On the topic of creativity...
<Scapegoat> Don't blame me, ÆÆÆÆ started it by providing us with links to his composed music in
this thread, which is really impressive. </Scapegoat>
...I was hoping I could post a small tab from my writings and get a bit of feedback out of everyone here. I'd really appreciate the comments, suggestions, and anything really anyone would like to say about it (whether positive or negative...both will give me insight just the same).
*BE WARNED:* This is a bit of a long read...it will take you anywhere from five to ten minutes, depending on your reading speed.
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He crept slowly along through the undergrowth of these thick woods, careful not to disturb the foliage, careful not to make a sound. Normally, he would only try so hard at this to surprise her, this strange drow sorceress who had seemed to have stolen his heart, but not today. He knew she now carried some object of great power, a small coin she had magickally sealed with a binding to his very soul. Somehow, there had been a few times he had managed to surprise her, when she carried it, but those times were becoming more and more infrequent, as she learnt how to feel out the sensing the coin gave her of his presence. How he longed for those days when he could sneak up behind her and run his fingers through her silky, silver hair; trail his lips slowly along her soft, indigo neck; smooth his hands over her slim forearms...
But not today. Something else was in the woods with them, today, something of ill manner. It wished her harm, and that's all he needed to be set on edge. A soft, but piercingly bright light shone among the trees, from a newly cleared section in the forest. A mage stood there, in a deep trance, concentrating. The light-skinned half-elf crept steadily along, one with the woods, not making a sound. Today, he would not sneak up on the drow sorceress he had come to care for so. Today, his fate and hers were determined by his skills.
Errn Tak`nil felt his lips crease into a rictus smile, as his pupils sank even further into his skull. Today, he had channelled an energy so great, all the drow priestesses, with their blessings of Andrielle, the Goddess of spiders, would be hard pressed to fathom. Why...he might even be able to challenge the strength of his own goddess! He had never imagined such magickal power could exist. And here, now, it courses through his body, like thick blood through a fattened vein, and he had control over it. It gave him increased awareness, as well, and it was as if everything became so slow and forced. He bared his teeth even more, as he felt the presence of someone else, just on the edge of the clearing. A ranger stared now at him, and the drow wizard could do nothing but utter a feel simple words: "I know you are there, Aemon Tir'eir..." His words came out in a hiss, almost as if to emulate the sound a barrel filled with icy water would make, should the liquid be rained down upon the burning crags of Mouna Fiera. "I know you are there, and I will keep you still with magick even you cannot resist...and I will let you watch me kill her, before I destroy you, pitiful light-skin..!" The last two words came out angrily, almost as if they had been spat on the ground, like someone hawking bile from the depths of their throat. He spun quickly, and where his outstretched palm faced...devastation.
Aemon had anticipated the mage would know of his presence, and had been ready to move, far before the drow elf even began speaking. His swift bound carried him just out of the flames from the blast, and his quick feet and agile body brought him circling the clearing, in the shadows of the trees, with alarming speed. The mage hadn't even had time to refocus, before the ranger had firmly planted his feet against a tree trunk, and propelled himself into the clearing, blade flying out of its scabbard swiftly, almost as if he had just willed it in his hands. The sword struck, but somehow the mage had sidestepped, and the silver-edged blade ate at the ground, dust kicking from the sudden footsteps. He had the blade swirling and jabbing in no time at all, the heavy-looking two handed sword deftly flitting at the mage. But it was as if the robed fiend wasn't even there...the blade always just missed. Now this ranger may not have been the greatest fighter of all recorded history, but his skills were honed and polished, and to strike so erringly...there was some foul magick afoot. The mage cackled loudly at his flailing opponent, and sent his palm pointing to Aemon's chest. The half-elf's eyes shot wide as a burst of searing flame sent his body careening through the air and crashing into a tree. The trunk groaned and splintered under the stress of the collision, and Aemon dropped to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. His sword lay several paces away, and when he regained composure enough, he looked up at the mage, his eyes darting to the sword he knew he could not reach in time. Flames and sparks still danced around the drow elf's hand, and he began to point his cradling, spiny fingers in Aemon's direction. Aemon knew this was the end...he would die, and in such, he will fail the dark-skinned beauty he loves, whose death will certainly be close behind, at this wicked mage's whims.
"You see, Aemon...you cannot match the power of the drow, the strength of my people. As always, you, among all the other races of this world...are inferior." Aemon's eyes reflexively shut, and his arms went up to his chest as the mage's hand loosed a fiery blast. The was a loud crack, accompanied by a crashing. With this, Aemon felt great pain in his lower body...his legs felt shattered. But above all else, over the destruction, his ears caught a gurgling sound. His eyes opened, barely able to focus through the pain that now became him, but he could see two inches of steel, the tip of a dagger, gleaming through the front of the mage's throat. The mage's pupils had returned to their normal state, and surprise and fear glittered in his crimson irises. His grasp of his own mortality, at the edge of his death, was painted painfully on his face. The aura of raw magick, the soft nimbus of power surrounding his body began to thin and dissipate. It didn't take a scholar or assassin to know there was a hilt of a dagger firmly embedded in the back of the drow's neck. Suddenly, Aemon noticed a gleaming within the metal of the blade, a shine that increased in brightness until the dagger itself simply vanished. As if it had been holding the mage's corpse aloft, the body collapsed heavily to the ground, lifeless. Ameon couldn't be sure, he felt blood seeping around his eyes, impairing his vision, but he saw a dark form cradle the dagger, and lick the dark blood from its edge, before the dagger popped into a concealing fold of clothing. The form took a few steps back, and vanished just inside the treeline, simply as if he...it had never been there at all; and there was something now grabbing at the edge of some forgotten memory in Aemon's head, like the hinting of something from a past life. He knew what that shadow had been, but his mind could not focus to grasp at an ancient memory that would reveal its name to him. Aemon felt the world spinning, and his mind lapsed into a powerful migraine. The pain from his legs; the shine of the sun, due to the photophobia that afflicted him...it was all too much.
A woman came crashing through the trees across the clearing, her eyes taking in the devastation. Her sparkling silver irises caught sight of the trapped and fallen ranger, and tears leaked swiftly from her eyelids as she rushed over to him. The beautiful drow elf's once elegant robe was ripped and frayed, obviously having gotten caught on various pieces of foliage. Her face wore a mask of concern and horror as she saw the ranger she loved beyond mortal means fading into unconsciousness. Her throat was dried, parched, and she barely managed to get the words out for an arcane incantation, her concentration ruined by the terror that ran rampant through her mind, thinking of her life without this man. Words spilled forth in a long-forgotten language from her lips, a portal opening, rifting distance between there and the temple within her city. The Priests of Terris were flabbergasted, unable to comprehend what or how this gateway between places had been opened, but they knew an injured person when they saw one. They leaped through the portal without a thought, and frantically worked to get Aemon's unconscious body free. They all but ignored the whispered plea that escaped the female drow's lips as they milled and grunted, pushing aside the massive, shattered tree trunk: "Don't you die on me, Aemon...please..."
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~end transmission~
Ameril Dan`nodel
Warder, 57th season
[
Lanys T`Vyl server ]
Bitch at Amiez!! -- in the words of Spleen.
Request for feedback on a writing excerpt.
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