The Mortal Rebellion: Episode 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dranon and his girlfriend Lorain are like two peas in a pod. Two deadly peas in a pod, but two peas none the less. Dranon speaks with his mother about the coming battle, and just when he meets up with Lorain, the Commander sounds the alarm, and call to positions. The battle is about to begin.

Submitted: May 31, 2015

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Submitted: May 31, 2015

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THE MORTAL REBELLION

episode 2

Elias Holmquist

 

A low growl began in the back if his throat, continuing to become a reason for fear in the beings around him. His lips peeled back to reveal fat, sharp, meticulously groomed yet almost inhumanely taken care of rows of teeth. When one looked at him, one would think, “No. This can’t possibly be one of the most feared and revered persons on the planet. I imagined something more . . . well, more.”

But then he’d fix you with a stare that beset your appearance to become disheveled, your eyes straying mindlessly, and your body feeling the primal instinct to get as far away from this being as you could. After the first stare, his mouth would peel back to reveal his true nature through his mouth. You could practically count and record the lives he had taken in order to become the Necromancer he was today. But when he was in a bad mood, you had several tells: if he was annoyed, he would sniff repeatedly. If he was angry, he would begin to growl, so low that all you would hear was a tone, deep and resonating. But if he was furious (and heaven forbid he was) the growl would begin to emanate much, much, much more loudly, and when it reached its climax, he would show you his wolfish smile, usually one or two minutes before he killed you, and brought you back from the dead to become a mindless pawn in his army of thousands.

The wrath whom he was receiving a report from quivered, then closed its eyes. Normally, you couldn’t see or touch a wrath, and that’s why they were great scouts. But in the presence of the Necromancer, they became solid, ugly, things with wings. This one was less ugly than most, but no one could have done nothing to stop what was coming.

Hoisting his favored spiked hammer, as tall he was and five times as heavy, he heaved it easily above him and without any hesitation brought the hammer down upon the wrath. Its massive circumference completely covered the creature, but no fluids escaped. He had created a mini crater, and the lip forbid any blood to go seeping out.

With a deep intake and exhale, the six foot, fully armored, fully capable of genocide, and wolfishly handsome Necromancer snatched the hammer up from the crater. As he tossed it to a group of Ogres to be cleaned, he smirked and muttered under his breath, “Next time you tell me my troops need to retreat, kill yourself so you don’t make a mess on my hammer.”

 

“Dranon Gareth Michael Finch! You will not, and I repeat, will not go to the garrison! I have had enough of your equipment lying around the shop as is! I will not let you go off to your buddies so you can ‘train’ and spend time with Lorain!” Mrs. Finch sighed heavily as she strode through the house, trying to corner her 17 wintered son. Every time she got close, he would hear her and dash to another room. She listened to his frantic yet very pointed reply with little patience.

 “Mother, if you wish me to abandon . . .”At this a pot had been overturned and he hastily picked it back up be continuing. “ . . . my duty as a soldier, protector, and armed guardian to our home, our town, and the people in it, then you should know I’m not about to let that happen! You can try to keep me inside, safe from the coming battle, but if it’s my job and I want to do it, you can’t stop me.”

Mrs. Finch finally caught up with him, mostly because he was in his full gear, standing to attention, and trying to look her in the eye. For a 17 wintered boy, he was remarkably skilled with weapons. He had won all of the past tournaments, easily. He was not extremely tall, and actually was a little under his expected height. Most boys in their town leveled off at six feet and two inches. But even with his massive and almost supernatural ability, Dranon was only five feet and ten inches tall, and was noticeably thinner than the other boys.

That may have been my fault, Mrs. Finch thought to herself. I made him do all his homework, and gave him extra tutoring.

Mr. and Mrs. Finch ran a Library in Kadelvacaer, so naturally the extra skills Dranon possessed were just a bonus to them, as they preferred mental over physical strength. Dranon had ‘higher ambitions’ and wanted to travel around offering his help while he could, though, and contrasted his parents idea of finding a home and settling down.

“That Lorain is such a nice girl. Don’t you love her? Why don’t you marry her?”

Dranon would reply angrily and embarrassed, “Of course I love her! That doesn’t mean I have to marry her though!”

Go figure. His best friend Lorain was the girl of his dreams, and they had made plans to travel the word together. If Dranon married her, he feared that would all go away, and he would be stuck in one place with a lust to be in another. So, Dranon chose to do the option he thought best fit the answer; doing nothing.

Incidentally, this sometimes made conversations about their relationship a bit awkward, but he had told her his feelings, and he had been happy to be told she felt the same way. So, until another solution opened up, they would stay the way they were.

When the call to arms came, and the news of the undead army over the hills reached the townspeople, Dranon was only too happy to oblige the fight. Lorain was another skilled warrior, trained by the masters in the Mountains Pass valleys for six months. When she came back, her learned skill matched that of Dranon’s, so he was not worried at all if they could handle themselves during the battle. And they wouldn’t be killing living things either. Dranon thought this was the perfect battle to fight in, for they could strike and cut down without a conscience.

