Norbayne Short Stories

[Jubal]

Ooh, nice stuff, look forward to more

[Phoenixguard09]

Thanks man.

If anyone has any story hooks, I'd be happy to take them.

[Phoenixguard09]

Okay, so I finally finished Banloach de an Oiche and I think the Sad Tale of Lyriana Morcante will probably get only one more chapter.

Which means I now have three finished and a fourth almost complete!

[Jubal]

Yay, well done

[Phoenixguard09]

Night: Part 1

Falling.

Falling forever.

The knight awoke to blackness all around. The last thing he remembered was marching to war, one man in a vast sea of soldiers.

He thought back to the events that led to his presence on that field. The war between his king and the dread mage-lord of the south. Who was his king again?

Funny, it seemed so important before, but now, with all of eternity stretching before him... Why did it matter?

His eyes sought for purchase on his surroundings, but it seemed he was travelling too fast to focus on anything he passed. Or there was nothing there to focus on.

In fact, that may have been closer to the truth.

And still he fell.

He closed his eyes, welcoming the end, but it never came.

Falling.

Falling forever.

Just another quick story I cobbled together at work. Sorry if it isn't very good, I've not been able to focus on it exclusively.

There will be a second part.

Cheers,

[Phoenixguard09]

Of Homes and Exile

We had a home once.

In all the vastness of the known multiverse, we had a home, one singular pocket of existence in which every factor was conducive to the formation of my people. A place where we grew, loved, created and thrived. My people were considered great builders, the finest in all creation. We built structures, on scales barely imaginable, from dwellings which towered above and beyond any natural feature on any number of the worlds we discovered, to the most minute adaptations in the smallest of organsims which populated those worlds. Our mastery was absolute, and so we travelled, always seeking further frontiers to explore and to improve, to make more like our home.

As we travelled, our home grew more distant, and my people began to grow weary of creation. Our home, that place of light, love and laughter became a place where we fought and destroyed, tearing down the creations of others to further the goals of oneself. It is the way of conflict that it escalates, and each advancement requires further expenditure of power in order to overcome the enemy. For my people, that advancement, or more specifically, the power expended to obtain it, spelt doom.

We were not as alone in the stars as we thought. Truly, we had known for millennia of the many and varied forms of life which populated innumerable worlds across the breadth of creation, but ever were they of lesser stature than ourselves, such that many of our people at first viewed them as something to be improved upon and taught, moulded into something greater. In more evil times, some viewed these beings as potential tools and weapons, mere collateral damage in the what became the war among the stars.

We did not know, nor even conceive that there were beings active in the cosmos with power that matched our own, let alone exceed it. Not until it was too late.

Drawn by our reckless use of power like moths to a flame, they fell upon our home out of the void, scattering my people across the stars. The lights of our world dimmed, what little laughter there was left, died. The hammers stopped ringing in the forges, the wars ceased and creation halted. Our home was lost to us. We were exiled.

I found myself on a new world, and harboured the survivors of my family, all the while dwelling in uneasy peace with some few others of my kind, who themselves took residence in other regions on the same world. With only small touches of power, we aided the extant creatures of this world, granting them knowledge and culture. My family took residence in the great forested mountains, and the diminutive peoples which dwell there called us the Ri-Foraoirse, the Forest Lords. They served us, as they would, though we asked of them nothing.  When the Sidhe arrived, themselves seeking to escape a something which threatened their home, we agreed to shelter them and asked of them no price.

Deep in the woodlands, we began to build something like home, but as it was in the beginning, that wholesome light-filled place of music and life. Hidden away, to safeguard our creation from any and all outside threats, we shared our new home with the Leathe and the Sidhe and all was well. Even the revelation of the sickness which dwelt in the core of every Sidhe was something which could be solved, with the creation of the Gealai Aisling, a safe place for the Sidhe to go when they grew weary of existence.

Then word reached us that our enemy had found us and that my estranged kin were being hunted and killed for their power, which while only used in small touches as required, over millennia had accumulated. Deep in the forest, we will be safe for a time, but all know that our time is short and this time there will be no escape.

I am a dreamer, an artist, a king and a father. I am known as Mor'Righ-Glas to the Leathe. I lost my home and soon I fear, I will lose my life.

I am an exile.

[Phoenixguard09]

Addiction

My eyes open, though all remains black. The torn and bloodstained strip of linen which serves as my blindfold ensures that is the case. My arms are outstretched. They hurt. There is a slight clink of steel on stone as I shift my weight, causing the thick steel manacles and chains which bind me to scrape on the cold stone floor. There is a commotion from outside, raised voices, a sense of panic and fear. The door to the cell creaks open, the hinges protesting the strain against the rust which has formed through years of disuse.

