February Newsletter

Hello everyone,

This month I took a break from working on the story and focused more on emotive poetry. I've posted three poems in a section of my blog, the link is here: http://jordanswritingblog.blogspot.com/p/poetry.html

Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoy!

January Newsletter

Hello everyone,

So first of all,I actually am aware that January has ended, but deadlines can kind of sneak up on you as I’m sure you’re all acutely knowledgeable.

UPDATES:

My blog!

• My new writing blog is www.jordanswritingblog.blogspot.com
• This is where I’ll post future updates in addition to a monthly email
• All of the past updates can be located here as well

The Story:

I didn’t get as much writing done this month as I’d have liked to, but you may notice if you look at the pages on the blog that there is a plot page where the full plot is laid out chapter by chapter. You’ll also notice that the plot goes to the end of the book (as a good plot should). That means that the full story is planned! (yay!) You can read the plot and learn more about the characters, who they are and what they will become as the story is written.

A Name:

I have to refer to the book as something, so my working title is... Undage. Why? I have no idea. I just used this website http://www.rinkworks.com/namegen/fnames.cgi?d=1&f=0 That’s how I come up with all my names, but don’t tell anyone.

Origin:

    I spent most of the time in the earlier development phase of Undage working on world building. That time was not dithered away in vain! Here are the origins of Eldaria, my fictional world in which Undage takes place.

(side note: I happen to think that the assorted history and legends of fantasy worlds in general are really cool, so it probably makes sense that I’d spend a lot of time developing my own. I didn’t want things to be arbitrary. If you read this summarized origin of Eldaria and follow along with the story, then you might begin to see that the things in my world are correlated with past historical events. This history will partially define the cultures, geography, languages, feuds, etc. of my world and the different characters in it and while I could have decided these things arbitrarily, I simply didn’t want to)

Origin:

A long time ago, there was a man named Rysis. He had two friends named Delu and Yoslin and they were like brothers to him. Together they rose to ranks of power within their nation, and when the time was right, they made a bid for power. With a fledgling nation in their power, these three generals fought with legendary skill and in a single year they had the majority of the continent under their control. Those who were not conquered slowly agreed to join the Eldarian Confederation because of the peace and security that was brought upon the lands under the dominance of the three. But power changed the hearts of Delu and Yoslin who had always been jealous of Rysis. With a twisted fear of betrayal as well as spite and jealousy, they struck first, forming with their magic an order of men with the wings of birds to serve them called the Nekal. The Nekal together attacked Rysis and wounded him greatly, but he was the most skilled magician that ever lived, and he knew words of magic so terrible that when he sang them, each of his assailants perished in a moment. Rysis knew he had been betrayed. He was going to facilitate a treaty in the Northeast region of Eldaria and so was away from his capital in Rothilian, but his revenge was swift and terrible. He massed an army so huge that it swept towards his betrayers in droves and in his fury, he made his soldiers bloodthirsty. They ravaged the land. Yoslin and Delu were ashamed of what they had done, but still they saw what Rysis would do if left unchecked. Delu was of the opinion that it would be better to offer themselves up to the vengeance of Rysis rather than let the people of Eldaria suffer, but Yoslin thought it impossible to alter Rysis’ power crazed mind. Delu went to attempt reasoning with Rysis, who welcomed him as a friend at first, and later tried to kill him. Delu barely escaped with his life. After trying to kill his former friend, Rysis broke down and saw what he had become and what he was putting his people through, but he knew he could no longer call off his armies, nor could he make Yoslin or Delu trust him. He had to make a decision of whether to try to end the conflict quickly, or kill himself. He challenged Delu and Yoslin to single combat, one at a time. Delu believed this to be the most just way to go about things, but still Yoslin could not bring himself to trust any man but himself to rule the throne wisely (especially Rysis). Delu fought first, and after being wounded, when it appeared as if Delu would be slain, Yoslin attacked with soldiers and the Nekal. Rysis was struck with many arrows, but his power was great and so was his rage at being betrayed again. Yoslin had ordered his soldiers to ambush the troops of Rysis just as he himself had ambushed his former friend, and so carnage ensued and the slain were many. Rysis knowing the futility of his plight spoke a word which awoke the Earth and sang it into chaos. Those unholy syllables wrought such a terrible destruction that rifts formed and mountains sprang up and all across eldaria, the ocean poured over the land and it was red with blood. Yoslin sprang to Delu and they watched the destruction from a shelf of black rock that protruded from the new Ocean. As Delu died, he wept for his sins and the sins of all who had perished that day; and Yoslin looked over all he had come to love being washed away and his heart became cold as stone.

