Random Story Vault

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NoXion
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Random Story Vault

Post by NoXion »

Welcome
to the
Random Story Vault


In this thread you will find various stories that I've jotted down and decided are worth sharing with the rest of the world. One or two of them even might end up getting finished at some point. Contributions are welcome - if you've got something that you reckon would fit in with Nova Mundi, then sling it on. For myself, this thread represents a significant improvement in that it serves to actually demonstrate my narrative writing abilities, such as they are. Comments and criticisms are both welcomed and appreciated.

Without further ado...
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NoXion
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Joined: Tue Jun 24, 2008 6:51 pm
Location: Nova Mundi

Re: Random Story Vault

Post by NoXion »

A Prisoner of the Empire


Hrunel Sharpfang's six eyes scanned the opposite side of the riverbank, and counted the enemy soldiers there. For nearly two cycles of the Othersun the soft Imperial southerners had been pushing northwards into Hrunel's native lands, a savage but beautiful landscape of chalk gorges and needlestem trees. The vanguard of that advance was exemplified in the armoured figures Hrunel spied on the other side of the wide but shallow river. The half dozen soldiers, wearing some kind of segmented armour to go with their broadswords and shields, appeared not to have noticed him. Hrunel was on the verge of selecting an iron-tipped war javelin to send the interlopers packing when he saw something that made him pause; one of the soldiers had those thrice-cursed exploding firestick weapons - "muskets" he reckoned they were called - and although the river was wide, a lucky shot could still hit. He looked more intently, trying to see how just how many of the weapons were there; a double-checked count found two. The enemy soldiers weren't moving around much. This was a small formation which had obviously broken off from a larger unit. Although out on patrol, they weren't far from base and thus were completely unprepared for the javelins that arced out of the bushes, over the water and into the thorax of each musket-bearer.

Panic immediately hit the small patrol and they began fleeing from the riverside, but not before another one of Hrunel's javelins, travelling in a flatter, faster trajectory, fluttered out of the bushes and embedded itself with a meaty smack in between the back armour plates of a retreating soldier, whereupon he collapsed to the ground, all six limbs quivering. Hrunel climbed up into the branches of the needlestem tree next to him, limb reaching over limb until he got as high as he could. He began looking about the other side of the river again to see where the other soldiers were fleeing when he a heard a sharp but distant crack sound. Hrunel had just spotted the giveaway puff of smoke rising from a tuft of long grass when the pain hit; his second left arm blossomed with a warm but excruciating pain, enough for him to lose firm grip of the tree branches. Hrunel fell over two dozen feet, hitting a few tree branches on the way, losing consciousness before hitting the ground.

Hrunel awoke in agony, his second left arm a swollen mass of pain. It had been roughly bandaged, and Hrunel was too concerned about bleeding to inspect the dressing too closely. When the pain had subsided into a throbbing background ache he noticed he had been manacled to a stake hammered deeply into the ground, surrounded on all sides by three walls of palisades and a gate, trimmed out of needlestem trunks. There were two other prisoners, neither of whom he recognised. One of them was sleeping, eyes closed and mouth open, drool pooling in the dirt. The other one already had their eyes on him, and Hrunel was about to speak when he was beaten to it.

"You in here for picking off their toy soldiers as well?"

"So it seems."

"Looks like they got a nice shot on your arm. At least you were fighting. The bastards caught me napping. Literally."

"Tried escaping?"

"No luck yet. These Ghellhonites run things well here. No less than three guards per prisoner when changing manacles, that sort of thing"

"Any idea what they want with us?"

"Well, they're claiming this area as part of the Ghellhonite Empire, so I imagine they want to charge us with murder or rebellion or something like that"

"Of what clan are you?"

"Lurrhen Quickarm of the Black Mountain Clan. You?"

The Black Mountain clan! Hrunel had heard of their exploits - based at the junction of the Skyspine and Northmaw mountain ranges, the Black Mountain clan struck terror into the hearts of many a Ghellhonite legionary with their savage night-time raids on army encampments, hitting hard and fast before melting away into the forests and foothills. The Black Mountain clan were also known for selecting some of their warriors to go into the territories of other clans, to provide advice and motivate resistence against the encroachments of the Ghellhonite Empire. The Black Mountain clan had been in conflict with the Ghellhonite Empire the longest, ever since Ghellhonite legionaries had used gunpowder to destroy the Southern Monolith, a shrine important to the Black Mountain. The strict and iconoclastic monotheism of the Ghellhonites sat uncomfortably with the various animistic and polytheistic faiths of the Northern Clans, and all it took was an overly religious Ghellhonite legion commander in the wrong place at the wrong time to kick off a conflict.

