Post by Mirage on Nov 28, 2007 18:30:56 GMT -5
This is a story I wrote last year for a creative writing contest. I got a gold key award for it but nothing at the national level. Enjoy!
The Death Cry of Hope
Mirarea’s short brown hair blew behind her mixing with the folds of her black cloak as she road her black Friesen stallion across the plains. Bane road his black Friesen stallion beside his friend. His limpid blue eyes shone fiercely against his short black hair. It was a dark and stormy night, and both of the horses and riders were soaked and mud splattered. The sound of battle died away, lost to the wind and rain. They had made it behind enemy lines, and yet, the dangerous rode before them had not yet begun. Mirarea stopped her stallion and dismounted. Bane looked at her and asked, “What is it? What do you hear?”
“Someone is in the dungeons,” she shouted above the raging storm as she knelt to the ground. The ground seemed to cry out, but the message only confused the young ranger. “A Halfling.” They tethered their horses to a strong tree and silently moved into the shadows. Mirarea led Bane down the many corridors of the forbidding complex. They came upon the unsuspecting guards as silent as death itself.
The fight lasted only a few moments as the four guards proved no match for the battle hardened warriors Mirarea and Bane. The guards fell silently to the ground and slipped into death. Mirarea took the keys, and the two companions continued down the twisting corridor. The shrieks of someone being tortured cut through the darkness, shattering the eerie silence. They rounded the corner only to find that the door was locked. Mirarea rushed to find the right key, but in the silence of the corridor, even the slight jangling of the keys sounded far to load as it resonated throughout the narrow stone corridor.
Several guards appeared from out of the shadows. The sound of steel on steel rang out in the stone hallway. These soldiers were able to hold off the attacks of the two fights. Each move complimented the other. But in the end, they also proved to be incapable of stopping the two companions. Mirarea opened the door, and the slipped into the ever deepening shadows.
Torches lit a cell on the far side of the vast room. The Halfling was chained to the wall. He had curly brown hair and soft brown eyes like a deer’s. He was three foot six and unusually skinny for a Halfling. He cried out as a whip struck him. That was soon followed by a dagger as the cruel and merciless beating continued. Mirarea and Bane crept closer to the four men who stood around the Halfling; the leader stood in the center. Bane slit the leader’s throat and chaos broke out. The other three soldiers quickly overcame their surprise of two people slipping into the very heart of what had been considered an impenetrable fortress. They attacked Mirarea and Bane. They died quickly. Mirarea unlocked the shackles that bond the Halfling’s hands and feet.
Bane picked him up, and they quickly ran from the dungeons and the fortress. The horses were spooked as Mirarea and Bane returned. The two companions rode away as quickly as they could; the Halfling sat in front of Bane unconscious. They reached the encampment as the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon turning the clouds a deep crimson. Mirarea and Bane took the Halflings to the healers. In a few hours, the two friends were talking to the Halfling.
“What is your name/” Bane asked the Halfling.
“Vaeleer,” He replied weakly.
Mirarea asked, “Why were you captured?”
“I was captured and tortured for important information I was to bring to you,” Vaeleer replied weakly. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Mirarea and Bane stepped out of the tent.
“Bane, what do you think the enemy is looking for?” Mirarea asked.
“I don’t know, Mirarea. I don’t know.” Their gaze met; his blue eyes looking into her golden eyes. “One thing is certain, the war has just begun, and yet the mysteries surrounding it never cease.”
Mirarea nodded, though she was also disturbed by the fact, and looked around at the soldiers who prepared for battle. “Sometimes I wonder why we fight this war.”
“So do I, Mirarea.” The two friends parted ways neither realizing that that was the last time they would see each other. Mirarea went to her tent and sat down to think. Everything was so confusing. What had Vaeleer referred to? What did this enemy want information about? The mysteries surrounding the very war made her feel uneasy. That night, the entire camp fell into a restless sleep.
It was midnight. One lone star shone in the sky. The fires burned low. And as a cloud hid that one star, a slight shift in the shadows was the only thing to foretell impending doom. The heavily cloaked man went undetected as he slipped into Bane’s tent.
Mirarea woke up in a cold sweat; something was horribly wrong. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her sword. The Vaeleer limped to Bane’s tent. She followed him. The healers stepped out of the tent. Her heart pounded, afraid to know what horrible fate had befallen her friend.
