Abecedar:
Thought I’d get around to doing this stuff.
This is my entry to Scribes No 3 followed by the completed full-length version
Subject Matter: Visions of Doom (End of Times)
Land’s End (796 word count)
A Lord Sorcerer looked out at the devastation now completely surrounding them. The flat topped mountain that he stood upon afforded him a grand view of it. This relatively small island of stability they were on had so far remained whole, amidst the destruction raging around them. He could see his ziggurat in the near distance below him on its plateau, standing about halfway to the edge of the maelstrom. He prayed to Hashut that his strength and that of his allies would be enough to maintain what they had so far been able to preserve.
He watched coldly, as in the far distance a smaller piece of land gradually succumbed to the raging tortured earth. He could see the magic being wielded by those there but the efforts lacked sufficient co-ordination and he knew that they were doomed. The figures on it were bursting into flames or simply disappearing one by one into the roiling mix of lava and magic, until only those with the greatest protection remained. He watched the last of the figures vanish in a massive detonation, so strong that he could hear it even at this distance. Strength that would have served them all better here but was now lost. He remembered the attempts at an alliance with that one and how they had failed. For them to succeed and ensure their survival, all of them had agreed to be equals. That it would only last until they had survived was the unspoken agreement. But that one had stubbornly demanded their sworn allegiance. He did not get it and had left them in his arrogance.
Feeling the call from one of his fellow lords, he knew it was time for him to re-join the square of power. Retracing his steps, he moved through the outer layers of Daemonsmiths, to take his place again. Any Dawi-Zharr with a scrap of ability was linked to them so as to lend whatever strength they had. Gathering his will, he mentally reached out and grabbed hold of the streams of power that flowed around them. Finding his balance among them he lent his strength to the fellow lords. Across from him another of the lords slowly moved out of the square, having released himself for his turn to rest. Off to one side a Daemonsmith collapsed and was quickly dragged to the rear by an attendant warrior. He would recover and return or he would not. Nearby a line of warriors continued to carry chunks of the crashed moon, Moorsleib, into the centre of the gathered sorcerers, to replenish what was constantly being consumed by their magic. No slaves or hobgoblins were left here readily available to do it now, having all been destroyed by the tainted rock during this ordeal.
Slowly the Lord Sorcerer felt the load lessen after what felt like days of unrelenting effort. Looking out at the world he saw that what he�?Td thought was true, days had indeed passed, and from the feel of the world around him, he knew that there would now be more days to come, for them at least. He looked closer at who was around him and saw that many had fallen, fully three quarters of the Daemonsmiths lay where they�?Td fallen, dead or alive he knew not, and the rest were mostly on their knees with fatigue. Thinking directions at his cohorts they began undoing the bonds of power they�?Td had tied to the land and fashioned them into a cage around the remaining warpstone. This done he signalled them and they all dropped out of the last vestiges of the square’s union. As they did so he mentally gauged their remaining strength by how well they maintained their control as they left. Focussing his attention on his two rivals he also took note of the two who did not move. They�?Td given everything as had at least one of the two others still standing. That one was immobile. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen to be still alive and as he watched him the spark inside faded into stone. That left two standing, so in anticipation he looked intently at the other surviving lord. He was attempting to raise his arms but failed for they had succumbed to the sorcerer’s curse. His chest barely heaved as it struggled to draw in breath against the constriction of granite. He bowed his head expecting death and was surprised when the victor signalled at some Daemonsmiths to assist him. The last lord raised his own arms in triumph, a cloud of stone flakes and dust showered down. With leaden steps he trod forward and surveyed the clans that were now his and acknowledged the obeisances of all those around him.
Full Length “Lands End” Tale ( 1062 word count)
A Lord Sorcerer looked out at the devastated lands now completely surrounding them. The flat topped mountain that he stood on afforded him a grand view of it. This relatively small island of stability they were on had so far remained whole, amidst the destruction raging around them. He could see his ziggurat in the near distance below him on its plateau, standing about half way to the edge of the maelstrom. He prayed to Hashut that his strength and that of his allies would be enough to maintain what they had so far been able to preserve.