The water receded and came to be called the Rivening Ocean. It cut off a substantial chunk of former Eldaria which has since developed new nations and cultures, the most prominent of these being Drocha and Sorrn. The Modern Kethans are descended from shipwrecked Drochan slavers. Modern Eldaria changed substantially. The few cultures that survived the Devastations of the World -- namely the Jakori and the Rodans -- experienced similarly devastating effects during the following decades such as droughts, floods, earthquakes, etc. These disasters were accompanied with shifts in power and a general ‘restart’ in culture; so very little of what existed before the Devastations remain. Nomads began to settle or claim land in Northern Eldaria. Languages became distinct and the Cunics, Celots and the Seljark -- the three most distinct groups -- separated. They formed tribes that remained relatively undisturbed by outsiders until the traditional calendar starts on the year 0 when it is accepted that the Drochans were shipwrecked and built homes calling the land Keth. Their main adversaries were the Cunics who typically used the Chilltide delta for fishing in the spring, although the river was traditionally thought of as the boundary between Cunic and Seljark territory. Despite this, the Seljark’s remained relatively aloof, fearing the foreigners and rather than attacking them when they were weak, mustering their soldiers far too late to make any difference on the burgeoning empire. From Keth, Belmorans, Sardurians, many Veldicians and some Ghyrians trace their ancestry. The main point here is that, whether or not by official charter, significant portions of Kethan citizens broke off at some point or another, whether with deviant intentions or with reluctant necessity and formed communities which were the hearths of new empires.

After the Belmoran Revolution, skirmishes and border wars became commonplace between Keth and Belmora. The North became a frequent target of campaigns for the Kethans, but more frequently became a graveyard for entire armies as the North swallowed up entire divisions to never be heard from again. Sardur remains an independent city state, but one with strong ties to Keth. They have a shaky alliance, but it is like a court alliance with each constantly trying to gain a foothold over the other by unscrupulous and clandestine means. Veldicia is indepdent and exists mostly as a merchant city, but it owns a significant amount of ships, islands and foreign territories, controls a huge amount of money, and the best craftsmen, scientists and scholars of anywhere on the whole half-continent. Jakor and Keth have had some run ins, but they tolerably ignore each other mostly now, both needing the products the other nation provides. Rodis is largely unexplored and unknown. Ghyria is not a large player on the global scale.

Chapter One:

    I completed a chapter! A real one, a good one (in my opinion) I’d be thrilled if you read it, and even more thrilled if you told me what you think!

“You, Jasper Grenmont, are to be married if it kills me,” Claren Grenmont, a well-built, middle aged man of an imperious height said, then proceeded to take a massive bite of breaded porkchop.

    Jasper, Claren’s son didn’t look up from his seat at the foot of the high table. “Then let’s hope it does kill you, for I have no desire to be wed and no woman of any standing would see fit to marry me.” It was evidently a sore subject between the two. Jasper gave his older brother Harwin a sidelong glance of annoyance as the man perked up to add his own opinion.

    “I think it would be a good thing for the family, something for the peasants to celebrate, a welcome change of pace for Jasper.”

    Jasper didn’t deem the comment worthy of a response. The unspoken message that his brother hadn’t said aloud was a job that Jasper can actually do, a way to make his useless sack of bones worthwhile.

    Claren shot his eldest son Harwin a look of approval as he tore into his food. “Harwin is right. You spend too much time around the castle Jasper my boy.”

    Jasper acknowledged that the words had been spoken, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel the warmth behind them if there had been any. My boy... Jasper glared at his plate. He had long ago given up thinking that his father could love him as he loved Harwin, or even as much as his favorite hunting dog. Claren was a hard, weathered man of singular purposes. What Jasper was, what he had been since birth was just a fluke of nature that Jasper knew his father couldn’t comprehend or reconcile. It was beyond him.

