Budo von Stahl
New Member
I hope this is in keeping with the spirit of this thread. Here is a sample from my recently released Fantasy novel for the Kindle.
The wilderness was not dark to him, for he saw the world of the living in a different light, and he was not alone. The forlorn ghosts of many ages past wandered around him. The shadowy remains of destitute peasants rambled numbly over the hills; here and there a mother wept on her knees, as if in grief over the body of a child or husband; children with terrified faces wailed soundlessly into the night. Danoc knew most of them: they were the charges he had failed to save on his last, desperate mission as a mortal man. They could not see or speak to him, for he existed only half in their world, but they had no need to, for ghosts had the power to haunt a ghost.
Nothing remained of the fine highway that had once led to the stronghold, but Danoc was surprised to see as he approached that most of the old fort was still there. For some reason this one did not seem to have been leveled after the war. Likely the location and immediate use it had seen had spared it. He could smell blood within, but no sentries were on patrol or on the walls. Likely another band of squatters or refugees, he thought, upon whom I shall feed.
The gates to the citadel were new, and wide open. Just inside, snoring loudly, was an enormous hobgoblin. The brute was clad in a uniform of sorts, but with no identifying markings. Others lounged about, similarly clad. The heavy tread of Danoc's shod horse did not rouse them, and the wraith looked about in disgust. On closer inspection, it was revealed that the fortress was not so much as it had been when Danoc was here last. The towers and walls had fallen in places, and the rubble had not been cleared. Filth was everywhere, from bones and trash to piles of excrement. In a mounting rage Danoc scanned the grounds for some sign of military preparation or discipline. In the dust of the courtyard he could see the heavy boot prints of the hobgoblins, blood pools where their meals had been slain, and the prints of a small, light-footed human--most likely a female--wearing expensive slippers. This last was intriguing. Danoc took up post near the well in the center of the courtyard and waited for the sun to rise.
As the day began to lighten, the hobgoblin by the gate yawned and stretched. It stood slowly, scratching its filthy hide, and caught sight of the massive horseman in the square. With a shriek, it backed up to the wall and howled as if it had been branded. The others lying about the courtyard awoke, and more ran out from the buildings. At the sight of Danoc they cowered into the shadows.
“Ing’gok Takaei!” they cried in fear: The Hand of Doom.
Almost immediately a slender, prune-faced hag, her hair no longer than a pageboy’s, came out of one of the corner towers, scowling like a demon. Momentary surprise flickered across her wrinkled face when she made eye contact with Danoc, but she squared her shoulders and stalked toward him.
“To what do we owe the great honor of this visit?” she asked, stopping well short of Danoc and giving him a tiny, mocking curtsey. Her chin remained high, and she folded her hands and cocked her head to one side in a condescending manner.
Plucky little hen, Danoc thought to himself with an inaudible chuckle, she thinks to intimidate me. Danoc dismounted and drew himself up to his full height (as tall and as broad as the towering hobgoblins--over eight feet) distinguishable to mortals only by the black clothing and armor he swaddled himself in when he had to interact with them. Ironically enough, through some vestiges of nostalgia perhaps, Danoc had managed to re-acquire his old kit in its entirety (by various and sometimes nefarious means) over the long eons, and had chosen to wear it all on this errand, as it was impressive in its own right and the sable and silver suited his mission. A few long, dramatically slow strides brought him to the woman and he stood in front of her.
“You were in command here?” Danoc asked her in the evil, hollow hiss that now served as his voice. The sour sprite’s face paled and she began to shake visibly. Her face remained placid, but most of her voluntary functions slipped from her control.
“I...I am”, she stammered.
“Not anymore.” The bony old hag stiffened, then fell dead. Danoc turned slowly to address the hobgoblins in front of the barracks.
“Who is G’ol-minde amongst you?” he hissed menacingly. The slobbering brutes looked back and forth at each other a few times, then shoved G’Uknar forward. G’Uknar’s expression was not unlike that of a cornered animal.
“I be, Great Spirit”, he squeaked, coming forward a few steps and dropping to one knee, head bowed.
“That is a more fitting reception”, Danoc said flatly. “You shall live. Get up.”
G’Uknar rose to his feet quickly, shaking slightly, much like his former commander. Danoc returned to his horse and leapt to the saddle, then began to bark orders.
“This sty is unfit to be called an outpost!” Danoc roared (he could still do that when it suited his purposes) sending the brutes diving for cover. “Clean this mess up! Dig a hole and bury this filth! Get your gear in fighting trim! Be quick!”
Properly motivated, the monstrous thugs were astonishingly fast workers. Their huge muscles bulging, sweat pouring from their rancid bodies, they toiled with the fervor of the desperate. Danoc organized them into gangs for each purpose: clean-up, masonry, equipment repair, and so on. In a very short time the old fort was in order. Once satisfied, Danoc called the still trembling G’Uknar to him.
“You are in command until I send an adequate replacement", the wraith hissed. “I expect him to find this place in no worse condition than it is now.” Danoc wheeled his horse toward the gate before the hobgoblin could stammer a response.
“What we do with this?” G’Uknar cried after the retreating specter, pointing at the as yet untouched body of Nanosi.
Danoc reigned in his steed and wheeled at the gate. “Have you had your breakfast yet?”