"I'm Hrunel Sharpfang of the White Gulley clan"

"Good fortune! Yours is a strong lot. Good to see you fighting these bastards. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to sleep"

Hrunel looked up and saw the sky was beginning to darken. He hoped it didn't rain during the night, since the enclosure he was in was not covered in any way, and from the looks of it little consideration had been given to drainage. On the other hand, if it did rain the ground might soften up enough for Hrunel to pull up the stake in the ground, abetting his escape and with the length of chain also providing him with a handy improvised weapon in the process. So he felt sort of half-and-half. Best idea; play it calm and cooperative until they started getting lazy and forgetful, and take advantage as soon as they do. Hrunel settled on the ground, wrapping his six limbs around himself to keep warm. Eventually he drifted off, serenaded by the sounds of the night.

Hrunel awoke the next morning to the sound of the enclosure gate being opened, and saw nine Ghellhonite legionaries in their segmented armour march in, bearing a new set of chains and manacles for him and the two other captives, who had also awoken by this point. Hrunel calmly submitted to the process of being transferred from the stake and being joined up with the others in a line, with Lurrhen in front, himself in the centre and the third captive last.

The line of prisoners was then marched out of the enclosure, through the gates and into the encampment beyond. Here they joined a small formation of about two dozen legionaries led by a commander riding a six legged, lithe but strong Djelbeast. The small line of prisoners was halted, before being attached to the tail-ring of the Djelbeast. As the commander in his feather-crested helmet urged his Djelbeast forward, the prisoners were forced to follow and as they left Hrunel saw neat rows of identical tents, a big central tent embroidered and dyed with bright patterns, and a formation of Ghellhonite legionaries in early morning drill, before he passed through a larger set of gates with guard towers into the countryside beyond. The three prisoners were almost pulled along, with the two dozen legionaries following on behind. They marched a short while along a path beaten into the ground before coming to road made of broad, flat paving stones and wide enough to comfortably accommodate four marching abreast. Since leaving the encampment Hrunel had been able to get his bearings by the shapes of the hills on the horizon, and he knew that as they had reached the paved road they had turned south, moving further away from his homelands.

They continued along the straight paved road until twilight began, whereupon the party drew off to the side of the road to make camp. The commander's Djelbeast was roped up to a stout bluethorn bush, and the prisoners were secured to the looped end of a large iron corkscrew-like object that had been wound into the ground by a squad of six legionaries from the formation. With the Djelbeast and captives secure, the legionaries then set up their commander's tent before setting up their own. It was what happened next that puzzled Hrunel the most; the legionaries all sat on the ground in rows, in front a of a red cloth banner that the commander had erected, with a black symmetrical symbol in a white circle. The commander, holding a book in his upper left arm, gave a short speech to the assembled legionaries in the gathering twilight gloom, something truly forgetful about duty and honour and how important those things were to servants of the Emperor, blessed be his name. Interspersing this dull little speech were readings from this mysterious tome, in a dialect that Hrunel could barely understand, with about one word in every five being understood.

"Quite amazingly stupefying, isn't it?" It was Lurrhen.

"What are they doing?" asked Hrunel.

"That underwhelming display you're seeing is them abasing themselves before their psychotic little freak of a deity. That book is full of words that are holy to them. I've read it. Well, had it read out to me. The bits that don't go over your head or bore you to death are mainly an insult to one's intelligence, give or take a few juicy bits here and there which strait-laced types like our commander here would never read out in front of the common soldiery. But if there's one thing the great god Ghellonh hates more than anything else, it's graven images of animals or people. I'm not sure why, but my best guess from having that book read to me is that Ghellonh is deathly afraid that the Ghellhonites could start worshipping such images, for some reason"

"They tried to destroy the Moon Cult" this was the third captive speaking, who had introduced himself on the day's march as Kalar Brighteye of the Dancing Tree clan. Hrunel turned to face him, as the last fires of the evening light died on the western horizon. "they accused my clan and others in the Moon Cult of all kinds of depravity. How is it at all depraved to worship the moon? Does not its waxing and waning over the month exemplify the cycles of nature put into motion by the Creator?"

"Their arrogance shall be their undoing," assured Lurrhen, "their one god claims to have moved the mountains from their foundations, to have fed thousands with provisions for only a dozen, and to have parted the oceans, and yet still the Unconquered Sun gives generously of his light to all who live in this world, whether they choose to worship him or not. The Everlasting Moon marks the passage of time, heedless of the small, weak god of the Ghellhonites who speaks only through that book and his thrice-cursed priests. Such monumental hubris cannot stand for long against the unity of the clans and their gods"
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