Post by Mizagium on Oct 7, 2010 21:32:43 GMT -5
Tell me what you guys think of this. I made this up basically on the spot by throwing together a handful of ideas I had rattling. What you see is what you get, I have no other information about this story other than what is written.
~~~~~
Moonlight glinted off of Sirantar’s sheerblade. He drew it slowly, carefully, the gentle ring of metal on metal dissipating into the deathly stillness of the snowbound Gray Forest. Gripping it tightly despite the crippling cold of a deep winter night, he brought it around, as if the blade could cut through the very air before him, and let it hang by his right side, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Baenagal noticed this immediately. The big Breaker shifted his battle axe from a casual position across his shoulders to a combat-ready two-handed grip. He moved with the same careful precision as Sirantar to prevent his heavy armor from clanking together.
Sirantar slowed his pace to a crawl, motioning for Baenagal and Finlaro to halt. Winter had come early this year, early and heavy. Scarcely anyone could remember a time when the snows reached a man’s waist, except maybe a handful of old geezers out in the farmlands. Every decade or so would bring an early winter; Sirantar could remember two or three himself. But hardly ever did the snows get this deep this quickly.
The Sighter shivered beneath his furs and light armor. He could see his breath through the thick scarf wrapped around his face. Overhead, the moon bathed the earth in a silvery light. The tall conifers of the Gray Forest blocked most of that light from reaching the ground, creating an eerie patchwork of moonlight. What light that did penetrate all the way was reflected off the unblemished blanket of snow, so that even non-Sighter would have little difficulty seeing. Sirantar, on the other hand, was having a difficult time scouting because the moonlight was interfering with his Sight.
He glanced back at Baenagal, big and powerful. Surprisingly, for a Breaker, he was as agile as a cat, able to outmaneuver most Swifters, and possessed the uncanny ability to disappear in large crowds. Or small crowds, for that matter. Baenagal had already dropped to one knee, scouting the area with his eyes, while he produced a vial of red powder from his belt. All Breakers carried several of those vials, thought using more than one at a time was advised against. Sirantar made a gesture that said, “Not yet.” The big man shrugged and kept the vial firmly in hand.
“I can already hear the whispers,” he heard Finlaro say to his left. “It’s loud, boss.”
“I hear the whispers, too, Fin.” Like a constant buzzing on the edge of your hearing. When they were slight, you weren’t sure you were hearing correctly. But as they whispers increased, they threatened to overwhelm you. They progressed from an annoying buzz to a hushed conversation between numerous individuals, in a language you couldn’t understand. These whispers were rapidly approaching the latter.
Sirantar strained his vision, searching desperately in the patches of moonlight. He felt a headache creeping up as the whispers approached the pain threshold. Usually, teams carried beeswax to stuff in their ears against the oppressive noise, but this late in the year, the wax froze solid. Besides, Sirantar never liked using the stuff; shutting out the whispers was akin to handicapping a scout, especially when tracking a jinn.
The jinn came in view suddenly, jetting out of the moonlight like a musket ball, stopping just as suddenly five yards in front of Sirantar. A creature of otherworldly origin, the jinn was no more than a violet orb of fire hovering six feet above the snow. It swayed from side to side in the air, dropped then rose, before settling at a comfortable altitude.
“Fin…”
“Already Weaving, boss.”
Out of habit, Sirantar turned his head to make sure. Not that he doubted his weaver; it was the job of the team leader to make sure everything moved smoothly. Bright neon threads of green extended from Finlaro’s fingertips, which he began spinning together. Sirantar always thought Finlaro looked like a large spider when he Wove, hunched over, completely absorbed in his work, yet fully away of his surroundings. A glance to his right revealed Baenagal shaking the vial of powder to make sure it didn’t clump together; the last thing s Breaker wanted was a clump of powder caught in your nose while trying to fight.
The jinn hadn’t moved. Unusual, considering how skittish the damn things were. The crack of a twig a hundred yards out was usually enough to send them darting away. Of course, when cornered, they would fight back. But this one had plenty of room to flee. Sirantar had a bad feeling.
“It’s a violet, Fin.”
“Excellent. We’re running low on those.”
“Then let’s capture it.”
Fin actually paused in his Weaving. “Excuse me? I must have something crazy in my ear because I thought you said we were going to – “
“Catch, that’s right.”
“Highly inadvisable,” the stoic Breaker said.
“It’s still just a wisp,” Fin continued, returning to his Weaving. “I can’t see it when it’s naked like this.”
“Then give me the net. It’s right in front of me and not moving. If I’m quick, I can snag it before it flees.”
“Boss, you know a Weave won’t last unless I’m the one holding it.”