“Is he alright?” Mirarea finally asked, forcing it past the rising lump in her throat.
“He was assassinated, but he took the assassin with him.”
Vaeleer saw the light leave Mirarea’s golden eyes. She stormed into Bane’s tent. Her heart broke as she saw her friend’s cold body. Mirarea wept as she knelt by the body of her dear friend. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to her dearest friend. Vaeleer stepped in behind her.
“Who killed him, Vaeleer?” she hissed. The mounting rage was evident in her harsh and cold tone of voice.
Vaeleer saw the dead assassin and recognized the young man’s face. “His brother, Entron; one of my tormentors,” he replied with disgust. Vaeleer took out a small scale. It shone like a crystal. It became a fiery red as the torch light passed through it. “They were looking for information concerning the dragon Crystaltrill.”
Mirarea looked at the scale, shocked that the enemy sought to destroy the dragon that protected her people. “So we fight in this war to defend our dragon?” Mirarea asked more troubled than confused. Vaeleer handed her the scale.
“Here, take it. I’m sorry for all the trouble I have caused you.”
“The assassin took out Bane. If he had been looking for the scale, why did he kill Bane?” she inquired as she looked at the scale that now lay in her hand.
“He sought personal revenge and worked for the enemy.”
“How did you keep the scale safe from the… what was that?” Mirarea asked suddenly. People were shouting. The camp was filled with confusion as a call to arms arose. Mirarea stepped outside of the tent. Vaeleer came up behind her. Torches were seen in the distance. She smelled smoke. As Mirarea turned around, tents began to burst into flames as a stream of flaming arrows struck into the encampment. Horses whinnied, and soldiers rushed franticly to get armor and weapons on. Mirarea drew her sword and was able to gain some semblance of order among the ranks of disorganized troops.
The enemy had them surrounded. There was no where to go, no way to get out. They were trapped with no way to retreat. Mirarea looked at the soldiers. They trusted her. She had failed them all and now the only escape was death itself. A charge sounded, and the unseen enemy swept into the encampment. There was no battle cry on the lips of Mirarea and her warriors. As they charged into the unseen enemy, the only cry was the death cry of hope.
The Death Cry of Hope
Mirarea’s short brown hair blew behind her mixing with the folds of her black cloak as she road her black Friesen stallion across the plains. Bane road his black Friesen stallion beside his friend. His limpid blue eyes shone fiercely against his short black hair. It was a dark and stormy night, and both of the horses and riders were soaked and mud splattered. The sound of battle died away, lost to the wind and rain. They had made it behind enemy lines, and yet, the dangerous rode before them had not yet begun. Mirarea stopped her stallion and dismounted. Bane looked at her and asked, “What is it? What do you hear?”
“Someone is in the dungeons,” she shouted above the raging storm as she knelt to the ground. The ground seemed to cry out, but the message only confused the young ranger. “A Halfling.” They tethered their horses to a strong tree and silently moved into the shadows. Mirarea led Bane down the many corridors of the forbidding complex. They came upon the unsuspecting guards as silent as death itself.
The fight lasted only a few moments as the four guards proved no match for the battle hardened warriors Mirarea and Bane. The guards fell silently to the ground and slipped into death. Mirarea took the keys, and the two companions continued down the twisting corridor. The shrieks of someone being tortured cut through the darkness, shattering the eerie silence. They rounded the corner only to find that the door was locked. Mirarea rushed to find the right key, but in the silence of the corridor, even the slight jangling of the keys sounded far to load as it resonated throughout the narrow stone corridor.
Several guards appeared from out of the shadows. The sound of steel on steel rang out in the stone hallway. These soldiers were able to hold off the attacks of the two fights. Each move complimented the other. But in the end, they also proved to be incapable of stopping the two companions. Mirarea opened the door, and the slipped into the ever deepening shadows.
Torches lit a cell on the far side of the vast room. The Halfling was chained to the wall. He had curly brown hair and soft brown eyes like a deer’s. He was three foot six and unusually skinny for a Halfling. He cried out as a whip struck him. That was soon followed by a dagger as the cruel and merciless beating continued. Mirarea and Bane crept closer to the four men who stood around the Halfling; the leader stood in the center. Bane slit the leader’s throat and chaos broke out. The other three soldiers quickly overcame their surprise of two people slipping into the very heart of what had been considered an impenetrable fortress. They attacked Mirarea and Bane. They died quickly. Mirarea unlocked the shackles that bond the Halfling’s hands and feet.
