Don't mind me I'm just posting some scenes I've written here. I don't actually write my stories front to back but do individual scenes when I feel like writing them. Warning: I have three different stories set in the same world so it might get confusing
Not really looking for critiques because these are unedited drafts but I have no aversion to people's opinions
The squad meets Ahmik
Orien shuffled back. The heavy breathing of his companions seemed loud against the silence of the night.
“I think we lost them,” he whispered.
“Thank Diu,” Miksa said as he let out a sigh of relief.
“We shouldn’t relax yet.”
“Right. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Eligius hissed.
Orien crept along the alleyway, keeping to the darkest shadows and stepping carefully. The other elves followed his lead.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you’ve been in this situation before, huh?” Miksa said. Balaza was quick to shush him.
“Yeah, shut up Miksa.”
Balaza glared at Eligius who mouthed an apology. Orien rolled his eyes and continued. They eventually came out of the narrow passage and into a dark side street. The prince glanced both ways. There was no one in sight. The silence was deafening. A chill crept up his spine and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He shook it off and hurried across the street and into another alley. This one led to a small cross-section of lanes. Orien paused.
“What now?” Eligius asked.
Orien shrugged. They stood still for a moment. The feeling of dread only seemed to increase.
“We should keep moving- “
“What was that?” Miksa’s panicked voice whispered.
“What was what?”
“I saw something over there.” He pointed towards particularly dark cluster of shadows.
“That’s just what we need to hear,” Eligius commented.
“Let’s just keep going.” Orien sidestepped out of the alley and towards a wider lane to the right. The scuff of boots on stone told him the others were following.
“Seriously guys…something’s out there,” Miksa stammered.
“Can you make it any creepier? We’re sneaking through back alleys in the middle of the night. It’s pitch-black and we’re being hunted. I don’t need your paranoia making things worse,” Eligius snapped.
“No, I think he’s right. Do you feel that? I think we’re being watched.”
“For fuck’s sake…”
“Shh…listen…”
A slight breeze started up. Was that the rustle of cloth coming from somewhere in the shadows? But then something shifted. Something…or someone. A figure moved through the darkness seemingly from nowhere. It stepped towards them. Something sharp glinted in the dim light.
“Uh…fucking run?”
“Yeah…” Orien spun around and began sprinting the other way.
The others followed close behind. One, two, three sets of footfalls. Weren’t they being followed? But when Orien glanced over his shoulder he glimpsed the figure close behind them, completely silent. Panic rose in his chest and he lengthened his stride.
“Move!” Eligius shouted.
Balaza reached out and grabbed Orien’s arm, wrenching him to the side and into another side street. The whoosh of something flying past him made him flinch. He saw the blurred shape of their pursuer leap up and push off a wall, landing right beside Orien. His eyes widened but he was already running before he got a good look. The figure disappeared for a moment before reappearing on the roof beside the group. It jumped to the ground and Miksa, who was in front, fell backwards in his attempt to avoid them. Eligius pulled him onto his feet and they all fled in the opposite direction. Orien swore he heard the figure sigh. They kept running for what felt like hours until they reached a quiet nook somewhere in between the lit areas of the city and the darker parts.
The elves stood, panting. Orien tried to calm his thundering heart. He felt hot despite the cold night air but he shivered nonetheless. He checked on his companions. Eligius had moved away from the shadows and kept glancing back the way they had come. Miksa was bent over trying to catch his breath. Balaza had his knives out and seemed to be prepared for another attack.
“I…I think we’re in the clear,” Eligius said with only a hint of doubt.
“Think again, darling,” an unknown voice called from nearby.
Orien’s calming heart leapt in his throat and he whirled around towards the voice. The figure stepped towards them, hooded head tilted. It was then that Orien noticed sounds in the distance. Running feet, the clinking of armour, loud voices. Guards. His eyes shifted from the figure slowly approaching to the exit.
