The dawn breaks slowly over the horizon on a day two months past. Cold air flees from the east, gently caressing his cheeks with the morning's mist. A lark and some bird of paradise chirp and sing with the gentle ferocity of a flutist soothing some savage beast. Rays of distant sunlight pierce through the mountains above the meadows lancing across leather and warming bare skin. His lips crack into a world-weary smile and through the darkness he feels the world come alive around him. Behind him his companion stirs as they prepare to resume their dance.
Curled in the clearing is death made flesh. A massive beast breathing the musty scent of blood, dirt, and moldering plants; a monster of wings, claws, and fangs. A scaled eye blinks balefully and the dragon stretches its neck as the sun beckons. "I see you're still here young Ravenwood," he rumbles, "Perhaps I'll eat you today."
"You will try, Wyrm Rhellgr," the boy's smile breaks in true as he calls back, "Perhaps I'll let you."
A tide of scales roils across the sea of grass in the clearing as claws, scales, and teeth leap forward to devour, the whisper of death's passing quieter than a serpent slithering through the blades. Allan leans down and scales scrape against leather as he tumbles away, letting the force of the strike guide him and scattering the morning dew into the air. Twisting and planting his own fingers shaped into claws against the side of the beast's musty hide, his smile becomes a fierce grin.
"So slow and clumsy today, Uncle," the boy chides the dragon as it turns, furrows of damp earth erupting under Rhellgr's claws and filling the air with the wet scent. Scaly feathers unfurl in a gentle rasp as the monstrosity catches himself.
"Nonsense," Rhellgr growls, his chest swelling, maw opening wide. The boy is already walking toward him when the flames belch out. The sour stench of burnt flesh fills the air and withers the grass as the small figure vanishes into a greasy plume of smoke.
"Your breath is foul today, Uncle," the boy laughs, his blind eyes a shining bottle glass green as sidesteps the onslaught, his hair ruffling in the fire's passing as he reaches up to slap the dragon's snout with a mockingly loving caress, "Shall we find something fresher to eat?"
The cascade of green fire dies down and the dragon shakes his emerald head, almost grinning. "I suppose I don't have to eat you today Nephew. What did you have in mind?"
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Scarlet Kiss: Chasing the Dragon
Flickering shadows conceal a cloaked figure around the corner from a 'well used' tavern. Thirsty eyes watching as patrons shamble drunkenly in ones and threes. Harlots garlanded like the many flocks of exotic birds in reds, blues, and greens. Hired muscle escorting bards in loose tunics and short skirts. Genteel in all of their finery betting amongst themselves on who would be partnered for bedding by the fourth or seventh rounds of drinks for the evening. At last, as the dawn deepens before breaking into the first strands of twilight, one of the harlots notices a patron as yet untended as he emerges from the tavern. She follows him into the deep shadow of the alley, smiling to herself.
The darkness conceals everything at this hour, it always has. His pulse quickens. Maybe today is the day. The girls eyes are hungry as she watches him guiding her further away from the tavern. Her vision drinking only the richness of his cloak, the elegance of his step. He leads her down a final turn before she finds herself inexorably drawn to the length of his staff. The round red tip and coppery-red veins winding along a smooth golden shaft entrance her as he runs its length along the palm of his hand, binding her with unseen sorcery as he has countless others before. He feels himself quivering inside of its length, pulsing and already almost ready to explode.
He brings the red tip of his staff to her lips and the force of it drops her to her knees, lower lip split and bleeding; his own mouth curling into a smile as he remembers all of the lovely faces he's already ruined with his rod. She whimpers and covers her face begging, "Please, please d-"
Her jaw clicks shut and teeth find tongue as he brings her up senseless to her feet with a blow to the chin, his magic holding her motionless. He twists at the unseen flow and the seamless threads of energy binding her in place grows barbs that slowly bite into her. Her eyes grow wide as her corset and skirt fall to the ground in pieces and the magic begins slowly drawing thin lines crying red tears across her bare flesh while her consort sighs, "I suppose none is ever quite as good as the first."
The challenge. The trap springing shut. It's addicting.
Indeed, purrs the dragon.
