- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- High Fantasy (things dealing with magical worlds, often with multiple races think final fantasy and its many varying incarnations), Dark Fantasy (fantasy dealing generally with darker themes such as monsters and demons), Action, Supernatural
So here are a few scenes I have been knocking out all set in a universe whose main story I have had knocking around in my head for years now. The scenes are currently each focusing on a different character's viewpoint and presented anachronistically, but who knows if I'll keep that format as I get more inspiration for later scenes.
Constructive critique/feedback and comments on what anyone would want to see more of in the future is always appreciated ^_^ -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
She remembered wondering on that night, much as she did now, how it was that she could feel cold?
She had known then as she knew now, that this land was blessed by sacred flame. Mighty and untamed—the endless volcanic fields that stretched before her vision that night had never known the touch of frost since her people had settled them countless generations ago.
Those to the south knew her home as barren and lifeless, but she knew better. These fields commanded respect, and destroyed any too weak or foolish to survive, but for those who knew this place as home there was another facet to the wild lands. The Everember trees who weaponized the inferno of their environment to ward off threats all the same bore fruit of unimagined succulence and sweetness for those who could brave their flame-wreathed branches. The rich volcanic soil could nourish any crop at any time of year, if one simply knew how to tend to it. The seemingly arid surface of these lands hid vast underwater springs rich in life-sustaining minerals and kept perpetually hot and plague-free by the power of earth and fire that coursed through these lands.
No, her home was not dead, not lifeless. It was only harsh, demanding, and fierce like the very fires she worshiped. And just like those flames, it rewarded those who could master it and harness it with bounty unfound anywhere else, with warmth and protection and light. It was a land for the strong, a land for warriors, and even in the depth of night the land itself never slept, and never let the cover of darkness hide its incandescent beauty. As with any other night she could smell the sweet sulfur and ash brought to her nostrils by the warm breeze that caressed these fields and enchanted its flames to dance higher and brighter.
And yet, she felt cold.
Aurimolik Aussiroth Vala, for the first time in all of her life, across all her scales and moults, felt a deep, spiritual frigidity that even the sight of her beautiful home could not thaw. And she did not understand it.
What she should have felt was fury. Burning and righteous, powerful and all consuming.
Was that not what any proud widow of a warrior family should feel? Should she not be crying out for the blood of their enemies, of the lowly red scales that had so dared to strike down a man who was ten times the dragonborn any of their pathetic champions were?
She should, and she had been. At least before the clan, she had been showing this face of a proper noblewoman who sought to rectify the tarnishing of her golden scales.
Within herself, however, she knew, she had no such fire animating her. Her front was a way to hide the shame and fear she held.
Her husband was dead, fallen on the field of battle as any great warrior's tale should end. Yet she, however, had failed in her role. Her husband was dead, and he had died before she could give him even a single egg. In her weakness and incapability, she squandered the great honor that she had been blessed with when she was married into the Aussiroth clan. The honor that had flowed through her veins since she was born, herself the daughter of a warrior and his noble bride.
But there was no nobility for a woman who had left her family to marry into another, and saw their new family lain low. There was no going back to her birth name, lest she remarried to one of her cousins, and with all of them being either too old or too young to give her a child, all would know that she was taken in through pity, not desire.
This was not a land for pity. Fire knew no pity to those who carelessly allowed themselves to get burned. An honourless existence as a pitiful vagabond within her own clan... in what way did that suit her life? in what way did that suit her name?
But then, what alternative was she left with? Her husband had no brothers, no male cousins. he had been the last of the great Aussiroth warriors, and it had been her task to grant him sons who matched his glory, and would preserve his honor within the Aurimolik clan of gold scale dragonborn. Yet she'd failed.
Was the life of a destitute widow, last of her name, forced to watch her noble prestige fade into irrelevance as she grew old and became a burden to the clan, any better an alternative? Would she find any honor in such decay?
She did not cry out. She did not make a single sound, as she stood out overlooking the flows of lava that formed a natural barrier between the mount which held her clan, and the rest of the world.
In truth, she did not know what she'd come here to do, or even think. She had hoped, in some distant corner of her mind, that separation from everyone and looking to her homeland would provide her insight as to what she would do to survive, to thrive.
But the sight provided no comfort, no inspiration, no warmth.
For the first time in her life, her home seemed cold, distant, and uncaring to her. It neither rewarded her strength nor punished her weakness, and offered no passion with which to reinvigorate her noble heart.
The flames could not touch her, so Vala stayed statuesque, observing the lava flows below with disinterest, frozen before this impossible choice.