    “More wine,” Claren called a servant who appeared as if by magic from behind a tapestry in the farthest corner of the hall. “Would you like some wine Jasper?”
    “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Jasper didn’t actually want wine, but he had responded out of spite. He couldn’t see why his father had to pester him. If he had wanted wine he could have just as easily asked the servant to refill his mug. He might have been disabled, but his voice still worked good as any other. As the servant, a man with nut brown skin and a close shaven head went about the room pouring drinks for the three men present, Claren relaxed more into his chair. He had something more to say.

    “So then, we’re already on the topic of marriage.”

    Jasper felt a sinking in his chest at the same moment that he noticed Harwin’s eyes begin to shine with excitement. “We are,” Jasper said. The two always had to conspire to make his life miserable.

    “Well,” Claren hunched forward and his voice took on a conspiratorial tone, the same way he always spoke when he was about to praise himself. ”Are you familiar with Lord Jerraine; Of Layria?” He took their silence as a yes. “Well it turns out, his little whelpling Sevor has always been interested in serving as part of his Majesty’s Cavalry. So I opened a letter just yesterday, sent by pigeon mind you, asking if I might put in a good word for the little snot. How Jerraine knew Marshall Bosric owed me a favor I’ll never know, but that’s what the letter asks. And you know what he proposes as payment for placing his precious little boy at the head of some bloody suicide charge? A full eighth of his barony, the very same division on our Northern Border.” He paused for dramatic effect. “That’s not all. He’s promised to give Jasper his pick of any one of his daughters to be wed as soon as possible.” Claren’s eyes shone out of his wizened skull with a brightness that gave a better testament to his vivacity than any physical attribute could have done.

    What a bloody fool. Jasper thought. He actually thinks I’ll be excited about this? He tried to remain calm, reaching to take another sip of wine, but inside he was burning with embarrassment and anger.

    Claren was still staring at Jasper. What is he expecting? That I’ll be excited?

    Harwin spoke up, “Don’t you have any gratitude for your father?”

    Jasper closed his eyes. That was the last straw. He threw back his chair and stood at the very moment the servant was reaching to refill his wine. The result was that large quantities of wine spilled in two directions, one of those directions being Jasper’s face.

    Standing now, with purple wine dripping from his eyelids and staining his fine nobleman’s clothes he was about as tall as the servant’s chest. The servant was not an exceptionally tall man by any means.

Jasper stood awkwardly, as he ever did. His feet were flatly placed on the floor of the Dining Hall about a foot apart. Towards his knees, his legs bent inward at an unnatural angle. His back arched forward,  his spine making a zigzag of his jacket and poking up at intervals to give him the appearance of having spines. Jasper ended with a perfectly natural head, a rather handsome affair of high cheekbones, a slim rather feminine nose and shoulder length black hair. The picture left Jasper’s head looking grossly out of place simply because of the body it was attached to.

Jasper sent a particularly vile glance at Harwin. “Want me to dance a jig?”

Claren’s expression had not changed and Jasper looked up at him, too angry to feel intimidated. “I’ll. Not. Be. Wed.” He said each word with emphasis.

Claren paused, eyebrows furrowing to make his leathern face a mess of wrinkles. “Anything else?”

Jasper gave everyone in the room equal shares of his meanest look, including the servant who jerked away reflexively. “No,” he whipped around and began shuffling towards the exit which would lead him to a hallway and eventually to the West Tower.

Behind him Harwin spoke with the obvious intent of being overheard. “Ungrateful little elf.”

Jasper clenched his teeth and began to run. It hurt like hell on his deformed feet and knees and he knew it would ache awfully come the next morning, but he didn’t care. When he reached the large double doors at the end of the Banquet Hall, he slammed them closed, then he let the tears come.

When the knock came, Jasper did not want to open the door. It came softly at first, not a servant then. Servants always announced their presence first.

    “Jasper my boy.”

    Jasper was lying on his bed, as stretched out as he could manage so that his body formed a lumpy half moon shape. He sighed and rolled away from the door. Why was it so hard to hear that phrase, My boy?

“It’s your father. I’m coming in.”

Jasper could feel his father’s presence, although his back was turned towards the man. “Well.. you’re in.”

“Get out of bed.”

Jasper lolled his head around, just enough so that he could see Claren from the corner of his eyes, then he let it back to rest on the pillow. “No.”

“You’re not an invalid.”

“Have you even looked at me?”

