What the Future May Hold

Well, it took way longer than originally planned . . . but here's the next short story / scene in the series I'm doing with a character named Jray'Ov ;P :]

(NOTE: the first one can be found HERE ;)

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Jray'Ov pushed his way out of the crowded entry of the town hall and threw himself between the packed ranks of the army slowly plodding down the main-street.

    Mumbling apologies to the different soldiers that he bumped into and shoved to the side, Jray sought feverishly for one particular face.

    “Ro'Val!” He finally called, unable to keep the name in any longer.

    “Father?”

    Jray forced his way to the left toward the questioning voice. He quickly came to a young man plodding in file with his group.

    Managing to wedge himself between his son and the soldier beside him, Jray threw his arm over his shoulder and quickly looked him up and down. The younger man was exhausted, his clothing was ragged and filthy, his face was smeared in mud, dried blood, and sweat, and his hair was matted and grimy, but he seemed otherwise in good physical condition.

    “What word?” Jray asked.

    “They've taken Reglan’Rowltho. Completely overran the bridge with a large group of Dosh and began to take full control of the city within the first few hours,” Ro said shaking his head. “We were supposed to be on guard for an attack – there had been reports for months of their gathering forces just out of sight of the Border River – but there was no warning that such a number of powerful nayrl-wielders would make the first strike. Our Dosh didn't stand a chance in holding the bridge.”

    “But why?” Jray asked, finally giving voice to the question that had been tormenting his mind incessantly ever since they had heard of the attack a day earlier. “What possible reason could Kroal’Ishlon have for such an assault?”

    “I've no clue – we've only been given orders. No explanations or attempts at the like.”

    “What is to happen now?”

    “As far as I've heard, we're retreating to the next most defensible position, Rillen'Lowl.”

    Jray got a sick feeling in his gut at that bit of news.

    “That is beyond the Fields. They can't be thinking of pulling the army back that far unless they plan to–” Jray's thought was cut off by a horn blast from the edge of town.

    Leaving his son's side, Jray began to force himself through the throng of bedraggled and weary soldiers to get to the square where he could see the banner of the House of Kel'Kieo, the army's leader, being borne aloft.

    He reached the front ranks of the army at the edge of the town and stopped short with the men in front as Kel'Kieo reined in his ronig and turned the mount to face the army.

    Dust drifted up from the road heading out of town as the ronig pawed at it with restlessness. Kel'Kieo gave a hand signal to the only other mounted officer, his banner bearer, and the old soldier lifted a horn to his lips to give a second, longer blast.

    Silence fell over the edge of the town.

    “The Othrarian armies have taken Reglan’Rowltho, and will be upon our trail within days,” Kel'Kieo called, loud enough for most at the edge of the village to hear him. A low murmur passed among those further back as the message was sent into the town. “Gather what necessities you can carry and prepare to leave. We will burn the town and the fields behind us.”

    A rise in murmuring washed toward the back of the crowd as Jray walked out of the line of soldiers and jumped onto a boulder on the side of the road where he could be easily seen.

    “The first man to touch a torch will find it extinguished with his own blood!”

    Jray'Ov felt tension instantly saturate the air as if it were the lingering crackle of the Power he had used to amplify his voice. For a split second he wondered if he shouldn't have taken a moment longer to think before reacting to Kel'Kieo's statement – but glancing into the faces of the soldiers nearby, he dismissed the thought. These men knew who he was.

    “You may continue on, good Kel'Kieo,” Jray continued – using a little less nayrl to amplify his voice this time, but still making sure everyone within the crowd could hear him. “And I would certainly not prevent those who wish to follow you. But you will NOT burn my fields or my home.”

    “Are you in possession of your sanity, Ihk-Nayrldosh?” Kel'Kieo yanked on the reigns of his mount to force it closer to him – ignoring the creature's skittishness at getting closer to Jray. “The enemy is upon your doorstep, and you want to challenge a strategic retreat?”

    “I am well within possession of my sanity, Kel'Kieo. But unless you can tell me why the Othrarians are invading our land – and what they will do to this village when they reach it – I will not give ground. I have never known Kroal’Ishlon to condone needless slaughter.”

    Kel'Kieo's face went blank as he stared at Jray. Jray suspected from the emotions churning deep within his eyes that the nobleman knew exactly what had incited the Othrarian attack. But would he reveal that information to the 'common' folk watching him?

    Without warning, the younger man wrenched on the reins of his mount again and turned to continue down the road.

    “Move on!” he barked, waving for his bannerman to give the signal for the army to continue its march. “We make for the Ri'Wolin Pass, if any wish to follow us.”

    The bannerman gave another long blast on his horn, and the army began to march out of the town. Along with the steady stamp of heavy feet, the sound of rapidly conversing voices rose.

    Jray noted that a group of men were working their way against the wave of soldiers back toward the town hall. It was not long before his son and the Elder managed to break through the mass of bodies to stand at the base of the boulder he stood upon.

