Here's part of a story I've been wanting to write for a while. Any comments or feedback appreciated!
Glaring out over the country side, a young guard looses the stopper on his canteen and takes a bitter swig its contents, letting the ale the local peasants naively called alcohol sear its way to his stomach. "Denean Flamebrand, now that's alcohol, Randall, and you just know they'll have it in spades at the celebrations tonight. Not us, no sir. We get guard duty on the farthest wall in the farthest town in the region. What's point? Especially tonight!"
"Fifty years ago tonight. . . hard to imagine. My grandad fought right here when the last battle was fought. They emptied our keeps and were still almost overrun." Randall gestures to the tower closest to the gate. "He took the arrow that took his life just over there on that battlement. His men tried to get him to withdraw, but he told them there'd be time to run when the war was over. . ." Randall smiles sadly, putting a hand on his comrade's shoulder. " It's lucky that ours is dull work, Theron."
Theron grunted noncommittal agreement, nodding back to the bonfires in town, "But from where I'm standing, lucky doesn't mean good."
Randall sighs and wipes the dark hair from his eyes, "I've got this taken care of, you can run along- provided you send my love to Emily- she worries, now that she's with child."
"Truly? Thank you! I'll let her know. You're a true friend!" Theron proclaims as he grabs Randall's worn hands in his own meaty mitts.
"It's nothing, go find yourself a pretty thing and a bottle somewhere," with a smirk he adds, "with the celebration tonight and you in uniform, even you won't have trouble not finding either."
Theron keeps the oafish grin plastered on his face as he rushes down the wall into town. Randall turns and continues his patrol, having sent away his only distraction. Glancing up from the wall, he considers Emily, her warm, round eyes and hair as pale as- the moon. Randall sees them now, dozens of shapes passing in front of the moon and stars in quick succession, too small and quick for clouds but too large for bird or insect. Tugging at the power inside himself, he forms a ball of fire in his hand a launches it skyward, and too soon it explodes, revealing a sea of scales on creatures that could only be one beast. "Dragons! Dragons! Sound the alarms!" He yells dashing toward the tower, lighting the warning fires along the walls as he went. He busts through the door and dashed up the stair case, tripping on a few stairs on his haste. As he exits to the bell room, almost within grasp of the ropes to sound the warning, he sees it silhouetted against the night- one had broken away and was perched in the bell tower, coiled and ready to strike, smoke, sparks and flame forming a hellish beard around its maw. With one quick motion, Randall flicks his sword out of its scabbard and forward. The beast hisses and follows the shining blade with its eyes. . . as the sword hit stone. The massive creature looks back to Randall, gloating, just as the ropes snap, sending the bells crashing down on Randall and the dragon.
The clashing of brass and stone echoed, deafening the both and punctuating Randall's pain. The dragon screeches and lumbers toward Theron, casting aside the man sized bells like a massive bar wench casting cups of a dirty table. Eyes swimming, Randall sees Theron leap from behind him, landing on the injured demon's head and plunging his sword through its skull. The flame left Theron, and he knew no more.
"Fifty years ago tonight. . . hard to imagine. My grandad fought right here when the last battle was fought. They emptied our keeps and were still almost overrun." Randall gestures to the tower closest to the gate. "He took the arrow that took his life just over there on that battlement. His men tried to get him to withdraw, but he told them there'd be time to run when the war was over. . ." Randall smiles sadly, putting a hand on his comrade's shoulder. " It's lucky that ours is dull work, Theron."
Theron grunted noncommittal agreement, nodding back to the bonfires in town, "But from where I'm standing, lucky doesn't mean good."
Randall sighs and wipes the dark hair from his eyes, "I've got this taken care of, you can run along- provided you send my love to Emily- she worries, now that she's with child."
"Truly? Thank you! I'll let her know. You're a true friend!" Theron proclaims as he grabs Randall's worn hands in his own meaty mitts.
"It's nothing, go find yourself a pretty thing and a bottle somewhere," with a smirk he adds, "with the celebration tonight and you in uniform, even you won't have trouble not finding either."
Theron keeps the oafish grin plastered on his face as he rushes down the wall into town. Randall turns and continues his patrol, having sent away his only distraction. Glancing up from the wall, he considers Emily, her warm, round eyes and hair as pale as- the moon. Randall sees them now, dozens of shapes passing in front of the moon and stars in quick succession, too small and quick for clouds but too large for bird or insect. Tugging at the power inside himself, he forms a ball of fire in his hand a launches it skyward, and too soon it explodes, revealing a sea of scales on creatures that could only be one beast. "Dragons! Dragons! Sound the alarms!" He yells dashing toward the tower, lighting the warning fires along the walls as he went. He busts through the door and dashed up the stair case, tripping on a few stairs on his haste. As he exits to the bell room, almost within grasp of the ropes to sound the warning, he sees it silhouetted against the night- one had broken away and was perched in the bell tower, coiled and ready to strike, smoke, sparks and flame forming a hellish beard around its maw. With one quick motion, Randall flicks his sword out of its scabbard and forward. The beast hisses and follows the shining blade with its eyes. . . as the sword hit stone. The massive creature looks back to Randall, gloating, just as the ropes snap, sending the bells crashing down on Randall and the dragon.
The clashing of brass and stone echoed, deafening the both and punctuating Randall's pain. The dragon screeches and lumbers toward Theron, casting aside the man sized bells like a massive bar wench casting cups of a dirty table. Eyes swimming, Randall sees Theron leap from behind him, landing on the injured demon's head and plunging his sword through its skull. The flame left Theron, and he knew no more.
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