First draft of my new chapter in a novel series I am writing, that introduces a few new characters. To be revised further.
Frustrating. Very frustrating. This isn't what he expected at all. Why is everything blurry? This doesn't make sense. Tabbi, is that you?
The voices in his head echoed and echoed, with each echo getting louder and louder, like a shouting in a large pan. A blurry pan. Shathrath was cold, very cold, and very frustrated. Why can't I see? None of this made sense. He needed it too. Now. After some time, Shathrath's head begun to feel again. Instead of numbness, it new felt it's first feeling in a long time: a blunt pain. Typical. The echoes stopped getting louder, and instead begun to get quieter. It would have been a relief, except Shathrath started to remember, like it was happening now. The brown creatures weilding axes and swords jumping down upon him, as he glanced over slowly, as if time were slowing its self, to his wife that he loved. Tabbi didn't even bother to look at him, but he could see the fear that stretched across the side of her face, and begun to hear the scream for help. Shathrath reached for her, and instead of feeling her head, he felt something on his. Across his cheekbone, a large blade went into him, that he didn't even see. Then everything faded to black.
Shathrath started breathing heavily in the eternal darkness. A moment later, he cried out, and rose up from his covers, shouting "NO!" to the air. Everything was still blurry, but not as bad as before. He could feel and hear his heart pumping rapidly, and then more slowly. His head ached so much, that Shathrath didn't notice the bandages around it until he touched his aching head, somehow hopeing it to stop the pain. It didn't. How frustrating.
Tabbi must be close. He couldn't tell though, which was strange. It must be the ache in his head. That is probably why he couldn't feel which direction she was in. How frustrating. Shathrath wondered why he was getting so frustrated. He never got frustrated, even during his homework that looked like a foreign language to him. Probably because it was a foreign language, but that's not the point. Where is Tabitha? He needed to make sure she was okay. That nightmare really shooked him, and knowing where she was would probably calm him down a bit. He decided to call for her.
"Tabbi? Tabbi?"
Shathrath felt a sudden gust of cold wind, the wind of his homeland. His home. His kingdom. His domain. His realm. He loved that wind. He looked down, and noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt, his pale white skin shining a pale blue. He undid his covers and swung around to the edge of the bed in order to get up. That was a mistake. How frustrating. His head ached with a sharp pain now, and the rest of his body ached with that familiar dull, blunting ache that he had on his head in the nightmare. He decided to stop and rest a moment after the sharp pain split into him again. He called for his love again,
"Tabbi! Where in the heavens are you?"
Shathrath tried getting up again. Another mistake. Why is he making so many mistakes? This is frustrating. The blurryness came back, and this time, red lines stretched from the outside of his vision towards the center. He sat back down again, if one could even call it that, seeing how as hís ass didn't even make it off the covers. Shathrath started breathing heavily again, and suddenly the door opened slowly.
Shathrath didn't even see or notice a door was in the room until it began to move, and make sound, so his instinct was to look directly at it immediately. Now he just hated himself. If he isn't going to learn from his stupid mistakes and continue to be frustrated, he should just give up. He was reminded of the bandages binding his head together when he turned to look, which also gave the sensation of indescribable pain, not from his headache but from his stupidity as well. Fool, he thought.
Something entered the room. A man, clearly, but he was wearing torn cloths that covered his body, and had a walking staff. Both items this....thing owned were black. And old. Almost as old as the man who carried them. He has certainly seen his share of time, and he has certainly recognized that his time is near. But that didn't concern him now, he looked upset as he glanced at Shathrath. The frown he made had, what Shathrath thought, infinately many number of wrinkles carving his face. The man had those sunspots and moles that Shathrath usually sees on the elders in his court. He wore no shoes, and had feet like pale leather. Everything in the room glowed a pale light blue, except for this strange man.
Shagrath demanded from him, "As your King, I demand to know who you are, why I am here, why I have bandages around my face, and where your Queen is. Answer, now!"
The old man answered "Why, Lord of all that is Lost, I am known as The Ritualist to the townsfolk west of here. You are here because you needed a place to sleep while I healed you, and I say, you already answered the last question yourself. The Poor Queen is in the heavans,"
His voice was very strange to Shathrath. It was both shaky and controlled at the same time, like the storytellers down at the port taverns sound when they tell stories of their youth, their legends, and stories they had been told as a child, to the children that would listen. His accent was also thick, compared to Shathrath's, but he could still be understood all the same. Especially to Shathrath, who was frustrated at his insolence.
