Novella #2 - Untitled
Posted: Tue Jul 12, 2011 1:37 am
Hi guys! So I seem to have a bit of a writing bug, so here's short story number two, in which we learn how Alessira becomes part of the Shattersongs. I made the place of the battle ambiguous, as to let your own imaginations run wild. The inspiration for this seems to be a thunderstorm that just rolled through. Enjoy!
-A.
The sky streaked with lighting and thunder rattled the earth beneath the heavens. The smell of rain hung in the harsh wind that blew towards the small outpost. Blood was splattered everywhere on the field of the fallen comrades of both the Alliance and Horde, cold to the elements and eyes glazed over with horror. Swords clashed and hissed, arrows whistled though the air, and the skies finally opened to release a downpour of hard raindrops, coming fast and furious. Smog smothered those standing, the heat exhausting the fighters, even with the pleasant respite of the rain.
A lithe figure dashed though the outskirts of the battle in the brush that lined the contested zone. Silently, she settled herself, camouflaged and ready to strike. Bow in hand, she lifted her device, took aim, and shot. Bull’s-eye, right in the center of the head. She smirked, one down, nineteen thousand nine hundred ninety nine to go. Her eagle swooped down onto a nearby branch, shrieking a cry of assurance. She nodded, and dug around in her pocket, finding a bit of meat, and tossed it to her bird, which gnawed hungrily at it. Poor thing, she was sure her pet was starving, but the war had brought famine, it always does, and rations had to be spared.
She eyed another target. Ready. Aim. Fire.
Perfect.
Her eagle took off again, silently and swiftly, up to the sky to watch from above. A low growl came from beside her, and her feline companion nudged at her mistress, begging and pleading to go home. “I know,” she whispered to her cat, who was now nuzzling her neck, “I want to go home too, but this is far from over.” The cat’s expression read of sadness, and retreated back to her mistress’ side. Her cat was living up to its name. “I know you’re sick and tired of this pointless war, we all are.” The elf glanced back, looking at her Fox, her Raptor, her Dragonhawk. She did not even bear to think of the ones whom she left in her stables back in Silvermoon City. “But we have to persevere, for both sides, for ourselves.”
She turned back to the battle at hand, in which the rain had turned the ground to mud. They were slipping and sliding, losing their footing and costing them the precious milliseconds of respond and reaction. She rapidly gathered up her weapon and sped towards another vantage point, higher on the hill they were on. Crouching, she readied her weapon, pushing back a long strand of deep auburn hair out of her face before pulling on her bowstring to take aim, but a crackle in the bush made her turn at the last second and aimed behind her.
Straight into the face of a little human girl, no more than ten or eleven. The Elf’s breath caught in her throat. She had done a lot of things during this war, but to kill a child? Incomprehensible. Even she knew that was wrong. The girl looked frightened, too scared to cry, and too emotionally beaten to let it all out. She lowered her bow and arrow, to signify that she meant no harm to the child in front of her. The girl did not look convinced. Great, she doesn’t trust me. These dogs! The Elf laid her weapon on the ground, away from her. That seemed to ease the poor child’s nerves. She shifted her body slowly, as to let the unfortunate girl comprehend that she was sitting. Once she had settled into a sitting position, she smiled. That helped ease the child’s posture, and she quickly sat down, too. Good, we’re getting an understanding for each other.
What language did she speak? Humans spoke…Common. Ah, shit. She hadn’t had to speak that in weeks. She had started to lose the language. Letting out an exasperated sigh, which in turn made the child stiffen up again, she raised her hands up in an apologetic manner. Slowly, she drew in a breath and said, “Hi.” A pause. “What’s your name?” No reply. “My name’s Aritria, what’s yours?”
The girl stared at the Elf, wide eyed, and then glanced over ever so quickly at her cat, who was low to the ground in uncertainty, and looked back. They sat in silence for a bit, the girl glancing at the cat, back to the Elf, to the cat again. Suddenly, it clicked. She wanted to pet her cat. “You want to pet my cat, right?” A nod. Good, she’s starting to feel comfortable. “Come here, come and pet him.”