The pulling on my arms lessens a touch as someone provides some slack to the chains. My physical form crumples to the stone floor. I barely feel it.

All I can feel is the excitement which courses through my frail body like wildfire. It is nearly time once more. I am needed again.

They are coming.

So say the panicked guards anyway, their confusing and garbled chatter a mere irritating buzz to my senses. Ilaena, presumably, from the plains to the south, an ever-encroaching horde of savage beasts. Some great matriarch has likely united the clans, brought them under her sway with promises of violence and plunder. I have witnessed this before. It is not uncommon here in the Granica, what the northern heathens call The March of Sothbayne. This place, where the civilisation along the Sjeverni Coast gives way to the wide-open grasslands of the nomadic horselords. This place, where the blood of the ancient Deliverer still flows strongly through the veins of the Roanfaille.

This place, where the Ilaena come to die.

As I am removed from my bare, stone cell and emerge into sunlight for the first time in many years, I try to just enjoy the feeling. The warm kiss of sunlight upon my skin, the touch of a cool breeze, the smells of dust and grass, anything other than the dark, featureless stone which has been my home.

All I can smell is the unmistakable scent of smoke and the iron-tang of blood on the wind. All I can hear is the terrified screaming of thousands of people. The scent of blood is so thick I can taste it. The dull red of my vision, hidden as it is behind my blindfold, takes on a new meaning, not the red of obscured light now, but a rain of vitae pouring from the skies. I can feel it on my very skin, a slick, sticky coating of gore.

I am pulled along by my chain, blind, helpless, relying entirely on the man in front of me, presumably a guard. As we walk together, stumbling through the sounds of chaos, I can hear a quiet weeping, beneath the cacophony of panicked screams from all around us. I think it might be the guard. I can hear them too now, the Ilaena. I can hear the snarls, the whooping calls, the shrill peals of mocking, bestial laughter which hang in the smoke-filled air.

We come to a stairway, crafted of stone. We must have reached the outer wall. I hear a voice telling me to keep going, though I pay it no mind. My thoughts are of the Ilaena, of their cruelty, their savagery, their strange, haunting laughter. I remember their eyes, which glint with a terrible, animal intelligence, their crude weapons and their powerful sorcery.

I remember burning them.

I remember their hideous forms being consumed by the violet flames, their cackling laughter transmute into howls of pain and terror as their bodies withered away to nought but char and ash. Those glinting eyes, which promised such hateful savagery, could not withstand the fury I unleashed.

It is time to do so once more. 

One at a time, I take the stairs. One step after another, I slowly gain the top of the wall. It is a little quieter here, only a little. The sound of conflict so very far away. Hands still bound by thick steel chains, I flare my inner fire for a brief moment.

The chains fall away, molten and dripping, leaving terrible disfiguring scars upon my wrists and forearms. The steel drips upon the stone below me, sizzling and slowly cooling.

I remove the blindfold. I know I should not, but I want to see. Not just see, but see.

I stand atop the pale stone parapet, looking out over the golden grass sea. Above, the sky pulses like a dark, reddish bruise, and thick, dark globules of rain fall in scattered showers, staining the pale stone of the city and the golden grass of the plains both in streaks of dark gore.

Upon the plain are gathered the horde of the Carrion, the Ilaena clans which have come together to pillage this place, to destroy it. Vlasko, I believe it is called.

I do not rightly care. My eyes close. I have seen enough for now. Now they are to become the reaping scythe, and I, the reaper incarnate.

Unbound, unfettered, uncontrolled, I begin to cast. Arms outstretched, my wasted body stretched and pulled to the point of failure by the aethyric forces I begin to bring to bear, I intone the ancient incantations.

There is a crack as my body shifts and warps. Bones break, reform and then break again as my physical shell cannot contain the power I begin to cultivate. Flesh tears and re-knits in a single moment. The pain is both unbearable and welcome. Terrible, and intoxicating. Murderous, and addictive.

I know I should not. I know I am taking too much. Drinking too deeply.

Risking all.

Why should one such as I care? Why should I fear to draw upon this power, this fire? It is mine after all, mine to do with as I please.

My eyes open and blazing light flares forth from my outstretched hands. The incantation rips forth from my lungs, an exhalation of exultation, which acts as the catalyst for the blazing devastation which is the power I wield. The act feels superfluous. What need have I for a catalyst?

I am power. Not merely powerful, but the embodiment of power. My eyes are a curse, my thoughts are lightning, my words the thunder of an inclement stormfront. My will is destruction, and the firmament itself affirms my desires.

