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Thought I'd post what I wrote today. It's, well, I'm not sure what it is. Maybe a first chapter or more likely a standalone piece. Anyway, it's set in the fantasy world I've been building. Any feedback would be appreciated. - xoxo MEL
LIFE ON THE ROAD
Batka Iken grunted as the bandit slammed his blade against her own. She pushed back and stepped forward, thrusting. The man’s face blanched as the tip of Heartbreaker plunged into his gut. Clutching his innards, the man fell, dying. Batka ignored him, turning to check on her comrades.
Con Rabman had dispatched his foe with his usual alacrity. The goblin warrior was retrieving his throwing knives, his smile a wide white swathe in his dark green face. He noted Batka’s gaze and flashed her a grin.
The others had fared just as well. The dwarf woman, Aidha Dagya, was bent over, hands on her knees, red faced with exertion. Two bandits lay dead at her feet. A third groaned and clutched his groin, white faced and dying.
Only their spellcaster, Sena Horsebreaker, had taken a wound. The goblin halfblood was being tended by their Dark Elf cleric, Nikin Vivester. The cleric’s hands were glowing with the faint white glow of divine magics, his handsome face betraying ecstacy as he sought his god’s blessings.
“Well,” mused Con, “that was bracing!” He wiped his last throwing knife clean and slid it back into its sheath. “Anyone else hurt besides Sena?”
“I think Aidha needs to sit and catch her breath,” said Batka, making her way to the dwarf woman’s side. Aidha straightened and gave the human woman an irritated glance.
“I’m fine!” she snapped. “Just a little winded. No one else had three come at them at once, did they?”
“No,” said Batka. “They probably thought you’d be an easy target.”
Aidha snorted and began to undo the buttons of her coarse brown dress. She shucked out of it, revealing tough leather armor beneath.
“I hate skirts,” grumbled the dwarf. “How my sisters can stand to wear ‘em, I’ll never know.”
Con grinned. “They probably wonder the same thing about you and pants, Aidha.”
The dwarf woman snorted. “I doubt they waste a minute of their lives thinking about me.” She turned away and retrieved her axe, began to wipe the blood from it.
Good going Con, Batka thought irritably. Remind her of her sisters. She mentally shook her head at the goblin’s insensitivity and walked to where Nikin and Sena stood. The cleric had finished his ministrations, and looked strangely sated. Sena was examining her arm, stroking the spot where she had been wounded.
“Are you well, Sena?”
The halfblood nodded. She was the youngest of their group, having joined them just a few months ago and Batka still felt vaguely maternal toward the young woman.
“I’m fine,” said Sena. She turned her arm to Batka. “See? Not even a scar.”
“You have Nikin to thank for that,” said Batka, nodding at the cleric.
The Dark Elf smiled, but shook his head. “Not me, Batka, but the Lady of Flowers.”
Batka nodded. “Remind me to leave an offering at her temple, when we get home.” She turned then and raised her voice. “All right people. Let’s get this over with. Strip the bodies. Sena, can you muster a fire for us?”
“Easily,” said the spellcaster.
“Good. You and Nikin set up camp. We might as well stay here. Sun’s too low to reach Zinsander before nightfall and I don’t want to risk the road on a moonless night. Aidha, bring your axe. You and I are gathering heads.”
The dwarf woman nodded and they joined Con. The goblin was stripping the bodies, quickly and efficiently. As he stripped one, Aidha did the grisly job of severing the heads and Batka popped them into an oilskin bag.
When all the bodies had been stripped and beheaded, they were mustered into a gory pile. Batka produced a flask of foul-smelling liquid that she poured over the bleeding corpses. Nikin and Sena came over. The cleric bent his head and muttered a prayer for the souls of the dead. As he finished, Batka nodded at Sena who, with a gesture and a muttered word, ignited the bodies. The bodies burned with a white flame, courtesy of the alchemical potion Batka had doused them with. Soon, the air was filled with the stink of burning flesh. The others drifted back to camp, leaving only Batka and Nikin to keep vigil.
“Do you think there will be others?” The cleric asked, softly.
Batka shook her head. “I doubt it. The reports said there was only the one band and it wasn’t large.”
“I hope Lord Seban is pleased.”