"How dare you speak to your King in such a manner? Just for saying that Queen Tabitha is dead, you, sir, would die," Shathrath yelled at the old man. "I and the Lord of the Western Nordim Realm. How could you even compare yourself to all that is lost? You are a subject of this realm!" The pain was unbearable in his head. Anger flashes all over him, turning his body pale red now instead of the pale blue. His head flamed with fire and acute pain.
"Oh I beg to differ, but I will not go further into that with you, since you are obviously either in denial, or don't even remember. Which is natural I suppose," The Ritualist said. "I fear Queen Tabitha is indeed dead. I found her up the road from where I found you. She fared worse than you, I am afraid. The only reason I know it was the Queen is that she wore that crown everyone talks about. You, I recognized however. Though you had blood across your face, your hair, and pretty much all over. You, Ser, had no hope at all. Not without me of course. I brought both of those bodies back, and left the rest of your party to the wolves. My little gift to the woodland creatures. I burried Queen Tabitha a few days ago. I couldn't wake you up no matter what I gave you. I fear I made the mixture too powerful. Little habit I have,"
Shathrath was stunned. This wasn't frustrating. This just wasn't true. He was so angry at the old man, that he got up, ignoring all physical signs on his body that he shouldn't, ran towards the old man, who patiently raised his staff that poked Shathrath's chest. The Ritualist applied force to push him backwards and Shathrath fell back onto his bed. Shathrath, still enraged, shouted "You little ****er", and started to get up and rush towards him again, but this time, Shathrath's body won. The pain was too great.
"Now, is this how the King repays people that help him? I thought you held quite a great reputation, that you were loved by everyone. How great you were, how you gave your wealth to the lower class. Maybe that King died with you and your party. Oh well, it's not like I am asking for a reward or something," the Ritualist said as he turned around. "I have soup over fire. I'll let you rest and think about this for a while. When you are calm, your stomache's power will overshadow everything else. After all, you haven't eaten in days."
And with that, the Ritualist left the room, closing the crude door. How frustrating.
Frustrating. Very frustrating. This isn't what he expected at all. Why is everything blurry? This doesn't make sense. Tabbi, is that you?
The voices in his head echoed and echoed, with each echo getting louder and louder, like a shouting in a large pan. A blurry pan. Shathrath was cold, very cold, and very frustrated. Why can't I see? None of this made sense. He needed it too. Now. After some time, Shathrath's head begun to feel again. Instead of numbness, it new felt it's first feeling in a long time: a blunt pain. Typical. The echoes stopped getting louder, and instead begun to get quieter. It would have been a relief, except Shathrath started to remember, like it was happening now. The brown creatures weilding axes and swords jumping down upon him, as he glanced over slowly, as if time were slowing its self, to his wife that he loved. Tabbi didn't even bother to look at him, but he could see the fear that stretched across the side of her face, and begun to hear the scream for help. Shathrath reached for her, and instead of feeling her head, he felt something on his. Across his cheekbone, a large blade went into him, that he didn't even see. Then everything faded to black.
Shathrath started breathing heavily in the eternal darkness. A moment later, he cried out, and rose up from his covers, shouting "NO!" to the air. Everything was still blurry, but not as bad as before. He could feel and hear his heart pumping rapidly, and then more slowly. His head ached so much, that Shathrath didn't notice the bandages around it until he touched his aching head, somehow hopeing it to stop the pain. It didn't. How frustrating.
Tabbi must be close. He couldn't tell though, which was strange. It must be the ache in his head. That is probably why he couldn't feel which direction she was in. How frustrating. Shathrath wondered why he was getting so frustrated. He never got frustrated, even during his homework that looked like a foreign language to him. Probably because it was a foreign language, but that's not the point. Where is Tabitha? He needed to make sure she was okay. That nightmare really shooked him, and knowing where she was would probably calm him down a bit. He decided to call for her.
"Tabbi? Tabbi?"
