The Box (Part X)

Posted on October 14, 2013 by R. Richardsson

“…get a grip, rider…”

The elfin words rebounded off of the walls around him, forced backwards by the spell he had previously placed on his companion. The words trembled with fear, something that he had not known was possible in his companion, and were spoken by the lips of one who was no longer sure of himself.

It had been only a few moments since the gaping maw had been inches from his face. He could still smell the foul odor it had breathed onto him, coating his senses with its rotten promise of death.

He walked in long strides, the only sound from him being the soft whisper of his robes as they rustled with each step, following the path that the smaller creature had taken. The creatures were visibly agitated, but he had already expected that they would be.

“…gods…”

A sinister smile slowly placed the evil on his expression when he heard the single word prayer spit out by the elf.

It wouldn’t be long before the creatures swarmed in on the one he had scented as the intruder in their tunnels. The ruse had been easy enough. They had expected him to place wards against the dragon’s fire, but they knew very little about the nature of his magic. He had drawn the knife across his palm in the beginning of the ritual and spread his blood on the back of the elf’s armor.

Later, during the ‘show’ of silencing each of their loudest parts, he had enchanted the blood sigil with a scent that would drive any nearby predators mad with rage. It had worked sooner than he had expected, but then, he hadn’t thought of the Destrachan being the first creatures to come within range of the scent.

From what he knew of the creatures, they were more suited to the deeper regions of the underdark, where sounds were a precious commodity and smells got you killed. It was curious that they had wandered this close to the surface. More curious still that they hunted this close to a dragon’s lair.

“…give me strength…”

The desperation in the voice of the elf amused him. He had seemed so strong, so capable. And yet, the panic in his words betrayed him. It was the sound of one who had just realized how utterly alone he truly was. The words were of one who knew that he had little chance of winning.

He reached into a small pouch hanging from his right hip and produced the hourglass he had shown his companions earlier. What he had told them was that it revealed the remaining time on the Ward vs. Dragon Fire spell he had cast. What it showed him was the time remaining on the silence spells, for which was its only purpose.

As before, when he opened his hands, it drifted a couple of feet away where it would float until he willed it to return. There were very few grains of sand left in the upper portion of the device and his grin grew to demonic proportions. Had either of the two seen his expression just then, they might have had more than a second thought about the sorcerer.

He left the enchanted timer to float where it was, it would continue maintain its position even when he was moving. He didn’t often do this, for it drained the enchantment much faster when it was out, but he wanted to watch the last grain of sand fall to the small pile on the bottom. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that he would soon be the only one who would know the secret of The Box.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXVIII)

Posted on October 13, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

For the next several hours, he slowly slipped in and out of consciousness. Because he had no physical state, it was nearly impossible for him to get any solid length of sleep. He had no eyelids to block out the light.

Was it even possible to sleep here? What was happening felt more like he was withdrawing into himself to regather his strength. The manipulating of his own body, as well as drawing himself closer to the portals that were his eyes, were both very taxing. He felt very much a static image of himself and it frightened him.

His coming and going reminded him of the time he had stayed up an entire week working on his project in the den. The work was tedious, but very easy to lose track of time while doing which is exactly what had happened. Because his mother spent most of her time at work, she didn’t notice his absence and his bitch of a sister couldn’t have cared less. Surviving on only bottled water and crackers…

“…follow the…crumbs I’ve left behind…”

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the voice. But, had the ‘other’ spoken, or was he merely remembering? No, if it was, he would have felt the words as they coursed through him. So then it was the latter, but, he wasn’t sure what this was supposed to mean. In this prison, inside of his mind, he only saw what the other wanted him to see. At first, he had been haunted by his dreams. But the longer he spent here, the less he dreamed.

He began to grow angry. It welled up from deep inside of him and empowered him with its raw energy.

How dare this ‘other’ take control of him and force him to watch through his own eyes as it enjoyed what was his!

His anger poured into the infinite cup that was his soul, slowly filling it with an all too familiar rage. Though he had no form, he felt his temperature beginning to rise as he focused on thoughts of the usurper.

Who does this thing think its dealing with?!

It was a feeling he had recently experienced, one which he had focused on the family dog, and it had once again consumed him. Though he would never know it, the ethereal form of his consciousness had lost all of its translucent properties and had begun to swell inside of his prison.

Suddenly, the vast reaches of his his mind were more confining. He could see its walls around him and they reminded him of the time he held a pen-light against the tip of his finger.

“I’m taking back what’s mine,” he projected as he approached the inside of his eyes.

“Wai-what,” came the sleepy response of the other, but it was too late. Scott’s soul slammed home and he smiled with grim satisfaction as he felt the violent ejection of the other from its perch.

