The first three chapters of a short sword and sorcery story I'm working on.
Chapter 1- The Messenger
Therumic was known as ‘The City of Wizards’ for all the proper reasons. It was home to The Kingdom’s only Magical Academy and thus was home to a good majority of its wizards. The Academy stood as a shining crystal jewel in the middle of the swamp of mundane people. The Magical Academy stood fifty meters into the air, a building forged by magical crystal. Around it were the houses, stores and streets of any other normal city. Magic forces rang in the air, giving it a sweeter scent than nearly all other cities. It was a city that had never been invaded, after the first few attempts had ended in utter slaughter for each respective group of invaders, the city had gained a legend for being impregnable.
The horse and rider were both near dead when they had approached the huge city gates. The rider had many vicious wounds all over his body and seemingly had tied himself to the horse with rope to prevent him from tumbling off. The guards surrounded him and pulled away the rope, causing the rider’s broken body to tumble off the horse and hitting the ground with a terrible thud. As they surrounded him, the rider’s eyes opened wildly and darted from face to face.
‘Is… this Therumic?’ he rasped. One of the guards nodded, the rider’s hands shot up and grabbed one of the guards by the shoulders.
‘He is coming,’ he moaned weakly, ‘coming… here from Kerask… an army… Darkblade… understand?’
The guard nodded dumbfounded, the rider smiled and lapsed into an unconsciousness he would never awaken from.
Magthar Greypalm sat in his chair in his study, staring at the crystal floating in the centre of the room. With a slight gesture from his fingers, the crystal turned slowly. A wizard’s power was derived from their crystal; it was their link to the gods and thus, their aptitude for magic. Greypalm saw the slight flaw in the crystal’s base and with a delicate flick of his fingers, eradicated it. The slightest flaw could destroy the crystal and render him powerless forever. The door opened and Mayor Treyas rushed in, his brow sweating. Magthar smiled, even the Mayor of Therumic came to him for advice and aid.
“What is it this time?” he purred softly, “wife been cheating on you again? One of your opponents gained the slightest inch of popularity over you?”
“N-no…” stammered Treyas, “I’ve just received a terrible rumour from the North lands of Kerask. Lord Darkblade and his army have entered the borders of the Kingdom via the Plague lands of Trogador. They ravaged several small villages on the borders and he turns his eyes here.”
“Lord Darkblade?’ Greypalm scoffed. ‘Isn’t he another one of those upstart barbarian warlords? Another fool with delusions of grandeur…”
“We can only hope. I have heard nasty rumours about him. A man who commands an army of the greatest, vilest perversions. A man who can order the insane and the criminal to their deaths with merely a gesture.”
Magthar Greypalm laughed.
“Rumours, merely rumours my dear Mayor. We have Warlords dreaming to be Emperors afflicting our lands on a nearly yearly basis. I have heard of warriors who could make the women of their enemies tear off the privates of their own husbands with merely a smile from this Darkblade character. These are merely rumours, propaganda created by these dreaming fools to create such a reaction. Anyway, the moment they attack this fair city, I will personally take my crystal staff and turn this army of the Lord Darkblade into a pool of blood and bone!”
To Conquer the City of Wizards
By Miles Reid
Chapter 1- The Messenger
Therumic was known as ‘The City of Wizards’ for all the proper reasons. It was home to The Kingdom’s only Magical Academy and thus was home to a good majority of its wizards. The Academy stood as a shining crystal jewel in the middle of the swamp of mundane people. The Magical Academy stood fifty meters into the air, a building forged by magical crystal. Around it were the houses, stores and streets of any other normal city. Magic forces rang in the air, giving it a sweeter scent than nearly all other cities. It was a city that had never been invaded, after the first few attempts had ended in utter slaughter for each respective group of invaders, the city had gained a legend for being impregnable.
The horse and rider were both near dead when they had approached the huge city gates. The rider had many vicious wounds all over his body and seemingly had tied himself to the horse with rope to prevent him from tumbling off. The guards surrounded him and pulled away the rope, causing the rider’s broken body to tumble off the horse and hitting the ground with a terrible thud. As they surrounded him, the rider’s eyes opened wildly and darted from face to face.
‘Is… this Therumic?’ he rasped. One of the guards nodded, the rider’s hands shot up and grabbed one of the guards by the shoulders.
‘He is coming,’ he moaned weakly, ‘coming… here from Kerask… an army… Darkblade… understand?’
The guard nodded dumbfounded, the rider smiled and lapsed into an unconsciousness he would never awaken from.
Magthar Greypalm sat in his chair in his study, staring at the crystal floating in the centre of the room. With a slight gesture from his fingers, the crystal turned slowly. A wizard’s power was derived from their crystal; it was their link to the gods and thus, their aptitude for magic. Greypalm saw the slight flaw in the crystal’s base and with a delicate flick of his fingers, eradicated it. The slightest flaw could destroy the crystal and render him powerless forever. The door opened and Mayor Treyas rushed in, his brow sweating. Magthar smiled, even the Mayor of Therumic came to him for advice and aid.
“What is it this time?” he purred softly, “wife been cheating on you again? One of your opponents gained the slightest inch of popularity over you?”
“N-no…” stammered Treyas, “I’ve just received a terrible rumour from the North lands of Kerask. Lord Darkblade and his army have entered the borders of the Kingdom via the Plague lands of Trogador. They ravaged several small villages on the borders and he turns his eyes here.”
“Lord Darkblade?’ Greypalm scoffed. ‘Isn’t he another one of those upstart barbarian warlords? Another fool with delusions of grandeur…”
“We can only hope. I have heard nasty rumours about him. A man who commands an army of the greatest, vilest perversions. A man who can order the insane and the criminal to their deaths with merely a gesture.”
Magthar Greypalm laughed.
“Rumours, merely rumours my dear Mayor. We have Warlords dreaming to be Emperors afflicting our lands on a nearly yearly basis. I have heard of warriors who could make the women of their enemies tear off the privates of their own husbands with merely a smile from this Darkblade character. These are merely rumours, propaganda created by these dreaming fools to create such a reaction. Anyway, the moment they attack this fair city, I will personally take my crystal staff and turn this army of the Lord Darkblade into a pool of blood and bone!”
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