    “The men and I want to know what you're thinking, Jray'Ov,” the Elder said, leaning on his crooked staff and watching the soldiers pass wearily by as if the order to continue marching had further exhausted them. “And frankly I'd like to know why you think it's a good idea to stick around here, with an invading army making its way toward us.”

    Jray nodded, and hopped down from the boulder. Looking his son in the eye, he placed his hand on his shoulder.

    “Are you staying?”

    Ro'Val gave a curt nod, grinning ruefully. “You think Ti'dara would forgive me if I left again, or uprooted her and the family?”

    Squeezing his son's shoulder and nodding, Jray turned to the Elder. “You will all hear my reasoning. Let us join those gathering in the town hall...”

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Let me know what you think! :)

~ J D White

9/24/2013

Art from Friends, Part 4

Recently I was able to attain some more concept paintings (digital) from +Maria Owens, a friend of mine who is far better at art than I...

This is the result of my describing an Ouhlktoo to her:

She originally did a sketch similar to this on paper as I described the creature's head to her . . . then she came back to me a couple of weeks later with this digital version xD

Then she moved into a full creature sketch :]

I think she captured the potentially sinister nature of the Ouhlktoo perfectly. And I can totally see a creature sixteen feet tall having a wingspan of that size (anyone who knows bird anatomy and stuff like that feel free to correct my ignorance ;) . . . also, I really like the way she got the antlers to fit on its head - I've tried to sketch this thing dozens of times and could never quite get it to look right, even with some references to work from :P :]

I am amazed, impressed, and inspired by her attention to anatomy even though it's just a made up critter :)

And then she surprised me with a really epic, full size, rendered version!!! xD

Epic

Great stuff, right? Much gratitude to +Maria Owens  for her generous contribution to my odd ideas ;P :]

A Lesson in Nayrl

This is a short-story I wrote with the idea that it'd be a good introduction to the concept of 'wielding' that is used/encountered quite often in Warrior's Fury . . . and will probably pervade many more of the books I write in the universe of Mythos ;P

I hope you enjoy the story (and that it doesn't totally confuse you) :)