Give me your honest assessment please, both here and on my page if you would, and I look forward to some great discussion!
The wilderness was not dark to him, for he saw the world of the living in a different light, and he was not alone. The forlorn ghosts of many ages past wandered around him. The shadowy remains of destitute peasants rambled numbly over the hills; here and there a mother wept on her knees, as if in grief over the body of a child or husband; children with terrified faces wailed soundlessly into the night. Danoc knew most of them: they were the charges he had failed to save on his last, desperate mission as a mortal man. They could not see or speak to him, for he existed only half in their world, but they had no need to, for ghosts had the power to haunt a ghost.
Nothing remained of the fine highway that had once led to the stronghold, but Danoc was surprised to see as he approached that most of the old fort was still there. For some reason this one did not seem to have been leveled after the war. Likely the location and immediate use it had seen had spared it. He could smell blood within, but no sentries were on patrol or on the walls. Likely another band of squatters or refugees, he thought, upon whom I shall feed.
The gates to the citadel were new, and wide open. Just inside, snoring loudly, was an enormous hobgoblin. The brute was clad in a uniform of sorts, but with no identifying markings. Others lounged about, similarly clad. The heavy tread of Danoc's shod horse did not rouse them, and the wraith looked about in disgust. On closer inspection, it was revealed that the fortress was not so much as it had been when Danoc was here last. The towers and walls had fallen in places, and the rubble had not been cleared. Filth was everywhere, from bones and trash to piles of excrement. In a mounting rage Danoc scanned the grounds for some sign of military preparation or discipline. In the dust of the courtyard he could see the heavy boot prints of the hobgoblins, blood pools where their meals had been slain, and the prints of a small, light-footed human--most likely a female--wearing expensive slippers. This last was intriguing. Danoc took up post near the well in the center of the courtyard and waited for the sun to rise.
As the day began to lighten, the hobgoblin by the gate yawned and stretched. It stood slowly, scratching its filthy hide, and caught sight of the massive horseman in the square. With a shriek, it backed up to the wall and howled as if it had been branded. The others lying about the courtyard awoke, and more ran out from the buildings. At the sight of Danoc they cowered into the shadows.
“Ing’gok Takaei!” they cried in fear: The Hand of Doom.
Almost immediately a slender, prune-faced hag, her hair no longer than a pageboy’s, came out of one of the corner towers, scowling like a demon. Momentary surprise flickered across her wrinkled face when she made eye contact with Danoc, but she squared her shoulders and stalked toward him.
“To what do we owe the great honor of this visit?” she asked, stopping well short of Danoc and giving him a tiny, mocking curtsey. Her chin remained high, and she folded her hands and cocked her head to one side in a condescending manner.
Plucky little hen, Danoc thought to himself with an inaudible chuckle, she thinks to intimidate me. Danoc dismounted and drew himself up to his full height (as tall and as broad as the towering hobgoblins--over eight feet) distinguishable to mortals only by the black clothing and armor he swaddled himself in when he had to interact with them. Ironically enough, through some vestiges of nostalgia perhaps, Danoc had managed to re-acquire his old kit in its entirety (by various and sometimes nefarious means) over the long eons, and had chosen to wear it all on this errand, as it was impressive in its own right and the sable and silver suited his mission. A few long, dramatically slow strides brought him to the woman and he stood in front of her.
“You were in command here?” Danoc asked her in the evil, hollow hiss that now served as his voice. The sour sprite’s face paled and she began to shake visibly. Her face remained placid, but most of her voluntary functions slipped from her control.
“I...I am”, she stammered.
“Not anymore.” The bony old hag stiffened, then fell dead. Danoc turned slowly to address the hobgoblins in front of the barracks.
“Who is G’ol-minde amongst you?” he hissed menacingly. The slobbering brutes looked back and forth at each other a few times, then shoved G’Uknar forward. G’Uknar’s expression was not unlike that of a cornered animal.
“I be, Great Spirit”, he squeaked, coming forward a few steps and dropping to one knee, head bowed.
“That is a more fitting reception”, Danoc said flatly. “You shall live. Get up.”
G’Uknar rose to his feet quickly, shaking slightly, much like his former commander. Danoc returned to his horse and leapt to the saddle, then began to bark orders.
“This sty is unfit to be called an outpost!” Danoc roared (he could still do that when it suited his purposes) sending the brutes diving for cover. “Clean this mess up! Dig a hole and bury this filth! Get your gear in fighting trim! Be quick!”
Properly motivated, the monstrous thugs were astonishingly fast workers. Their huge muscles bulging, sweat pouring from their rancid bodies, they toiled with the fervor of the desperate. Danoc organized them into gangs for each purpose: clean-up, masonry, equipment repair, and so on. In a very short time the old fort was in order. Once satisfied, Danoc called the still trembling G’Uknar to him.
“You are in command until I send an adequate replacement", the wraith hissed. “I expect him to find this place in no worse condition than it is now.” Danoc wheeled his horse toward the gate before the hobgoblin could stammer a response.
“What we do with this?” G’Uknar cried after the retreating specter, pointing at the as yet untouched body of Nanosi.
Danoc reigned in his steed and wheeled at the gate. “Have you had your breakfast yet?”
Give me your honest assessment please, both here and on my page if you would, and I look forward to some great discussion!
Your work looks interesting, too.