View Full Version : Phobia
Arrah... I can finally feel my muse returning to me... let's roll!
This is meant to be a solo, but I can fit another person in if they have a good reason. Just let me know within the next couple of days.
The fire let out another aggressive crackle. The brilliant tendrils licked defiantly up into the night sky, casting playful shadows on the surrounding trees. The smell of burning wood was heavy in the air, and the area around the strong blaze was blanketed in warmth.
Atzar was cold.
The mage sat a fair distance away from the healthy fire, his back resting against a sturdy tree and his arms wrapped tightly around his knees in an effort to keep warm. His blue eyes never wandered from the dangerous flame. It was a fear that he had developed only recently. Before the events that had taken place two days ago, he had never given fire’s brutal nature a second thought. It had always been a tool with which to keep warm or a weapon with which to defend himself. Recently, however, his entire outlook had changed.
It had started in the tournament. His village, a community of magic called Tel’Han, decided to host a village-wide tournament. The game was Charms, a sort of alternate reality where opponents could battle in any imaginable setting with no fear of actually dying. Well… that was supposed to be how it worked. But somebody had tampered with the game. What had happened in those dark, dank ruins had really taken place, and Atzar was left with a feeling of guilt that he wouldn’t shake in a thousand years. He had fought a man named Zain, and he had struck him in the face with fire.
The vicious element didn’t act like it did in all of the stories of valor and heroism, the stories meant to make the young and weak dream of greatness and glory. They all seemed to depict magnificent explosions and painless, instant deaths for the people on the receiving end of the blasts. That was a far cry, however, from what really happened. They all conveniently left out the burning, melting flesh. They forgot to mention the horrendous, earsplitting cries of unimaginable agony. They never spoke of the ruined, sightless eye sockets that glared terribly from the dying faces of the victims.
Atzar had reacted out of fear and surprise. He hadn’t meant to do it, but such a fact was hardly sanctuary for his maimed conscience. Now, he was forced to live with the guilt. Zain’s gruesome death was burned into the backs of his eyelids, and he relived the battle every time he slept or thought. The Council Elders had immediately posted a bounty for information regarding the men responsible.
Meanwhile, the mage had spent the last two nights away from the village. The bitter cold and the temperamental winds seemed to numb the memory a little, to replace its pain with pain that was a little more physical in nature. He just wanted to get his thoughts together. Once he was in control of himself, of his emotions… then it would be time to act.
The bastards would pay.
He was in the ruins again…
A vast complex of ruined, lichen-infested stone rose all around him. The ground was a treacherous labyrinth of fallen rubble. To Atzar, however, there was no danger. He didn’t have to move. The footsteps grew louder and louder in his ears. He needed only to wait. His enemy would come to him…
The mage looked down at his hands. The accursed fireball, the damnation of his conscience, was there. Finally, Zain burst out from around a crumbling wall, a sword of ice in his hand. No matter how many times the mage relived this fight, the result would always be the same...
It wasn’t with surprise that Atzar struck out with the fireball. That feeling had long since burned out. Instead, it was with a mixture of horror and regret. But no matter the emotion, the result was the same. The flame caught Zain full in the face, and a scream tore from his lungs. Skin burned and melted, eyes were rendered useless. The fire eventually died, but the agony didn’t. The agony would never die…
Finally, the dream entered its final stage. Atzar picked up the icy sword and plunged it into the agonized man’s writhing form. It tore him apart to relive the scene once again. Nonetheless, Zain convulsed one more time and was still…
Once again, the mage awakened. Once again, trembling hands clutched his head as he bellowed a wordless cry of anguish and remorse. Tears dripped freely from his eyes to fall to the frosty ground in front of his face. His short, ragged breaths steamed in the chilly air, but the cold was the last thing on Atzar’s mind. Instead, another new emotion flooded his mind.
Anger. He wanted revenge.
Eyes snapped open, burning with a new light. Rising abruptly, the mage shook the spell of dizziness and stalked away through the woods. The forgotten fire was left to sputter and die behind him.
Trees passed behind him. Roots reached through the snow to grab unsuccessfully at his feet. Atzar knew exactly where he was going. He would return to Tel’Han, and he would find the trail of his enemies. When he found that trail, he would follow it. A scowl settled on his face, and another tear fell away from his cheek.