Batka glanced at Nikin. “You don’t sound pleased.”
“He could have ordered them captured, not killed.”
“You’re a kind soul, Nikin, but these men don’t deserve mercy. How many have they slaughtered over the summer to slake their lust for gold?”
He turned dark eyes to her. “How many would ask the same thing about us, Batka?”
She glowered at him. “Don’t compare us to these vultures. We’re sellswords. Not butchers or thieves.”
Nikin sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. “I know. I’m sorry.” He offered a wan smile. “Sometimes, I think I’ve chosen the wrong path.”
Batka returned the smile. “I know the feeling. But if you had, would your goddess answer your prayers so readily?”
The cleric shrugged. “Who can say? The ways of the gods are mysterious.”
The white flames had died now, leaving nothing of the bodies but blackened bones. Batka and Nikin walked around the embers, ensuring that the fire was truly spent.
“Should we bury the bones?”
Nikin shook his head. “It shouldn’t be necessary. Flame purifies. The forest will take them.”
Batka nodded and took his arm. “Good. Let’s go to warmer, friendlier fires.”
* * * * *
Con was methodically going through the dead men’s pockets when Batka and Nikin arrived at the fire. He glanced at them.
“All done?”
Batka nodded. “Found anything interesting?”
The goblin shrugged. “Some coins, a few knives. They obviously didn’t carry their loot around with them.”
“Maybe they spent it all?” suggested Sena.
“Where?” asked Aidha. The dwarf woman was tending to their cookpot. “There’s no where around these parts to spend honest money, let along stolen coin.”
“There’s probably a cache out there in the woods somewhere,” said Con, thoughtfully. “We should try to find it before we leave.”
Batka shook her head and began to care for her blade. “If you want to risk your life wandering around the woods, Con, you’ll do it alone. There’s worse than simple beasts out there and you know it.”
The goblin scowled, but then a look of pleasant surprise flashed across his face. He drew his hand out of a pocket. In his grip was a golden medallion on a linked chain. Gaping at his find, the goblin held it up. The medallion was octoganal with roaring flames embossed on its front.
Con whistled softly, admiring his find. “Well, would you look at that.”
But Nikin was frowning. “Put that down, Con.”
“Why?” asked the goblin.
“That flame symbol, it’s the sign of an Infernal,” said the cleric, crisply.
Con dropped the medalion as if it had burned him. “What?” He stared at his hand, then wiped it on his pants.
“You think these bandits were Infernals?” asked Batka, frowning.
“One of them must have been,” said Nikin, solemnly. “We’ll need to show this to Lord Seban.”
“Fine,” muttered Con, kicking the amulet away. “You can carry the cursed thing, Nikin.”
The cleric nodded and went to his pack. He rumaged through it before finding what he sought: a simple wooden box. Returning to the fire, he bent and picked up the Infernal amulet, holding the linked chain between his thumb and forefinger. As he lifted it, the golden metal began to bleed a poisonous red light. Nikin blinked and shut his eyes, lips moving in a prayer to his goddess. Cool blue light surrounded his hand. Hastily, the cleric dropped the medallion into the box.
“Sena, magelock this box for me, please.”
The young halfblood nodded and touched her fingers to the wooden box, sealing it with her magics.
“Why did it glow?” Aidha asked, uneasily.
“There is no love lost between the Infernal Ones and the True Gods,” explained the cleric. “The medallion reacted to my touch as a cleric of my goddess, just as a symbol of my goddess would react to the touch of an Infernal priest.”
“I don’t think I want to search any more,” said Con, warily.
“You tend the soup then,” said Aidha. “I’ll go through the pockets.”
The goblin was happy to comply and readily switched places with the dwarf woman. Aidha went through the remainder of the clothing methodically, briskly. They found nothing else of interest and the dwarf woman bundled up the dead mens’ clothing.
“Should I burn these?”
“In the morning,” said Batka.
The sun was slipping beneath the horizon, throwing the forest into darkness. Only the light from their fire provided any illumination.
“Sena, throw up a ward around the camp,” instructed Batka. “Nikin, can you reenforce it with your prayers?”
The cleric nodded. “You’re expecting trouble?”