Shathrath felt a sudden gust of cold wind, the wind of his homeland. His home. His kingdom. His domain. His realm. He loved that wind. He looked down, and noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt, his pale white skin shining a pale blue. He undid his covers and swung around to the edge of the bed in order to get up. That was a mistake. How frustrating. His head ached with a sharp pain now, and the rest of his body ached with that familiar dull, blunting ache that he had on his head in the nightmare. He decided to stop and rest a moment after the sharp pain split into him again. He called for his love again,
"Tabbi! Where in the heavens are you?"
Shathrath tried getting up again. Another mistake. Why is he making so many mistakes? This is frustrating. The blurryness came back, and this time, red lines stretched from the outside of his vision towards the center. He sat back down again, if one could even call it that, seeing how as hís ass didn't even make it off the covers. Shathrath started breathing heavily again, and suddenly the door opened slowly.
Shathrath didn't even see or notice a door was in the room until it began to move, and make sound, so his instinct was to look directly at it immediately. Now he just hated himself. If he isn't going to learn from his stupid mistakes and continue to be frustrated, he should just give up. He was reminded of the bandages binding his head together when he turned to look, which also gave the sensation of indescribable pain, not from his headache but from his stupidity as well. Fool, he thought.
Something entered the room. A man, clearly, but he was wearing torn cloths that covered his body, and had a walking staff. Both items this....thing owned were black. And old. Almost as old as the man who carried them. He has certainly seen his share of time, and he has certainly recognized that his time is near. But that didn't concern him now, he looked upset as he glanced at Shathrath. The frown he made had, what Shathrath thought, infinately many number of wrinkles carving his face. The man had those sunspots and moles that Shathrath usually sees on the elders in his court. He wore no shoes, and had feet like pale leather. Everything in the room glowed a pale light blue, except for this strange man.
Shagrath demanded from him, "As your King, I demand to know who you are, why I am here, why I have bandages around my face, and where your Queen is. Answer, now!"
The old man answered "Why, Lord of all that is Lost, I am known as The Ritualist to the townsfolk west of here. You are here because you needed a place to sleep while I healed you, and I say, you already answered the last question yourself. The Poor Queen is in the heavans,"
His voice was very strange to Shathrath. It was both shaky and controlled at the same time, like the storytellers down at the port taverns sound when they tell stories of their youth, their legends, and stories they had been told as a child, to the children that would listen. His accent was also thick, compared to Shathrath's, but he could still be understood all the same. Especially to Shathrath, who was frustrated at his insolence.
"How dare you speak to your King in such a manner? Just for saying that Queen Tabitha is dead, you, sir, would die," Shathrath yelled at the old man. "I and the Lord of the Western Nordim Realm. How could you even compare yourself to all that is lost? You are a subject of this realm!" The pain was unbearable in his head. Anger flashes all over him, turning his body pale red now instead of the pale blue. His head flamed with fire and acute pain.
"Oh I beg to differ, but I will not go further into that with you, since you are obviously either in denial, or don't even remember. Which is natural I suppose," The Ritualist said. "I fear Queen Tabitha is indeed dead. I found her up the road from where I found you. She fared worse than you, I am afraid. The only reason I know it was the Queen is that she wore that crown everyone talks about. You, I recognized however. Though you had blood across your face, your hair, and pretty much all over. You, Ser, had no hope at all. Not without me of course. I brought both of those bodies back, and left the rest of your party to the wolves. My little gift to the woodland creatures. I burried Queen Tabitha a few days ago. I couldn't wake you up no matter what I gave you. I fear I made the mixture too powerful. Little habit I have,"
Shathrath was stunned. This wasn't frustrating. This just wasn't true. He was so angry at the old man, that he got up, ignoring all physical signs on his body that he shouldn't, ran towards the old man, who patiently raised his staff that poked Shathrath's chest. The Ritualist applied force to push him backwards and Shathrath fell back onto his bed. Shathrath, still enraged, shouted "You little ****er", and started to get up and rush towards him again, but this time, Shathrath's body won. The pain was too great.
"Now, is this how the King repays people that help him? I thought you held quite a great reputation, that you were loved by everyone. How great you were, how you gave your wealth to the lower class. Maybe that King died with you and your party. Oh well, it's not like I am asking for a reward or something," the Ritualist said as he turned around. "I have soup over fire. I'll let you rest and think about this for a while. When you are calm, your stomache's power will overshadow everything else. After all, you haven't eaten in days."
And with that, the Ritualist left the room, closing the crude door. How frustrating.