Perhaps that was why. Why she would come to commit the greatest mistake of her life that night. Perhaps she had been so desperate for warmth and comfort, that she had allowed herself to forget that her land was not one of pity or mercy, and that it was not through such weak emotions that her ancestors ha claimed it as their own.
Perhaps... but regardless of the reason, she knew still that she had been an inexcusable fool.
She should have known he was an illusion, when his arms came from behind her, and embraced her softly. She should have cried for help, when she saw his face, brilliant and wrought of the very golden flame they so worshiped. She should have known that no matter the warrior, no matter the honor, ash does not return to wood and death does not become undone. Not even for a night. She should have known, should have seen the hellish and damnable specter for the illusion, the trickery that it was. But she had been weak, she had been pathetic, and as was the law of her lands, she had been burned for her carelessness.
Damnable fool.
She had really allowed herself to believe, to hope, that the golden dragons had returned to her the spirit of her husband? Had thought that they would grant her an escape to her dishonor, a forgiveness for her failing, and that in laying with him in his resplendent glory that she could preserve the Aussiroth name?
Damnable, damnable fool.
She deserved what she saw, now. She deserved the frigid arrow that had pierced her heart when her greatest fears were proven true.
If only it had never hatched. If only she had been wise enough to smash that disgusting egg, blemished and robbed of its golden perfection with the red speckles that warned of what her foolishness had brought.
If only she had not told anyone, kept it a secret, and accepted her shame with the strength she was raised to have.
But such wishes were beyond her, now. All she was left with was the ugly, sinful child that cried in her arms. As she looked down at it, its disgusting red scales mocked her with their metallic gleam, assuring her that in spite of its bloody colouration, this thing, this... mistake, was all hers.
She had so sought an escape to her torment, that she had let a spirit of the desert make a mockery of her. And now... this disgusting abomination was to be left to inherit her husband's name? She deserved the frost that spread through her every fiber now. She had brought upon herself a greater dishonor than she ever could have imagined on that night.. and it was now time to stop running away from the consequences of her failures.
Placing the bastard down into its intended nursing nest, crying now among the shards of its broken egg, Vala stood tall and turned away from it. Exiting her chamber, she soon found one of the few servants of her den remaining, and ordered them to fetch the clan elders. There was trash that needed to be disposed of, and they would know best how to do so in a way that would most serve the clan.
Indeed, the clan was all that mattered anymore. Vala may have been the last of the Aussiroth, but she would no less die Aurimolik, and they were the only things to which she owed any allegiance anymore. She only hoped that when the great golden inferno claimed her, she would be given the chance to prostrate herself before the true spirit of her husband and apologize for all of the ways in which she had failed him and his name.
Constructive critique/feedback and comments on what anyone would want to see more of in the future is always appreciated ^_^ -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Prologue
She remembered wondering on that night, much as she did now, how it was that she could feel cold?
She had known then as she knew now, that this land was blessed by sacred flame. Mighty and untamed—the endless volcanic fields that stretched before her vision that night had never known the touch of frost since her people had settled them countless generations ago.
Those to the south knew her home as barren and lifeless, but she knew better. These fields commanded respect, and destroyed any too weak or foolish to survive, but for those who knew this place as home there was another facet to the wild lands. The Everember trees who weaponized the inferno of their environment to ward off threats all the same bore fruit of unimagined succulence and sweetness for those who could brave their flame-wreathed branches. The rich volcanic soil could nourish any crop at any time of year, if one simply knew how to tend to it. The seemingly arid surface of these lands hid vast underwater springs rich in life-sustaining minerals and kept perpetually hot and plague-free by the power of earth and fire that coursed through these lands.
No, her home was not dead, not lifeless. It was only harsh, demanding, and fierce like the very fires she worshiped. And just like those flames, it rewarded those who could master it and harness it with bounty unfound anywhere else, with warmth and protection and light. It was a land for the strong, a land for warriors, and even in the depth of night the land itself never slept, and never let the cover of darkness hide its incandescent beauty. As with any other night she could smell the sweet sulfur and ash brought to her nostrils by the warm breeze that caressed these fields and enchanted its flames to dance higher and brighter.
And yet, she felt cold.
Aurimolik Aussiroth Vala, for the first time in all of her life, across all her scales and moults, felt a deep, spiritual frigidity that even the sight of her beautiful home could not thaw. And she did not understand it.
What she should have felt was fury. Burning and righteous, powerful and all consuming.
Was that not what any proud widow of a warrior family should feel? Should she not be crying out for the blood of their enemies, of the lowly red scales that had so dared to strike down a man who was ten times the dragonborn any of their pathetic champions were?
She should, and she had been. At least before the clan, she had been showing this face of a proper noblewoman who sought to rectify the tarnishing of her golden scales.