As the whore smiles at him he feels something warm on his shirt. He looks down and frowns in puzzlement. Why is there a silver rib sticking out of my chest? The silver blade is gone as quickly as it appeared and the lady killer drops to his knees, beautiful even now in all of his terrible glory. There's a first time for everything, replies the dragon as a new girl runs a finger along his jawline.
Licking the blade clean it flows, a molten mirror, down under her finger nails. Her lips are left a pair of rubies and her eyes sparkle, two snowflakes tinted blue. She kisses his cheek leaving a pair of scarlet lips to mark him as one of her dead and turns, hair as deep and rich as her kiss tumbling gently around her shoulders and down her back.
The dark complexioned whore is standing now, her golden eyes feral and mouth hungry. Claws reach toward- A sharp slap rebukes she-wolf. A pair of stone-gray eyes glare in wordless disapproval. Whimpering, ashamed, the she-wolf retracts her claws, before following her mistress into the gloom.
The darkness conceals everything at this hour, it always has. His pulse quickens. Maybe today is the day. The girls eyes are hungry as she watches him guiding her further away from the tavern. Her vision drinking only the richness of his cloak, the elegance of his step. He leads her down a final turn before she finds herself inexorably drawn to the length of his staff. The round red tip and coppery-red veins winding along a smooth golden shaft entrance her as he runs its length along the palm of his hand, binding her with unseen sorcery as he has countless others before. He feels himself quivering inside of its length, pulsing and already almost ready to explode.
He brings the red tip of his staff to her lips and the force of it drops her to her knees, lower lip split and bleeding; his own mouth curling into a smile as he remembers all of the lovely faces he's already ruined with his rod. She whimpers and covers her face begging, "Please, please d-"
Her jaw clicks shut and teeth find tongue as he brings her up senseless to her feet with a blow to the chin, his magic holding her motionless. He twists at the unseen flow and the seamless threads of energy binding her in place grows barbs that slowly bite into her. Her eyes grow wide as her corset and skirt fall to the ground in pieces and the magic begins slowly drawing thin lines crying red tears across her bare flesh while her consort sighs, "I suppose none is ever quite as good as the first."
The challenge. The trap springing shut. It's addicting.
Indeed, purrs the dragon.
As the whore smiles at him he feels something warm on his shirt. He looks down and frowns in puzzlement. Why is there a silver rib sticking out of my chest? The silver blade is gone as quickly as it appeared and the lady killer drops to his knees, beautiful even now in all of his terrible glory. There's a first time for everything, replies the dragon as a new girl runs a finger along his jawline.
Licking the blade clean it flows, a molten mirror, down under her finger nails. Her lips are left a pair of rubies and her eyes sparkle, two snowflakes tinted blue. She kisses his cheek leaving a pair of scarlet lips to mark him as one of her dead and turns, hair as deep and rich as her kiss tumbling gently around her shoulders and down her back.
The dark complexioned whore is standing now, her golden eyes feral and mouth hungry. Claws reach toward- A sharp slap rebukes she-wolf. A pair of stone-gray eyes glare in wordless disapproval. Whimpering, ashamed, the she-wolf retracts her claws, before following her mistress into the gloom.
The Scarlet Kiss: Shadows of Doubt
A pair of silver-blue eyes flash open, red hair stained nearly black with a deep violet hue in the unearthly dawn
light of a blue sun, a signal flare used by one of the militias traversing the swamp. Nestled against her a dark-haired girl moans
softly, nuzzling and nibbling on her ear. The girl is hungry this morning, like she was the first night. The scent of blood on the wind stirs the wolf inside, but there's something else. A hint of fear. "Mistress..." the she-wolf whispers, begging her blue-eyed companion, but they both know what the signal means.
Trees and earth both splintered alike before as the cracking landscape bathes in black and blue shadows; the ground drinking deeply from a violet river. Among the broken limbs and branches black droplets continue to fall in a short summer shower, pooling to feed into that dark stream. A wisp of a boy as slight as any girl wades through the carnage. His knuckles whiten as he clutches a chipped cutlass. His eyes search the slow flowing river. The blue sun blinks out as twilight paints the river red with the dawn of true daylight.
