First Blood - The War for Nashral

[Adlatus Hellbringer]

This is the prologue for a story i've been planning. It contains lots of factions with a main small group at its centre, trying to save a country (Nashral) from all out war and destruction. More of the story will come as I plan it all out. The main thing to consider is that the story is based in a fantasy setting where magic is not whole heartedly accepted by the people. While most understand that it can be used for good there are factions who would like it restricted and/or got rid of. While the argument over the use of magic weakens Nashral a darker force is waiting to strike. Enter Zarkhya...

Zarkhya grinned as he opened his mind to the pulse of his mage assasin. The assasin had followed his orders to the letter and now the time had come to strike.

Lord Smeren slept easily, dreaming of the future and the power he yearned to attain. A dark shadow loomed over his bed, a shadow that would change the course of Smeren's plans and ultimately the future of Magic in Nashral. The mage assasin moved closer to Smeren's slumbering body, weaving the intricate spell in his mind as the heat flushed through to his hands. The heat forming in the assasins hands burned through his gloves, flames erupting from his skin, yearning for the spell word. Without hesitation it came. 'Wratih Fire'. The smell of burning flesh consumed the chamber as Smeren opened his eyes for the last time. A tear dribbled down his face as his body failed to react, flames licking up from his chest and causing shock and then darkness.

The pulse was joyfull and full of glee. Zarkhya's assasin had been successful and the morning would bring the start of a new argument, a new war. The death of the third most powerful family leader would cause havoc amongst the Council. Magic would take the blame, weakening its ties with society and bringing its downfall. Zarkhya's mind raced at the thought of the weakened country with little or no magic, unable to defend itself from his tide of dark sorcery. Zarkhya closed off the pulse and sipped his wine, he could barely contain his elation, the plan was in motion. Zarkhya had got his first blood.

 

[kaionda]

Promising start. May we have more please? =)

 

[Adlatus Hellbringer]

more will come soon havn't had a chance to write much in the last couple of days.

Cheers,

Ad

 

[Adlatus Hellbringer]

This introduces Ruthhur one of leading characters at the centre of the story...

Ruthhur pulled the reigns of his horse and adjusted his warm furs around his body. Winter had set in and had covered most of Nashral in soft layer of thick snow. The cold played havoc on Ruthhur's joints, causing the old warrior a pain he was used to after battle. Two weeks had passed since his departure from Rafan, the small village in which he lived, leaving his wife and son to look after the farm. It was a small holding, but enough to provide fresh vegetables, eggs and milk that made the family a good living. It was a life time away from how Ruthhur used to live as part of the Scalaren, a small mercenary warband, working for the Council of Nashral. The bitter cold tore Ruthhur away from his dreaming as he surveyed the dusky landscape. Darkness was engulfing the forrest and it was time to find shelter for the night, somewhere to rest his weary body from the days hard travel. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the snapping of a branch. Ruthhur turned to face where the noise came from anxious to discover any sign of movement or shapes within the dense woodland area. Within the gloom of the forrest he could make out a dark figure stalking in line with him, his heart rate beat faster, he was being followed.

The three Brigands had followed the horseman for a day waiting for nightfall to make their strike. The horseman looked old and weary, barely able to hold himslef up as he rode, this gave them an advantage and they only hoped
that he was wealthy. The cold made it uncomfortable for stalking the horseman but made his tracks even more visible to them, especially for the youngest of the thieves, kiral. This was his first outing with his brother and father and he was eager to please them and prove himself. He had stayed inline with the Horseman throughout the afternoon, in preperation for the ambush, making sure he made little or no noise as he negotiated the harsh woodland. The branch snapped loudly under his feet and he cursed under his breath. The bird call came loud and clear through the air, the signal to attack had been given. Kiral unsheathed his sword and hoped his luck would get better.

Ruthhur could feel the rage building up inside him, the shadow was moving now directly towards him. He reached round to his pack and hefted his axe from its sheath, it felt comfortable in his hands as he looked into the forrest for any other threats. As he dismounted his horse he could hear rustling and twigs cracking from other directions, Ruthhur smirked and hauled his pack onto the woodland floor.

Kiral nervously moved closer to the target watching as the horseman dismounted his horse and setup his camp. He was certain that he hadn't been heard and was eager to engage the rider. He crept onwards to where the rider stood, his back to Kiral as he setup his stove. There was no more than 10 metres between Kiral and the rider with no sign of his Brother or Father yet, 'what is taking them so long', he thought as he tried to calm his nerves. Kiral couldn't wait any longer and leapt forward to strike at the rider. He moved with speed, sword in hand, ready to slash at the unsuspecting horseman and bring him down. Kiral could imagine his fathers joyfull face as he presented him with the riders belongings and it spured him on, raising his sword arm in a untrained arc above his head.

Ruthhur swung round at just the right moment. He ploughed his dirk into the side of the theives body and brought his axe across the asailants sword arm dropping him instantly. A warm spray of blood erupted from the thieves body as Ruthhur renched his dirk free. His breathing got heavier as he heard foot steps rushing closer. A sudden jolt of pain shot up his arm as a crossbow bolt pierced through his leather armour weakening his axe arm, and then they were on him. Ruthhur faced the younger of the two asailants first, screaming a mangled war cry and letting the blood run freely from his arm. He snarled as he lept forward, leading with his dirk he let his axe hang freely waiting for the right moment to strike. The younger of the two came in with a lazy side swipe, easily parried by Ruthhur's dirk leaving the asailant unbalanced. Ruthhur took the opportunity and cleaved his axe into the unprotected side of the shocked thief leaving the axe in the dying man's arm. Ruthhur leapt back and faced the older oponent grimacing at the pain in his left arm, the bolt still lodged in his shoulder. He looked into the eyes of his final asailant and smiled, flipping his dirk and launching it into his chest. Bubbles of blood forming in his mouth as he tried to breath. Ruthhur took his axe from the arm of the dying thief and wiped the gore from it. As Ruthhur mounted his horse and made for Arkanas, the whimpering of the dying man followed him into the night.