“Shit,” he muttered. He caught the flash of teeth underneath the hood as the figure smiled. Orien locked eyes with Eligius who nodded. The prince cocked his head and his friend shrugged in response. He glanced at the space behind their pursuer.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The stranger’s voice had a thick accent and had dropped to a threatening tone despite the singsong way he’d said it. Two swords appeared in his hands and he held them loosely at his sides. Orien narrowed his eyes but was met with another sharp-toothed grin.
The guards had gathered at the entrance of the alley and were yelling orders. With one more glance over his shoulder, Orien unsheathed his own blade and lunged at the hooded figure. In a flash, his sword was ripped out of his grasp and he found himself pinned against a hard chest with sharp metal held to his throat.
“Any resistance and your prince bleeds!” The attacker growled.
Ahmik helps Orien (unfinished)
It was dark; like pitch. It would have been impossible to see if not for Orien’s eltran eyes. The cell was small with an arched roof and stone walls. A wooden table was pushed to the side presenting an array of tools with nauseating shapes and points. The door in front of him was barred and locked. He could sense a weak magic field on it but it would have been pointless to even try to break it. The manacles clamped around his wrists bit into his skin and held his arms aloft. He shifted but couldn’t get comfortable splayed out across a stone wall like he was. The dull ache of bruises and lacerations didn’t help either. Orien wasn’t entirely sure what they were trying to achieve but beating him wasn’t going to get him to talk. He wasn’t an idiot. He had seen prisoners being tortured. The Serroran qelnas were either really bad at torture or they were going easy on him.
The resounding clank of metal pierced the silence and a warm light flooded the dungeon. Orien squinted against the sudden light. A heavy door creaked open from somewhere down the corridor. The eltra sighed and leant his head against the wall. Not again.
He couldn’t hear the person’s footsteps but when he lowered his head a figure had appeared behind the barred door of his cell. A familiar hooded figure with his dual swords poking up from his back and his eyes burning into Orien’s.
“You,” Orien snarled.
“Me,” said the figure, the grin evident in his tone.
“What are you doing here?”
“Are you really in a position to be asking me that?”
At Orien’s silence the figure unlocked the door and slipped inside, locking it behind him. He stepped closer until Orien could make out the lower half of his face. He was shorter than Orien had first assumed with brown skin and an irritating smirk that made the prince want to freeze it off.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” his captor said. He brought a hand to his chest and mockingly dipped his head. “They call me Agitta Fleccia. But you can call me Ahmik.”
Orien tensed and his sneer fell. Agitta Fleccia. The assassin. He could see them now. The maroon symbols that adorned his dark leather attire.
Agitta grinned, showing a row of sharp, carnivorous teeth. The accent made sense now. He was a dakren. “I see you know who I am. Good. Because I know who you are Orien Azykil, Prince of Yrna. Well…ex-prince.”
“Are you here to kill me?”
“No but your uncle did try to get a hold of me. I have other plans for you, however.”
A hint of relief squirmed its way in but Orien did his best to ignore it. He was in the presence of the most feared assassin in all of Meidas. You didn’t feel relief when he was around, only terror. The assassin had moved uncomfortably close. Orien tried to shuffle back only to be met with the same grey stone he was chained to. He didn’t notice the grin that had mocked him a moment ago was changing into a fearsome snarl until the long canines that framed it were bearing down on him.
“The qelnas here want me to torture you,” Agitta hissed, “They think I’ll be able to get information from you so they can go play soldiers with the Yrnans. They think I’ll play the part of their pet if they pay me enough.” He drew back an inch as a deep growl rumbled in his chest. “Well, unfortunately for them I can’t be controlled with money.” A dangerous smile appeared as Agitta brandished a bloodied knife. He dropped it at Orien’s feet with a loud clang.
Orien flinched at the noise and forced himself to meet the assassin’s eyes. They were scorching and he found it hard to breathe in the face of this ancient predator but he steeled himself and stood straighter.
“What. Do. You. Want.”