“Not as much as you look at yourself.” Claren standing in Jasper’s little room in the West Tower was awkward and Jasper was sure that his father felt it too. But he wanted Jasper to marry, and the cards had fallen into place. Who cared that the man was making life altering decisions without consulting the person it involved? Not Claren. He just wanted to win, as usual.

Jasper grimaced as he shifted to sit partially upright. He’d gotten used to the pain, for the most part, but that didn’t mean it had stopped hurting like hell. “Well... if you ever took the time to look at your second son, maybe you’d notice, I have clubs for feet!” He twisted around to give Claren a full view of his back. “I look like somebody used my back for an anvil and...” He wiggled his stumpy legs. “...these things are just a smidge away from being totally useless.”

If Claren was angry, upset, or experiencing any emotion at all, he didn’t show it. He merely crossed his arms and spoke calmly. “Everyone can serve the family in different ways. I am Commander of His Majesty’s personal Bodyguard. Harwin will assume this role after I retire. Your gifts are not with the sword however.”

Jasper grunted, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “Actually, I’ve been practicing the lance every Tuesday with Master Daemond and he says I’ll be the next grea-”

“Your gifts,” Claren cut him off. “Are here.” He pointed a large forefinger at Jasper’s skull.

It was the closest thing to a compliment that his father had ever said to him. “I know you read all the time,” He gestured to the books scattered around the room. There were indeed quite a few, of varied titles and genres; it was one of the few hobbies that Jasper could occupy himself with, aside from debauchery and sloth of course. “There must be something in these pages that can be of use somehow. Time will come that threats to our House will be many and subtle. When I am gone and Harwin assumes my position, he will need someone by his side who knows more than how to swing a blade and pleasure women.”

Jasper doubted his brother’s complacency with this new plan of his father’s. Only God knew of their hatred for each other, although here he was hinting at something like acceptance, an inclusion in family affairs. A way to be counted as a Grenmont and not as an imp. Could it possible?

“And I’m not even asking you to do anything you to do something that difficult.” Claren’s features took on a softer demeanor. “Old piss-face Jerraine somehow managed to whelp some generously proportioned daughters, even I blush at the stare of them.” Claren sat down on Jasper’s bed and wrapped a bear like arm around his son, a smile on his lips.

The man was obviously trying to cajole him, Claren had never been anything like a father. The laughing, the jokes, the compliments, Jasper saw them for what they were, an act meant to get what Claren what he wanted. He was trying to persuade his son that this was a good thing for Jasper, it was working.

Jasper looked down, pondering. His mind thought of them now, Jerraine’s three daughters as they had been when the family had visited six months prior for a hunt in which the local lords were invited to participate. Aela, Larina and Sheda, beautiful Sheda. She was not as tall as her sisters, nor did she have as gracious curves. Hers was a noble beauty; she stood evenly on the floor, and moved with a firm and steady grace. Her hair was dark, darker than a crow, more subtle than a shadow. Her skin was pale, and Jasper imagined her flesh cold, though her cheeks never failed to have a color, more vivid than rogue. In her eyes Jasper had found himself slipping whenever there had been a spare moment at dinner. They sparkled with intrigue and brightness -- though the color of them was one brown darker than oak -- as if they laughed at a joke that only she knew. Sheda was lovely. To marry her? To make those dancing eyes his own, could he do it?

“You can do it my boy. Whomever you choose, she can be your legs, use her to make a name for yourself, get status and position. Build our family.”

Jasper licked his lips and tasted freedom. It was a strange feeling. He had something he had never, in his twenty-three years of living possessed. A choice.

A lot to read this month, props to you if you got through it. Hopefully I’m freed up more this upcoming month to write!

December Newsletter

Hello all,

The project has been going great and this month has seen some pretty huge developments. For starters, I’ve written about five chapters as of now (All in their very very early stages) that introduce the character arcs of Jasper, Ander and Rhanna. Each of these chapters I’m sure will go through heavy development in the coming months, but right now I’m writing hard to pump out a first draft so that I can at least have something with a beginning and an ending to work with.

Each story arc has a protagonist (obviously) and an antagonist. In Jasper’s POV, the antagonist is his brother Harwin. This is an example of man vs. man. For Ander, the antagonist is more supernatural, an army or a force from the Northlands that is both beyond his understanding and beyond his ability to fight. For Rhanna the antagonist could be a variety of things, it could be her struggle with herself and her guilt, or her lack of strength, or it could be an evil man sent to bring her back to her captor’s prison; I still have yet to decide what to develop. Once I give you all more context for the overall plot this all might make a bit more sense, but obviously I cannot do that as of now since it all is so subject to change.