He was laying down and the ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Something heavy pressed against his his right side, and for a brief moment he panicked when he couldn’t move his arm, until he realized what it was that had him pinned.

Her hot, fetid breath blasted his newly regained senses, causing to first groan in disgust and then recoil away from her.

“Ohhh, gross,” he moaned as he carefully slid out from under her. When she didn’t stir, he silently got out of the bed and began gathering his clothes from the floor. It took him only a few minutes to get dressed, and once finished, he glared at her sleeping mass while rubbing his sore cheek.

The Box (Part IX)

Posted on October 4, 2013 by R. Richardsson

The effects of the magical enchantments threw off his battle senses. He could hear his breath and the subtle creaks from the padding beneath his armor, but no other sound emanated from him.

The enemy was all around him. He had yet to see his attackers, but he was able to discern that there was more than one based on the simple whistle-click system they used to communicate. Unlike his companions, their tactics had no effect on him. Decades of service under the order of King Altharak had tempered him to the ways of battle. He had faced armies of human invaders from the front lines. Atop his Gryphon mount, he’d engaged in aerial combat against dragons. His blade had spilled the blood of the living and the dead and he had the utmost confidence that it would do the same for the creatures flanking him.

For all his experience, however, Elladuer had spent very little time beneath the ground. Much like the noble creature he fought upon, his place was in the open sky. His heart longed for the icy winds of the north. His soul craved the view of the ocean as it sprawled endlessly beneath him, far to the west. Because his elfin blood gave him a greater resistance to the elements than the lesser races, he wasn’t happy unless he was pushing himself and his mount to their absolute limits.

In the few hours since leaving the open sky behind, he had found himself fighting a new kind of battle. With the walls so close and the darkness pressing against the meager light his enchanted armor gave off, his imagination created an enemy which he had never before faced; claustrophobia.

He stood in the center of a ‘y’ junction, with the tunnel he just exited yawning silently behind him. The chamber was thirty feet in diameter, giving the monsters just enough room to circle while under the cover of darkness, from which they were also allowing glimpses of themselves to peek.

They were toying with him, feeding off of his fears and becoming more frantic in their communications. Each whistle took only a couple of seconds to complete, but they began softly, quickly rising to a pitch that caused his delicate ears to ache. The change of volume had another effect as well. Combined with the echoes from the natural caverns, it gave the impression that there were many more of them than there actually were.

Though it wasn’t happening, his mind convinced him that the range of light was diminishing, allowing for the darkness to creep ever closer. He could feel the walls around him amplifying their shrill calls. They were pressing against him, narrowing his only means of escape from this room and threatening to crush him beneath their infinite weight.

His sword arm faltered.

“Get a grip Rider,” he muttered to himself, “you’ve faced worse than this.”

The sound of his voice was unconvincing. Much like his arm, his voice wavered and cracked. His mouth had suddenly gone dry, choking the words off as quickly as they were spoken.

A sudden shriek to his right startled him and he jerked his body in that direction, leading with his sword. For the first time since he was apprenticed to his king’s army, he found himself off balance and out of stance, and had he been facing a more intelligent being, he might have found a new piece of steel protruding form the opening where his shield should have been.

“Gods,” he sputtered in anger and disbelief. He knew that what he was experiencing was in his mind, but this was an enemy he had never before faced . It had grown so strong, so fast, and left him vulnerable to the real threat around him, which, for as far as he could tell, consisted of several dozen of these things.

The air tasted stale on his lips. It reeked of fungal growth, a hint of purification and other more sinister smells which he could not imagine. It was hot against his skin and stirred only with the breath of the one they had come to slay.

“Give me strength,” he pleaded, finishing his thought.

It was a useless prayer, one which fell from disbelieving lips and quickly faded into the darkness. He could now hear the soft clicking of the creature’s claws as they closed the distance to him, scratching and tapping on the stone floor with each pass.

“…Elladuer!”

As before, he turned ungracefully towards the source of the cry, again exposing himself for attack. This time, one of the Destrachan took the opening and attacked. He had only enough time to see the conical opening of its mouth as it appeared from the darkness before it released the attack.

One of his first battles under his king’s rule had been against a banshee. He had led a small group of soldiers against the creature and had felt first-hand the force behind its wail. With the banshee, the attack had spread over his body, attacking him all over. This creature’s attack was concentrated and it smashed into the buckles which fastened his shield to his shield-arm.

When he had turned, he hadn’t kept his shield against his body as he should have, and the Destrachan had noticed. The straps shattered and his shield fell to the floor.

Now vulnerable on his front-left flank, Elladuer watched helplessly as the creature stepped fully into his circle of light and prayed that Joeshan could hold on long enough for him to face his own battles before getting there.