“Then keep it tethered to you and hand me the rest. Fin,” he said, meeting the other’s gaze. “It’s right there.”
Finlaro inhaled, exhaled. “Fine. Here.” He tossed the spun neon threads to Sirantar. At first glance they appeared to be a tangled mess, but he knew that once they were thrown they would open, and a net would engulf whatever was in its path. One thread extended back to Finlaro, a thread he would have to keep spinning so as not to break the connection.
With a quick glance at Baenagal – Baenagal had poured the powder into his open hand – Sirantar stuck his sheerblade into the ground and stood to full height. He whipped the net into the air and began spinning it like a lasso. The jinn continued to hover.
Snap! Sirantar flicked the net forward. By abruptly halting the spin, the threads unraveled into a wide net. For an instant, it looked as though the net would fly true. But then the jinn darted back into the moonlight and the net continued on its arc before landing in the snow some yards out. Sirantar sent a curse skyward and reached for his sheerblade – except it had gotten lost in the snow. Finlaro began reeling his threads back in, muttering angrily.
The whispers stopped. That could only mean one thing: a golem was coming.
Sirantar dove into the snow, searching for his blade while Finlaro struggled to untangle the threads. Behind him, something charged though the snow with a howl. Baenagal inhaled the red powder, feeling its effect almost instantly. His muscles doubled in efficiency, increasing his strength and his speed. The veins in his eyes dilated, producing the distinctive blood red eyes. With a roar, he rose to his feet and met the advancing foe with his right shoulder. The wisp had chosen to possess a young spruce, twisting its form until it resembled something humanoid. The face it carved out burned with violet fire.
Baenagal shoved the golem back and swung with his axe, but the golem was already falling back. Baenagal’s mass carried his nearly all the way around. He used that to his advantage and brought himself around for a second wing. The golem wasn’t expecting that and suffered a deep gash in its side.
By that time, Sirantar had recovered his sheerblade and rushed to help the Breaker. Now that the jinn had taken a physical form, he didn’t have to rely on his Sight to see it, so the moonlight no longer hindered him. The golem twisted away from Baenagal and attempted to run, fearing the sheerblade, but the Breaker’s incredible speed intercepted the spirit creature. He picked it up with one hand before Sirantar could shout, “No!”
With an evil grin, the jinn shed the golem body. The violet flame surrounded Baenagal’s head, attempting to possess the big man. Unfortunately for it, Breakers were trained to resist a possession. He laughed as Finlaro hurled the same net, this time flying true and snagging the jinn. It fought valiantly against its prison, pulling against Fin with all its might, darting back and forth in an attempt to shake loose. But as he reeled it in, the ability of the jinn to resist diminished.
“What should we do with it?” Fin asked, gripping the neon green threads with both hands.
“It’s too wild,” Sirantar said, leveling his sheerblade. “It be of any use to them.”
“Damn. And all the trouble we went through to catch it.”
Baenagal exhaled a sharp breath and dropped to one knee. The effects of the powder were wearing off. That was why he carried multiple vials: he burned through the powder faster than any other Breaker. “Oh,” he moaned. “Just kill the damn thing.” He rubbed his temples. “Bastard gave me a headache. Won’t be able to hear properly for a few days.”
“Right.”
Sirantar drew the sheerblade back and drove it forward, impaling the jinn. It screamed, something a jinn had never done before. Then it exploded, tearing apart the net. As all of the glow drained from the threads, a new series of whispers swelled to a din. Fin actually had to cover his ears to survive the pain. Sirantar and Baenagal were both trained to resist jinn, and that included the whispers, but even the Sighter felt the pressure of the jinn.
“There’s more?” the weaver moaned.
There were. On the edge of his vision, a dozen tiny flames sparked to life. Deeper into the forest, several dozen more darted back and forth. Like a pack of wolves waiting for the kill. Was this a trap? Jinn weren’t supposed to be that smart.
“We need to leave, fast.” Sirantar brandished the sheerblade a few times, driving the closest jinn back, though only to a short distance. The beleaguered trio picked their way back through the Gray Forest, mentally shutting out the oppressive whispering of the hoard of jinn until they reached the tree line, past which the jinn would not venture willingly.
“What was that?” Finlaro asked, finally taking his hands from his ears. “Jin don’t behave like that.”
“I know. Something was wrong. They were upset.” Sirantar started to sheath his sheerblade, but decided to keep it out. He was still shaken up by the jinn and like the comfort of having his weapon drawn. If only he had a sheerpistol, but those were ludicrously expensive.
“Preposterous,” Baenagel declared. “Jinn do not have feeling. Jinn do not have emotions. Jinn do not have thoughts. Jinn are mindless spirit beings.”
“Then what was all that back there? Jinn don’t scream, either.”
“They don’t.”