Next update I plan to give a chapter by chapter summary up until whichever chapter I have reached by the end of January. Reaching chapter ten is my goal. For now, please enjoy some quoted text from Chapter three of Ander’s Point of View.

*****

“The Punics glared at Ander, and the younger of them began speaking rapidly in Punic. The blue-eyed tried to remain calm, “You don’t have to kill us, I told you we are leaving this place, never to come back.”

Ander wished no ill will upon the men in truth, but he was immune to empathy. It was one of the unfortunate traits that he’d picked up fighting in the frigid Northlands. His heart was as cold as his steel.

“Come or go,” Ghenn muttered. “We’ll still be here, the Outposts will never fall.”

Two Kethans took a man each and they followed Ander outside of the human circle. A naturally formed rock outcrop was a few feet away and Ander approached it, his booted feet crunching on muddy snow. He took the younger one first as a courtesy, and he tried to be quick and painless. He ended the boy’s life by quickly running the blade’s edge against his neck.

Ander had to credit the older Punic, the man was strong-hearted and didn’t falter as he was shoved towards the outcrop and forced to kneel beside Ander. His sword rose and fell.

There was no cheering as the last of the Punics fell dead into the cold, their blood mixing with mud and ice. The Kethans grunted, it was always this way in the North. Do what you have to do and try your best to sleep when the nightmares come.

Ander cleaned his sword in the snow and sheathed it, it would rust if he left it that way for a long time, but it would suffice until he could properly oil and scrub it as part of his nightly ritual inside his warm tent. Ghenn clapped him on the shoulder wordlessly as he made his way back towards camp. The rest of the men spread out or went their respective ways, each on his own errand. Ander couldn’t relax however, his mind was restless. What had the two Punics observed? It was true that the raids had been decreasing in past months, and if there was ever a time for raiding this was it; in the middle of fall. Where was Gortal the Fearless, Chief Ivtar, the Nevveine and Velx the Butcher? Their mighty armies had come to be an expected thing, a ravaging force and each time they came they took a bit more territory and made the court back in Keth more nervous. But, they weren’t here this year. Could there really be such a mass exodus of people based merely on legends? And if the Punics were frightened of something, wouldn’t the less hearty peoples of Eldaria be utterly stupid to ignore it? The words of the blue-eye spoke again in Ander’s mind, “My people are leaving this place, something is coming, many travelers past the Northern Hills and something following behind them that is terrible, we have heard the legends and seen the signs.” He felt sure he would have the same dream again tonight, that terrible dream.”

*****

Thanks so much everyone, hope you had a merry Christmas.

November Newsletter

Hello once again everyone. I'd first like to thank anyone who read the last newsletter. I truly appreciate the support that I've been given both in person and in responding emails. During the length of this project I'm working on, I hope you stick with me and enjoy the ride. I'm trying to make it as exciting as possible!

UPDATES:

The month of November has been a busy one for me, and I haven't been consistently meeting my daily word goals. That's a major bummer, but all is not lost! The work I did was good, and everything has developed in colossal amounts compared to where I was in October. The focus of this newsletter is on the main characters of the project, but before we get to them I'll give a cursory look at the progress I've made so far in other areas.

Plot

• I actually have some semblance of a plot!
• I should say, I know the events of Eldaria (the world in which everything takes place) on a large scale over the course of the year or so in which the story will occur. So I know, for example that there are four prominent countries in the heartland of Eldaria. These countries encompass an area roughly a third the length of the united states (3000 mi in total so 1000 mi across). To the Northern border of these countries are the Whisperwind Mountains, and past that, a great and powerful evil is amassing that will change the world radically when it comes.
• Over this month I've developed many of the more specific parts of these world events, the circumstances surrounding them and how they affect populations as a whole.
• Next steps for developing the project in the plot area are to find out what these events mean to the 4 main characters, and (more importantly) what these 4 characters mean to these events.