The feline flared his blue spectral essence and snarled at Aritria. “Don’t you dare start with me, Misery,” she hissed in Thalassian. Misery grumbled and calmed down, his intense blue subsiding into a hazy azure glow. The girl inched slowly towards him, and, while he loathed the attention at first, quickly shifted to be content at the small hand stroking his fur.
Okay, let’s try this again. “This is Misery, a Spirit Leopard,” Aritria said, “and my name’s Aritria. The Fox is Fidelia, the Raptor Sapphira, and the Dragonhawk Kaltrina.” The eagle swooped down from his high perch to land on the ground, shaking itself of the rain that had seem to lighten to a steady pour, a moderate amount catching on the branches of the trees above, keeping them as dry as they can be. “That,” she pointed to the eagle, “is Flightsong, a Bald Eagle. What’s your name?”
The girl stopped petting Misery, much to his discontent, and stared at the Huntress. Meekly, she let out, “Alessira. Alessira Stevenson. From Northshire.” Northshire? That’s such a long way from here!
“That’s such a long trip to make by yourself! Why on earth would you want to be here? It’s not safe.” It was then Alessira’s eyes swelled with tears, and started to weep. Aritria feared the worst. Were her parents dead? Was she on the caravan? “Were, were you on a caravan?” Alessira nodded, crying harder. Oh dear. She grabbed her bag and quickly inked a note, then tied it to Flightsong’s leg, “Go, my love. Send word to the Farstrider outpost. Wait there. I’ll be there shortly,” she whispered in her native tongue. Flightsong squawked, stretched her wings, and flew off East to the outpost. It wasn’t far from here.
Aritria gathered her supplies and weapon once more, shoving them into her bag. “Come, Alessira,” she said, standing to her full height, her braid wet from the rain, hanging limply at her back. She stretched out an arm to the girl, “Take my hand.” The girl stood there, scared and exhausted. She had to come with her; she would be safe at the outpost. But what should she do if she doesn’t want to move? A light bulb moment. “Hey,” she said in a light tone, the girl finally looking up to her, “You want to ride on Misery?” Misery lifted his head quizzically. “I don’t think he’ll mind.” Alessira’s hazel eyes lit up, and nodded madly. Misery shot his mistress a look.
Hoisting Alessira onto his back, she glared at him and hissed, “Behave. It’s the only way she’ll get there.” Grumbling, Misery reluctantly let the weight of the girl on his bad, eyes flaring wildly. Kneeling down, Aritria looked into his glowing eyes and said, “I’ll treat you to as much meat as you want when we get to the outpost, okay?” That seemed to quell his hate of the situation as the Huntress casted Camouflage over them and darted into the night.
They arrived two hours later at the outpost, wet, miserable, and glad to be alive. Along the way they had some close calls, and Aritria had to shoot and kill some enemies. Alessira seemed to be numb to the violence around her, slowly, methodically stroking Misery. It was meditative, almost, and Aritria’s heart broke. She had been warned that a caravan full of transients was bombed, killing all in the cart. Well, almost. The girl had been extremely lucky to survive such an attack. It must have been fate, or whatever you wanted to call such belief.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Aritria of Windrunner Village, along with Alessira Stevenson of Northshire. I sent a note to you earlier.” A pause as the gate
keeper conferred with his colleague. She saw them nod.
“You may enter, Aritria of Windrunner Village, along with your companion.” She exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware of holding.
The outpost was small and simple, but warm from a fire and welcoming to the two humanoids and the stable of pets that accompanied them. Aritria wrung out her long hair, the rain becoming a torrent as the hours on the field passed. A shriek of delight from Flightsong greeted her as she entered the common room. Her bird swooped into her mistress, cooing a sigh of relief in her arms. “It’s good to see you too, my friend. But you’re so wet! Go, to the fire,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “That includes all of you, too. Get warm and get dry!”