I feel alive. Even now, wreathed in destruction, I can feel nothing but life. The incessant beating of my heart, faster now, and faster again, the pace rapidly increasing with every moment. The globules of blood raining from the heavens drip into my eyes, stinging them, blinding me in a sheet of crimson gore. I care not. I feel nothing but the glory of obliteration.

I laugh with the sheer heady intoxicating fury and wonder of it all, and the crackling flames laugh with me.

Reality burns, and I burn with it.

[Phoenixguard09]

Our Light

My eyes open.

The night sky wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like a scattering of diamonds strewn haphazardly across a stretched bolt of midnight black cloth. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has begun to set deep within my mortal shell. I struggle to shift.

I cannot.

My eyes close.

I remember.

Before our arrival, there was little of note on this world. Ferocious storms wracked the land, leaving nothing but jutting outcrops of bare rock, torn forth from the treacherous dark oceans. Great winged beasts ruled the sky, warring amongst themselves and preying upon the weak, lesser creatures which could only manage to eke out a pitiful existence in this inhospitable landscape. Beneath them dwelled the many, varied denizens of the roiling seas, which, dangerous though they were, bore a far greater variety of life, including some, though not many, who could challenge the primacy of the Sky-Lords.

It was not naturally a world upon which to properly nurture life, the true calling of my kind.

We came here in scattered groups, driven across the breadth of creation, seeking a haven after our home was destroyed by the Terrors in the Void. Finding this rocky, storm-lashed world, my people settled upon it, using the faintest touches of our power to calm the fierce gales, to shape this new world to our liking. Needs must we were careful and selective in the way we unleashed the words of creation. Finally, we hid in the secluded reaches of this newly becalmed world and granted enlightenment to but a few of the endemic species.

For countless rotations of the stars, our creation existed in peace, as we slowly but surely guided it into prosperity.

Our downfall was swift, sudden and entirely predictable.

As the millennia rolled on and on, the gathered magics we had worked swelled ever greater.

The Terrors came once more, and this time there would be no escape.

My eyes open again.

The night sky still wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like miniscule needlepoints piercing a stretched bolt of midnight black cloth. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has set deep within my ragged mortal shell. Lifeblood, brilliantly shimmering in the pale starlight seeps into the alabaster snow beneath my form. I struggle to shift.

I cannot.

My eyes close once more.

I cannot remember.

I hear a sound, a deep reverberating growl which causes the very ground beneath me to shake and quiver. Something approaches.

One of them, swollen with the sheer power it has absorbed from my brethren, the ones it has already hunted, brought down and consumed. The ground trembles. The air shivers. Reality bends around it as all the works of my people react to the presence of this thing which is anathema to us.

I won't let this thing take my power for itself, for I have seen the things these creatures do with their prey, the torturous agonies they inflict.

My eyes open, one final time.

The night sky wheels by overhead, the softly glittering stars like a host of fell eyes glinting in the darkness. I lie, face up on the cold ground. I can feel the chill which has finally set deep within what shreds remain of my mortal shell. The fire of my life seems all but stolen away.

I intone, the words of creation spilling forth from the spirit within my ruined form. The predator growls once more, and attempts to move closer, but it cannot, buffeted now by waves of force which surround my failing shell.

My eyes fix upon a distant star, high above in the night sky. Home, perhaps? It pleases me to think so. A place of love, light and laughter, an unreckonable span of time ago.

I will give this world our light.

The words pour out in an ever greater torrent of creation as all I am, all my being, is projected up into the cold northern sky. There is a blinding flash, and years of the world roll by in an instant. The world-shaping energy crackles and tears at the very air around and above me as the words rip into the sky. The predator shies back, waiting for me to expend the last of my strength. It wants to feast.

I will not let it.

With one final invocation, silence falls, like the pale grey ash which drifts down and settles on the snow.

My mortal shell is gone, only a shimmering pool of lifeblood left behind to mark its presence.

I am free.

From above, the tattered remnants of my spirit beholds the predator below, sees the ephemeral fangs it bears, dripping with gore and power. Its eyes blaze with a dark hunger, but it cannot understand me now. I can see in its eyes how it perceives me now, a glimmering ribbon of pale light, wavering and flickering in the night sky. Eventually, it turns away in defeat, its great shaggy head dropping as the excitement of the hunt leaves it. It pads away, long, sinuous, bladed tail flicking despondently as it goes.

I am free.

I am light.

My people may be gone, destroyed by the Terrors from the Void, but I remain. I alone of my kind, endure. My consciousness exists now in the so-called northern lights. I have seen many an age of this world come and go, but I will always be there, in the night, watching.

Giving you the aurora.

Giving you our light.