Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Time Drag(s)on

Vogir glances at his digital watch.
Are those approaching Dark riders ever going to arrive?

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Thundering hooves

Vogir grinds his back heel into the dirt and adjusts his grip on his magical longbow.
The battle raging below, though fraught, seems under control. Orestes, Indigo and the new dwarf are handling the remaining ‘Dark riders’, leaving he and Zavia to watch for whoever’s approaching.
He’d assumed it was just the two unencountered ‘Dark riders’ but the crescendoing volume of the hoof beats was making him less and less sure.
Vogir’s earlier confidence has become a distant memory.
Who’s rushing toward them?
Can his martialistic friends finish their opponents before more enemies arrive?
A feeling of dread washes over him.
The clever ambush they’d set to kill a couple of the ‘Dark riders’ now seems more of a trap for themselves.
Vogir’s sweaty palms force him to readjust his grip yet again.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Help from above

Vogir nocks another arrow and releases it into the melee below. These ‘Dark-riders’ don’t seem so tough. (Especially when he can pick them off from range, atop a cliff-face.)
They were chasing two, but have attracted five of the lizardy bastards. Not really a surprise, as they’d not only pursued them but alerted them of their presence.
Still, five vs. five weren’t too scary odds.
Orestes, Indigo and the newly joined dwarf; Mjoorvitnir were handling the hand-to-hand fighting, while the gnomess; Zavia and he played interference.
True, his arrows weren’t bothering the Dark-riders too much and Zavia’s illusions were being breached…
Still, the battle was definitely going their way.
Two or three of these ‘relentless’ dragon-borns were already down and even the terminally reckless Orestes was still on his trotters.
Vogir’s smile falters though as he hears the thundering sound of horses hooves approach from the distance…

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Dead cat bounce

As he looks down from the rooftop at the others slaughtering the two hags, Vogir smiles at the little gnomess Zavia.
Despite being in the ‘forbidden lands’, despite being pursued by the seven ‘Black riders’, he’s never laughed more or felt more happy.
The teleportation trick that she’d performed and he’d copied was hilarious.
Making the monstrous cat suddenly appear twenty feet in the air and letting it drop to the ground…
The ‘poor’ creature never stood a chance.
Now, after a night’s rest in the relative safety of the farmhouse, they can press on towards the dwarven Mjoovitnir’s homeland.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

When’s a secret not a secret?

For the first time in the fortnight, since his companions left Fewham, Vogir relaxes. Lord Rician has reduced his guard numbers to that of before the threat he’d made.
He’d kept out of sight, watching from outside the town perimeter.
What was weird though was the whole situation…
It smelled.
It smelled a lot.
It positively stunk!
A dragon in the form of a lady, mincing about pretending to be human while being served upon hand and foot.
A Lord feigning consideration for his people while living in luxury.
The flawed defence of the Lady Sybille being Theranthor’s daughter and therefore apparently keeping the Empress’ forces from attacking.
And finally, a secret that everyone seems to be aware of: The local nobility, the dragon empress, the guards and even the locals themselves.
Everyone knows!
So why wasn’t Lord Rician honest in the beginning?
Why the pretence?
Still, Vogir wasn’t fooled and he wasn’t to be put off. After weeks of waiting, of questioning visitors and travelers from and to the town, he was ready to act.
The mansion carefully cased, Vogir approaches stealthily and under the cover of darkness. Easily bypassing the locked doors, he drifts as mist through the corridors and under the cracks in doors.
Still, despite the hour, Vogir is too early. Lady Sybille is awake and still in conversation with her ‘Father’. Confident in his hidden state though, Vogir edges forward to listen…
The conversation is sweet. Loving even and worse, it seems sincere.
Lord Rician kisses her gently on her forehead before retiring for the night.
It would be easy now. Lady Sybille is completely alone but something stays Vogir’s hand.
Following her to her own bedchamber, she is met by an older women dressed in a robe of dark grey. She passably resembles a Black-cloak but her graying hair and lined face are unhidden by the hood.
The woman smiles when Sybille enters and the affection again seems genuine.
Despite not currently having a stomach, Vogir feels a sinking within it.
This woman is almost certainly the trusted Black-cloak who’d stolen the little wyrmling in the first place. That she was still here spoke of care beyond mere duty.
After combing and braiding Sybille’s long blond hair, the lady-in-waiting puts her to bed and retires to an adjoining room.
Vogir watches until Sybille’s breathing becomes deeper and he’s sure she’s asleep.
He could kill her now.
It’d be easy.
He could kill the nanny and Lord Rician too…
If he wanted to…
If it were the right thing to do.
An eerie sigh escapes Vogir’s insubstantial form and, like a shadow, he slips from the silent mansion.