A Story

Much shorter submission than I originally intended but, I wanted to make sure I met the deadline so I had to cut some of the content or I would  have never been able to finish it in time.  Maybe later, I can add more details to the battle



Genre: War, any, past,  present or future.
Length: 1250 words
Due: Wed. Aug. 31st. 8:30 EST.







      "I would have been considered old by your standards, I had not yet reached my 200th winter", he pauses, a distant look in is alien eyes, the irises blue and charcoal gray where white should have shown.

     Great!  Just what I need another wacko washed out thespian.  Oh well, no need to waste the opportunity for a nice drink and cigar.  "Ya don't say", I flash him what I hope is an encouraging grin, while, leaning back in my chair puffing my cigar alight.

     "Our land, was one riddled with constant strife, with one faction or another seeking to dominate and subject  the others to their rule.  The council, while respected, had little real power.  More figurehead, than governing body, assassination had become a very real threat."  He pauses again, taking a sip of some dark concoction, with a faint smack of his lips he resumes his tale, oblivious to the rolling of my eyes at his theatrics.  "It was not long before war erupted, a half dozen warlords vying for the opportunity to take control of all of Viscattia.  The council attempted to intercede but, only succeeded in convincing the various factions to wage their war in a shielded environ, the populace would be spared, wanton destruction and slaughter."

     "Some of the greatest mages and warriors of an era were summoned by one warlord or another."  He stands up and begins to pace back and forth in front of our table, drawing the attention of some of the more curious patrons.  He stops in mid-stride, running the palm of one large swarthy hand down the length of his face.  "All assumed the battle would be waged as a six-sided affair but, almost right from the beginning the noble and just stood opposite the vile and the wicked.  Old enmities, rehashed anew upon this crime or that slight.  A shout, preceded the first of many magical barrages, a dull, black, spiked warhammer creased the entire side of a warrior's helm, blood sprayed forth from the punctures created by the spikes.  As the battle raged on all sides, it quickly became apparent that the bowl shaped terrain allowed little room for retreat."  He sits back down, elbows on the table, his hands on the top of his head.

     "From sunrise to dusk, did the battle rage, surrender was supposed to be an option, however, I planned on giving no quarter, nor did I expect any in return."  He pauses again, looks up and taking hold of his mug and upending the drink down his throat, before pounding the mug to the table.


     "Blood and Offal lapped lazily against my calf as I attempted to gain a better vantage point, while, raising myself out of the red creek the battlefield had become.  I had hoped, just maybe, Caralegis and I were the sole survivors but, then I spied Dezinegen regain his feet.  He looked like nothing so much then as something out of a child's  nightmare, as his dark, lank hair dripped scarlet slime and added to the rivulets of red that ran down the various parts of his face.  His semi-permanent rictus grin made me wonder for about the tenth time in that day if he still truly lived or had become some pallid flesh wearing lich.  I did not know, nor did I care, for he raised his arms above his head, hands spread and looked as though he was prepared to cast his vile reanimation spell a third time."  He pauses, appearing to stare off into space, "his second cast of that horrible incantation..." he shakes his head from side to side, as if to rid himself of the images jumping to the forefront of his mind.  "The horror etched on the combatants faces as their slain compatriots arose from the grave and began to slay both friend and foe alike.  It seemed Dezinegen was ready to sacrifice any and everything to become supreme warlord of the realm.  Gray skeletal forms strode through that milling mass as well and provided proof that that particular arena had known war before.

     "STOP!  LOOK AROUND YOU, TOO MANY HAVE DIED!"

     "I stood there amidst the carnage of a landscape littered with the remains of close to a hundred thousand and looked into the eyes of what I considered death itself.  I bent knee in the scarlet sludge that lapped at my legs like water at the shore of a lake in supplication to Dezinegen's authority and saw Caralegis hesitate before she did the same.