Within herself, however, she knew, she had no such fire animating her. Her front was a way to hide the shame and fear she held.
Her husband was dead, fallen on the field of battle as any great warrior's tale should end. Yet she, however, had failed in her role. Her husband was dead, and he had died before she could give him even a single egg. In her weakness and incapability, she squandered the great honor that she had been blessed with when she was married into the Aussiroth clan. The honor that had flowed through her veins since she was born, herself the daughter of a warrior and his noble bride.
But there was no nobility for a woman who had left her family to marry into another, and saw their new family lain low. There was no going back to her birth name, lest she remarried to one of her cousins, and with all of them being either too old or too young to give her a child, all would know that she was taken in through pity, not desire.
This was not a land for pity. Fire knew no pity to those who carelessly allowed themselves to get burned. An honourless existence as a pitiful vagabond within her own clan... in what way did that suit her life? in what way did that suit her name?
But then, what alternative was she left with? Her husband had no brothers, no male cousins. he had been the last of the great Aussiroth warriors, and it had been her task to grant him sons who matched his glory, and would preserve his honor within the Aurimolik clan of gold scale dragonborn. Yet she'd failed.
Was the life of a destitute widow, last of her name, forced to watch her noble prestige fade into irrelevance as she grew old and became a burden to the clan, any better an alternative? Would she find any honor in such decay?
She did not cry out. She did not make a single sound, as she stood out overlooking the flows of lava that formed a natural barrier between the mount which held her clan, and the rest of the world.
In truth, she did not know what she'd come here to do, or even think. She had hoped, in some distant corner of her mind, that separation from everyone and looking to her homeland would provide her insight as to what she would do to survive, to thrive.
But the sight provided no comfort, no inspiration, no warmth.
For the first time in her life, her home seemed cold, distant, and uncaring to her. It neither rewarded her strength nor punished her weakness, and offered no passion with which to reinvigorate her noble heart.
The flames could not touch her, so Vala stayed statuesque, observing the lava flows below with disinterest, frozen before this impossible choice.
Perhaps that was why. Why she would come to commit the greatest mistake of her life that night. Perhaps she had been so desperate for warmth and comfort, that she had allowed herself to forget that her land was not one of pity or mercy, and that it was not through such weak emotions that her ancestors ha claimed it as their own.
Perhaps... but regardless of the reason, she knew still that she had been an inexcusable fool.
She should have known he was an illusion, when his arms came from behind her, and embraced her softly. She should have cried for help, when she saw his face, brilliant and wrought of the very golden flame they so worshiped. She should have known that no matter the warrior, no matter the honor, ash does not return to wood and death does not become undone. Not even for a night. She should have known, should have seen the hellish and damnable specter for the illusion, the trickery that it was. But she had been weak, she had been pathetic, and as was the law of her lands, she had been burned for her carelessness.
Damnable fool.
She had really allowed herself to believe, to hope, that the golden dragons had returned to her the spirit of her husband? Had thought that they would grant her an escape to her dishonor, a forgiveness for her failing, and that in laying with him in his resplendent glory that she could preserve the Aussiroth name?
Damnable, damnable fool.
She deserved what she saw, now. She deserved the frigid arrow that had pierced her heart when her greatest fears were proven true.
If only it had never hatched. If only she had been wise enough to smash that disgusting egg, blemished and robbed of its golden perfection with the red speckles that warned of what her foolishness had brought.
If only she had not told anyone, kept it a secret, and accepted her shame with the strength she was raised to have.
But such wishes were beyond her, now. All she was left with was the ugly, sinful child that cried in her arms. As she looked down at it, its disgusting red scales mocked her with their metallic gleam, assuring her that in spite of its bloody colouration, this thing, this... mistake, was all hers.
She had so sought an escape to her torment, that she had let a spirit of the desert make a mockery of her. And now... this disgusting abomination was to be left to inherit her husband's name? She deserved the frost that spread through her every fiber now. She had brought upon herself a greater dishonor than she ever could have imagined on that night.. and it was now time to stop running away from the consequences of her failures.
Placing the bastard down into its intended nursing nest, crying now among the shards of its broken egg, Vala stood tall and turned away from it. Exiting her chamber, she soon found one of the few servants of her den remaining, and ordered them to fetch the clan elders. There was trash that needed to be disposed of, and they would know best how to do so in a way that would most serve the clan.
Indeed, the clan was all that mattered anymore. Vala may have been the last of the Aussiroth, but she would no less die Aurimolik, and they were the only things to which she owed any allegiance anymore. She only hoped that when the great golden inferno claimed her, she would be given the chance to prostrate herself before the true spirit of her husband and apologize for all of the ways in which she had failed him and his name.