Something akin to surprise flickered across the dakren’s features and the grin returned. “I’m so glad you asked.”
The change in demeanour was jarring and Orien’s gaze flickered from the reddened blade before him to the dakren who moved towards the table.
“You see, I have my own problems in the wake of this…whatever in the Void this is. I know. It’s hard to believe.”
It wasn’t.
Agitta continued, “I hope you’re aware of the rampant slavery that the Yrnan Empire is bringing about. If my information is correct, dakren are the main target of this slavery. They make good pets apparently.” His hand glided over the tools and plucked one off the surface. It was a ghastly-looking twisted spike. Orien shrank back. Agitta threw it behind him with a sigh. “Yrna relies on slaves to grow. I’m sure you know this. What I want to know is how badly you want your throne back.” Agitta turned to Orien and tilted his head.
“What?”
“Do you want to go home? Do you want to stop running?” The assassin lifted his hand. The clink of keys sounded in the cell. “These keys and those locks have a pathetic little enchantment on them. It will alert your keepers when your cell is opened or when your manacles are unlocked. The guards and the servant who were scheduled to bring your food are dead. They don’t suspect anything. As soon as I leave this cell they’ll come running.”
“And what would you get out of helping me?”
Agitta watched him for a moment before turning back to the table. “I have connections. I can free you and your little eltran friends. I can take you to Naktruin where you can have an audience with the king. With his army you can take back Yrna.”
“What’s the catch, Agitta?” Orien spat.
“The catch…when you return to your rightful place as the king of Yrna you will free my people. You will destroy the chains binding us to your kind.” He picked up a rusty dagger. “Or your body can rot in here while your head is carted off to Leandros to join the rest of your family’s.” Agitta let the dagger drop to the ground. He slammed a hand down on the table and scraped the rest of the tools off the table. They clattered and tumbled onto the ground. The assassin strode to Orien who was caught between digesting the offer and wincing at the racket. He jammed the key into the locks of the manacles and they fell away. Agitta spun around and sauntered towards the door. “It’s your choice.”
Orien gaped at him. Was this really happening? It couldn’t be that simple. Why would an assassin want to end slavery anyway? He glanced down at the manacles lying useless around him then back up at the man by the open cell door who was now leaning casually against the wall and holding the keys out on one finger. What did he have to lose? Orien walked slowly forwards.
“Better hurry up, darling. They’re coming for you.” He tossed the keys to Orien. “And my name is Ahmik. Use it.” With that, he disappeared through the doorway.
Orien stepped out after him but looking down the corridor, he was already gone. There were other cell doors lining the walls speckled with lit torches. He rushed forward to the closest cell. Peering in, there was a shape huddled in the corner.
Rheta does an oopsie
Clattering and shouts were audible in the distance. Orien groaned and seemed to be torn between standing and sitting down.
“Haven’t bled out yet?” Ahmik asked with a grin.
He only received a grunt in response. Rheta shuffled up to the rock and peeked over. She tilted her head this way and that, her arvin hearing picking up every small sound.
“They’re coming. They know where we are,” she muttered. When she turned to face them, her face was stricken with fear. Ahmik felt a sinking feeling in his gut. They were fucked. He looked down at Orien, keeled over and bleeding heavily. Eligius was struggling to hold him upright. They weren’t going to make it.
Rheta stepped forward. Her hands were shaking. Ahmik cocked his head to one side.
“Orien needs…he needs to make it back. I-if you go…I can hold them back.” Her voice wavered but her fearful expression had changed into determination.
“No! You’re coming with us, you dumb bird,” Eligius snapped.
“I’ll stay behind. I have the most experience here. You guys go-“ Ahmik began but was interrupted.
“No. You’re too important. All of you. I’m just a blacksmith. If I…If I-“ Rheta couldn’t finish.
“Don’t be stupid! There’s no way we’re letting you die!” Eligius moved to step forwards but stopped when Orien began to slide down.
