Saturday, August 22, 2009

A kind of cool and slightly gory excerpt from a non-existent fantasy novel

This night breathed differently. What strange sounds came from the place where order had before reigned. Yes, this night breathed differently, and there would be consequences.

I sheathe my sword and start to run. The wind whips hard at my ears, almost painfully. I smile, and run faster. Land rushes by me so fast that even my eyes see barely anything but blur. But it doesn’t matter what I see. I could be running blindfolded, it’s all the same. I know. And I feel.

In a moment I arrive at my destination. The inn stoops low over the ground under a wide roof that squats over its charge like an ogre intensely jealous of his treasure. What smells, and what stench. The wretched place is not fit for the pigs that die here to fill their owners’ bellies. But here is more than just a wretched inn. And none but I know it.

My sword again leaves its comfortable sheathe, sliding with a snake’s slither out of its crack. They would be here soon, I knew. It was only they who knew of me, and only I who knew of them. But that would not last long. Quickly I pour my energy in. The heart of my stony being resonates with a fiery intensity.

The night’s breath again comes, and my enemies’ location screams at me, begging me to approach. But I remain still and silent, and no breath moves within my body. This is perfection. This is indomitable majesty.

All at once they burst from the ground, scattering dirt and rock as they explode into the air, ready to smite my ruin. And as soon as they exit their tunnels, they die. My sword slashes beautiful fine lines of death along pointlessly armored necks and backs like an artists brush in red paint, slides cleanly down and through as they burst up and out. One by one they die, unable to utter a sound, unable to defile my transcendent mastery of their passing from sentience to oblivion.

And then all is finished. At least, nearly all. One of them still remained in its tunnel, quivering and twitching in fear as the realization of its inevitable fate strikes ever deeper at its hearts.

An inquiry of my stone reveals the precise location of the craven wretch. Forward and two paces to the left. I take a silent breath, and my body propels itself upward and to the left. My sword rises above me like a cobra’s head, poised to strike with angry and terrifying precision. In perfect unison my feet hit the ground as my sword’s tip bites into the earth. No sound followed, only the slight easing of the sword’s passing as it found material softer than the dry ground around it. I stand again, retracting my cobra’s fang from the earth. Now they knew no more.