“I’m being cautious,” said Batka, sharpening her sword. “That damned medallion ads a twist to these bandits that I don’t like. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Words to live by,” said Aidha.
LIFE ON THE ROAD
Batka Iken grunted as the bandit slammed his blade against her own. She pushed back and stepped forward, thrusting. The man’s face blanched as the tip of Heartbreaker plunged into his gut. Clutching his innards, the man fell, dying. Batka ignored him, turning to check on her comrades.
Con Rabman had dispatched his foe with his usual alacrity. The goblin warrior was retrieving his throwing knives, his smile a wide white swathe in his dark green face. He noted Batka’s gaze and flashed her a grin.
The others had fared just as well. The dwarf woman, Aidha Dagya, was bent over, hands on her knees, red faced with exertion. Two bandits lay dead at her feet. A third groaned and clutched his groin, white faced and dying.
Only their spellcaster, Sena Horsebreaker, had taken a wound. The goblin halfblood was being tended by their Dark Elf cleric, Nikin Vivester. The cleric’s hands were glowing with the faint white glow of divine magics, his handsome face betraying ecstacy as he sought his god’s blessings.
“Well,” mused Con, “that was bracing!” He wiped his last throwing knife clean and slid it back into its sheath. “Anyone else hurt besides Sena?”
“I think Aidha needs to sit and catch her breath,” said Batka, making her way to the dwarf woman’s side. Aidha straightened and gave the human woman an irritated glance.
“I’m fine!” she snapped. “Just a little winded. No one else had three come at them at once, did they?”
“No,” said Batka. “They probably thought you’d be an easy target.”
Aidha snorted and began to undo the buttons of her coarse brown dress. She shucked out of it, revealing tough leather armor beneath.
“I hate skirts,” grumbled the dwarf. “How my sisters can stand to wear ‘em, I’ll never know.”
Con grinned. “They probably wonder the same thing about you and pants, Aidha.”
The dwarf woman snorted. “I doubt they waste a minute of their lives thinking about me.” She turned away and retrieved her axe, began to wipe the blood from it.
Good going Con, Batka thought irritably. Remind her of her sisters. She mentally shook her head at the goblin’s insensitivity and walked to where Nikin and Sena stood. The cleric had finished his ministrations, and looked strangely sated. Sena was examining her arm, stroking the spot where she had been wounded.
“Are you well, Sena?”
The halfblood nodded. She was the youngest of their group, having joined them just a few months ago and Batka still felt vaguely maternal toward the young woman.
“I’m fine,” said Sena. She turned her arm to Batka. “See? Not even a scar.”
“You have Nikin to thank for that,” said Batka, nodding at the cleric.
The Dark Elf smiled, but shook his head. “Not me, Batka, but the Lady of Flowers.”
Batka nodded. “Remind me to leave an offering at her temple, when we get home.” She turned then and raised her voice. “All right people. Let’s get this over with. Strip the bodies. Sena, can you muster a fire for us?”
“Easily,” said the spellcaster.
“Good. You and Nikin set up camp. We might as well stay here. Sun’s too low to reach Zinsander before nightfall and I don’t want to risk the road on a moonless night. Aidha, bring your axe. You and I are gathering heads.”
The dwarf woman nodded and they joined Con. The goblin was stripping the bodies, quickly and efficiently. As he stripped one, Aidha did the grisly job of severing the heads and Batka popped them into an oilskin bag.
When all the bodies had been stripped and beheaded, they were mustered into a gory pile. Batka produced a flask of foul-smelling liquid that she poured over the bleeding corpses. Nikin and Sena came over. The cleric bent his head and muttered a prayer for the souls of the dead. As he finished, Batka nodded at Sena who, with a gesture and a muttered word, ignited the bodies. The bodies burned with a white flame, courtesy of the alchemical potion Batka had doused them with. Soon, the air was filled with the stink of burning flesh. The others drifted back to camp, leaving only Batka and Nikin to keep vigil.
“Do you think there will be others?” The cleric asked, softly.
Batka shook her head. “I doubt it. The reports said there was only the one band and it wasn’t large.”
“I hope Lord Seban is pleased.”
Batka glanced at Nikin. “You don’t sound pleased.”
“He could have ordered them captured, not killed.”