They would pay.
A few short moments passed, and already he was nearing his home. Instead of picking his way between trees, Atzar’s feet now fell on the somewhat safer surface of the mountain path. That trail, he knew, led straight up into the heart of Tel’Han, but he had no need to go that far. The only place he wanted to visit was the Great Hall, the building in which the tragedy had begun, and it was only a short distance further.
His own house was even further from the village, and it loomed in front of him on the left side of the path. The mage passed it by without a glance. He wouldn’t set foot in that house until his business was done.
“Let me go with you.” The high-pitched voice caught him by surprise, and he wheeled around abruptly, eyes flashing. It was the blue pygmy dragon, Zirkan, standing alone beside the path. The wizard had walked right by him, unable to see him in the moonless darkness of the night. The little beast, despite its sharp tongue, was a close friend to the mage. Atzar froze, unsure of what to say.
“I’m your friend, Atzar,” the dragon said in a rare moment of humorless gravity. “You got me out of that cave. I owe you a great deal for that, and I’d like to repay you. Let me help you.”
Atzar considered the offer. He wanted to accept Zirkan’s suggestion. He really did. But he couldn’t. This was something that he had to do alone. Nobody else could possibly understand what he had to do or why he had to do it. The dragon’s intentions were completely benign, but he would only get in the way.
The mage shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… can’t. I have to do this myself.” His voice sounded unsteady and powerless.
Zirkan got the message anyway. “Alright,” he gave in. “Just… if you change your mind…” He left the thought hanging in the air. Atzar nodded wordlessly and continued up the trail, leaving the blue dragon standing forlornly in his wake.
Scarcely five minutes later, the mage found himself staring up at the great building. The Great Hall was a massive structure, easily big enough to hold the entire population of Tel’Han with little difficulty. Despite its size, there was something undeniably prosaic about the building. It was built to serve a purpose, and that was it. The architects made no attempts at all to dress it up. This was where it had all begun. Face expressionless, mind strangely blank, the mage pushed the heavy wooden doors open and stepped inside.
There were windows high in the walls, but the moonless night admitted no light. A soft, red glow came from somewhere in the center of the vast room, hidden from view by the large set of bleachers right next to the door. Not a thing had changed since that fateful event three days before. In fact… Atzar’s eyes narrowed, and he walked further into the room. He knew exactly what that red glow was coming from.
The Charms table.
The same one that he had fought on, that he had killed on… it was still there. The mage was intimately familiar with every nook, every cranny on that accursed board. One could only dream about the table so many times, after all, before an image was burned into one’s mind. Ruins. The entire field was a vast, jumbled mess of broken stone and lichen. From the center of it all rose a tall structure that resembled a pyramid. At the top of the structure was a ring of torches that appeared no bigger than candles.
Just as Atzar stood gazing at the table, he was inexorably drawn into it…
He was taken to a place near the base of the pyramid. He was behind a large, crumbling wall. Footsteps echoed nearby as somebody drew nearer. The wizard groaned, but no sound came out. He was in that blasted dream again…
Atzar thought he would be sick inside. Again, Zain stepped out from behind the wall, unaware of the hidden mage’s presence. Again, Atzar screamed in soundless horror as the fireball in his hands erupted into the face of his opponent…
Again, Zain slumped to the ground. His sword fell from his hand with a clatter. Again, Atzar picked up the sword and ended the fallen wizard’s life…
This time, however, the dream didn’t end. Instead, the mage was separated from his body. He could see himself, standing over the corpse of a man that had once been his friend. At the same time, however, he could see that it wasn’t himself. It was… somebody else. It was… the true killer, the one that had tampered with the enchantment on the Charms table…
A burning rage flared in the pit of Atzar’s stomach. From that rage was borne a desperate need for revenge. The mage would find out whoever was responsible for this death, and he would kill them. No… it wasn’t rage or a need for revenge anymore. Those base emotions were simply a reaction, a response. It went deeper now. It was… hatred. He hated the man that had caused this. He hated the man that had killed his fellow mages…
He could never truly expel the feeling of guilt, of sorrow, of pain that now took up permanent residence in his heart and mind…
But that was a poor, shameful excuse to do nothing…
As the ruins faded into unforgettable memory, the darkness of the Great Hall returned. Accursed darkness. He had come here to find his pathway to revenge, to search, to see. The only thing that Atzar saw at that moment were the bursts in front of his eyes that came from staring at the candles on the Charms board for too long. The mage took a few steps away before his foot came down on something other than granite. Metal. What could be on the floor that was metal?