Shaking fingers draw a cross in the air, then he speaks, each word ringing like silver and infusing his being with golden light, growing brighter with each syllable as the incantation nears completion. "May the tide be turned in my favor and your grace protect this hu- humble servant from harm. Grant my f- faith the s- strength t- t- to c-" Drowning out his last words, the ground roils, muddy shadows surrounding the boy as his eyes widen and some emotion chokes out all the fastness of his belief, however silent his prayer may end.
Claws and teeth rake and grasp seeking to part flesh from bone, unable to find purchase upon the boy's golden body. The boy flails his blade around, finding eye and fang and matted fur. Rage fills the river, whipping it into a frothing bloody mess. Again and again, steel meets flesh but claw finds naught but bloodied mud until the ground itself opened its maw to swallow him whole.
The weight of his legs buckle into the soft earth ankle deep. The next step carries him down to his knees. As his pupils constrict in fear his light wavers. May she who dances with wolves protect me and lead me through the dance that is life. May her silver fangs find home in my unworthy hands and the light of the sun be as her fire to extinguish evil. As he lift his foot his legs sink in deeper under the weight. His faith keeps his clothes unsoiled, but the thin cushion of air around him does nothing to ballast the weight of his armor. the mud repelling from him with a cushion of air as he slides deeper still.
Then silence as the fury stills and the red mist settles to the ground. Around the boy circle a pair of wolf-headed hydra, claws cracked and severed, each nursing two or three heads with bleeding cuts and severed claws as the wounds slowly close shut, each watching him hungrily with several grinning faces as yet unmarred. The boy's eyes grow wide and his faith pops like a bubble. The mud rushing in hungrily around his body holding his shivering form in a tight vice, staining his garments even as warmth trickles down his thigh to join the soiled mess, his face speckled red with blood. As the boy opens his mouth and empties his lungs, gnashing teeth silence his screams with bloody gurgles.
The voice echos across the swamp. A whirlwind of fur and flesh replies in kind as, the she-wolf strikes. The hydra is reluctant to release its prize, even in the face of such fury. Nine heads hiss as the tenth, clutches the boy closer. At least one lung has been pierced and his life is ebbing away. She hesitates glancing back, and meets the stone-eyed glare of her Mistress, gleaming silver blade in hand as she erupts forward, each step a measure through the dance that is life, fire, and so much more. The she-wolf watches in awe as the blood-haired beauty dispatches the first hydra with one slash and eleven perfectly placed penetrations, and utters a now familiar incantation, "Vegeo."
The hydra bursts into flames as tendrils of magic wrapping around it ignite, excited by the final word of the incantation that lives in the silvery blade of blood that the blood-haired girl wields. With a flick of her wrist she splits the head open that's holding the boy, freeing him, then frowns at her vulpine companion. "The other is yours. Now to it."
Trees and earth both splintered alike before as the cracking landscape bathes in black and blue shadows; the ground drinking deeply from a violet river. Among the broken limbs and branches black droplets continue to fall in a short summer shower, pooling to feed into that dark stream. A wisp of a boy as slight as any girl wades through the carnage. His knuckles whiten as he clutches a chipped cutlass. His eyes search the slow flowing river. The blue sun blinks out as twilight paints the river red with the dawn of true daylight.
Shaking fingers draw a cross in the air, then he speaks, each word ringing like silver and infusing his being with golden light, growing brighter with each syllable as the incantation nears completion. "May the tide be turned in my favor and your grace protect this hu- humble servant from harm. Grant my f- faith the s- strength t- t- to c-" Drowning out his last words, the ground roils, muddy shadows surrounding the boy as his eyes widen and some emotion chokes out all the fastness of his belief, however silent his prayer may end.
Claws and teeth rake and grasp seeking to part flesh from bone, unable to find purchase upon the boy's golden body. The boy flails his blade around, finding eye and fang and matted fur. Rage fills the river, whipping it into a frothing bloody mess. Again and again, steel meets flesh but claw finds naught but bloodied mud until the ground itself opened its maw to swallow him whole.
