Post by Zylaa on Mar 16, 2009 18:11:32 GMT -5
So Carrie of the NTWF and I were on the 'bloids one evening, struggling with writers' block. And, helped along the way by the other online 'bloiders, this is what we came up with...
To quote Carrie's blurb,
Part One
Dax French loomed over the body of the feathery pink unicorn, staring wearily down at its mangled remains. It was noon, and the orange sun beat down fiercely upon him, reddening his neck and causing his rimless glasses to sparkle with midday glare. His skin, too, was glimmering, beads of sweat dripping down his body, the perspiration catching in the light, wavering. With a solemn sigh, Dax sheathed his sword and turned away from the fallen creature below him, mournful for its death despite the necessity of it. No matter how high he climbed in the ranks of warriors, Dax could never truly enjoy the art of death – even with a creature as malicious as the unicorn.
“Rest in peace, my foe,” he murmured to the empty woods that surrounded him, his voice hardly above a murmur. Then, with a sigh, Dax gave the slain unicorn one last glance before sauntering off into the heavy undergrowth, his chainmail armour clacking as he strode.
Suddenly, from a distance, Dax heard a desperate, keening wail. The fighter stopped in mid-step, the underbrush rustling beneath him, and poised his hand over the handle of his blade. As the far-off creature screeched again, Dax’s blood ran ice-cold. He could recognise that sound from anywhere: a vulnerable young dragon, a yearling perhaps, caught in the throes of a predator, yowling for help. A few kilometres away from him, Dax thought, somewhere deep in the dredges of the forest. Well into unicorn territory – a dangerous place for a full-grown serpent, let alone a baby…
Dax charged towards the sound, drawing his sword as he ran. Drained as he was from the encounter with the unicorn, he could never live with himself if he let an innocent hatchling die. After pushing through one last tangled thicket, he saw the source, and a shiver ran down his spine. Backed against a tree, a yearling dragon, already scratched and bleeding, stood alone against not one, but two pink unicorns.
“Let the lord have mercy,” Dax whispered, his mind whirling.
One horse was challenge enough for him, after all; two… he’d never done it before, and certainly not after they’d already gotten the scent of blood, honed in on their vulnerable prey. Gaining control of such a situation seemed borderline impossible. After all, despite his countless medals of valour, his awards and accolades, Dax French was merely a man. A man with a sword and an unending passion, but a mortal nonetheless. The odds were stacked so highly against him that he could hardly fathom it at all. But still, he couldn’t take the coward’s way out. He couldn’t leave the quaking baby to be murdered. He had to act in spite of logic; he had to be a hero. So with a deep breath and a fleeting prayer, Dax thought of his daughter and all he had to lose – and then he ran forward, his sword pointed out, into the face of death.
The unicorn on the left heard him first, spinning to face him with a high-pitched whinny. The second stayed close to their victim, sparing only a snarl for Dax's charge. They were confident.
Dax swung his sword in a blurring arc towards the first unicorn, who reared back, striking down with sharp hooves. Dax only just dodged, still getting a gash across his left arm-- fortunately not his sword arm. The horse snapped razor-like teeth at him, which he countered with his blade, slicing only a narrow gash on the unicorn's forehead. They battled on, neither giving an inch.
Suddenly, Dax heard a bray of pain to his right. He turned, just barely, sure that the second unicorn was about to charge. But no-- the dragon hatchling had sunk its own fangs into that unicorn's leg, keeping it at bay. Dax had no time to thank it, though, for his moment of inattention had cost him dearly. The first unicorn reared again, and this time the hooves aimed true, knocking him down to the ground, bruising him through the chainmail. As the horse prepared for a killing blow, he seized his last chance, swishing his sword straight up, spearing the unicorn in the heart. It collapsed, with one final snort of defeat.
Dax rolled out from under the corpse, ignoring his aching ribs, to face the final horse. They stared each other in the eyes for a full minute, glaring. Then the unicorn leapt into the air... and flew away. Dax blinked twice, sure he was hallucinating. Unicorns had no wings... and yet this one flew. What new devilry was this?
Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Dax stared up through the gaps of the towering trees, straining to stare beyond the branches. He was in a state of pure disbelief as he traced the route of the wounded unicorn, staring as it rose up, up, up, kicking its leg frantically, struggling to break the cover of flora, to escape into the clear blue sky above. It moved lopsidedly, bleeding slightly, with little grace; but even as it swayed, thrashing upward, Dax could still tell that flight was of second nature to it. Without the wounds, it would be gliding, a vicious blur. But how in the world could this be? Unicorns were notorious predators, felons of the forest, the only comforting thing about them the fact that they were earth-bound. But if Dax was not hallucinating now, and this devil-horse really was in the air, then… the warrior did not even want to think about it.