World Building

• I've done a substantial amount of thinking about magic and largely drawn no conclusions *sadface*
• I've developed the origins in the known world and explanations for the most prominent geographical features in Eldaria. More in this vein, the mysterious creatures and alternate races have explanations and origins as well (I will probably delve deeper into this in followup newsletters).
• Finally, I've made a map of political country boundaries to better give an idea of relative distances.

Character

• Now to the exciting stuff!

There are four POV (point of view) characters. This means that in the narrative of the project, reading their accounts will sound like 4 separate and distinct voices. The reader will hear the world through the ears of each character, see it through their eyes, and will have exclusive access to the character's thoughts.

The four POV characters are Jasper, Ander, Rhanna and Verald.

Ander

• Pronounced (An-dur)
• Ander is a captain in a country called Keth
• He is technically of noble blood, but nobles draw distinctions between high and low blood. Ander is considered a lowblood.
• There are two primary fronts for war in Keth, one is in the North fighting Punic barbarians (very savage and brutal fighting) and the other is to the South, fighting the civilized Belmorans. Ander previously fought on the Southern front, but found it devoid of both honor and glory. He crossed blades with an allied Kethan highblood in a duel in a dispute over hostages. Due to his victory and the subsequent death of his dueling partner, he wisely relocated his military career to Punia where he became established as a barbarian fighter and not one to cross lightly.

Jasper

• Jasper is a point of view character, but he is also the prospective main character of the whole project
• Jasper is a noble in a respected Belmoran House, his father is the captain of the Belmoran King's personal guard
• Jasper has always been a bit disfigured and thus has been the butt of his older brother Harwin's frequent abuse. He is the shame of the family to a large degree and has thus led a troubled life. His mother died not long after his birth.
• Jasper is special for supernatural reasons, he is possessed of a set of mysterious and commanding wings that for no apparent reason sprout miraculously from his shoulders when he falls and seem to disappear when he walks

Rhanna

• Pronounced (Rah-nuh)
• When a city rebelled in the Belmoran region and declared itself free, Belmoran troops captured the city after a short and violent siege. Rhanna's family were co-conspirators in the scheme and thus were mostly slaughtered. Rhanna however was spared as she was supremely beautiful and thus was taken back to Belmora to be gifted in marriage to a vassal who found favor with the crown.
• Instead, Rhanna ran from the court life, cutting her hair short and stealing the clothes of a servant.
• She didn't succeed very well on her own, and would have perished had it not been for the intersession of others

Verald

• A man who on the outside seems to be very easy going and relaxed, Verald is actually incredibly mysterious and nobody seems to know his story
• He is the leader of a crew of thieves and thugs who operate in the Cunic Wilderland.
• He is also a member of a crafted race, created long ago in ancient times, thus he has mysterious powers and is connected in unpleasant ways to the growing evil past the Whisperwind Mountains in the North.

Thank you so much for reading this newsletter, more is definitely to follow. The story is still obviously heavily in the works but I'm excited with the progress I'm making. Peace be with you.

October Newsletter

(NOTE: This version was originally sent out in an email chain)

Hello friends !

You are receiving this email because you have at one point or another expressed interest in my writing. I am creating this in an effort to keep you all updated as to where I am currently in this regard, and give you a chance to look at a sample of something I've written and (forgive the colloquialism) tell me if it sucks or not (optional).

First and foremost, please note that I will not be offended whatsoever if you'd prefer to opt out, refrain from commenting or reading what I include. This is for you guys, as I know I've been somewhat cryptic about this habit of mine in the past. I'm not entirely sure what this monthly email will consist of, but I envision mostly samples of prose or narrative.

Secondly, if you can think of anyone who would like to be included in this email, feel free to send me an email and I'll add them to the directory.

Lastly, if you're curious, I write in the genre of fantasy fiction and this is also primarily what I read. If you're not familiar with it or don't prefer it, that might be another good reason to tell me you don't want to be included in this email.

Now to the juicy bit, with absolutely no introduction, meet a character named Rix. He hasn't been worked on, he's raw and probably boring. I don't know what I'll end up using him for (if anything). This is 950 words of exploratory first draft brain dump, take it as you will.

*****

Rix awoke from a fitful sleep to hear footsteps approaching his tent. His dream had been a pleasant one, far away from this dreadful patrol camp with its stink and sickness and death. He  almost rolled over and attempted to reenter his dream, until he realized that it was the middle of the night, and the footsteps had stopped... outside of his tent. Could it be a coincidence?

