First, I assume it's alright to post non-warhammer stories in here?
Second, I've been working on a long, novel size story for a while, and hit a rut. Hence, I started this one to "respark." My goal is ~1000 words per week, both for time reasons, and to keep it a smallish size. As of right now, I'm 2 weeks in (wrote two installments the first week).
Enjoy!
The tide was changing. The water washed in and out, moving slowly, purposefully, but without thought. In and out. In and out. In, over the sand and dunes, covering small clumps of grassy hummock. Out, washing away the blood and gore of the previous day.
The armies faced one another on the coast, waiting for the right moment to strike. One, with its gilded armor and crafted spears, the other with its gut strung bows and purebred horses. Both were masters of killing. They had stalked each other for days, the horses staying just out of range of the short composite bows of the spearmen.
Hermaklides walked along the dunes, just past the sentries with their bright torches. Tomorrow, he knew, would be the day of reckoning. Tomorrow, they would fight. He paused, looking past the darkness, sending his sight to the other camp. His was disciplined, posting sentries and erecting multitudinous lines of tents and fire pits, with the armory on the left, the makeshift stables on the right. The other was loud, raucous, unorganized chaos. They were drunk on the spoils of victory they had won, and rightly so. They had appeared out of nowhere, stabbing deep into his lands. They had ravaged through Hisoi, brought down the walls of Kinei, and annihilated the port of Nokles. The barbarians had struck before anyone knew what had happened, and this army was the last desperate attempt to keep them from Knosseklido. To keep them from the Temples of the Hhenoi. To keep them out of the Gardens of Lao. This small force of 10 kav was the only thing standing between them and the capital.
He turned suddenly on his heel, striding back to the camp. It was time for evening prayers, time to prepare for the following day.
“Halt!”
His heart jumped, then calmed. It was the sentry, doing his job.
“Annikos, it is I, Hermaklides.”
“Halt I say! Halt!”
“Annikos? What are you-”
The spear lanced through his left side, igniting it in a blaze of pain and blood. He stared at it, the wooden shaft sticking from his side, the point jutting out at an odd angle. He had not thought it would hurt so little. Moving like a dream, his hand drifted down around the shaft, fingers scrabbling at his sword hilt. The blade rose, meeting the wooden spear and slicing through it, leaving splinters in its wake.
He moved faster now, spinning on his heel, cloak flaring out behind him. His arm outstretched, blade glinting at the end. It hummed through the air, looped around the shield, buried itself casually in the neck of the sentry. He wrenched it free, heard the commotion. Something had happened. This was not Annikos. Then he noticed the small things. The armor was of an old style, long given up. The spear had a bronze, not iron point. The sword was thinner, but longer, as in the style of the Legio. But the Legio was 250 years gone.
He gasped. The spear was still in his side, and kneeling had reignited the pain. He felt it, felt the point twisting within him. He almost jerked it out, but felt the blood spurt. It was all that was keeping his lifeblood from spilling out. He looked up. Then around. He stood again, and peered into the darkness.
He was not on the shore. He was nowhere near a forest. He was not anywhere he knew. He was alone, somewhere, without help, without hope. He was sorely wounded in a strange world, a world that seemed inclined toward hostility.
He almost began to run, but an involuntary cry of pain shook him. That was not an option. Nor was fighting. He limped away, fast as he could, slow as that was. There was a small stream to his left, and that would hide his tracks and scent, if these men had tracking dogs. He looked behind him; saw the torches beginning to climb the steep slope of the hill, heading for the dead sentry. He moved faster.
He splashed into the stream, gasping as the ice-cold water submerged his legs. He waded forward, quietly. This would be a long walk, a longer day.
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His body was cold. His hands shook. His teeth chattered. He was lost. The stream had run out a few miles back, and since then he had dragged branches behind him to cover his tracks. Luckily, the bleeding had stopped, and he was able to move faster now. He stumbled, nearly falling. He had found a cliff, and down there, a village. Smoke wreathed the valley, drifting upon the wind. Small dots moved as the people went about their daily business. He sighed as he realized the climb he was about to undertake. It was a long way down.
There was a small goat track, and he began to climb down it, stumbling every few steps as his wound throbbed. Despite the sandals, rocks hurt his feet, sharp as they were. He was halfway down now. Two thirds. His sight flashed in and out, blackness calling to him.
He was almost there, when he did not lift his foot quite far enough. A rock caught his sandal, ripping it. His foot came down upon a sharp rock, the tip lacerating his foot. He jerked back, tried for balance, too late. He tottered forward, grabbed at the side, but fell all the same. He tucked his head in as he bounced down, rocks tearing at his skin. The spear caught on something for a moment, he screamed in unsuppressed pain. His hands went away from his head, grabbed the point away from whatever it was caught on. It came free, just as his head found another rock. Then there was just blessed, painless, darkness.