The tracks. Atzar remembered it now. In between rounds, the different Charms tables had been moved in and out of the Hall on the tracks. He could make them out now, darker trails on a dark floor. On an instinct, the mage followed them to the back of the room. They brought him to a small door. He pushed it open and shivered, goosebumps running up his arms as the bitter wind reminded him how chilly it was outside.
A number of other game tables were set up out there. There were some interesting ones. A tower, a swamp, a waterfall… At some other time, Atzar would have loved to play a match on a couple of these boards. Now, however, he wasn’t interested in the games. He was there for something much more serious. The mage’s eyes roved over the scene. There was no way for him to know if these boards were tainted as his had been. He didn’t really want to find out. There had been enough death in Tel’Han already. Sighing morbidly, his eyes shifted to the icy, crunchy snow at his feet.
His heart skipped a beat.
There, in the old snow, were two sets of footprints. They made a beeline for the forest that rose up from the mountain some distance away. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Atzar just knew that this was what he was looking for. It hadn't snowed since that night, and the possibility that the tracks were simply those of one of his fellow villagers never even occurred to him.
Ire flaring anew, the mage didn’t waste another second in following their deliberate path toward the dark, shadowy trees.
The black night began to take on a tinge of blue. Dawn was coming.
Finally.
Atzar had stopped at the forest’s edge a couple of hours ago. It was impossible to follow the tracks in such darkness. The night was dark, and it would be even darker in the forest, where impeding branches blocked even the meager light that the stars provided. The mage had realized this, and had spent the rest of the night waiting for the sun to come up.
And finally he could continue. He rose from where he had sat, huddled up against a tree. After stretching stiff muscles, Atzar ventured into the thicker trees, eyes never leaving the tracks at his feet. Much better. He no longer had to strain his eyes to make them out. Allowing himself a small smile that looked more like a grimace, Atzar continued on. As he walked, the mage considered the trail. Where could it be leading? There were several other villages like Tel’Han in the Comb Mountains. Perhaps they were headed for one of those. But which one?
It didn’t really matter. He would find out soon enough. For now, he simply continued walking, vision trained on the prints in the crisp snow. The anger, the malevolence, was still clawing at his mind. The mage began to check that uncontrolled emotion, to contain it and store it away. There was a time for feeling, and there was a time for doing. This was a time for doing. The only thing that would help him now was to keep walking, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
So he kept walking.
A curse escaped the mage’s lips.
After an hour of tracking with no obstacles to speak of, Atzar came out of the forest and onto what was possibly the greatest obstacle imaginable at that time: a road. Snow and dirt mixed to create mud and slush, and the path had been tramped into soup by the feet of many travelers. It was hard enough to walk in that mess of a road at that time of year, let alone discern one set of footprints from among the countless others that surrounded it. Quickly casting his plan aside in favor of an alternative, the wizard looked up and down the road to get his bearings. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. If his memory served him well, he wasn’t far from Marris.
Marris was a small village south of Tel’Han. It was similar, in many ways, to Atzar’s home village: it was home to only a couple hundred people at the best of times, and it was populated almost exclusively by mages. It had even originally been called Tel’Marris, but the prefix had been discarded over time in favor of brevity. Despite its proximity to Tel’Han, the wizard had never been to Marris.
That would change shortly.
Several possibilities entered the mage’s mind. It was possible, although somewhat unlikely, that his quarry had passed through or was even hiding out in this village. But that was counter-intuitive; had Atzar been in that position, he would have avoided civilization at all costs. Still, it was worth a shot.
Besides, there was always the possibility that the attack had originated in Marris…
Without another thought, Atzar turned and began following the road. He stayed on the edge, where the packed dirt and snow hadn’t yet been churned into mud. The mage would make much better time that way. His eyes turned skyward momentarily before returning to the road in satisfaction. It was still morning. If he was as close to Marris as he thought, he could easily be there by noontime.
While Marris and Tel’Han definitely had their similarities, they also had their differences.
