene is a witch, but like with Esmond, she doesn't know it. She doesn't even know that her grandmother was a witch and was executed for it. It's a black stain on the family that they don't talk about.
Thanks, I'm glad that you've been enjoying it.