“You’re a kind soul, Nikin, but these men don’t deserve mercy. How many have they slaughtered over the summer to slake their lust for gold?”
He turned dark eyes to her. “How many would ask the same thing about us, Batka?”
She glowered at him. “Don’t compare us to these vultures. We’re sellswords. Not butchers or thieves.”
Nikin sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. “I know. I’m sorry.” He offered a wan smile. “Sometimes, I think I’ve chosen the wrong path.”
Batka returned the smile. “I know the feeling. But if you had, would your goddess answer your prayers so readily?”
The cleric shrugged. “Who can say? The ways of the gods are mysterious.”
The white flames had died now, leaving nothing of the bodies but blackened bones. Batka and Nikin walked around the embers, ensuring that the fire was truly spent.
“Should we bury the bones?”
Nikin shook his head. “It shouldn’t be necessary. Flame purifies. The forest will take them.”
Batka nodded and took his arm. “Good. Let’s go to warmer, friendlier fires.”
* * * * *
Con was methodically going through the dead men’s pockets when Batka and Nikin arrived at the fire. He glanced at them.
“All done?”
Batka nodded. “Found anything interesting?”
The goblin shrugged. “Some coins, a few knives. They obviously didn’t carry their loot around with them.”
“Maybe they spent it all?” suggested Sena.
“Where?” asked Aidha. The dwarf woman was tending to their cookpot. “There’s no where around these parts to spend honest money, let along stolen coin.”
“There’s probably a cache out there in the woods somewhere,” said Con, thoughtfully. “We should try to find it before we leave.”
Batka shook her head and began to care for her blade. “If you want to risk your life wandering around the woods, Con, you’ll do it alone. There’s worse than simple beasts out there and you know it.”
The goblin scowled, but then a look of pleasant surprise flashed across his face. He drew his hand out of a pocket. In his grip was a golden medallion on a linked chain. Gaping at his find, the goblin held it up. The medallion was octoganal with roaring flames embossed on its front.
Con whistled softly, admiring his find. “Well, would you look at that.”
But Nikin was frowning. “Put that down, Con.”
“Why?” asked the goblin.
“That flame symbol, it’s the sign of an Infernal,” said the cleric, crisply.
Con dropped the medalion as if it had burned him. “What?” He stared at his hand, then wiped it on his pants.
“You think these bandits were Infernals?” asked Batka, frowning.
“One of them must have been,” said Nikin, solemnly. “We’ll need to show this to Lord Seban.”
“Fine,” muttered Con, kicking the amulet away. “You can carry the cursed thing, Nikin.”
The cleric nodded and went to his pack. He rumaged through it before finding what he sought: a simple wooden box. Returning to the fire, he bent and picked up the Infernal amulet, holding the linked chain between his thumb and forefinger. As he lifted it, the golden metal began to bleed a poisonous red light. Nikin blinked and shut his eyes, lips moving in a prayer to his goddess. Cool blue light surrounded his hand. Hastily, the cleric dropped the medallion into the box.
“Sena, magelock this box for me, please.”
The young halfblood nodded and touched her fingers to the wooden box, sealing it with her magics.
“Why did it glow?” Aidha asked, uneasily.
“There is no love lost between the Infernal Ones and the True Gods,” explained the cleric. “The medallion reacted to my touch as a cleric of my goddess, just as a symbol of my goddess would react to the touch of an Infernal priest.”
“I don’t think I want to search any more,” said Con, warily.
“You tend the soup then,” said Aidha. “I’ll go through the pockets.”
The goblin was happy to comply and readily switched places with the dwarf woman. Aidha went through the remainder of the clothing methodically, briskly. They found nothing else of interest and the dwarf woman bundled up the dead mens’ clothing.
“Should I burn these?”
“In the morning,” said Batka.
The sun was slipping beneath the horizon, throwing the forest into darkness. Only the light from their fire provided any illumination.
“Sena, throw up a ward around the camp,” instructed Batka. “Nikin, can you reenforce it with your prayers?”
The cleric nodded. “You’re expecting trouble?”
“I’m being cautious,” said Batka, sharpening her sword. “That damned medallion ads a twist to these bandits that I don’t like. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Words to live by,” said Aidha.