Breathing rapidly, sweat pooling underneath his armour, Dax watched as the unicorn finally disappeared from sight, above the coverage of the trees. The fighter’s whole body smarted miserably, throbbing in places he didn’t know possible, but he knew he couldn’t get distracted by the pain. Cautiously sheathing his sword, he prodded the limp body of the slain horse below him, and when it didn’t respond, Dax turned his attention towards the cowering yearling.
“There, there, child,” he murmured, reaching out a gentle hand. The baby sniffed it hesitantly, tears sliding from its blue-green eyes. It was too young to speak, but it let out a gracious trill as it slunk up to the bruised warrior, thanking him for the protection.
Dax stroked its scaly head, but his thoughts remained bleak. Thoughts that went even beyond the severe pain in his ribs and arm.
If the unicorns can fly, I must tell the king, Dax thought. Their plague was bad enough when all they could do was jump high. Moving stiffly, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out bandages and healing herbs. Gently, still crooning to the hatchling, he bandaged its wounds, cleaning out the bites as best he could. The hatchling accepted this with only a few squeaks of discomfort.
At last, when both he and the dragon were patched up, Dax headed towards the nearest city, motioning the yearling along. They would be safest together, for unicorns rarely attacked those who were traveling in pairs. In any case, the baby was too young to leave alone – probably still dependent on its mother, a wobbling toddler, it’s wings not even fully useful yet. It would have no chance if Dax left it alone, especially not in the heart of unicorn territory. It’d be dead just as soon as he’d saved it.
As he and the hatchling walked, Dax spoke to it softly, his hand hovering above his sword handle the entire time, ready to pull it from the sheath at a moment’s notice. Although he knew chances were slim that he’d come across another hunting devil-horse, the warrior wasn’t taking any chances. He needed to remain cautious, astute. Ready. Curiosity killed the cat, but sloppiness killed the fighter. He couldn’t risk being careless, not with so much at stake. It was not just his life now, but the baby dragon’s, too, and Dax would not be able to live with himself if he let the child die.
Hyper-aware, Dax fought hard to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere – mainly, to thoughts of his daughter back at home in the capital city of Noriel. Anna was the light of his life, a beacon of hope in an otherwise dreary world. She was only ten-years-old but filled him with such pride, pride that could not be matched by anything else in the world. Whenever he charged into an uneven battle, sword drawn against the wrath of a unicorn, Dax thought only of Anna, and how heartbroken she’d be if he didn’t return to her. They existed in the world only for one another, each the other’s singular kin after the untimely death of Anna’s mother the year before. His precious child, blonde and pale, an angel…
No. He couldn’t let his mind drift; he had to stay aware. Gritting his teeth, Dax stared down at the toddling dragon and assured it that they’d be safe in the city soon. The warrior didn’t know if the baby understood, but it flashed him a wary smile, anyway, and then focused back on the trail, limping determinedly, fighting onward. This yearling would be a soldier someday, a combatant for the cause. Dax’s ally. If, of course, the war went on that long, and Dax prayed deeply that it would not. Future generations of humans and dragons – this baby, his Anna – shouldn’t have to worry about the unicorns. They should live in a peaceful world. That was his mantra, his cause.
Finally, hope roiling through him, Dax and the hatchling pushed through a final copse of trees and into the city proper. Suddenly, they were met by the sights and smells of civilisation, humans and fae and dragons scuttling to and fro, oblivious to the bleak canvas of the woods behind them. Relief flooded over Dax, for he and the child were now certainly clear of any danger. Now it was off to find a healer’s hut, get himself and the dragon tended to by a professional.
Thinking again of his beautiful Anna, Dax took hold of the yearling’s hand and trundled off into the depths of the crowd, ignoring the looks of wonder from the awe-struck passersby, humble in the face of magnificence. He knew what these common-folk saw in him as he strolled by – a wounded warrior, a saviour of this child, acting normal in spite of his bravery. A hero, tried and true.
I am no greater than any other man, Dax thought, ignoring the stares, and then he and the child disappeared into the throng, flanked only by the sweet air of safety.
But for how long would that safety last? Dax wondered this. If the unicorns could now fly, after all… then soon, the cities would not be safe. It would be an all-out catastrophe, a whole other level of war.
“I hurt,” warbled the child from beside him, the words awkward on its tongue.
“You’ll be okay soon,” Dax murmured, patting its hand reassuringly. And then, only to himself, he added: For now. Just for now. If those devils can fly… then God help us all. None of us will be okay anymore.
And even for him, the hero and fighter, it was a hard thought to handle.
To quote Carrie's blurb,
So, what happens you take sugar-induced mania, the Bloids, and convoluted muses? You get "Noriel - The Story of Dax French", an epic tale of love, heroism, and how one mere mortal can vanquish evil. Did I mention there's rabid pink unicorns? And a sullen young maiden? And a valiant warrior fighting for the forces of good?
