Writings

I decided to take the advice a few friends recently gave me and fill a little of my spare time practising writing stories. Well, not stories to be precise. Introductions. Pages, paragraphs, maybe just phrases. This is where I’ll put them. Random ideas. It’s neater and cheaper than buying a desk.

—–He’d never considered himself a bad person. Nor had anyone else for that matter. When is came down to it, was it really so bad to follow your instincts? Well, apparently it was.
Two months in the royal army and already he’d landed himself in a court martial, Kase thought to himself. This isn’t going to end well.
“I bloody told you we’d get caught, didn’t I?” joked Sammy. He was a full four inches shorter than Kase, but even in a hopeless situation like this dusty windowless cell, he was willing to engage the bigger man in banter, to lighten the mood. He was also, a little crazy, of sorts. On a good day nobody would notice, and everything was fine as long as Sammy had his pills. All the multi-coloured drugs he hoarded so jealously. Kase had seen what happened without the pills once though and had almost been killed for it. He was very lucky. Sammy and Kase had become friends as well as comrades that day, but Kase would always remember the look in Sammy’s eyes. Nobody knew what the ‘madness’ was, because nobody but Kase had survived seeing it.
“Well, what did you come along for then? Idiot” Kase retorted.
“Seemed like a fun thing to do” shrugged Sammy. “Felt like doing something to shake things up a bit.”
Despite himself Kase smiled. “Well you managed that didn’t you?, you blew up a whole section of the walled city! Did you see their faces?”
“You told me to create a distraction” The shorter man protested, before he caught the mischievous glint in his friends eye. “Yeh, well this backwater place deserved it. Bloody barbarians. Are you sure desertion is punishable by execution?” Seems a tad extreme. Only, I’ve got a lot of living too do before I intend on getting killed, and execution’s… a bit of a boring way to die really, isn’t it?”
“Yup, that’s why when that guard comes back we shouldn’t be here.” Kase hissed, as he rose to his feet, swaying only slightly for a moment before gaining his balance.
The motion was not only shocking considering what the man had been through in the last twenty four hours; a handful of explosions, crashing a military prototype buggy into the royal treasury, being shot twice in the leg and then still outrunning the Hunters, as well as being roughly beaten four times by various persons, he had also been very securely tied up.
A second later Sammy also stood, an odd expression spreading across his scarred face. He let his bonds drop to the flaw next the call’s bars. “I’m the lock picker, how’d you manage to do that faster than me?” He remarked indignantly. He caught sight of the knife in Kase’s hand. It was the smooth matt black one with the vicious curve. The only named blade seen in Sahdiolas since the Mage Wars. It glinted oddly in the light, almost reflecting it’s owner’s mischievous gaze. Kastign. sorrow. “Oh…” “It cuts metal too!? Never mind, what’s the plan? ‘Cus we need to be out of here, and soon. Else their gonna put us to trial, and you know that they’re always rigged, right? And that means only one thing, we’re dead bro. As in really dead this time. So, what’s the plan?”—–

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Well, good review’s from some of you people out there Maybe It’s time to write another

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—–He was sitting on his bed when it happened. Well, he was sitting a few inches above his bed technically. And I suppose as it is levitation, you can’t really call it sitting. I don’t think the magic propelled brick that came hurtling through the window cared how the boy was sitting. What it did care about though, was it’s immanent demise in a rather crumbly fashion when it hit the boy. It’s last thought may have been something like “I’m flying! Argh, I’m crashing! Oh I’ve stopped… Bloody wizards.” You see the boy sitting, or levitating, on, or above, his bed had stopped the rock with a thought and crumbled it too dust with a second. He then collapsed onto his knees with the magical exertion. Bead’s of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breathing became ragged. He was adept in elemental magic’s yes, but he was still only 12 years old and magic used a lot of energy. After gaining his composure and consuming a chocolate bar to replace the energy used, he suddenly noticed the silence. Not an everyday silence like the one’s you get on just any day. No, a complete silence. No sound, no magical currant. Somewhere else this may have gone on unchecked, but in a university for magic this was all wrong. No people shouting outside and none of the normal hum of magic just below normal levels of hearing. As he crossed to the window his mind working quickly to find an explanation he felt a chill behind him. Spinning quicker than a though, he struck out both physically and magically. A fist that could have punctured five inch thick steel, empowered with earth magic, connected with nothing. That is too say it passed harmlessly through the dark figure standing between Jakrill and the door.
“oh crap” Jakrill’s mind said to him.
The figure, who anyone with a scrap of magical talent knew to be death, just stood there. A cloak blacker than the deepest night shrouding him. The way it swirled in the frozen air was a dead give-away too. Along with the not being able to see a face beneath the voluminous hood and the over-large scythe.
“Jakrillious Cromtun Billiston,” Death said. though how he said it remains a mystery seeing as death has no mouth. “It is not your time yet, do not worry. I have come to herald prophecy.” The icy voice continued as it put an hourglass almost full of trickling sand away into it’s robes.
“Um, okay then” Jakrill stammered rather stupidly.
Death sighed inwardly, or would have done if he had lungs. Why we’re the children of prophecy always so boring? Death usually only saw people once per lifetime, Prophecy’s children he saw twice, but never at a time of any real consequence. Working long hours was such a drag, he could do with some entertainment. Knowing that it didn’t really matter and that he had a job to do and was already behind schedule he swung his scythe at Jakrill. A blinding flash of light appeared upon it’s touch and consciousness slipped away from the small boy. Right, death though, back to work. And he vanished with a tap of his scythe on the wooden flaw that shook the whole building. At the air began to circulate again and sounds of children carried up from outside the window, the only proof left behind of death’s presence was a small almost circular patch of the flaw that, if looked at with magical intent, was more malevolently dark than the rest of the room. —–