A Lesson in Nayrl

Tender dreams were shaken by the sudden intrusion of a harsh voice and hard ground beneath his back as a boot dug into his side.
    Esh’Donen shook himself into consciousness as he struggled out of his blankets in an attempt to obey the raspy voice of Dhaeg’n as it grew clearer with wakefulness.
    “Come along, young Nanhew,” Dhaeg’n barked again with brisk command. “Time to see what you can do.”
    Esh climbed to his feet, rubbing his eyes as he attempted to follow the tall, broad-shouldered Deon over the rocky, uneven ground that traveled for miles in all directions.
    Suddenly the hair on the back of Esh’s neck stood on end, and he was barely in time to bring up his arms before a heavy blast of air struck his upper body and propelled him backward and onto the ground once more.
    “Awake now?”
    Leaping up, Esh glared into Dhaeg’n’s eyes – their airy green irises in stark contrast to his nearly black, green-hued skin – across the short distance that the Slayer had placed between the two men by striking Esh with a burst of Power.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” the Deon commanded with an uplifted finger. “You know what I am, and that should mean you know that who you are dealing with is very coarse and impolite when dealing in certain areas with his peers.”
    Esh blinked, barely catching the meaning of the heavily accented pronouncement.
    “You consider me a peer?”
    “Until such time as you prove the assumption premature,” Dhaeg’n replied with a curt nod.
    Esh arched an eyebrow as the nine-and-a-half-foot Deon looked away to search for something in the belt-bag at his waist. He found it odd how Dhaeg’n could treat the differences of Race and class between them with such an air of ‘it means nothing special to me.’
    “Merely for the sake of good communication, and so that we know that we’re standing upon even ground,” Dhaeg’n said, pulling something from his pocket and keeping it hidden in his fist, “we’ll start with the basics.”
    Again arching his eyebrow, Esh took a more relaxed stance and shrugged before offering a half-hearted nod.
    “What is nayrl?”
    Grunting as he shook his head, Esh felt a sneer try to pull at his lips. “Uhm, p-power . . . it’s uh. . . .”
    “Nayrl is translated into the Common tongue as meaning ‘Power,’ or ‘THE Power,’ in reference to its being a substance found in all things within Creation. It is believed to be a tangible substance by which the Creator forms and upholds every Realm He has Created, along with all things within them.” Dhaeg’n spoke as if he were reciting something that was permanently ingrained into his very being. “Repeat!”
    Esh jumped slightly at the harsh command and quickly did as ordered. Dhaeg’n made him repeat the words several times until he seemed satisfied that Esh had memorized the definition.
    “Very good. Do not forget it,” the tall bulky Deon nodded. “Now, what are kolth?”
    That one Esh was sure everyone in the Realm of Khytowg – starting with those having been able to speak for a year – could name and describe well enough to satisfy even one with a Slayer’s knowledge of nayrl.
    “Kolth are ores that can often be purified – depending on the type – to be forged into metals. They are saturated with far more nayrl than anything else, and can be wielded by Nayrldosh. . . .”
    “Stop.”
    Esh felt his throat and tongue halt as if the command had had a physical effect upon them. Dhaeg’n was holding up a meaty index finger as he considered Esh.
    “I understand that you were raised to use that term when referring to a wielder, but here and now you must learn to use the proper verbiage.” The broad-shouldered Deon placed his finger against his own chest. “I am an Ihk-Nayrldosh; a dosh capable of not only wielding but also creating – or summoning, if you will – the particular kolth that I wield, fol’ty.”
    Esh arched an eyebrow. He’d only ever heard stories about the Slayers from his half-senile grandfather, so he hadn’t been aware that there were different names for specific types of nayrl wielders.
    “You are the only true Nayrldosh that I have heard of existing within the last millennia,” Dhaeg’n said, pointing at Esh. “And, for that matter, you are the first Nanhew Nayrldosh in Creation – as far as I know.”
    “So. . . ?”
    “The meanings of the terms are very simple.” Dhaeg’n silenced him again with an uplifted index finger. “Dosh, simply translated, means ‘wielder’ or ‘the wielder of.’ And nayrl means, obviously, what it is. The overwhelming majority of wielders are not so much wielders of nayrl as they are wielders of nayrlkolth – the purified forms of the different kolth.”
    Esh waited through the pause, arching an eyebrow. He was beginning to think that Dhaeg’n the teacher was going to be a lot different than Dhaeg’n the traveling companion.
    “I suppose that’s enough of a verbal lesson for today. Let us get to the practical teaching so we can move on.”
    Dhaeg’n lifted the hand he had held at his side for the course of their conversation and chucked at Esh’s head whatever he had taken from his carrying-pouch earlier.
    Flinching back, Esh had just enough time to feel that it was a raw hunk of nowlrik right before it touched the tip of his nose. Reacting to the touch instantaneously, he willed the chunk of kolth to its PureForm. The nayrlkolth streamed over his face like a splash of water before he called it to collect again a few feet above and in front of his right shoulder.
    “Nowlrik is the nayrlkolth you are most adept at wielding in a manner that is conducive to strategic battle,” Dhaeg’n said. “So knock me off my feet before I do so to you.”
    Esh was barely fast enough to avoid the blast of green-tinged air that Dhaeg’n sent tearing toward him.
    Falling into a roll, Esh threw his right hand out toward the bulky Deon. In response to his will, the glowing, sapphire orb floating over his right shoulder snaked out and lashed at Dhaeg’n’s shins.
    The powerful Deon remained perfectly still as his own mass of nayrlkolth – tingeing the air around it a rich, emerald green – swept downward to create a gale that blew the purified nowlrik away from its target.
    In the second that their blows landed, Esh sprang to his feet and rushed toward Dhaeg’n.
    Dhaeg’n swung his arms up, and his mass of nayrlkolth swept away from its strike against Esh’s ‘whip’ to burst toward Esh himself.
    Taking the last few yards between himself and the Deon in a hard leap, Esh threw his fists out in front of him as he impacted against the glowing-green nayrlkolth of his opponent. The instant his flesh made contact with the Power, he willed it to disperse.
    Time seemed to have slowed as Esh’s feet finally regained contact with the dusty ground, and Dhaeg’n’s eyes widened.
    With a shout, Esh threw his arms wide. The Power inhabiting the space separating him and Dhaeg’n burst outwards like the explosion of molten rock from a raging volcano.
    The bulky Deon was picked up off his feet and tossed through the air. Landing on his back with a heavy ‘whump’ several feet away from where he had been standing, Dhaeg’n remained motionless for a moment as Esh bent down to rest his hands on his knees, fighting off a sudden assault of dizziness and an ache that lanced up from the base of his neck and pulsed through his skull.
    Esh blinked a couple of times, wondering where the headache had come from.
    “Did you just usurp control over the Power I was wielding?”
    Esh glanced up to find Dhaeg’n propped up on his elbows, cocking his head to one side as he awaited a response.
    Shrugging and shaking his head, Esh squeezed his eyes closed. He let his head dip back down, and another slight pulse of pain informed him that his headache wasn’t going to subside anytime soon.
    “Well, regardless, it is clear that the Creator has endowed you with an impressive command of Power.” A heavy hand fell on Esh’s shoulder, and he glanced up into the towering Deon’s rough, grinning face. “Come, let us continue our journey.”
    Esh nodded as he followed Dhaeg’n back to their fire pit. Despite the persisting headache – or, perhaps, because of it – Esh wondered if he could become proficient enough in wielding to be capable of besting Dhaeg’n under any circumstance. He helped the powerful Deon repack their equipment, and as they climbed atop their mounts and set out once more, Esh continued to ponder the question. . .

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(Thanks to Kate, for taking a moment to quickly run through this to catch at least the blatantly obvious 'grammar mistakes' ;) )

Let me know what you think :D