Post by Eolith on Sept 23, 2005 8:13:08 GMT -5
Here's a little something I got inspiration for while watching one of those muted movies in a store. I didn't really get what was really supposed to be going on, so I made up my own version of what had happend. I rather like this one... better than Brother Dragon at least.
Jaren stopped to catch his breath, trying hard not to breathe too loudly even though his body urged him to. His armor was weighing him down. It would have been easier on horseback, but the soldiers had long since killed his horse. Jaren looked about warily. The forest was dusky and full of fog, making it harder to spot his pursuers and harder to be spotted. He sucked in a huge breath and held it as long as his oxygen-deprived body would allow, listening for any sign of his hunters.
There. It was the sound of a horse’s breath, and the rhythm of its walk. Jaren dodged behind a tree just as the rider’s outline materialized. He denied his body the air it screamed for, and carefully bent to unsheathe a throwing knife. His hand slipped, and the blade tapped his breast plate, making a metallic sound. The rider pulled his horse to a halt and narrowed his eyes, searching for the source of the sound.
He was a lower ranking soldier, probably a scout sent out to try to track him. Jaren bit the inside of his lip in concentration, the horse would be an invaluable help in his escape if he could only get it… He aimed carefully and tossed the knife. The man turned just in time to distinguish the blade hurtling towards him, but not in time to save himself. He fell from his mount, clutching at his throat. The horse started forward a few steps, surprised by its rider’s sudden collapse.
Jaren waited for the man’s feeble struggles to cease before daring to try retrieving the horse. He took a step in the horse’s direction only to stagger back again, cursing silently as another of his pursuers cantered up. He nearly fell over a root in his haste to hide again. The second man looked in his companion’s direction briefly before leaning forward to catch the loose horse’s reins. He steadied his horse’s impatient jostles and turned it sharply to look in the other direction, before turning back again.
“I know you’re here, Jaren,” he said menacingly. “Give up your fight, you are already defeated. Perhaps we may reach an agreement.”
Jaren tensed, trying desperately to think of a getaway. His hunter didn’t wait, kicking his horse into a canter and plunging forward before Jaren could run.
The man swerved his horse to face Jaren, a look of triumph on his face. “Ah ha, found you. Are you coming without a fuss, or do you need persuasion?”
Jaren tried to edge around the tree, to place something between himself and his enemy, but the man nudged his horse forward. “I will never willingly give in to you.” Jaren spat angrily.
“Have it your way then.” The soldier pulled his sword out and tried to stab him, but Jaren blocked the stroke with his own blade. The man yanked his sword back and tried again, this time with more force. Jaren’s sword glanced off of his enemy’s, hardly slowing it as it pierced into his shoulder. He let out a ragged cry and fell against the tree, sinking to the ground. Jaren placed his hand over the wound protectively as he was pulled to his feet roughly. Blood spilled over his fingers, refusing to be held in.
“Hurts doesn’t it?” The soldier asked mercilessly. “Just don’t make it a necessary move again.”
Jaren didn’t answer, already loosing his grip on reality. Blackness seeped into his vision, and he was claimed by the pain…
Jaren stopped to catch his breath, trying hard not to breathe too loudly even though his body urged him to. His armor was weighing him down. It would have been easier on horseback, but the soldiers had long since killed his horse. Jaren looked about warily. The forest was dusky and full of fog, making it harder to spot his pursuers and harder to be spotted. He sucked in a huge breath and held it as long as his oxygen-deprived body would allow, listening for any sign of his hunters.
There. It was the sound of a horse’s breath, and the rhythm of its walk. Jaren dodged behind a tree just as the rider’s outline materialized. He denied his body the air it screamed for, and carefully bent to unsheathe a throwing knife. His hand slipped, and the blade tapped his breast plate, making a metallic sound. The rider pulled his horse to a halt and narrowed his eyes, searching for the source of the sound.
He was a lower ranking soldier, probably a scout sent out to try to track him. Jaren bit the inside of his lip in concentration, the horse would be an invaluable help in his escape if he could only get it… He aimed carefully and tossed the knife. The man turned just in time to distinguish the blade hurtling towards him, but not in time to save himself. He fell from his mount, clutching at his throat. The horse started forward a few steps, surprised by its rider’s sudden collapse.
Jaren waited for the man’s feeble struggles to cease before daring to try retrieving the horse. He took a step in the horse’s direction only to stagger back again, cursing silently as another of his pursuers cantered up. He nearly fell over a root in his haste to hide again. The second man looked in his companion’s direction briefly before leaning forward to catch the loose horse’s reins. He steadied his horse’s impatient jostles and turned it sharply to look in the other direction, before turning back again.
“I know you’re here, Jaren,” he said menacingly. “Give up your fight, you are already defeated. Perhaps we may reach an agreement.”
Jaren tensed, trying desperately to think of a getaway. His hunter didn’t wait, kicking his horse into a canter and plunging forward before Jaren could run.
The man swerved his horse to face Jaren, a look of triumph on his face. “Ah ha, found you. Are you coming without a fuss, or do you need persuasion?”
Jaren tried to edge around the tree, to place something between himself and his enemy, but the man nudged his horse forward. “I will never willingly give in to you.” Jaren spat angrily.
“Have it your way then.” The soldier pulled his sword out and tried to stab him, but Jaren blocked the stroke with his own blade. The man yanked his sword back and tried again, this time with more force. Jaren’s sword glanced off of his enemy’s, hardly slowing it as it pierced into his shoulder. He let out a ragged cry and fell against the tree, sinking to the ground. Jaren placed his hand over the wound protectively as he was pulled to his feet roughly. Blood spilled over his fingers, refusing to be held in.
“Hurts doesn’t it?” The soldier asked mercilessly. “Just don’t make it a necessary move again.”
Jaren didn’t answer, already loosing his grip on reality. Blackness seeped into his vision, and he was claimed by the pain…