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He woke, grasping for his sword. Where was he? Who had moved him? Who had found him? Questions flashed through his head. He opened his eyes, looking for any sign of where he was, who had him. He was not in prison that was for sure. His foot was bandaged, as was his side, his belongings, few as they were, on the floor beside him. He sat up and looked around. He was in a wooden building, with a window on the opposite wall. A door led to what seemed to be a corridor, but the corridor was a dark, matte, stone. Candles caught his eye, flickering on a table in the corner. Torches lined the hall, one illuminating the darkness every few feet.
He rose, grimacing as his bandages stretched. He put on his clothing, and picked up his sword. He stalked to the hall, snatching a torch from the wall as he went. It was a long hallway, long enough that it was hard to see the door on the other end. Was there a door? He could not tell. He advanced, aware of everything around him. He looked for an exit, something to get him out of this place.
How? When? Where?! He could not answer these questions, much as he pondered them. He reached the end, and indeed, there was no door, at least, none that his senses could recognize.
“Ready for an explanation?”
The voice echoed behind him, the waves of its passage gripping the torches, he saw the shadows stop flickering for a fraction of a second. In a flash, he faced the arrival, sword and torch in hand.
“Wher- What are you!” he asked.
The stranger stood there, a tall being, or so he thought. Now he? She? It? Seemed shorter than average. A cloak swathed it, hiding its shape beyond that. An intricate dagger hung from a belt, glittering with jewels of all shapes and sizes. Its face was amorphous, common, but rare. It was unidentifiable, but unique. It was a being of contradictions in every way possible.
“What am I? I myself am not sure. Nor are you, I imagine.” It said with a wistful smile. Its voice was of the medium range, neither high nor low, yet it carried a lilt, a barely identifiable accent, and a hint of deep sorrow.
“As for the question I believe you were about to ask, ‘where am I?’ You will know this, and many other things, in due time. For now, all you need to know is that you are in a fortress, in a time somewhat before that of your origin. You want to know ‘Why?’ yes? You are here to perform a task, a task that will shape this world, and your own.”
As he listened, Hermaklides began to feel a hint of weariness, and caught himself against the wall. Who, what, ever this was, it seemed to be forthcoming.
“Why are you telling me this? How did I get here?”
“Why am I telling you? Either I tell you now, when I have time to explain, or I tell you later, when you may be in danger, and I would be forced to rush an explanation. As to how you came to be in this place, that, mano laici, is my knowledge not yours.”
It seemed that there were limits. What had it said? Mano laici? That was no tongue he knew, nor did it sound like those he had heard of.
“What language is that? ‘Mano laici?’ It is like nothing I have heard of before.”
It laughed. The sound was velvety, shimmering in the air. Whatever It was, It was not a man.
“Ah, that is my native language. It is possible for you to learn it. That would take many years of study and practice however, I am afraid that we do not have the time. It is called ‘Uloi.’ ‘Mano laici’ has the rough meaning of ‘friend of mine’ in your language, I think. The… cross over? Is it transformation? Ah, I remember, it is translation, yes, the translations are never correct. Your language is much more direct than mine.”
“Where did you enter? How do I get out?”
“Ah, eager to start are we? Well I am afraid you cannot quite yet, you will have to meet the Sthao. I do not believe you have a similar word. A combination between ‘ruler’ and ‘subject’ I think.”
“I do not want to be here. You have taken me from my kingdom, my family, my life! They are in danger, and I, I was the only thing that could protect anything. The Hrocen are on their doorstep, and my men and I were the mangy guard dog that might scare them off. I must return!”
Fist met palm for emphasis, as he stood upright once more, his frustration flowing freely. The Being was unimpressed.
“That is not possible. Do not make this harder than it must be. You will return in due time. Your family and country may even be safe if you complete this task efficiently.”
“I said, ‘Let me return to them!’” His impassioned voice made as much headway as the wind against a stone cliff.
“You will not return now, nor tomorrow, nor next week, nor any time until your task is complete.” No emotion was discernable from the statement, but the aura exuded power. It was not boastful, simply a statement of fact. Hermaklides was not impressed.
“I care not how you threaten me. I do not care what you do to me. I will return to my home, my family, one way or another!”
“Did you not hear me? If you complete this task faithfully and faultlessly, your family will be unharmed. This is the only way you can save them, the only way you can be assured of their survival.”
He thought. He questioned. In the end, it came down to one thing.
