Want to post a few pages of Hang here just to show i am working and not just talkin shit.
Hang the Hunter.
The Great Woods south of Middlewind
is only the Great Forest to some. A constant, it is more a space in the cosmos that
exists in some form on all worlds, at all times. It is a true enigma with
porous borders leaking from one world to another if one can find the ways. It
is a New Orleans apartment complex in one existence, its denizen’s poor and
invisible, both land and people struggling to remain afloat. In another it is a series of caves beneath a
planet spanning ocean, occupied by beings called people only in the sense they
have formed a community and are self-aware. Whatever its shape, occupants, or
size, its reason for being persists. It is a life sustaining space. Hang, the grief driven Dwarf’s story
takes place in the true Great Forest. His is a life that made nary a ripple in this endless entity’s stretch
across multiple universes.He is no less important for that. He exsisted, and on some micro cosmic
scale that fact adds to the whole. It is now the long
hot summer of Brazen...
The
men continued arriving. Ghostwand, made the count at twenty now, all scowling at
him, their shadows dancing in the flickering torch light. There was the
occasional sword among the men, but the prevailing weapons were hoes and
scythes. The damp of evening dew combined with the smell of burning pine and
roasting flesh left a taint in the air. He was out of the forest proper now, in
a small clearing. Gone were the magnificent greens of the trees, the explosive
colors of the flora. The clearing was draped in nightfall and Ghostwand was on
the horns of dilemma.
It had been
such a lovely day, crisp and cool, the air filled with bird song. As a Dark Elf
it could not be helped that his thoughts turned to love. It is the curse of all
Elven folk, Spring. The season of renewal demanded celebration .
“I
only danced with her,” Ghostwand said to the crowd of men. He felt no need to
mention the infatuation
spell. An old one made his way forward. He appeared to be some type
of leader. He looked at the charred, smoking bodies at Ghostwand’s feet. Unfortunate
that, he thought, they were probably friends and neighbors.
“And
these men, they were a threat to one such as you? No, save your words. No doubt
they will be more Elven lies.” He leaned on a spade. “You come into our lands
unwanted…”
“Unwanted?”
Ghostwand, asked. “I have no need for an invitation. Your King himself has decreed these forests open to any.”
“Aye,
those be the King’s words alright,” the old man said, spitting. But the King doesn’t
live here does he? High in his lofty
perch he knows little of Elven deceptions down here, of say, infatuation
spells. He speaks of peace from a palace we but dream of, whilst out here...” Murmured
agreement drifted forward from the farmers in back. “I was at Carver Rock,” the
old one continued. “I saw human dead laid out head to foot in circles that stretched
miles, Elven peace.”
Ghostwand
feigned a sigh. “War, tis ever the feeding ground for horror and atrocities, is
it not? It is impossible for the common man, or Elf to win. Still, now is a
time of peace for our people.”
The
old man’s laugh lacked humor. “The King allows you mistakes of nature access to
our lands. That will never include our women, not while I draw breath.”
Well,
they are farmers, Ghostwand thought. The complexity of tribal politics is
probably lost on them. Soldiers would be better. They tend to be professional, no
matter the race. They would understand a dance in the woods with a beautiful
girl in celebration of the coming spring. He held up his arms. The sleeves of
his blue silk robe fell away.
Hang, stared unseeing round the
small campfire. Its light flickered across his black skin occasionally
highlighting the tears. Their presence was as unwelcome as the memory that
brought them forth. His beloved Summer, had been gone one hundred years this
night. That fact gripped hard his heart. He still saw her, grey skinned, blue
black hair shining in the moonlight, still thought, if he tried hard, he could taste
her lips. “Come Summer. This silence is no good for me. Why do you not speak?”
he asked the night. There was no response. Oh well. He’d been alone, too long
he realized. Soon he’d head for Port in a Storm. Some ale was in order,
something to ease this melancholy. A growl, not too distant, broke his train of
thought. “Some great woodsman,” he muttered, grabbing his rifle. “Must be off
my gourd, slipping like that.”
Boris stood at the edge of the path
pawing the ground. His growl continued as he looked north. Its low rumble disturbed
the otherwise quiet clearing. Hang squinted in the darkness but knew the
gesture useless. The overhead canopy was too dense allowing but a little
moonlight through. “I hear it too old friend,” he said after a moment. “Voices
and baying hounds, sounds like a hunting party.” He stroked the bear’s head. “They’ve
cornered something.” The bear continued
his moaning. “Alright,” Hang said. “Let’s have a look.”
The
deflection spell sprang to life. Physical blows, along with the press from the
farmers were pushed back. Arcane bolts arced like blue lightening from his fingers.
They sliced the old soldier in two, continuing outward, crackling in the dark. “Poracque
mi boem,” he chanted, concentrating. “My mind is the weapon.” Sweat dripped
from him as he pushed his inner sources to their limits.
Twenty
or so humans were down in that clearing, by his estimate, all on top of each
other trying to get to the young dark Elf.
He looked young anyway. It can be hard to tell with the almost immortal.
The Elf shimmered blue in the moonlight, magic so strong Hang’s skin crawled.
Others were arriving. These more organized. They’d begun flanking the mage.
Hang gathered up his rifle backing away from the ridge. Boris growled. “It’s
none of our business,” he answered, starting back down the hill. “The kid was
probably up to no good.” Boris bumped him hard in the back. “No, and that’s
final. Don’t know why you care so much about a stray Dark Elf anyway.” He was
at the bottom of the hill before realizing Boris was gone.
“Close
on him you fools!” said one of the new arrivals, “Clearly he is weakening! A
concentrated attack now will...”
Hang’s
bullet punched through his side. Four
more rounds followed, as quickly as he could load, into the massed men. He felt
no sorrow as they grabbed at their wounds. He’d never much liked humans. Too
many of them, and they were far too of a mind they owned the world. Boris, apparently
held a similar opinion as he roamed amongst the others, claws tearing flesh
wherever they landed. Hang shifted, concentrating on targets nearer the kid. Rifle
boomed and humans dropped broken, and Hang smiled. For the moment he was free.
No dark memories of his beloved Summer, just her spirit beside him like the old
days, guiding his hand, adjusted his aim. Their thirst for Dark Elven blood
soured for now, the humans fell back.
He
found the Mage on his knees, slick with sweat. The brilliant glow was a mere
flicker now. Hang surmised it was a power shield. The mage readied another
spell at his approach.
“Let it rest kid,” he, grunted,
digging around in his bag for some water. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.” Boris roared, his eyes locked on the Dark Elf.
“See what I mean? And this was his idea.” The magician made a show of considering
the offer for a moment before giving Hang a nod and collapsing. Satisfied, Boris
circled the clearing in search of more threats. He ended up at his master’s feet eying the
Magician coldly.
The mage gestured and a small fire appeared
on the ground. “Impressive,” Hang said. “I thought you were all out of juice
but we’re not staying here. The humans will be back, and in greater numbers.”