Sirantar glanced over his shoulder at the Gray Forest. He could still see the mass of colored flames. Watching. Waiting.
~~~~~
Moonlight glinted off of Sirantar’s sheerblade. He drew it slowly, carefully, the gentle ring of metal on metal dissipating into the deathly stillness of the snowbound Gray Forest. Gripping it tightly despite the crippling cold of a deep winter night, he brought it around, as if the blade could cut through the very air before him, and let it hang by his right side, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Baenagal noticed this immediately. The big Breaker shifted his battle axe from a casual position across his shoulders to a combat-ready two-handed grip. He moved with the same careful precision as Sirantar to prevent his heavy armor from clanking together.
Sirantar slowed his pace to a crawl, motioning for Baenagal and Finlaro to halt. Winter had come early this year, early and heavy. Scarcely anyone could remember a time when the snows reached a man’s waist, except maybe a handful of old geezers out in the farmlands. Every decade or so would bring an early winter; Sirantar could remember two or three himself. But hardly ever did the snows get this deep this quickly.
The Sighter shivered beneath his furs and light armor. He could see his breath through the thick scarf wrapped around his face. Overhead, the moon bathed the earth in a silvery light. The tall conifers of the Gray Forest blocked most of that light from reaching the ground, creating an eerie patchwork of moonlight. What light that did penetrate all the way was reflected off the unblemished blanket of snow, so that even non-Sighter would have little difficulty seeing. Sirantar, on the other hand, was having a difficult time scouting because the moonlight was interfering with his Sight.
He glanced back at Baenagal, big and powerful. Surprisingly, for a Breaker, he was as agile as a cat, able to outmaneuver most Swifters, and possessed the uncanny ability to disappear in large crowds. Or small crowds, for that matter. Baenagal had already dropped to one knee, scouting the area with his eyes, while he produced a vial of red powder from his belt. All Breakers carried several of those vials, thought using more than one at a time was advised against. Sirantar made a gesture that said, “Not yet.” The big man shrugged and kept the vial firmly in hand.
“I can already hear the whispers,” he heard Finlaro say to his left. “It’s loud, boss.”
“I hear the whispers, too, Fin.” Like a constant buzzing on the edge of your hearing. When they were slight, you weren’t sure you were hearing correctly. But as they whispers increased, they threatened to overwhelm you. They progressed from an annoying buzz to a hushed conversation between numerous individuals, in a language you couldn’t understand. These whispers were rapidly approaching the latter.
Sirantar strained his vision, searching desperately in the patches of moonlight. He felt a headache creeping up as the whispers approached the pain threshold. Usually, teams carried beeswax to stuff in their ears against the oppressive noise, but this late in the year, the wax froze solid. Besides, Sirantar never liked using the stuff; shutting out the whispers was akin to handicapping a scout, especially when tracking a jinn.
The jinn came in view suddenly, jetting out of the moonlight like a musket ball, stopping just as suddenly five yards in front of Sirantar. A creature of otherworldly origin, the jinn was no more than a violet orb of fire hovering six feet above the snow. It swayed from side to side in the air, dropped then rose, before settling at a comfortable altitude.
“Fin…”
“Already Weaving, boss.”
Out of habit, Sirantar turned his head to make sure. Not that he doubted his weaver; it was the job of the team leader to make sure everything moved smoothly. Bright neon threads of green extended from Finlaro’s fingertips, which he began spinning together. Sirantar always thought Finlaro looked like a large spider when he Wove, hunched over, completely absorbed in his work, yet fully away of his surroundings. A glance to his right revealed Baenagal shaking the vial of powder to make sure it didn’t clump together; the last thing s Breaker wanted was a clump of powder caught in your nose while trying to fight.
The jinn hadn’t moved. Unusual, considering how skittish the damn things were. The crack of a twig a hundred yards out was usually enough to send them darting away. Of course, when cornered, they would fight back. But this one had plenty of room to flee. Sirantar had a bad feeling.
“It’s a violet, Fin.”
“Excellent. We’re running low on those.”
“Then let’s capture it.”
Fin actually paused in his Weaving. “Excuse me? I must have something crazy in my ear because I thought you said we were going to – “
“Catch, that’s right.”
“Highly inadvisable,” the stoic Breaker said.
“It’s still just a wisp,” Fin continued, returning to his Weaving. “I can’t see it when it’s naked like this.”
“Then give me the net. It’s right in front of me and not moving. If I’m quick, I can snag it before it flees.”
“Boss, you know a Weave won’t last unless I’m the one holding it.”
“Then keep it tethered to you and hand me the rest. Fin,” he said, meeting the other’s gaze. “It’s right there.”
