Saturday, November 12, 2005
I redid some of the prologue... yes, horribly cliché, but better than the original... which was painful... this ties into my first posted scene with Essar.
**
Prologue:
Two people were alone in the shadows. One was tall, the other notably short, but they both shared one thing in common. They both had blood on their hands, torn clothing, the exhausted looks of battle touching their eyes. The shorter, the female, had the expression of one lost, of one who no longer had any remaining hope.
He might have looked royal once, but his garb, though rich, was stained with time and dirt, of blood and battle. Now he just looked as if attempting to change his expression from the hardened stare would shatter his face. Now he just looked as if death was the only goal therein.
She had switched her blade to her left hand in the lull of the battle, rubbing her right against her tunic in an attempt to wipe some of the sweat from her palms. But it was in her dark eyes; she knew she was losing.
“Couldn’t this have stayed with our childhood?” she whispered, voice nearly given out. “We didn’t need to carry this foolish battle out beyond stolen teddy bears. You of all people, surely, should understand purpose...”
The lull had finished. He swung his weapon hard into hers, smashing it against the nearest wall to lock the woman into position. “I seen no position in carrying it on, but you seemed to insist.” He watched as she strained against his lock, fought to keep a grip against one far stronger than she could ever be. Slight of build, her advantage had been in speed, in stealth rather than a direct battle. When it had come to this, a dart whipping through her hair when he had noticed her near silent decent into the shadows...
She knew she was losing. The woman released her hold on her blade a moment before he would’ve shoved it from her sweaty grip, stumbling away from him as her balance suddenly changed. Wielding a heavy weapon limited ones movements, and made her balance altered from a typical stance.
But there wasn’t anything she could have done to prevent the obvious face of death staring at her. He spun, blade underneath her chin as she backed away into the cliff face. They were in the bottom of the canyon, away from all other sentient contact. Death wouldn’t do anything but kill her; screaming would only make it worse. She fell silent, hands raised in an unconscious attempt to defend herself, to offer anything that could prevent him from striking her down where she stood.
Within the Inner Realm, killing her would only send her back to where she had come from, leaving her death empty, and fated to be repeated again and again. It wouldn’t destroy her, only force her to remain.
Back hitting the cliff face, there was nowhere left to turn, to run. She raised her chin in slight defiance to stare the far taller being in the eyes. “So kill me.”
“After all you’ve done, I should merely kill you?” His face didn’t change upon saying this, a dull stoic expression remaining, keeping him from looking angered, cheered, pleased, or revealing any other emotion. He had the feel of one who thought that showing any emotion would possibly sent him falling to his death from a cliff.
She had the frozen appearance of one who was going to fall into tears, to weep and plead for mercy, but couldn’t bring herself to lower her dignity that far. She had some level of forced beliefs in dignity, in honor. “You don’t strike me as the type to take advantage of a female prisoner...”
“You’re certainly correct there.” For a moment he did reveal something, a contempt for those who lacked respect for other races, for other genders. Even though his garb was stained red with blood, her blood and his own, he still carried some honor. For that, she was relieved. Death was far easier to tolerate at the hands of someone who still respected you for who and what you were, rather than merely seeing you as chance.
It still wasn’t on her to do list. But the fact that his blade rested uncomfortably sharply against her throat spoke otherwise. It spoke of her death, of pain. “Please... for some respect for who I am, kill me quickly.” The words were forced from a throat nearly constricted in fear, and he had to salute her inwardly for not revealing it on her face- she was terrified.
The man narrowed his eyes nevertheless, expression flickering just slightly. “No.” He drew his blade back, and hit her over the side of the head with the flat side. For a mere second, her eyes widened, then rolled back in her head. She slumped forwards, collapsing in an unconscious slumber. He cast her a slightly disdainful glance, cleaning the blood off of his sword on the edge of his tunic. It was destroyed as it was from the battle.
He doubted she would die from her wounds. He hadn’t hit her that badly, most of the blood being merely surface wounds carefully cutting her arms in an attempt to disable her. He knew he was mildly wounded likewise, light cuts that crossed his features where her blade had found slight holes in his defenses. No, unless something came across her unconscious body, she would live, if not a bit uncomfortably.
The man sighed innerly. All this over a childhood incident concerning a teddy bear... it was so foolish. For a long moment he was tempted to take his blade, and run her through, just to end any further clamor over this issue. But this was quickly pushed aside. If she died, it would be from the elements, and not his weapon. Enough blood had been shed over a childish vendetta as it was.
Finishing his job on his sword, he sheathed it again, and turned to leave the Lesser Cliffsettings.
It was several hours before the woman at last stirred, fighting with her waning strength to force a teleportation back to the Middle Realm... back to Endyr. She would be safe there, she hoped.
***
But that’s how stories always work. One seemingly unessential event can change a lifetime. When he had stolen her teddy bear as a child, he had not thought ahead and thought that perhaps it would cause him a lifetime of agony. And it is strange, how little events can slowly tie together.
Which is why, in a completely different part of Endyr, a child had a birthday party. A few years later, he had another one, and another one. By the time he was twelve, all the local girls had decided that he was hot, plus a few others beside. As he was a halfling, complete with the adorable features of one, and conveniently a few too many inches tall, he was immediately dubbed unique, and an obvious target of all girls. Halflings do tend to be under at least four foot seven inches, just because they’re suppose to be near half sized.
This one was five foot two inches. In the West Farthings, this meant that all the halfling girls thought he was cute because he was so tall, and all the human girls liked him because he was short enough to look down on, but tall enough to comfortably kiss, being as they were about five foot seven.
He was completely unaware of any vendettas from years past that had been going on the year he had been born. To be truthful, he probably wouldn’t have cared either. Neither would the girls who continually followed him around cared, as they were too facinated by his gorgeous blue eyes. Though admitably, he might have at least pretended to care, had it gotten him out of the events preceeding his seventeenth birthday.
It all started when his mother forced him to invite those nice girls that just happened to be his friends. Because for one of them, it wasn’t an ordinary event. This made it rather unordinary for him, and thus led forward in a chain of events that would gradually explain how and why teddy bear vendettas made sense.
But enough talk. Welcome to confusion, human...
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