Bane picked him up, and they quickly ran from the dungeons and the fortress. The horses were spooked as Mirarea and Bane returned. The two companions rode away as quickly as they could; the Halfling sat in front of Bane unconscious. They reached the encampment as the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon turning the clouds a deep crimson. Mirarea and Bane took the Halflings to the healers. In a few hours, the two friends were talking to the Halfling.
“What is your name/” Bane asked the Halfling.
“Vaeleer,” He replied weakly.
Mirarea asked, “Why were you captured?”
“I was captured and tortured for important information I was to bring to you,” Vaeleer replied weakly. He closed his eyes and fell asleep. Mirarea and Bane stepped out of the tent.
“Bane, what do you think the enemy is looking for?” Mirarea asked.
“I don’t know, Mirarea. I don’t know.” Their gaze met; his blue eyes looking into her golden eyes. “One thing is certain, the war has just begun, and yet the mysteries surrounding it never cease.”
Mirarea nodded, though she was also disturbed by the fact, and looked around at the soldiers who prepared for battle. “Sometimes I wonder why we fight this war.”
“So do I, Mirarea.” The two friends parted ways neither realizing that that was the last time they would see each other. Mirarea went to her tent and sat down to think. Everything was so confusing. What had Vaeleer referred to? What did this enemy want information about? The mysteries surrounding the very war made her feel uneasy. That night, the entire camp fell into a restless sleep.
It was midnight. One lone star shone in the sky. The fires burned low. And as a cloud hid that one star, a slight shift in the shadows was the only thing to foretell impending doom. The heavily cloaked man went undetected as he slipped into Bane’s tent.
Mirarea woke up in a cold sweat; something was horribly wrong. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her sword. The Vaeleer limped to Bane’s tent. She followed him. The healers stepped out of the tent. Her heart pounded, afraid to know what horrible fate had befallen her friend.
“Is he alright?” Mirarea finally asked, forcing it past the rising lump in her throat.
“He was assassinated, but he took the assassin with him.”
Vaeleer saw the light leave Mirarea’s golden eyes. She stormed into Bane’s tent. Her heart broke as she saw her friend’s cold body. Mirarea wept as she knelt by the body of her dear friend. She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye to her dearest friend. Vaeleer stepped in behind her.
“Who killed him, Vaeleer?” she hissed. The mounting rage was evident in her harsh and cold tone of voice.
Vaeleer saw the dead assassin and recognized the young man’s face. “His brother, Entron; one of my tormentors,” he replied with disgust. Vaeleer took out a small scale. It shone like a crystal. It became a fiery red as the torch light passed through it. “They were looking for information concerning the dragon Crystaltrill.”
Mirarea looked at the scale, shocked that the enemy sought to destroy the dragon that protected her people. “So we fight in this war to defend our dragon?” Mirarea asked more troubled than confused. Vaeleer handed her the scale.
“Here, take it. I’m sorry for all the trouble I have caused you.”
“The assassin took out Bane. If he had been looking for the scale, why did he kill Bane?” she inquired as she looked at the scale that now lay in her hand.
“He sought personal revenge and worked for the enemy.”
“How did you keep the scale safe from the… what was that?” Mirarea asked suddenly. People were shouting. The camp was filled with confusion as a call to arms arose. Mirarea stepped outside of the tent. Vaeleer came up behind her. Torches were seen in the distance. She smelled smoke. As Mirarea turned around, tents began to burst into flames as a stream of flaming arrows struck into the encampment. Horses whinnied, and soldiers rushed franticly to get armor and weapons on. Mirarea drew her sword and was able to gain some semblance of order among the ranks of disorganized troops.
The enemy had them surrounded. There was no where to go, no way to get out. They were trapped with no way to retreat. Mirarea looked at the soldiers. They trusted her. She had failed them all and now the only escape was death itself. A charge sounded, and the unseen enemy swept into the encampment. There was no battle cry on the lips of Mirarea and her warriors. As they charged into the unseen enemy, the only cry was the death cry of hope.