Finlaro inhaled, exhaled. “Fine. Here.” He tossed the spun neon threads to Sirantar. At first glance they appeared to be a tangled mess, but he knew that once they were thrown they would open, and a net would engulf whatever was in its path. One thread extended back to Finlaro, a thread he would have to keep spinning so as not to break the connection.
With a quick glance at Baenagal – Baenagal had poured the powder into his open hand – Sirantar stuck his sheerblade into the ground and stood to full height. He whipped the net into the air and began spinning it like a lasso. The jinn continued to hover.
Snap! Sirantar flicked the net forward. By abruptly halting the spin, the threads unraveled into a wide net. For an instant, it looked as though the net would fly true. But then the jinn darted back into the moonlight and the net continued on its arc before landing in the snow some yards out. Sirantar sent a curse skyward and reached for his sheerblade – except it had gotten lost in the snow. Finlaro began reeling his threads back in, muttering angrily.
The whispers stopped. That could only mean one thing: a golem was coming.
Sirantar dove into the snow, searching for his blade while Finlaro struggled to untangle the threads. Behind him, something charged though the snow with a howl. Baenagal inhaled the red powder, feeling its effect almost instantly. His muscles doubled in efficiency, increasing his strength and his speed. The veins in his eyes dilated, producing the distinctive blood red eyes. With a roar, he rose to his feet and met the advancing foe with his right shoulder. The wisp had chosen to possess a young spruce, twisting its form until it resembled something humanoid. The face it carved out burned with violet fire.
Baenagal shoved the golem back and swung with his axe, but the golem was already falling back. Baenagal’s mass carried his nearly all the way around. He used that to his advantage and brought himself around for a second wing. The golem wasn’t expecting that and suffered a deep gash in its side.
By that time, Sirantar had recovered his sheerblade and rushed to help the Breaker. Now that the jinn had taken a physical form, he didn’t have to rely on his Sight to see it, so the moonlight no longer hindered him. The golem twisted away from Baenagal and attempted to run, fearing the sheerblade, but the Breaker’s incredible speed intercepted the spirit creature. He picked it up with one hand before Sirantar could shout, “No!”
With an evil grin, the jinn shed the golem body. The violet flame surrounded Baenagal’s head, attempting to possess the big man. Unfortunately for it, Breakers were trained to resist a possession. He laughed as Finlaro hurled the same net, this time flying true and snagging the jinn. It fought valiantly against its prison, pulling against Fin with all its might, darting back and forth in an attempt to shake loose. But as he reeled it in, the ability of the jinn to resist diminished.
“What should we do with it?” Fin asked, gripping the neon green threads with both hands.
“It’s too wild,” Sirantar said, leveling his sheerblade. “It be of any use to them.”
“Damn. And all the trouble we went through to catch it.”
Baenagal exhaled a sharp breath and dropped to one knee. The effects of the powder were wearing off. That was why he carried multiple vials: he burned through the powder faster than any other Breaker. “Oh,” he moaned. “Just kill the damn thing.” He rubbed his temples. “Bastard gave me a headache. Won’t be able to hear properly for a few days.”
“Right.”
Sirantar drew the sheerblade back and drove it forward, impaling the jinn. It screamed, something a jinn had never done before. Then it exploded, tearing apart the net. As all of the glow drained from the threads, a new series of whispers swelled to a din. Fin actually had to cover his ears to survive the pain. Sirantar and Baenagal were both trained to resist jinn, and that included the whispers, but even the Sighter felt the pressure of the jinn.
“There’s more?” the weaver moaned.
There were. On the edge of his vision, a dozen tiny flames sparked to life. Deeper into the forest, several dozen more darted back and forth. Like a pack of wolves waiting for the kill. Was this a trap? Jinn weren’t supposed to be that smart.
“We need to leave, fast.” Sirantar brandished the sheerblade a few times, driving the closest jinn back, though only to a short distance. The beleaguered trio picked their way back through the Gray Forest, mentally shutting out the oppressive whispering of the hoard of jinn until they reached the tree line, past which the jinn would not venture willingly.
“What was that?” Finlaro asked, finally taking his hands from his ears. “Jin don’t behave like that.”
“I know. Something was wrong. They were upset.” Sirantar started to sheath his sheerblade, but decided to keep it out. He was still shaken up by the jinn and like the comfort of having his weapon drawn. If only he had a sheerpistol, but those were ludicrously expensive.
“Preposterous,” Baenagel declared. “Jinn do not have feeling. Jinn do not have emotions. Jinn do not have thoughts. Jinn are mindless spirit beings.”
“Then what was all that back there? Jinn don’t scream, either.”
“They don’t.”
Sirantar glanced over his shoulder at the Gray Forest. He could still see the mass of colored flames. Watching. Waiting.