The weight of his legs buckle into the soft earth ankle deep. The next step carries him down to his knees. As his pupils constrict in fear his light wavers. May she who dances with wolves protect me and lead me through the dance that is life. May her silver fangs find home in my unworthy hands and the light of the sun be as her fire to extinguish evil. As he lift his foot his legs sink in deeper under the weight. His faith keeps his clothes unsoiled, but the thin cushion of air around him does nothing to ballast the weight of his armor. the mud repelling from him with a cushion of air as he slides deeper still.
Then silence as the fury stills and the red mist settles to the ground. Around the boy circle a pair of wolf-headed hydra, claws cracked and severed, each nursing two or three heads with bleeding cuts and severed claws as the wounds slowly close shut, each watching him hungrily with several grinning faces as yet unmarred. The boy's eyes grow wide and his faith pops like a bubble. The mud rushing in hungrily around his body holding his shivering form in a tight vice, staining his garments even as warmth trickles down his thigh to join the soiled mess, his face speckled red with blood. As the boy opens his mouth and empties his lungs, gnashing teeth silence his screams with bloody gurgles.
The voice echos across the swamp. A whirlwind of fur and flesh replies in kind as, the she-wolf strikes. The hydra is reluctant to release its prize, even in the face of such fury. Nine heads hiss as the tenth, clutches the boy closer. At least one lung has been pierced and his life is ebbing away. She hesitates glancing back, and meets the stone-eyed glare of her Mistress, gleaming silver blade in hand as she erupts forward, each step a measure through the dance that is life, fire, and so much more. The she-wolf watches in awe as the blood-haired beauty dispatches the first hydra with one slash and eleven perfectly placed penetrations, and utters a now familiar incantation, "Vegeo."
The hydra bursts into flames as tendrils of magic wrapping around it ignite, excited by the final word of the incantation that lives in the silvery blade of blood that the blood-haired girl wields. With a flick of her wrist she splits the head open that's holding the boy, freeing him, then frowns at her vulpine companion. "The other is yours. Now to it."
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Scarlet Kiss: Moon and Midnight
The wind whistles and howls through a well worn path along an untamed mountainside. The earthy smell of sweat and hay dances with the dusky mountain air, heavy with cedar and pine, the last traces of the days travelers. The last few shadows on the road stopped being travelers some time after sunset kissed the mountainside.
Two hearts pounding as they stumble and trip through rocky earth, over root and under limb, stinking of sour terror. Behind them a tangle of shadows rips through the overgrowth and like an avalanche it seems unstoppable as it pursues them. They rush past a silent figure, their passage knocking back her hood and revealing a pair of blue eyes so clear and bright they look nearly silver and red hair so dark and pure it seems like countless strands of silk washed with blood. The pair don't call out to her as they pass. They don't look back as the fury that pursues them wraps around her. They don't stop to listen to the whimpers that echo down the road after them.
Life flows in crimson rivers along unseen highways, branching, parting, joining again until suddenly it spills through, bleeding outward, bubbling like a living beast. Gather it. Bend it to your will. Twist and pull. Like mercury bleeding from open veins, quicksilver spills out from between the fingers, over and down into the sheathe as a silent hand closes around the hilt and icy blue eyes glitter. Fangs and claws and fur and tendons wrap around the silent figure; the blade dances, taking a dozen steps across bare flesh before the beast can tighten its grip and crush its prey. Black blood drips from the length of the blade and the red-haired shadow at the center of this dance drops to a knee and breaths a single word, "Vegeo."
A flash of silver light illuminates a feral visage as silver flames erupt in ribbons, eating into the flesh of the beast, biting deep into the flesh and bone, kindling it black before they vanish into greasy gray trails of smoke. The smells of burnt hair and cooked flesh fill the air with a greasy stench. The beast falls back, quivering, eyes once filled with fire growing dull as the she-wolf's broken form becomes more and more feminine. For a creature grown comfortable with brief pains and the itch of healing wounds the cold searing of these unhealing burns is foreign. Flesh shrinks back and claws recede as she whimpers in anguish, shirking away from the cold gaze of her prey.