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—–Click. Again hearing the incessant sound that has plagued him all day. Tago spun. He held little hope of catching the culprit now. This routine had been repeated three hundred and sixty two times today. He was starting to become annoyed, which was a rare occurrence in itself, and he was loosing focus on the task at hand, which was even rarer. It was his test day, his eighteenth birthday. If he made it to the temple at midnight tonight, then ten gruelling years of tuition and training will have paid off. He would receive his first charge from the idol of prophecy and be called a Mesil-Ara, a Warrior Mage. This incessant noise had interrupted at the most inappropriate times possible so far though, and had nearly caused major incidents with more than one of his tests. No matter what he tried, magic, talent, physical force, even plugging his ears, the metallic clicking still came.
Click. “Argh!” Tago spun, this time infusing his motion with the whole of his talent’s power, causing the world around him to feel like it had slowed to a snails pace. He achieved what he’d intended. There, a blink of yellow light just before it vanished into nothing. Magic resonance. He let the rush of Talent sip away. That decided it, this was just another test. Which of the nine masters would be so childish though? And who’s magical trace was such a bright sunshine yellow? He had never seen that colour before, and he knew the colours of all the head magician’s magics. He had once even seen the the director, considered to be the most powerful magician of all Salindoras, use magic to break the seal of an ancient crypt, but that was a deep red shade, alarmingly close to that of blood.
Best too keep walking and thinking. His brain analysing, Tago continued. He was due in master Oranim’s office in an hour, and had to prepare for the next task, whatever that might be. Oranim was head of the smith, and taught only the most talented workers, in both magic and craftsmanship. He alone knew the secret to producing unbreakable glass. He was considered 5th among the nine. —–