When one thinks of a village, one usually envisions a small cluster of houses huddled around a central road. Tel’Han didn’t fit this generalization at all. Homes were rarely set less than stone’s throw from each other, and were frequently a fair distance from the main path. It was completely within reason to walk for an hour to join a friend for lunch.
Marris, however, could have been the place on which the description was created. The road plodded directly through the center of the orderly little village, and plain houses grew uniformly on each side. They were simple, wooden structures, and very few efforts were made to separate one home from another.
Perhaps Marris and Tel’Han had more in common than Atzar had first thought.
All comparisons were thrust from the mage’s mind, however, when he saw a figure approaching. Squinting against the bright noon sun, Atzar watched him approach. He was a very big, muscular man, and he carried himself with gravity and dignity. He was bald, and he wore simple, rustic clothing appropriate to the early spring weather. The mage could discern neither friendship nor hostility in the large man’s expression.
“Atzar, I believe?” the man queried by way of introduction, his voice surprisingly quiet and serene. “Keyei has been in touch. He warned me that you might come by.”
This came as a bit of a surprise. Keyei was one of Tel’Han’s elders, but diplomacy didn’t seem to be the close-mouthed man’s forte. Atzar dismissed the discovery. It wasn’t the first time in the recent past that he had learned something new about the enigmatic leader.
“If you’d come with me,” the man continued, “I would be happy to enlighten you on… recent events.”
What was this?
Intrigued and more than a little suspicious, the mage followed as the big man turned and led the way. A short moment later, the man strolled calmly up to one of the many houses and opened the door, motioning Atzar inside before closing the door behind them.
The house was brightly lit by the sunlight that filtered through the windows of one wall. Facing away from the windows was a large desk, cluttered with a wealth of unorganized books and scrolls. Shelves lined the other walls, each packed to the limit with books of all sizes. In the back of the room was a staircase, presumably leading to the man’s bedroom.
“Excuse the mess,” the quiet voice interrupted his exploration. “I’m the first to admit that I don’t hold much faith in organization.” He flashed a brief smile in Atzar’s direction. “If I can find it, then it’s organized enough for me.”
The smile faded slowly from the man’s face. “But I’m sure you’re not here to discuss my living habits. My name is Ide, and I’m the head of Marris.” The big man walked around the desk and took a seat in the big leather chair before his ice-blue eyes bore once again into the visiting mage.
“First of all, you’re in no danger here, so feel free to relax,” he said to put Atzar’s mind at ease. “Second of all, I expect that you’ll be spending a large portion of the day here. You and I have much to discuss.” The blue eyes flashed momentarily. “And yes, all of it concerns the men who killed your friends.”
His heart began to pound, and his blood began to boil. His emotions threatened to take over again. “Tell me… do you know who is responsible for all of this?” Atzar growled in a voice unlike his own.
Rather than answer right away, Ide gazed critically into the irate mage’s eyes. “I’m not going to lie to you, Atzar,” the big man said carefully after a lengthy pause. “I do know your enemies.” At this, he averted his eyes. “Your enemies… are my men.”
He raised his hand quickly to cut the seething wizard off. “But, this was not an order that came from me or anybody else from Marris. They did this on their own.”
The mage didn’t buy it. “What would they gain from doing this, then, if their orders didn’t come from your men?” The doubt was clear in his voice.
Ide shrugged, the shadow of uncertainty registering on his own face now. “I can’t really say. It sounded like an indiscriminate attack, so I think we can count revenge out. Other than that…” he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
“Y’know what I think?” Atzar said rashly, raising his voice. “I think you’re lying to me. I think this is a plot to force war between Marris and Tel’Han. I think you and your… minions plan to take over my village!” His breath was coming in short, heavy gasps now, and tears of emotion were visible in his eyes.
“Atzar… I’m not lying,” Ide responded quietly, a peculiar sadness in his own blue eyes. As he looked in the angry mage’s face, however, he knew that there would be scant possibility of earning his trust. “I truly am sorry, my friend, but I just don’t have a story good enough for you. I can tell you only what I know. No more, no less. I know that the men involved are from Marris, and I know that they acted on their own decision. As for anything else… your guess is as good as mine.”
The mage wavered a bit. “Why should I trust you?” he demanded more out of defiance and refusal to listen to reason than out of any real animosity.
“You should trust him… because I say he is a man to be trusted.”