Yep, thought not. Or else you'd be reading by now.
So, without further ado, I present to you, the reader, "Noriel - The Story of Dax French", a heart-wrenching, breathtaking, amazing-- *shot*
... a fantasy satire by Zylaa and me. <3 ENJOY.
Yep, thought not. Or else you'd be reading by now.
So, without further ado, I present to you, the reader, "Noriel - The Story of Dax French", a heart-wrenching, breathtaking, amazing-- *shot*
... a fantasy satire by Zylaa and me. <3 ENJOY.
Part One
Dax French loomed over the body of the feathery pink unicorn, staring wearily down at its mangled remains. It was noon, and the orange sun beat down fiercely upon him, reddening his neck and causing his rimless glasses to sparkle with midday glare. His skin, too, was glimmering, beads of sweat dripping down his body, the perspiration catching in the light, wavering. With a solemn sigh, Dax sheathed his sword and turned away from the fallen creature below him, mournful for its death despite the necessity of it. No matter how high he climbed in the ranks of warriors, Dax could never truly enjoy the art of death – even with a creature as malicious as the unicorn.
“Rest in peace, my foe,” he murmured to the empty woods that surrounded him, his voice hardly above a murmur. Then, with a sigh, Dax gave the slain unicorn one last glance before sauntering off into the heavy undergrowth, his chainmail armour clacking as he strode.
Suddenly, from a distance, Dax heard a desperate, keening wail. The fighter stopped in mid-step, the underbrush rustling beneath him, and poised his hand over the handle of his blade. As the far-off creature screeched again, Dax’s blood ran ice-cold. He could recognise that sound from anywhere: a vulnerable young dragon, a yearling perhaps, caught in the throes of a predator, yowling for help. A few kilometres away from him, Dax thought, somewhere deep in the dredges of the forest. Well into unicorn territory – a dangerous place for a full-grown serpent, let alone a baby…
Dax charged towards the sound, drawing his sword as he ran. Drained as he was from the encounter with the unicorn, he could never live with himself if he let an innocent hatchling die. After pushing through one last tangled thicket, he saw the source, and a shiver ran down his spine. Backed against a tree, a yearling dragon, already scratched and bleeding, stood alone against not one, but two pink unicorns.
“Let the lord have mercy,” Dax whispered, his mind whirling.
One horse was challenge enough for him, after all; two… he’d never done it before, and certainly not after they’d already gotten the scent of blood, honed in on their vulnerable prey. Gaining control of such a situation seemed borderline impossible. After all, despite his countless medals of valour, his awards and accolades, Dax French was merely a man. A man with a sword and an unending passion, but a mortal nonetheless. The odds were stacked so highly against him that he could hardly fathom it at all. But still, he couldn’t take the coward’s way out. He couldn’t leave the quaking baby to be murdered. He had to act in spite of logic; he had to be a hero. So with a deep breath and a fleeting prayer, Dax thought of his daughter and all he had to lose – and then he ran forward, his sword pointed out, into the face of death.
The unicorn on the left heard him first, spinning to face him with a high-pitched whinny. The second stayed close to their victim, sparing only a snarl for Dax's charge. They were confident.
Dax swung his sword in a blurring arc towards the first unicorn, who reared back, striking down with sharp hooves. Dax only just dodged, still getting a gash across his left arm-- fortunately not his sword arm. The horse snapped razor-like teeth at him, which he countered with his blade, slicing only a narrow gash on the unicorn's forehead. They battled on, neither giving an inch.
Suddenly, Dax heard a bray of pain to his right. He turned, just barely, sure that the second unicorn was about to charge. But no-- the dragon hatchling had sunk its own fangs into that unicorn's leg, keeping it at bay. Dax had no time to thank it, though, for his moment of inattention had cost him dearly. The first unicorn reared again, and this time the hooves aimed true, knocking him down to the ground, bruising him through the chainmail. As the horse prepared for a killing blow, he seized his last chance, swishing his sword straight up, spearing the unicorn in the heart. It collapsed, with one final snort of defeat.
Dax rolled out from under the corpse, ignoring his aching ribs, to face the final horse. They stared each other in the eyes for a full minute, glaring. Then the unicorn leapt into the air... and flew away. Dax blinked twice, sure he was hallucinating. Unicorns had no wings... and yet this one flew. What new devilry was this?
Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Dax stared up through the gaps of the towering trees, straining to stare beyond the branches. He was in a state of pure disbelief as he traced the route of the wounded unicorn, staring as it rose up, up, up, kicking its leg frantically, struggling to break the cover of flora, to escape into the clear blue sky above. It moved lopsidedly, bleeding slightly, with little grace; but even as it swayed, thrashing upward, Dax could still tell that flight was of second nature to it. Without the wounds, it would be gliding, a vicious blur. But how in the world could this be? Unicorns were notorious predators, felons of the forest, the only comforting thing about them the fact that they were earth-bound. But if Dax was not hallucinating now, and this devil-horse really was in the air, then… the warrior did not even want to think about it.