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—–The air was still. Frigid with cold. The mist swirled in its sinister forms and shapes, while the four mage’s Swords sat in the guard room, trying to work out what had gone wrong, and more importantly, how to fix it. This was Ral Keep. The forefront of the Golden empire’s expansive castle, which blocked the Northern Pass into the wastes. Guard duty in this isolated hell hole was a punishment. Everyone in the army knew it. They were apparently keeping the corruption of the wastes at bay, but even the oldest of grandparents couldn’t remember a time when anything had actually come out of the wastes now, and the stories told of horrifying creatures and deviant races were nothing more than tales to scare children to most people.
unbeknown to the inhabitants of Ral keep though, these nightmares and much, much worse, were still very real, and very dangerous. Old sorcery lined every stone of the walls, keeping the creatures at bay. But someone had to deal with them eventually, and that’s why the Ral keep was still full of soldiers. They were the veterans. The golden army’s best proven warriors. Some even had sparks, basic soldier’s magics, but magic none the less. The last few months had been hard on the division though. More and more patrols weren’t coming back from scouting the wastes, and the mist was stirring, like in the stories of old. The whole castle had a tense atmosphere. Everyone with even the slightest shred of magic could feel it. Something was just not quite right with the air, something just out of the reach of their senses, something unsettling.
As well as soldiers, the keep also held the Anum Hal. The annual meeting place of the kingdom mages. The room was the centre of the castle. It’s heart. Here the magic was strongest. On the first day of winter every year for the last two hundred and twelve years the magic wielders had met here united under one banner, to strengthen the wards on the castle that keep away the darkness, to keep the boundary strong, to re-write the line between life and death. This year should have been no different. Only, not a single mage had arrived, so the swords, the dedicated defenders of the Anum Hal, had a problem. Without the magic, the castle would cease to protect Klidar and the rest of the Golden empire from anything that came from beyond the darkness. The wastes would overrun the castle. The Swords were old enough to remember a time when there was reason to fear the wastes, they knew the horrors that had been. The ancient magic that the first mages meeting had given to the Swords was not enough to hold the castle, and although they were powerful in their own right, they couldn’t use their magic to strengthen the boundary as they had only warrior magic.
As night fell, the magic faded, then died. The inscriptions running like veins through ever stone of the castle faded, then died. The great boundary, that had held strong for two hundred and twelve years since it’s creation, faded, then died. The swords felt it first, then the people who possessed sparks, then even the ordinary soldiers. Fear. The darkness was coming, and it knew there was no boundary and no mages to stop it this time. The majority of the soldiers instantly broke. Insanity gripped all who didn’t die instantaneously. The few who survived were taken by the darkness and changed to do it’s bidding. The Swords fought with everything, sacrificing their immortal souls to The Lady’s mercy in exchange for the power to fight the darkness. The battle raged for three whole days, before the Swords made their last stand, fighting the embodiment of darkness on the ramparts of the castle. As they neared the end, one of the four managed to pierce the body through the chest with his blade, seeming to stun their enemy. The other Swords mirrored their partner and they completed the warriors sacrifice, rending their own souls from their bodies to walk the earth eternally, in exchange for sundering, and scattering the darkness into the wastes. The entire castle was swept away as if by a monstrous hand, and all that remained was a blasted wasteland of rubble and the shades of the fallen.—–

—–”Oh shit!” Smith exclaimed as the line of guardsmen raised their rifled, and aimed at the two blindfolded men. Several clicks and the safety’s were taken off. The officer could be heard giving swift instructions to the men, but Rig wasn’t listening. “Shh”, He whispered to the other man. “Calm. Do what I say, OK?”
“Ha!” The larger man snorted. “And just look where following you has gotten me so far”
“Do it.” Rig snapped. His tone brokering no argument.
Slowly, as the seconds slipped by, the officer began making final checks and then said, firmly. “Weapons ready… Aim… Fire!”
“Go left, stay down.” Yelled the Adashi, as he shoved Smith and dived in the opposite direction. A thunderous crack split the air and all twenty rifles sounded in unison, followed momentarily by a grinding sound, then an enormous explosion as all hell broke loose.
Smith heard shouting voices a second before he felt his bonds being cut and was momentarily blinded by the brightness as someone removed his blindfold. As his vision returned he took in the smoke, the practised military routine of his so called rescuers and almost wished he had been killed by the firing squad. “Great, the outlaws” he muttered under his breath. The man who had just freed him seemed not to notice and pressed a small mk. 2 Kakari Pistol into his hands before sprinting off into the smoke in the direction of the barracks.
The whole complex seemed to be in chaos. He could hear sporadic gunfire, but had no way of telling which side was winning. For now, he decided it would be safest to stick with the Adashi pirate and work out which side to support when the metaphorical dust dies down.
Rig, some distance away, was crouching behind an overturned Trak Truk, so Smith worked his way around the outside of the building until they were level, and then joined him beside the vehicle. “What in the Dark Godess’ name is going on?” He shouted as an explosion sounded someone else inside the complex. Rig affected an his innocent smirk and shrugged. “Rescue” He stated, pointing towards a CH2 tank that had been driven straight through the outer walls. Damn, Smith thought, as he realised the extent of the situation. The outlaws, a group said to take anyone willing to resist the commonwealth, yet was still very mysterious to most of the normal population, were taking this P-Military base by force. A major armed movement was not what most people were led to believe these people were capable of. They were painted as barbarians and extremists willing to kill anything to get what they wanted, but relatively small time and easily defeated by the commonwealth peace force. Carefully putting the mental puzzle together, Smith decided they were much to organised to be anything like what he had heard, and also, that as he had known they were coming, Rig was very likely to be one of them. Today was rapidly becoming a complete shit storm, but it seemed for now, he was in the eye, with a few moments to grasp the situation and come out alive.—–