"Sit," the prey commands, stepping toward the she-wolf as the predator scoots backwards, bare bottom against the wet grass, until her hip finds the lean of a tree in her path, dark brown hair hanging in tattered strands and golden eyes slitted tightly. In the moonlight, wild, raspberry-black hair belies a calm, serious expression, set with appraising eyes chilled to granite and punctuated by slitted pupils. A single scar on the girl's left cheek is underscored by a slightly welling thin red line. Another two such scratches have left the girl's blouse parted from her shoulder, her interest clearly peaked in the brisk air before another step drowns her features in darkness once more.
Two shadows meet in the lee of a towering cypress, as foreign to the landscape as their coupling. One lies shaking and silent. The second moves with gentle purpose, hands quieting the first with soft caresses until the shaking stops. "We should have said something," a boy sobs, "We just ran."
"Hush, hush," his mother whispers back, "The monster's far, far away. We're-" Coughing, the woman gurgles. Something red and sticky splatters across the boy's face. Behind her half a dozen slitted eyes glitter in the shadows as the light fades in her eyes. When the claws and fangs close in there's no rush of quicksilver or burst of magic to cast the monsters away. A soft, wet crunch breaks through the silence.
Two hearts pounding as they stumble and trip through rocky earth, over root and under limb, stinking of sour terror. Behind them a tangle of shadows rips through the overgrowth and like an avalanche it seems unstoppable as it pursues them. They rush past a silent figure, their passage knocking back her hood and revealing a pair of blue eyes so clear and bright they look nearly silver and red hair so dark and pure it seems like countless strands of silk washed with blood. The pair don't call out to her as they pass. They don't look back as the fury that pursues them wraps around her. They don't stop to listen to the whimpers that echo down the road after them.
Life flows in crimson rivers along unseen highways, branching, parting, joining again until suddenly it spills through, bleeding outward, bubbling like a living beast. Gather it. Bend it to your will. Twist and pull. Like mercury bleeding from open veins, quicksilver spills out from between the fingers, over and down into the sheathe as a silent hand closes around the hilt and icy blue eyes glitter. Fangs and claws and fur and tendons wrap around the silent figure; the blade dances, taking a dozen steps across bare flesh before the beast can tighten its grip and crush its prey. Black blood drips from the length of the blade and the red-haired shadow at the center of this dance drops to a knee and breaths a single word, "Vegeo."
A flash of silver light illuminates a feral visage as silver flames erupt in ribbons, eating into the flesh of the beast, biting deep into the flesh and bone, kindling it black before they vanish into greasy gray trails of smoke. The smells of burnt hair and cooked flesh fill the air with a greasy stench. The beast falls back, quivering, eyes once filled with fire growing dull as the she-wolf's broken form becomes more and more feminine. For a creature grown comfortable with brief pains and the itch of healing wounds the cold searing of these unhealing burns is foreign. Flesh shrinks back and claws recede as she whimpers in anguish, shirking away from the cold gaze of her prey.
"Sit," the prey commands, stepping toward the she-wolf as the predator scoots backwards, bare bottom against the wet grass, until her hip finds the lean of a tree in her path, dark brown hair hanging in tattered strands and golden eyes slitted tightly. In the moonlight, wild, raspberry-black hair belies a calm, serious expression, set with appraising eyes chilled to granite and punctuated by slitted pupils. A single scar on the girl's left cheek is underscored by a slightly welling thin red line. Another two such scratches have left the girl's blouse parted from her shoulder, her interest clearly peaked in the brisk air before another step drowns her features in darkness once more.
Two shadows meet in the lee of a towering cypress, as foreign to the landscape as their coupling. One lies shaking and silent. The second moves with gentle purpose, hands quieting the first with soft caresses until the shaking stops. "We should have said something," a boy sobs, "We just ran."
"Hush, hush," his mother whispers back, "The monster's far, far away. We're-" Coughing, the woman gurgles. Something red and sticky splatters across the boy's face. Behind her half a dozen slitted eyes glitter in the shadows as the light fades in her eyes. When the claws and fangs close in there's no rush of quicksilver or burst of magic to cast the monsters away. A soft, wet crunch breaks through the silence.
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