“Aritria? Is dat you, mon?”
-A.
The sky streaked with lighting and thunder rattled the earth beneath the heavens. The smell of rain hung in the harsh wind that blew towards the small outpost. Blood was splattered everywhere on the field of the fallen comrades of both the Alliance and Horde, cold to the elements and eyes glazed over with horror. Swords clashed and hissed, arrows whistled though the air, and the skies finally opened to release a downpour of hard raindrops, coming fast and furious. Smog smothered those standing, the heat exhausting the fighters, even with the pleasant respite of the rain.
A lithe figure dashed though the outskirts of the battle in the brush that lined the contested zone. Silently, she settled herself, camouflaged and ready to strike. Bow in hand, she lifted her device, took aim, and shot. Bull’s-eye, right in the center of the head. She smirked, one down, nineteen thousand nine hundred ninety nine to go. Her eagle swooped down onto a nearby branch, shrieking a cry of assurance. She nodded, and dug around in her pocket, finding a bit of meat, and tossed it to her bird, which gnawed hungrily at it. Poor thing, she was sure her pet was starving, but the war had brought famine, it always does, and rations had to be spared.
She eyed another target. Ready. Aim. Fire.
Perfect.
Her eagle took off again, silently and swiftly, up to the sky to watch from above. A low growl came from beside her, and her feline companion nudged at her mistress, begging and pleading to go home. “I know,” she whispered to her cat, who was now nuzzling her neck, “I want to go home too, but this is far from over.” The cat’s expression read of sadness, and retreated back to her mistress’ side. Her cat was living up to its name. “I know you’re sick and tired of this pointless war, we all are.” The elf glanced back, looking at her Fox, her Raptor, her Dragonhawk. She did not even bear to think of the ones whom she left in her stables back in Silvermoon City. “But we have to persevere, for both sides, for ourselves.”
She turned back to the battle at hand, in which the rain had turned the ground to mud. They were slipping and sliding, losing their footing and costing them the precious milliseconds of respond and reaction. She rapidly gathered up her weapon and sped towards another vantage point, higher on the hill they were on. Crouching, she readied her weapon, pushing back a long strand of deep auburn hair out of her face before pulling on her bowstring to take aim, but a crackle in the bush made her turn at the last second and aimed behind her.
Straight into the face of a little human girl, no more than ten or eleven. The Elf’s breath caught in her throat. She had done a lot of things during this war, but to kill a child? Incomprehensible. Even she knew that was wrong. The girl looked frightened, too scared to cry, and too emotionally beaten to let it all out. She lowered her bow and arrow, to signify that she meant no harm to the child in front of her. The girl did not look convinced. Great, she doesn’t trust me. These dogs! The Elf laid her weapon on the ground, away from her. That seemed to ease the poor child’s nerves. She shifted her body slowly, as to let the unfortunate girl comprehend that she was sitting. Once she had settled into a sitting position, she smiled. That helped ease the child’s posture, and she quickly sat down, too. Good, we’re getting an understanding for each other.
What language did she speak? Humans spoke…Common. Ah, shit. She hadn’t had to speak that in weeks. She had started to lose the language. Letting out an exasperated sigh, which in turn made the child stiffen up again, she raised her hands up in an apologetic manner. Slowly, she drew in a breath and said, “Hi.” A pause. “What’s your name?” No reply. “My name’s Aritria, what’s yours?”
The girl stared at the Elf, wide eyed, and then glanced over ever so quickly at her cat, who was low to the ground in uncertainty, and looked back. They sat in silence for a bit, the girl glancing at the cat, back to the Elf, to the cat again. Suddenly, it clicked. She wanted to pet her cat. “You want to pet my cat, right?” A nod. Good, she’s starting to feel comfortable. “Come here, come and pet him.”
