Ruel glanced over at Ereik with narrowed eyes. The demon consort and he had grown accustomed to each other’s presence over the course of several centuries of working together, however neither held the other in high regard.
“Why should I be?” Ruel replied coolly.
The demon shrugged his shoulders, the heavy leather sleeves of his duster producing a loud rustle. “No reason. Ninety-nine thousand.” Ereik let out a low whistle through pursed lips that curved up at the corners. “Doesn’t the next soul win you a car or some shit like that?”
Ereik always found sport in provoking Ruel with profanity and insolence, especially in close proximity of his superiors. “Mind your tongue, demon.” Ereik lifted his hands in mock surrender as Ruel reigned in his uncharacteristically hair-trigger temper. “I know not seeing as though I have yet to reach this number until now.” Ruel shifted from one booted foot to the other while waiting outside the Assemblence chambers, Ereik’s calculating eyes boring into him like a power drill.
I have been in the process of turning my penchant for writing into something more than just a hobby for a little over a year now. I will be the first to admit I have loads to learn and I am exponentially far from best-seller territory. However, I have noticed personal growth that I am quite proud of. When reading words I have recently penned and comparing them to scribbles in a notebook from a year ago, the difference is remarkable and apparent. Continue reading
As Keyl rose from the ashen depths of the underworld his powers surged through his limbs. He had been charged with the task of bringing the rains. Rains that would continue to fall until Dark Ridge had been thoroughly cleansed of its crimes. It was not his place to ask why nor to argue the presence or in some cases the absence of just cause. The Kreator had been provoked and ultimately the flute had been sounded, an action that could never be undone.
Keyl appeared invisible to the inhabitants of Dark Ridge that looked on with terror in their eyes while scurrying for cover from the deluge. He was a dark angel to some, a demon to others, but to the Kreator he was nothing more than a messenger carrying out the supreme deity’s justice for the first time in centuries. Continue reading
The lone rider stared down at the message secured in his gloved hand after convincing his reluctant horse to cross the small stream. He was uncertain of the words scribed on the elegant piece of parchment, but fear toyed with the breakfast he had purchased at the inn before he began his journey this morning nonetheless.
Life as a correspondent during times of war lacked nobility and reverence, however one’s life always managed to hang in the balance regardless of whether one took up a long sword and stood amongst the other soldiers of the battlefield’s front line. He was the front line and he was alone.
The rider reached a hand down and gave a gentle pat to his horse’s thick neck. The beast no doubt sensed his apprehension and proved it was more than willing to abandon their charge at the rider’s request. How easy would it be to give a sideways tug to the reins and send them riding off into the vast openness, as far from the war as possible. As the rider grabbed hold of the leather straps with both hands once again, a rumble broke over the tumultuous sky. The gods had weighed in on the matter and only a fool would refuse their counsel.
The rider shifted in his saddle and pressed his knee into the muscled side of his travel companion. With an accompanying loud click of his tongue, both horse and rider rode towards what the latter prayed would not be their end.