Rix heard a crunching, as if someone was kneeling down near the entrance flap, then heard hands fumbling with the tie.

“Blast!” Rix thought, his thinning body slithering out from under his furs and groping for the dagger he had left in his boot. The result was that he positively overreached, leaning over the edge of his bed and landing in a heap on the frozen earth. Rix held back a yelp as his skin felt the icy dirt -- he had slept naked as usual, other than wrapped cloth. Probably not the best idea in winter, what if someone were to come sneaking up on your tent and surprise you in the middle of the night?

The tent flap parted and a leathery face poked in. Therren. A curved pipe hung from the corner of his mouth that illuminated the interior. “Rix?” he asked, his eyes squinting in the dimness first at Rix’s head, then downwards. “Damn it man! Warn a person that you’re in the middle of something.”

Rix’s face twisted angrily, a series of retorts coming to his mind like, “How about you warn a person that you’re going to barge into their personal property!” but all that he could manage was a dreadful blush, making him thankful for the lack of light in the space.

Therren had apparently been joking however, as his face abruptly turned grave. “Toss on some gear boy, and be quick about it.”

Now completely awake, Rix complied without thinking. Since the first day he had arrived at camp Rothem, it had been orders. “Do this,” “Do that.” As a new recruit, anyone higher than a soldier outranked him and could veritably give him any command. As a short and sickly boy, with less muscle than a choice cut of steak, even his fellow recruits had mastery over him. When someone told him to do something, he generally did it, and as quickly as possible

When he was adequately dressed -- he made certain to strap his dagger onto his belt within easy reach -- he stepped outside. It was cold, but blessedly there was no wind blasting out of the North. Rix had taken to the native custom of belting his bed furs over his clothing, more and more of a common practice as they ventured further North on their patrol. It helped. A little.

Therren rose from a squat and gripped Rix by the shoulder. “Come on lad,” he said, casting a furtive glance behind him as he lead the boy towards the outskirts of camp.

They passed more tents like the one Rix had been sleeping in, all of them filled with a motley assortment of Kethan soldiers and recruits -- Rix’s companions.

It was a quiet night, their booted footsteps crunching in the frosted grass made the only sound other than the way Therren’s iron sword sometimes brushed against his pant leg like a deadly whisper.

“What are we doing out here Therren?” Rix ventured after about a minute of walking, then stopped walking, a chill running over him. “Aren’t you supposed to be on guard duty?”

Therren halted, turning around. It was quite dark, but Rix swore he saw fear in the man’s face replacing his normal joviality. Instead of responding, Therren looked past Rix, back at the camp. It was the only home the Kethans knew five-hundred miles from the nearest civilization. A voice could be heard from within one of the tents, only slightly muted by the distance. It was cut off by a scream.

Rix’s heart dropped into his boots.

“Run!” Therren hissed, grabbing the lad by his arm and dragging him along down an incline. Then, they heard it, the terrifying war scream of the Dra’suli.

That night was spent in the utmost terror for Rix. He would have stayed at the incline, feet rooted to the ground, arms limp at his sides if it had not been for Therren. The man literally dragged him towards a nearby thicket, his dead weight dragging for a few moments before he came to his senses.

The screams at camp redoubled, more and more voices lending their death cries to the cacophony. Once the Rix and Therren entered the shelter of the wood they lay amongst the undergrowth, not wanting to listen but straining their ears nonetheless.

Lights suddenly sprouted on the hill. “They’re lighting the tents on fire,” Rix whispered.

Therren smacked him, hard. “Don’t speak.” The command was fraught with urgency and terror.

There had been thirty Kethans in the camp, now minus two. A few managed to find their weapons apparently, because the noises continued for about five minutes after the initial ambush. But the inevitable outcome was overwhelmingly obvious. The Dra’suli tended to avoid conflicts until they could be certain that the outcome would be favorable. They were fond of clever tactics, assassination and ambush namely.

Rix felt shame, a part of him knowing that he should run into the blazing patrol camp with his dagger and try to do something, anything to aid his countrymen. That part however was small, and his terror could not be quenched. I’m a coward. His hands began to shake as the final scream of pain echoed through the night and a savage cheering began.

*****

If you made it through that than I sincerely thank you for giving me the time. I always appreciate any sort of comment, but don't feel obligated whatsoever.