The feline flared his blue spectral essence and snarled at Aritria. “Don’t you dare start with me, Misery,” she hissed in Thalassian. Misery grumbled and calmed down, his intense blue subsiding into a hazy azure glow. The girl inched slowly towards him, and, while he loathed the attention at first, quickly shifted to be content at the small hand stroking his fur.
Okay, let’s try this again. “This is Misery, a Spirit Leopard,” Aritria said, “and my name’s Aritria. The Fox is Fidelia, the Raptor Sapphira, and the Dragonhawk Kaltrina.” The eagle swooped down from his high perch to land on the ground, shaking itself of the rain that had seem to lighten to a steady pour, a moderate amount catching on the branches of the trees above, keeping them as dry as they can be. “That,” she pointed to the eagle, “is Flightsong, a Bald Eagle. What’s your name?”
The girl stopped petting Misery, much to his discontent, and stared at the Huntress. Meekly, she let out, “Alessira. Alessira Stevenson. From Northshire.” Northshire? That’s such a long way from here!
“That’s such a long trip to make by yourself! Why on earth would you want to be here? It’s not safe.” It was then Alessira’s eyes swelled with tears, and started to weep. Aritria feared the worst. Were her parents dead? Was she on the caravan? “Were, were you on a caravan?” Alessira nodded, crying harder. Oh dear. She grabbed her bag and quickly inked a note, then tied it to Flightsong’s leg, “Go, my love. Send word to the Farstrider outpost. Wait there. I’ll be there shortly,” she whispered in her native tongue. Flightsong squawked, stretched her wings, and flew off East to the outpost. It wasn’t far from here.
Aritria gathered her supplies and weapon once more, shoving them into her bag. “Come, Alessira,” she said, standing to her full height, her braid wet from the rain, hanging limply at her back. She stretched out an arm to the girl, “Take my hand.” The girl stood there, scared and exhausted. She had to come with her; she would be safe at the outpost. But what should she do if she doesn’t want to move? A light bulb moment. “Hey,” she said in a light tone, the girl finally looking up to her, “You want to ride on Misery?” Misery lifted his head quizzically. “I don’t think he’ll mind.” Alessira’s hazel eyes lit up, and nodded madly. Misery shot his mistress a look.
Hoisting Alessira onto his back, she glared at him and hissed, “Behave. It’s the only way she’ll get there.” Grumbling, Misery reluctantly let the weight of the girl on his bad, eyes flaring wildly. Kneeling down, Aritria looked into his glowing eyes and said, “I’ll treat you to as much meat as you want when we get to the outpost, okay?” That seemed to quell his hate of the situation as the Huntress casted Camouflage over them and darted into the night.
They arrived two hours later at the outpost, wet, miserable, and glad to be alive. Along the way they had some close calls, and Aritria had to shoot and kill some enemies. Alessira seemed to be numb to the violence around her, slowly, methodically stroking Misery. It was meditative, almost, and Aritria’s heart broke. She had been warned that a caravan full of transients was bombed, killing all in the cart. Well, almost. The girl had been extremely lucky to survive such an attack. It must have been fate, or whatever you wanted to call such belief.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Aritria of Windrunner Village, along with Alessira Stevenson of Northshire. I sent a note to you earlier.” A pause as the gate
keeper conferred with his colleague. She saw them nod.
“You may enter, Aritria of Windrunner Village, along with your companion.” She exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware of holding.
The outpost was small and simple, but warm from a fire and welcoming to the two humanoids and the stable of pets that accompanied them. Aritria wrung out her long hair, the rain becoming a torrent as the hours on the field passed. A shriek of delight from Flightsong greeted her as she entered the common room. Her bird swooped into her mistress, cooing a sigh of relief in her arms. “It’s good to see you too, my friend. But you’re so wet! Go, to the fire,” she said, looking over her shoulder, “That includes all of you, too. Get warm and get dry!”
“Aritria? Is dat you, mon?”