He watched coldly, as in the far distance a smaller piece of land gradually succumbed to the raging tortured earth. He could see the magic being wielded by those there but the efforts lacked sufficient co-ordination and he knew that they were doomed. The figures on it were bursting into flames or simply disappearing one by one into the roiling mix of lava and magic as the land broke apart, until only those with the greatest protection remained. Interestingly it seemed that they burned with different colours. Maybe that was related to whichever art the individual was strongest in. Part of his mind filed that away for future investigation. If there was a future that is. He watched the last of the figures vanish in a massive detonation, so strong that he could hear it even at this distance. Indicating the expenditure of a massive amount of power and strength. Strength that would have served them all better here but was now lost along with the lives of that entire clan. He remembered the last ditch attempts at an alliance with that one and how they had failed. Their outlying clans had banded together to fend of the hordes of Ogres and Greenskins that had begun ravaging the dark-lands and upon seeing the portents of what was to come had stayed together in these last days. For them to succeed and ensure their survival, all of them had agreed to be equals. That it would only last until they had survived was the unspoken agreement. But that one had stubbornly demanded their sworn allegiance. He did not get it and had left them in his arrogance.
Feeling the call from one of his fellow lords, he knew it was time for him to re-join the square of power. Set in the precise shape of a Ziggurat with the Lords at the sides of the centre square and the lesser sorcerers arrayed around them. Retracing his steps, he moved through the outer layers of Daemonsmiths and Hellsmiths, to take his place again. Any Dawi-Zharr with a scrap of ability was linked to them to lend whatever strength they had and even their lives if that was needed. Gathering his will, he mentally reached out and grabbed hold of the streams of power that flowed around them. Letting himself feel the shifts and who was at present in over-all control, then finding his balance among them he lent his strength to the fellow lords. Their efforts to hold this island of safety was their only focus now. Across from him another of the lords slowly moved out of the square after having released himself from the bonds of the magic. It was his turn to rest whilst the others took up the burden. Only the ruling lords had the power and ability to control and mould the forces they were usiing and it was essential that they husband it as well as they could. Off to one side a Daemonsmith collapsed and was quickly and unceremoniously dragged to the rear by an attendant warrior. He would recover and return or he would not. Near-by a line of warriors continued to carry chunks of the crashed moon, Moorsleib, into the centre of the gathered sorcerers, to replenish what was constantly being consumed by their magic. No slaves or hobgoblins were left here readily available to do it now, having all been destroyed by the tainted rock during this ordeal.
Slowly the Lord Sorcerer felt the load upon himself lessen after what felt like days of unrelenting effort. He brought some of his focus back to his surroundings and realised he was able to considerably lessen the power he was channelling without damaging what they had created. Looking out at the world he saw that what he�?Td thought before was true, days had indeed passed and from the feel of the magic�?Ts coursing around the world he knew that there would now be more days to come for them at least. Things had stabilized out there and things had changed. He looked closer at who was around him and saw that many had fallen, fully half if not three quarters of the Daemonsmiths lay where they had fallen, dead or alive he knew not, and the rest were mostly on their knees with fatigue. He felt along the lines of power and found that they were under his control and he used them to assess the land and found that he could discern nothing that needed immediate attention. Thinking directions at his cohorts they began undoing the bonds of power they�?Td had tied to the land and fashioned them into a cage around the remaining warpstone. This done he signalled them and they all dropped out of the last vestiges of the squares union. As they did so he mentally gauged their remaining strength by how well they maintained their control as they left. Focusing his attention on his two rivals he also took note on the two who did not move. They�?Td given everything as had at least one the two others still standing. That one was immobile. His eyes were the only thing that could be seen to be still alive and as he watched him the spark inside faded into stone. That left two standing, so in anticipation he looked intently at the other surviving lord. He was attempting to raise his arms but failed for they had succumbed to the sorcerers curse. His chest barely heaved as it struggled to draw in breath against the constriction of granite. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, expecting death and was surprised when the victor signalled at some Daemonsmiths to assist him. Upon raising his own arms, a cloud of stone flakes and dust showered down. With heavy leaden steps he trod forward and surveyed the lands and clans that were now his and acknowledged the obeisance�?Ts of all those around him.