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.