Hello! NIL here, giving you the next chapter! It's been about a week or so since I started this series, and I have to say, I'm really thankful to all the support I've been getting.
On a side note, I just wish you guys would comment and like more! Please! It helps A LOT when you comment or like my story. Even criticism is appreciated! Also on another side note... After this chapter, there will be a short break in writing, as I have to prepare playing the guitar for a Christmas event. (Also because procrastination has infected me greatly :3)
HOWEVER! After this chapter, I will be posting the character bios so far, with illustrations!!! ^^ So you guys can look forward to that :3
Anyways, without any further nonsense that I'm sure not many people will read anyway, (lol) here is chapter 7!
Chapter Seven: The Catalyst
The headsman was waiting for them, wearing the usual black mask of death. Ralon was dragged towards the block, with hands tied to his back. His face was pale as snow, and his eyes shook with fear. He did not fear death, but instead he feared dying branded as a traitor. The two guards had their iron grip locked onto Ralon’s arms, and despite all their efforts to restrain Ralon, He managed to wrestle his body out to get a final glimspe of his brother. Talon was standing next to the steward, with equal amounts of confusion in his face. In the crowd, all the faces he knew, all the faces that were his friends and his loved ones, had changed to demonic faces of both rage and sadness.
“Kill the traitor!”
Shouted Bombil the barman.
“Why did you do this!?”
Shouted the girl he was flirting with last night.
Ralon remained silent. He could see no way out of this. He had considered calling Basara, but the stable was too far away, and he knew even an orc cannot take out this many guards.
In the distance, a black-hooded figure with pale white skin joined the angry crowd.
Ralon was now facing the headsman directly, and he stood there, half frozen in fear and half with misery. He hadn’t realized his life could end so quickly, and in such an instant. Steward Jothar was now walking up to the platform, facing the crowd with justice in his eyes.
“Ralon Hawksbane.”
He started.
“You are hereby sentanced to death due to treason and murder of your own father, Jarl Fordolf Hawksbane of Sunhold. Do you have any last words?”
The black hooded figure was then joined by two dark elves, who wore the same hoods. In the crowd’s rage-filled atmosphere, they remained hidden from sight. The guards’ eyes were locked onto the execution platform, and they were too focused to notice the suspicious figures who had joined the crowd.
Ralon opened his trembling lips, and looked and scanned the crowd with desperate eyes, looking for a miracle, before he was interrupted by another villager’s insult.
“He doesn’t deserve to speak! You call yourself a Nord!? What would your ancestors think of you!?”
“You’ll never make it into Sovngarde!”
Ralon closed his lips, and turned to the steward, whispering a small “no.”
The hooded figure was very close to the execution platform now, and it was then some of the guards began suspecting him. His skin was pale as the snow, and his eyes had an eerie glow to them. Some of the guards even tensed slightly, hand at their sword hilts, in case of trouble.
Now Ralon was being forced down onto the stone block, he rested his head onto the hard, bloody material. It had never been washed, and the stench of death was strong within the stone.
It was then the hooded figure shouted. He shouted loud, like the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. The ancient words burst from his mouth as a shockwave of old magic, and everyone froze as they saw this stranger perform a shout. The guards however, had been expecting something like this. With great speed, they drew their swords as they charged to the hooded figure. The ringing of metal echoed in the air, like the cry of a bird of death.
Ralon was just as confused as the crowds. That was indeed a shout, but he was no Greybeard. How could he have performed such a task? Was he like Jarl Ulfric? One of the chosen that had learnt the ways of the voice?
Then it happened. The platform began to shake steadily. Bricks began to tear away from the ground, and from underneath, bones, as big as the longhouse’s wooden beams began to erupt from the shattered earth. A giant skull rose from the dirt, and with a fiery glow, flesh started forming on it. The villagers watched in both horror and curiosity. They could not believe, or perhaps they did not want to believe that such an action was taking place right in front of their eyes.
The dragon’s body was now free from the earth, and nearly all of its bones were now covered in shining black scales. It’s yellow, piercing eyes glared at the villagers, and instantly the villagers felt fear striking their hearts.
The hooded figure, faced by the guards instantly turned invisible, and escaped the crowd with two of his accomplices. The guards, deciding it is useless to chase the stranger, turned to face the dragon.
It was a magnificent creature, full black scales with yellow, piercing eyes. It was big, bigger than anything they had ever seen before, even bigger than mammoths. The jaws were big enough to even fit a cow into it, and they were menacing, even more than a sabre cat’s. When the dragon was fully ressurected, it spoke in a loud, dominating voice.
“I am Brombahdok. For centuries I have been trapped under the soil of this village of joor, with my powers being sapped away by mortal mages. Now all shall bow before my wrath!”
The guards, though infected by fear, began to charge at the dragon with their shields raised high, and swords raised even higher.
In response to this, the dragon merely opened it’s jaws and shouted. The volume was deafening, compared to the stranger that had shouted earlier.
“Fus Ro Dah!”
In an instant, men were blasted through the air like small leaves swaying in a strong wind in autumn. Some crashed into the wooden buildings, with the impact directed into their bones, killing them instantly.
The dragon then spread its wings, similar to a bat’s but greater and more beautiful by a thousandfold, and ascended above ground. It began laying siege to the village with a breath of fire and force. Soldiers died instantly, and men and women alike were being burnt to ashes. The village, to the dragon was nothing more than a log of firewood inside a raging fireplace.
Ralon, with his hands still tied was yet again frozen in horror. How could this happen? How did this happen? Will he die now, by a dragon? A myth?
In the far distance, from the corner of his eye, he could see an orc kicking a wooden post that had binded the chains that had held him. Basara kicked and headbutted and punched at the sturdy, thick pole in the barn, and began breaking the strong oak. His master was in trouble, and it was his duty to save him. With several near-death encounters of dodging the flames of the dragon that seared the buildings and also evading the flaming logs that came down as the barn was destroyed, he succeeded in breaking a hunk of the pole that had tied him to the post. Freeing the chain’s grip on the pole, he rushed to his master, still in chains, with his two feet remaining chained to a heavy metal ball. His face showed no signs of panic however upon the sight of a dragon. Instead, his eyes reflected the looks of a madman, with adrenaline rushing into his body, his warrior spirit, his cry for blood and challenges taking over him.
Talon, grasping the situation with somewhat calmness, escorted the steward to a horse and lead the guards into battle, attempting to slay the dragon. For once in his life, he had felt the fear of death. So many people had died in an instant, and he was no exception to the fact that death can come quickly and mercilessly. Waving his great steel sword in the air, he began to strike at the dragon’s scales as it landed close by.
The Thalmor soldiers and Vorador were frozen by this sight. In all their years of expert training as warriors, nothing had prepared them for a harbinger of death. However, unlike the other soldiers who felt fear, Vorador’s eyes gleamed with great interest as he gazed at the dragon’s power.
‘If I could harness this power…’ He thought greedily.
“Vorador sir! We must evacuate this town immediately!” Shouted an elf in fear.
Waking from his ambitious thoughts, he nodded in agreement and jumped on his horse and rode out of the burning village.
From the distance, the hooded figure smiled, revealing a set of fangs that were sharp and long as a wolf’s canines.
The catalyst had been set in motion. Now it was time to observe.
END OF CHAPTER 7
Comments
That said, there are a few things I would comment on:
Be sure to note the differences between definite and indefinite ... more
probably because I see my own character "Ruby" in him.
btw, I have written some more chapters as well, hope you can catch up while you take a break from writing
Now i'm going back and read the previous chapters! Good Work!