Without further ado, here are this month's Snippets, a blog challenge-thing put on by Katie, from Whisperings of the Pen!
It was Durion Keljên, or Durion Keljên-who-had-been. His long, dark hair was the same as she had seen before, his eyes the same queer mixture of black and white, but there was more madness there now, and more power.
It was from him that had come the voice. He had raised a great staff above his head, a curving thing of wood that was taller than she. At the top of it, a black spearhead crowned it, marked it as a weapon. Dark robes billowed around the man-that-was-not-a-man, his words booming from deep within, making him seem worse than any sorcerer in any tale she’d ever heard.
"My children,” he called, voice fell and terrible. “Our time has come. In the time-before-time, before Darv’ii exiled me,” the creature spat the name of the Dwarvish god, saying it as a curse, “I was great, mightier than He, mightier than the Dawn he had forced upon me, forced me to love. And I would have taken the world, would have been in dominion over it. But the Creator resented me. Resented my power, and He cast me down, imprisoned me below the depths. I say no more!” A burst of lightning, a boom of thunder came from the creature’s staff as he brandished it once more above his head, and the Ladwalden hooted and shouted, a sound as of a mighty wind, the mouths of a thousand thousands all crying out.
The creature raised a hand for silence, and continued once the vale had ceased to ring. “We will take back what is mine, what is ours! We will take the world for the night beginning with the children of men. I will stand before the King, this Darv’ii who believes He is great, and I will raise my hand against Him. And we, my children, shall be great in His place.”
The roar began again, swelling above his words, and the creature suddenly turned, a satisfied smile on his face. He looked down at Anarisia, straight at her, and he leaned down to peer into her eyes.
He could see her. She knew he could, and the breath seized in her throat, the presence of darkness and evil crushing down on her again.
“Go home, little human,” he whispered, voice eerily intimate. “Go home and carry your tales. And when you see her, tell my sweet sister that she shall not live long after our Father.”
- Dark Dawn, novel in progress
The war consumes him, catching him up in its firm grasp. Adrenaline pours through him, filling every cavity and cell with intended purpose, flooding his body with the same manic desires as the ones around him. On and on and on, pushing, pulling humanity, for there is a purpose and it must be fulfilled, though he knows not what it is, nor what it is for.
Something beckons, Something beyond himself, Something that could perhaps save him. Perhaps here is the answer he has been searching for, in the fevered eyes of a madman and the raised hands of a million men, all pledging their bodies and lives and souls to the madman who claims to lead them.
- Something, short story
- Kyla Denae