Breathing rapidly, sweat pooling underneath his armour, Dax watched as the unicorn finally disappeared from sight, above the coverage of the trees. The fighter’s whole body smarted miserably, throbbing in places he didn’t know possible, but he knew he couldn’t get distracted by the pain. Cautiously sheathing his sword, he prodded the limp body of the slain horse below him, and when it didn’t respond, Dax turned his attention towards the cowering yearling.
“There, there, child,” he murmured, reaching out a gentle hand. The baby sniffed it hesitantly, tears sliding from its blue-green eyes. It was too young to speak, but it let out a gracious trill as it slunk up to the bruised warrior, thanking him for the protection.
Dax stroked its scaly head, but his thoughts remained bleak. Thoughts that went even beyond the severe pain in his ribs and arm.
If the unicorns can fly, I must tell the king, Dax thought. Their plague was bad enough when all they could do was jump high. Moving stiffly, he reached into his leather satchel and pulled out bandages and healing herbs. Gently, still crooning to the hatchling, he bandaged its wounds, cleaning out the bites as best he could. The hatchling accepted this with only a few squeaks of discomfort.
At last, when both he and the dragon were patched up, Dax headed towards the nearest city, motioning the yearling along. They would be safest together, for unicorns rarely attacked those who were traveling in pairs. In any case, the baby was too young to leave alone – probably still dependent on its mother, a wobbling toddler, it’s wings not even fully useful yet. It would have no chance if Dax left it alone, especially not in the heart of unicorn territory. It’d be dead just as soon as he’d saved it.
As he and the hatchling walked, Dax spoke to it softly, his hand hovering above his sword handle the entire time, ready to pull it from the sheath at a moment’s notice. Although he knew chances were slim that he’d come across another hunting devil-horse, the warrior wasn’t taking any chances. He needed to remain cautious, astute. Ready. Curiosity killed the cat, but sloppiness killed the fighter. He couldn’t risk being careless, not with so much at stake. It was not just his life now, but the baby dragon’s, too, and Dax would not be able to live with himself if he let the child die.
Hyper-aware, Dax fought hard to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere – mainly, to thoughts of his daughter back at home in the capital city of Noriel. Anna was the light of his life, a beacon of hope in an otherwise dreary world. She was only ten-years-old but filled him with such pride, pride that could not be matched by anything else in the world. Whenever he charged into an uneven battle, sword drawn against the wrath of a unicorn, Dax thought only of Anna, and how heartbroken she’d be if he didn’t return to her. They existed in the world only for one another, each the other’s singular kin after the untimely death of Anna’s mother the year before. His precious child, blonde and pale, an angel…
No. He couldn’t let his mind drift; he had to stay aware. Gritting his teeth, Dax stared down at the toddling dragon and assured it that they’d be safe in the city soon. The warrior didn’t know if the baby understood, but it flashed him a wary smile, anyway, and then focused back on the trail, limping determinedly, fighting onward. This yearling would be a soldier someday, a combatant for the cause. Dax’s ally. If, of course, the war went on that long, and Dax prayed deeply that it would not. Future generations of humans and dragons – this baby, his Anna – shouldn’t have to worry about the unicorns. They should live in a peaceful world. That was his mantra, his cause.
Finally, hope roiling through him, Dax and the hatchling pushed through a final copse of trees and into the city proper. Suddenly, they were met by the sights and smells of civilisation, humans and fae and dragons scuttling to and fro, oblivious to the bleak canvas of the woods behind them. Relief flooded over Dax, for he and the child were now certainly clear of any danger. Now it was off to find a healer’s hut, get himself and the dragon tended to by a professional.
Thinking again of his beautiful Anna, Dax took hold of the yearling’s hand and trundled off into the depths of the crowd, ignoring the looks of wonder from the awe-struck passersby, humble in the face of magnificence. He knew what these common-folk saw in him as he strolled by – a wounded warrior, a saviour of this child, acting normal in spite of his bravery. A hero, tried and true.
I am no greater than any other man, Dax thought, ignoring the stares, and then he and the child disappeared into the throng, flanked only by the sweet air of safety.
But for how long would that safety last? Dax wondered this. If the unicorns could now fly, after all… then soon, the cities would not be safe. It would be an all-out catastrophe, a whole other level of war.
“I hurt,” warbled the child from beside him, the words awkward on its tongue.
“You’ll be okay soon,” Dax murmured, patting its hand reassuringly. And then, only to himself, he added: For now. Just for now. If those devils can fly… then God help us all. None of us will be okay anymore.
And even for him, the hero and fighter, it was a hard thought to handle.