Mrs. Finch, Dranon could tell, was thinking the same thing he was. She pursed her lips as he waited patiently for an answer. She knew how powerful he was in battle. How much the garrison of Kadelvacaer needed him as an asset. But she just could not stop thinking about some undead monster getting a lucky strike in, and she would breakdown inwardly. She willed him to take back his decision, back what he said, so that whatever happened, they would be together.

But in the end she knew it wasn’t her choice that mattered. She might have influence, but being the wise women she was, she knew that in the end it was what her son chose to do that mattered.

“Dranon.” She said his name quietly, and collected her thoughts before saying what she was thinking.

 “I want you to stay here. I want you to stay here with your father and I so that whatever happens, we’ll be together”

 “But-” Dranon made sounds of protest, but she held her hand up to silence him.

 “But in the end it’s your choice that matters. If you decide to fight, I will support you in any way I can. If not, then I will support you in staying with us. It’s your decision.”

Dranon’s eyes had opened so much that his eyebrows melded into his eyelashes. Silence reigned for a moment, and then Dranon bent down and hugged his mother.

Mrs. Finch closed her eyes, and in the waning light, could see her son’s strong back.

“Dranon, when you feel like all is lost, when you are losing your battle, or when you need support that can’t be given, think of your back.”

 At this she patted it firmly, emphasizing her words. “Your back carried you through training, through all the books I had you read, and all the problems you had. Your back is the center of your being, so when you feel down or lost, stand up, and feel your back supporting you. Know that when no one is left, you can rely on yourself to make things right.”

Dranon pulled away, and said softly, “I love you mom.”

Mrs. Finch looked up at his face, and repeated the words, “I love you too, Dranon.”

After a moment of bittersweet smiling, she turned him around by the shoulders, and pushed him towards the door. Dranon stumbled, regained his posture, strode towards the door, opened it, stepped over the threshold, and looked back. Mrs. Finch nodded, with no sign of tears anywhere.

“Kill some undead for me, will ya’ Dranon? Stop them from taking our town.”

Dranon smiled. He really did have an awesome mother. “I will mother. I will.”


 

 

Once Commander Feyheart had finished his moving speech, Dranon finished filling out his battle form and left the command center to find Lorain. She probably was where she always was; at the fencing grounds, showing off.

The difference between Lorain and Dranon was this: Lorain learned how to fight easily and told everybody about it. Dranon knew how to fight from the moment he picked up his sword, but mostly just the garrison and his close friends and family knew about his abilities.

Even though the two 17 wintered young adults were opposites like nothing else, they stuck together like peas in a pod. And when they were together it was like they shared a brain. They were the optimum fighting pair, as they understood each other and their movements and styles. Being half the age of two-thirds of the garrison and being one if its top fighters was a heavy burden, and they relied on each other to manage it.

Dranon entered the garrison courtyard and training area to see a crowd of people over in the sparring pit. Lorain liked nothing better then to fight with metal blades, but it was a rule that all who sparred used wooden swords.

Even then, she kicked ass.

Dranon climbed the ramparts, and watched what currently was happening in the pit below, proud and concerned at the same time.

Lorain was taking on a man twice her age and size, and succeeding easily. He swung his sword at her legs, but she leapt forward, completely slipping under his arm and over his left leg, and before he could bring the blade up to block himself, she had ‘sliced’ a deep wound into his left side. The fight couldn’t have been started over a minute and a half ago, but she had bested him quickly and efficiently.

Dranon decided to make a surprise entrance and dropped from the ramparts into the pit, landing neatly with one knee up and the other on the ground. Lorain jumped from her position.

“Dang it Dranon! I was savoring the victory!” She yelled at him, cheeks red and hair blowing as she turned on him. He smiled widely, which just made her even more mad.

In a fit of anger, she lashed forward, stepping with her right and swinging with her right. He easily swayed to the side and let the attack slice the air where his head had been.

“I would have expected more, Lor. You know you can dodge something just by swaying out of the weapons reach!” He joked helpfully.

Lorain squinted at him incredulously, then lunged again without warning. Dranon stood up as she moved her arm so that she would ‘stab’ his stomach. Using his palms, he kept his knees bent and caught the blade so that Lorain stumbled into him as he pulled the passage of the blade’s flight higher. In the end, she was locked against his chest, her arms caught in his left and her body smooshed with his right.

 Lorain smiled. She wasn’t the only with a trick up her sleeve.

Dranon looked down, and Lorain gave him a big smooch on the lips. His grip loosened, and she twirled herself away, ending with her sword pointed at his throat.

Dranon grinned and was about to give a joking retort, but as he said the first words, the warning bell tolled and drowned him out. A military wizard projected Commander Feyheart’s voice throughout the town.

“ALL TROOPS REPORT TO YOUR POSITIONS! WE ARE UNDER ATTACK. I REPEAT, WE ARE UNDER ATTACK! BE READY FOR BATTLE IN TWO MINUTES!”

End of episode 2


© Copyright 2018 Elias Holmquist. All rights reserved.

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