Ahmik hesitated. Orien was the key to this. To everything. He had to live. Ahmik’s heart clenched and he glanced at Rheta. She was a stubborn girl. She was staying behind.
“Go.” Ahmik said.
“What?”
“Go! Take Orien and go, you have to get him out of here.”
“And let Rheta sacrifice herself? Fuck off.”
“Do it,” Ahmik snarled, stepping closer, “protect your king.”
Eligius sneered back but he was too preoccupied with the dying prince in his arms. His expression changed, flickering between emotions too fast for Ahmik to recognise. Conflicted, he settled on. The dark-haired eltra met Ahmik’s eyes.
“Don’t die.” His gaze flickered to Rheta who was already readying her sword. “Neither of you.” With that, he shifted Orien so he was standing on his feet and began to make his way down the slope.
Ahmik turned back to the young arvin preparing to meet her fate. She rubbed at an eye and Ahmik caught the salty tang of tears. He strode up to her and dragged her into the clearing. She glared up at him and opened her mouth to speak.
“You really think I’d let you fight them on you own?”
“I can hold my own!”
“I know. That’s why I’m fighting by your side.”
The sounds of their pursuers became louder and Ahmik could see them appearing around the boulders. Spotting them, they pointed and shouted. Rheta squared herself. Ahmik drew his swords. His breathing sounded loud. The pit in his stomach remained. There were so many of them. Not even he could ever imagine winning this fight. Rheta would have been dead in moments. He shook away his thoughts and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. The leather of the grips was soft beneath his hands. His ears flicked back and forth. His teeth clenched together. And then his swords were meeting steel.
The dakren’s muscles responded to the movements effortlessly. He twisted and spun. His blades flashed out in concentrated arcs and sharp jabs. One body. Two bodies. He’d already lost count. One strike he ducked out of the way. Another he parried. The scent of blood rose to his nostrils and he growled.
Then a shout snapped his attention to the side. Rheta surrounded by soldiers. Ahmik leapt towards her but there were too many blocking his path. He watched as two attacks landed, easily gliding past her ornamental armour. Rheta screamed and lashed out wildly. He could see the arvin blood-rage in her eyes. Within two steps he faded into the Void and dragged his way around the soldiers. A sword darted down towards the spine of one of Rheta’s assailants. Two blades pierced his body as both friends skewered the eltra. Ahmik gave Rheta a wink and spun to dispatch the others.
A jolt of hope sparked in his chest. They weren’t losing. That was better than dying. And then his ears twitched. Marching feet. Clanking armour. The hope fizzled out. More soldiers appeared over the hill.
“Rheta?” Ahmik glanced around but didn’t see her. “Rheta!”
The clashing of steel drew his gaze up. She was a blacksmith. No formal warrior training. No control. Rheta threw herself into the fray, eyes now red, blonde feathers covered in blood. Ahmik’s heart seized in his chest. A spear. A sword. A mace. All connected. Rheta flung her wings out and leapt into the sky. A spear arced towards her. Ahmik threw out his hand and reached for his magic. The head of the spear buried itself into her chest.
“No…” Ahmik was already running. But then there were more soldiers. His eyes were locked onto little Rheta’s body. Falling. Colliding with the earth. He scrambled back. There was no hope.
Ahmik closed his eyes for a split second and spun around. He began running in the opposite direction, teleporting to gain distance. The image was burned into his mind. No hope. There was none.
Ahmik had been hiding for a while. The soldiers had been led astray, hunting for them in the wrong place. His back was against the cool stone, his heart hammering. Behind him were bodies but there was one he wished wasn’t there. Steeling himself, Ahmik made his way back into the clearing. There she was, splayed across the ground. Her brown and blonde hair was white aside from a speckling of blood. The assassin kneeled beside her. He brushed a hand over his cheeks but found that his eyes were dry. They stared into Rheta’s stark white ones, once a lively green. He reached over and closed them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”