“Fine. I will go with you. Just know that no God will save you if you are telling falsehoods.”
The being raised an arm, the first time he saw anything but its face. It was elegant and slender. Energy sparkled at the tip. It flashed.
They were gone.
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The world swirled. Colors drifted, detached from all around him. Hermaklides would have screamed if he had had the presence of mind. The world… was not there. There was no air. Nothing recognizable. Simply a swirling mass of darkness, interspersed with color and light and sound and everything the world was, set adrift from their normal bearings in reality.
“Do not be afraid. This will pass in a few moments, and we will be back in a world you will recognize.”
The Being did not speak, nor move its lips, but Hermaklides heard it all the same. He looked around and saw it behind him, arm still out stretched, though nothing sparkled at the tip now. Unlike before, it seemed strained, as if it were concentrating very hard indeed.
He decided waiting for something to happen was the best course. They did not seem to be moving, but Hermaklides thought that disturbing whatever the being was doing might be unwise. He waited. And waited.
Hours seemed to pass. The Being’s definition of a moment seemed to be different than that of a human.
The colors stopped. Before he had not thought he was moving, but now… he definitely was. The Being was flustered.
“What has happened?”
The words rang out in the stillness, disrupting the tension.
“I am not sure… this should not be happening!”
This world… shook. Whatever was happening, it was attempting to stop them. But was it for good or ill? Hermaklides was not certain that it even had a defined purpose. The world snapped.
A bright light shone through a gap in the darkness. The Being screamed out. Hermaklides drew his sword, then-
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He opened his eyes slowly, blinking. He was somewhere in a forest, the sunlight shining down in airy beams. This time there was no building, just the open expanse of nature.
He rose, checking himself. He had all his possessions, but there was something missing… the bandages! They were gone. He checked himself for injury. He had none. Who, what, ever had taken him, had healed him, completely, even of the scar from shaving he had taken at sixteen. What…
“I trust you feel better now?”
A voice. This time he turned slowly, and with an exasperated voice, he answered.
“Yes. I do. What am I doing here? Who are you? Why have you brought me here? Who was that that you took me from?”
This person was fully recognizable as human. A woman, no less. Her hair was bound in a loose knot behind her head, and she was clothed in some sort of shiny material, a material that cascaded down her fit frame. A bow and quiver full of arrows were on her back, and at her side, a gilded sword in a sheath.
“You are here, as your previous… hosts, no doubt have told you, to perform a task. I am Neildar Ilkein, Guardian of Lamionar Hreni, scion of the House of Ilkein. I have brought you here so that you might return to your time.”
The answers spilled out freely. She paused.
“As for the Being I took you from… it is best you do not know fully. You must know, however, that their race is responsible for my current situation. They came from the South, two centuries ago, came with an eldritch fury. They smashed aside all our defenses, laid waste to our lands, our cities, our countries. Humanity is in hiding. And you are our last hope to drive them back. And not just drive them from our lands, but defeat them.”
Her impassioned voice shook with rage, terror, and suppressed sadness. Tears glinted like diamonds at her eyes.
“They are the Nordkin. An ironic name, for cold is anathema to them. We know not where they come from originally, but they are possessed of powers far beyond those of any human, as I am sure you have realized. They can manipulate time and nature with just a thought. It is by luck, courage, and effort beyond measure that we have been able to resist them this long. We need your help.”
“What can I offer you that you do not have yourselves? I am a warrior and a leader yes, but no more. I do not possess hidden knowledge, and know nothing more than what you have told me about this foe you face. What can I do that you cannot?”
Hermaklides was puzzled, but no longer angered.
“You possess the key to our survival as a people. In your time, you are about the face the Hrocen yes? They are the beginning of this. You may not recognize this place, but you shall. I am afraid we must move. They are searching even now.”
Action suited words as she turned, and with a gesture to follow, ran into the trees. He followed, as much as he could with armor. She jumped and leaped from the ground, seeming to float along with no effort. He pounded behind. Animals called to each other in the distance. Nature seemed to be at peace.
Then she stopped. He panted up to her, and she gestured for silence.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Them. They are ahead.”
She peered around a tree. He followed her gaze, and saw… something. A vehicle of some sort. He could not imagine, who, or what had built it. A carriage of dark steel, emblazoned with an emblem that pulsed with a nefarious feeling on the side.
“What is that?”
“That, my friend, is their means of controlling our people. One word of discontent, one unbidden thought, and we are taken there. None have returned.”
“What happens?”
“We do not know. Shall we find out?”
Her question floated in the air. He thought.
“Why not? I will do what I can to help.”
“Then follow me.”
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