Ide and Atzar both fell silent as the new voice echoed from the stairwell. The steady click of claw on wood followed as something made its way slowly, deliberately down the stairs. Rage forgotten for the time being, the mage couldn’t help but feel as if he should recognize that sound.
The new figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs. White fangs jutted out from scaly lips. The end of a thick, reptilian tail glanced off of the last wooden step with a solid thunk. Leathery, powerful wings unfurled and beat once, twice, thrice at the air, lifting the small creature off of the ground and onto the messy desk in a single graceful effort. It bore a striking resemblance to Zirkan.
Except for the fact that the scales of this dragon shone not blue, but red.
“I was listening from upstairs,” the dragon said to Ide by way of explanation. “I decided that my appearance might speed things along.” With that, the fierce red eyes turned on the mage. “Sit down,” he ordered, pointing with his snout to a chair near one of the bookshelves. It wasn’t so much a gesture of courtesy as it was of dominance.
To startled to do anything but comply, the mage walked to the leather chair and slumped down. He wasn’t prepared for this.
“Good,” the small creature approved. “Now… I’d suggest that you open your ears and shut your mouth for awhile. I’m going to do a lot of talking, and you’re going to do a lot of listening.”
Atzar nodded. The little dragon might have looked a lot like Zirkan, but the personalities of the two creatures were as different as day and night. While the mage’s blue friend was generally snide and jocular, this one carried itself with great pride and dignity.
“As I said, Ide is a man to be trusted. Every word that he spoke was the complete truth. While the men responsible for this are indeed from Marris, their actions were their own.” At this point, the dragon’s eyes grew steely. “Your disrespect was completely unwarranted.”
“That’s enough, Ennai,” Ide said to the red dragon. “Ennai is a good friend of mine, Atzar,” the big man said to the mage. “He’s been a companion of sorts for the last few years, and his advice is invaluable.” The dragon inclined his head respectfully in acknowledgement of the praise.
“As it should be. I’ve been alive for considerably longer than either of you.” The red dragon’s eyes narrowed in thought. “I also have a few… theories about this whole ordeal. First, though, I need you two to be willing to cooperate.” The dragon’s eyes turned to the mage. “Atzar, correct? You may not realize it, but this ordeal has placed both your village and Marris in very real danger. One wrong word spoken on either side will results in deaths on both sides. You understand this, correct?”
The mage nodded. He had no choice. No matter how angry he had been moments earlier, he couldn’t ignore the importance of the dragon’s words.
"Good. Now, let me start at the beginning..."
Massacre
06-11-07, 01:52 AM
Overall, it was an easy read but nothing terribly special, as you mentioned before.
Since you asked for numbers only, I'll include a short paragraph and then your scores.
At first, I was a bit excited to read on, until after post number four. Everything seemed rather convenient and in place for Atzar to find, it kind of made the story a bit monotonous and boring after a while. Small notes will be included after each scoring.
Story:
Continuity: 5/10 ~ You set out to do something and I got left hanging, it was good at first. I hope I can read a sequel.
Setting: 6/10 ~ Your descriptions fit, but not much happened with the setting.
Pacing: 3/10 ~ You really suffered here, it went too easily and too straightforward to be terribly interesting.
Character:
Dialogue: 6/10 ~ It was nothing special but the arrogance I could pick up from the dragon was nice.
Action: 6/10 ~ Him listening to the dragon didn't seem like what he would do right then because of his rage, but everything else seemed all right.
Persona: 4/10 ~ Atzar was just angry vengeful, and guilty. While these are fine emotions to display (which you did fine), they shouldn't be the only ones present.
Writing Style:
Mechanics: 7/10 ~ A few places where sentences could have been merged and a few commas in and out of place, otherwise it was fine.
Technique: 5/10 ~ Nothing terribly special, a bit of foreshadowing kept my anticipation up which kept you from going below a middle of the road score.
Clarity: 5/10 ~ The only thing I have to complain about here was transitions from the dreams, perhaps describing his physical state or at least him losing touch would be nice.
Wild Card: 5/10 ~ Nothing terribly special, and even you admitted it that you gave up halfway through.
The total: 52/100
Atzar Kellon gains 1221 EXP and 104 GP.
Congratulations.
Cyrus the virus
06-11-07, 02:46 AM
EXP and GP added!
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